“I’m not saying our age difference is empirically wrong. But it does make things more difficult—as I learned the hard way in my last relationship. I’m not a big fan of making the same mistake twice.”
“You dated someone younger, it didn’t work out, and now you’ll never date someone younger again? Sorry, but that sounds a little crazy to me. And as someone older—you should know better.” She shook off his arm.
He laughed. “Touché. You sure Marin’s the only lawyer in the family?”
She didn’t smile back at him. This was not a joke to her. It hurt. She was putting herself out on a limb—or, to be accurate, a jetty.
“I don’t think I can be friends with you,” she said.
“Oh, Rachel.” He put his arm around her again, and despite her feelings of indignation, she couldn’t bring herself to shrug it off. “A month before I moved out here, I was living with my girlfriend, Vanessa. She’s a first-year grad student in ancient history. We were planning to spend July in Greece. I went shopping for a ring. But then Bart confirmed what I’d suspected at Christmas: my father was deteriorating, and I decided I needed to be out here for the summer. Vanessa was upset—she doesn’t like it here very much.”
Rachel felt a stab of irrational jealousy. He’d brought a woman to Provincetown? Had they stood on that very spot, his arm around her? Probably. He had no doubt kissed her, the water rolling gently all around them in the romantic way it was at that very minute.
“So she broke up with you?” The woman must be crazy.
“No, not exactly. But she put me in a position of choosing between her and my dad. I realized I couldn’t marry her.”
Her loss.
“Okay, that sucks—I get it. But I don’t know what that has to do with age.”
“Vanessa isn’t a bad person. She’s just young. She doesn’t understand taking care of someone other than herself.”
“So you’re lumping me in with her? I am helping take care of other people—including your father. In case you hadn’t noticed dinner tonight.”
Who was he to judge her limitations? It felt good to be angry, to push back a little. She wasn’t just begging for whatever crumbs he tossed her way.
“Of course I noticed. It makes it hard for me to stick to my feelings on this. But Rachel, you don’t know who you are yet—what you’re going to do with your life. I’ve answered more questions than you’ve probably begun to ask.”
“I’ve answered questions you’ve never had to ask! That’s why I’m here this summer. Learning about my father is the biggest thing that’s ever happened to me. If that’s not life-changing, I don’t know what is.”
They balanced on the same rock, glaring at each other in the moonlight.
“You’re right,” he said. “I’m sorry. It’s not all on you. I’m still getting over Vanessa. But even under better circumstances, you live in LA. I don’t want a summer fling. That’s not what I need, and I’m guessing it’s not what you need either.”
Actually, a summer fling sounded good to her! But whatever—she wasn’t going to beg. She was too young, he was still hung up on what’s her name in Rhode Island, they lived far away from each other. How many excuses did he need to reject her?
“I get it,” she said. She eyed the distance back to dry land. If she had any dignity, she would turn around and march herself home. But she was a quarter mile out on the jetty.
“Shall we?” he asked, turning around, holding out his arm for the trek back. He looked at her with such friendly affection, she couldn’t offer anything less than a tentative smile. How could she help herself?
She was completely in love with him.
Chapter Thirty-Five
In the morning, there was no breakfast.
“Amelia always has food and coffee out. Always,” Blythe said.
Marin nodded, concerned. When Amelia wasn’t waiting for her in the front hall for their morning walk on the beach, she went around back to find her. Instead, she found Blythe sitting alone sipping coffee from a Joe takeout cup.
The day was bright and particularly warm, nearing eighty degrees even early in the morning. Marin pulled off the long-sleeved cotton T-shirt she wore over her tank top and tied it around her waist. She sat opposite her mother at the table.
“Marin, you look so beautiful,” her mother said. “You have the glow.”
“I don’t feel it. I’m exhausted.” Even though she had slept better last night than she had in a while.
Thanks to the conversation with her father yesterday, she finally had some relief from the shadow of dread she’d felt ever since that first e-mail from Rachel.
Sitting with Kip, just inches from where she now sat with her mother, she’d felt as if she were watching someone else tell him. She couldn’t now, for the life of her, remember exactly what she’d said. But she would never forget how her father responded.
“You’re my daughter. You’ve been my daughter since the moment I set eyes on you.”
“Dad, I don’t think you understand.” She started in again about the genetics and he stopped her midsentence.
“Marin, hon, you don’t understand: I’ve always known. It makes no difference to me. You’re my daughter, always have been and always will be.” She found it difficult to believe that he could mean it. And yet, the knowledge of Nick Cabral didn’t change the fact that Kipton Bishop was her dad. What were genetics compared to love?
Her mother had an equally hard time wrapping her mind around his reaction. She made Marin repeat it twice, word for word.
“Are you upset with me for telling him?” Marin had asked.
“No,” Blythe said quickly. And then she reiterated what she’d said, that Marin had to deal with her own pregnancy paternity issue as honestly and as forthrightly as she could. This irritated Marin.
“Mom, please. Don’t turn this around on me.”
Still, she’d thought about her mother’s words as she fell asleep. It wasn’t the same situation, she assured herself. She wasn’t lying to Greg or Julian. She just wasn’t telling them.
Rachel walked out of the house, and seeing that the table was empty, she turned right around to make coffee and breakfast.
Marin stood up from the table. “I’m going to pick up a croissant at Joe and take a walk.” No more coffee for her. No caffeine, no alcohol. Oddly, she didn’t miss either one. All she wanted was sleep. It was tempting to just go back to bed, but she refused to let the first-trimester fatigue hobble her. At least some shred of her type A personality was left.
“Do you have your phone with you?” Blythe asked.
“No. Why?”
“Maybe bring it? Just in case.” Blythe nodded her head toward the house, widening her eyes. Marin got it; Amelia might be a no-show at breakfast because she was upset. Maybe Kelly had finally told her the truth, or maybe Amelia figured it out for herself. Either way, she might need their support.