“Wait!” Alan jogs through the path of my headlights, then stops at my passenger-side door. He pulls up on the handle, but it’s locked.
I heave a sigh and lean over to flip the lock. A moment later he’s in the seat beside me, and we’re both so uncomfortable it’s a miracle I can put the car in gear. In a weird way, it reminds me of the night Juliet sat beside me. Alan has pulled so far away from me that if I hit a turn hard enough, he’ll go rolling out.
My eyes flick his way. “You think I’m going to shank you or something?”
His eyes narrow. “Are you making fun of me?”
“Yes.”
He swears under his breath and shifts in his seat. It puts him about a tenth of an inch closer to me.
We drive in absolute silence for a few miles.
“Do you really think you can fix it that easily?” he says.
“Yes.”
More silence.
A cough. An uncomfortable shifting in the seat again. “You know where there’s an open auto shop?”
“No, I’m looking for a cliff. Buckle up.”
His eyes flash with anger. “Watch the attitude.”
“Thank you, Declan,” I say under my breath. “I really appreciate you taking the time to—”
“You want to say something to me, kid? Say it.”
“Fine.” I jerk the wheel to the right and all but slam to a stop on the shoulder. The emergency brake cranks hard under my foot, and I unbuckle my seat belt.
Alan doesn’t move, but I can feel the apprehension in the car, like maybe I drove him out here so I’d have a place to dispose of the body. I don’t deserve that, and yesterday’s Declan might have slunk out of the car and walked home.
You make your own path.
This one’s going to take a bulldozer. I’m not sure what’s going to come out of my mouth, but I inhale to speak.
“Wait,” says Alan. His voice is quiet, almost hushed. He’s put up a hand between us, but he’s staring out the windshield. “Wait.”
The word is thrown down like a gauntlet. I wait.
“You’re right,” he says. “Thank you.”
Even my heart stops for a moment, to make sure I heard him correctly.
He doesn’t stop there. “I owe you an apology for what I said to you this morning, too.” His voice is rough, but steady. “I was way out of line.”
It’s a good thing I’ve got the car on the side of the road because I’d be veering into a ditch right about now. I keep my eyes on the steering wheel. I don’t know if I want this apology—but hearing the words chips away at something inside me.
“I’m not my father,” I say. I finally look over. “And I want you to stop treating me like I am.”
“I know.” He nods slowly. “I know you’re not.” He’s quiet for a contemplative moment. “But . . . you sure don’t miss a moment to remind me that I’m not, either.”
I go still. “What are you talking about?”
He looks over at me. “I may not know about muscle cars or run an auto shop or drink hard liquor or smoke cigars or whatever hypermasculine things your dad did, Declan, but I’m not a bad man. Just because I know more about insurance regulations than carburetors doesn’t mean I’m some pathetic loser. I love your mother, and I treat her well. I make a good living, and I do my best to provide for both of you. But never—not once—have you spoken to me without contempt.”
I think of my savings, dried up in an instant for my legal defense fund. I think about their wedding night, when he left me in jail. I set my jaw and glare out the windshield. “That goes both ways.”
“I know.”
We both fall quiet, until the whisper of rain on the roof of the car fills the space between us with white noise. It’s late, and I should drive, but this is the first time Alan and I have spoken directly to each other. It’s infuriating, but it’s also addictive. I don’t want to stop. I want to see where it goes.
No, I want to see where I can take it.
I peer over at him. “Why?”
“Do you want the honest answer?”
I don’t know. “Yes.”
He rubs at his jaw. “I love your mother, but in a way, she’s very passive. She has a good spirit, but she’s too permissive. It’s easy for her to get taken advantage of. When we first started dating and I learned about your father, then saw how much freedom she gave you, combined with your attitude . . . I built a picture in my head. I thought I had you all figured out. I thought you needed someone to set limits.” He hesitates, and his voice turns rueful. “I didn’t realize that your mother and father left you to figure out your own limits, way before I came around.”
His voice is calm, reasonable. In a way, I don’t want to trust it, but this feels like the truth. “I don’t know what that means.”
His voice is low and steady. “It means you refused to get in that car with your father.”
My breath catches before I’m ready for it—but I will not cry in front of him. I speak through the gathering warmth in my chest, but my voice is barely more than a whisper. “I was selfish.”
“Kid, there’s a big difference between selfish and self-preservation.” He pauses, then looks away. “Until this morning, I wasn’t aware of your role in your father’s drinking. I had no idea.”
I have to clear my throat, but my voice is still rough. “You knew about Kerry.”
“I knew your sister died, and your father was responsible. I had no idea they expected you to cover for him. Not like that.” Alan pauses, and his voice has an edge. “I was so angry when she told me this morning.”
I study him. I want that to be a lie. Every breath makes my throat feel raw.
He shakes his head, and he looks like life has thrown him up against a wall a few times, too, now that I’m staring at him. “I can’t even stay mad at her. Abby has been so anxious about you and this baby,” he said. His breath shudders, just a bit. “So anxious. I think that’s what might have put her in the hospital. All this stress, plus everything she eats makes her sick.”