“What?” Blythe looked stricken.
“Nadine told me he came to Italy heartbroken after your affair. Why? Did he ask you to leave your husband and you refused? Did he know you were taking his baby away from him?”
Blythe’s eyes widened. “Amelia,” she said slowly. “I don’t know what Nadine told you—but none of that is true.”
“Well, it might be unpleasant. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t true.”
“No. Nick did not leave Philadelphia heartbroken. He was excited to leave Philadelphia, to see his sister. He told me he never felt comfortable far from the sea. He wasn’t in love with me. It was a passing thing. By the time I found out I was pregnant, we were out of touch. He told me he was never coming back—that he was happy in Italy.”
Amelia shook her head. “If he was happy in Italy, why did he kill himself?” she shouted, her voice shrill despite her best efforts to stay calm. Blythe flinched.
“I don’t know anything about how he died. That’s something I’d hoped to learn on this trip and I just never found the nerve to ask you.”
“He drove his motorcycle off a dirt road one night.”
Blythe shook her head. “It was an accident. It had to be. The Nick I knew loved life. He was reckless, maybe a little lost. But that’s it.”
“I wish I could believe you.”
“Amelia, I want you to know, for your own peace of mind, that Nick never wanted anything more from me than the brief affair we had. And he wrote to me about how happy he was in Italy.”
Blythe seemed so earnest. Either she was in denial or she had rewritten the script of her own history. “You don’t have to tell me these things just to appease me. I won’t give away your secret.”
Amelia couldn’t look at that woman another minute. She tossed her apron on the counter and walked out of the kitchen.
“Dad, I can’t believe you came all the way out here,” Marin said, wishing for a more private place to talk with him. But the season was peaking and the town was jam-packed. Amelia’s house was a refuge—albeit an emotionally complex one.
It was a comfort to look into his sharp, confident blue eyes, to feel his steady arm around her shoulder. His calm, his confidence, had been her emotional benchmark for her entire life, and she had been foolish not to reach out to him sooner.
But her happiness at seeing him was tempered by her certainty that he was disappointed in her for the pregnancy, and also by her mother’s terrible secret. A secret Marin was now complicit in keeping.
“I considered coming up to New York to talk to you after the whole situation at Cole, Harding,” he said. “I didn’t know you would be leaving.”
“It was a spur-of-the-moment decision.”
“It’s not like you to run away from problems.”
She sighed. “It’s complicated.” Understatement of the year.
“Marin, I think the best thing you could do for yourself is get your career back on track.”
“Dad, come on. You know better than anyone that would be challenging enough after the way things went down at Cole, Harding, and Worth, the gossip item in the Post. Now I’m pregnant. I’m not exactly a desirable candidate.”
“It’s a temporary setback.”
“You really believe that?”
“I can pull some strings.”
She shook her head. “Dad, no. That’s the last thing I want.”
“We’ll discuss that more another time. The most important thing is your health. You’re okay?” He turned to her, his eyes crinkled in concern.
“I’m fine, Dad. The doctor said everything looks good so far. Strong heartbeat.”
Kip nodded and squeezed her hand. “And the father?”
“I haven’t told him yet. I’m sorry,” she whispered. “You must be so disappointed in me.”
He tightened his arm around her. “Never. We all make mistakes. I think you’re handling yours with great strength. I’ve never loved you more.”
It suddenly felt difficult to breathe. The weight of it all was just too much. In that moment of unconditional love, she couldn’t keep her mother’s secret. Her parents’ marriage was over, but he would always be her father. In the end, her paternity was her truth to tell.
She turned to him.
“Dad,” she said. “I didn’t come out here for a vacation.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Amelia insisted on cooking dinner at Thomas’s house instead of doing the usual prep at her house and then walking it over.
“Marin’s father is visiting,” she said. “I want to give them some privacy.”
Rachel felt a pang of envy. Her mother hadn’t so much as texted her, and Marin had both parents with her. She shook the thought away. She hadn’t done yoga all month; no wonder she was slipping into negative energy.
She turned her focus to the p?o de milho, mixing cornmeal, salt, and boiling water, stirring vigorously. She’d been practicing the recipe and could make it completely on her own, freeing Amelia up to focus on the main course: hake stew. Hake was apparently in the cod family. Which was in the fish family, which meant of course Rachel would not eat it.
“This was your great-grandmother’s signature dish,” she said, tossing onions, scallions, and two cups of water into a large heavy pot to boil. “Her mother was born in the Azores—a cluster of islands off the coast of Lisbon. She was from the largest island, S?o Miguel. I didn’t learn this dish properly until I went back to visit after she died.” She glanced at Rachel. “Will you never eat fish?”
“Probably not,” Rachel said.
“How can you cook what you don’t eat?”
“I probably won’t be cooking meat and fish.”
“What about for your children?”
Children? Rachel would settle for a boyfriend.
Bart poked his head into the kitchen. “I’m going to the gallery. Everything under control here?”
“Everything’s fine,” Amelia said. “Good luck with the show. Don’t worry about us.”
Bart kissed her on the cheek. “You’re the best.” He peeked over Rachel’s shoulder. “Whatcha making there?”
“Corn bread,” she said.
“Rachel is becoming quite the cook,” said Amelia. “Bart, I’m going to refrigerate leftovers for you to reheat when you get home. Is Luke here for dinner or will it just be Thomas?”
Rachel’s heart soared with hope. She had not seen him in a few days—not since the kiss. He obviously could have found some excuse to stop by the house if he’d wanted to. Clearly, he didn’t. It hurt and it was confusing. The way he’d responded to her by the pool—that had been real. So why was he rejecting her?
“Luke’s helping out at the gallery but he said he’d be home by six.”