Brooke bit her lip. “I know now how wrong I was. You had a right to know. And you have a right to know your son now, if that’s what you want.”
Pete’s eyes narrowed. His voice was hoarse, choky. “You mean you didn’t want me to come back when you found out about the baby, isn’t that it? I would have come back. I would have been here for you, no question. Don’t you know that about me? Do you think so little of me that I would resent you or our child?”
“It’s not you that I think so little of, it’s me,” Brooke said, looking away. “When I figured out I was pregnant, I wouldn’t allow myself to believe that you would want me. Who would? I was a mess. And now I am a mess with baggage. A kid.”
Pete stared down at the photo of Henry.
“I’m telling you about him now, Pete, because I finally realize what a horrible thing I did. I hope it’s not too late. Henry needs a father. He deserves a family, whatever that means.”
She reached out and touched the hand holding the photo. “I’m so sorry I screwed this up. Seeing you now, all my careful reasoning doesn’t hold up. It never did.”
Pete got up and slammed the bag lunch into the trash. He whirled around to face her. “So what am I supposed to do with this information? You spring this on me out of nowhere. ‘Hey, guess what? You’ve got a three-year-old son.’ What the hell, Brooke?”
“You do whatever you want with this information,” she said, her voice strained. “I can’t say I’m sorry enough, I know. But I couldn’t keep this secret any longer. It should never have been a secret.”
He paced back and forth in front of the bench, staring down at the photo of Henry. “What time is it?”
“Quarter to one,” she said.
“I gotta go,” he said abruptly. “My flight’s gonna leave soon. You think I can catch a cab or an Uber or something from here?”
“I’ll drive you,” Brooke said. “My car’s parked at my mom’s house, right around the corner.”
*
He kept staring down at the photo of Henry on the short walk to Marie’s house. “My son,” he said, his voice full of wonder. “Who is he? I mean, I saw him at the airport, for what, thirty minutes, and he wouldn’t even look at me for most of that time. Maybe you could catch me up on the first three years of his life. What’s he like?”
“He’s a funny little guy,” she said, ignoring the sarcasm. “He walked at exactly nine months. I thought he’d never sleep through the night. He loves to be read to. He has a favorite cartoon, this heinous Canadian kid, Caillou. He adores Caillou. He’s crazy smart, Pete. He asks a million questions. He’s a climber. He broke his arm climbing on a jungle gym in the spring. He’s almost potty trained, but I think he gets a subversive thrill from pooping in his pants at the most inappropriate times. Please talk to me,” she pleaded. “Tell me how to fix this. Tell me what to say.”
He gave her a long, steady look. “If you don’t already know what to say, then it’s goodbye.” He started to walk away, his long legs eating up concrete. He stopped suddenly and turned to her. “I’d like to keep the picture of our son, if that’s okay.”
“You’re really going back to Alaska without seeing him?” she asked.
He stopped walking.
“Henry’s at my mom’s house. Right up there.” She pointed at the two-story brick house two doors down from where they were standing.
“What if I want to do more than just see him occasionally?” Pete asked, his jaw still set in anger.
Brooke held her breath for a moment, wondering what that meant. “Are you talking about some kind of joint custody thing?”
Pete shrugged. “Maybe. I mean, I just learned I have a son five minutes ago. It’s gonna take time to figure this out.”
“Whatever you want,” Brooke said softly. “Henry needs a dad. He needs you in his life. I know that now. But I guess how that happens is up to you.”
They were standing on the front porch at Marie’s house. Brooke’s hand was on the doorknob. “Are you seriously thinking of taking the job out west?” She was holding her breath, waiting for him to say something, when the door opened.
“Hey,” Marie said, looking from her daughter to Pete. “I thought I heard voices out here.”
Brooke exhaled slowly. “Mom, this is … Henry’s dad. Pete, this is my mom, Marie.”
Marie smiled and held out her hand. “So good to finally meet you, Henry’s dad. FYI, Henry’s up from his nap. Do you two want to come inside?”
“Nice to meet you too,” Pete said, shaking her hand. “Could we, uh, have a minute or two in private?”
Marie closed the door softly, and Brooke felt herself sag against the frame. She realized with a start that this was the same doorstep where she’d gotten her first goodnight kiss after her first car date, at fifteen.
“Tell me what you want, Brooke,” Pete said, looking directly into her eyes. “And don’t make it just about Henry. Do you want me to stay?” He traced the scar on her cheek with a fingertip. “What happened here?”
“Another long story,” Brooke said. “Resulting from a near-fatal lack of good judgment. Could you please repeat that last question?”
“Do. You. Want. Me. To. Stay?”
This time she was ready with an answer. “Yeah,” she said softly. “Yeah, I think it would be good if you could stick around to see what happens next. Do you think maybe you could kiss me now? Like, for old times’ sake?”
He put a hand on either side of her face and did as she asked, kissing her with a sweet intensity that left her aching for everything she’d missed.
“Okay,” he said finally. “I’ll move to the coast. We’ll figure us out. And the dad thing.”
“I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into,” Brooke said.
The door opened a crack, and they hastily pulled apart. Henry stepped onto the porch, dressed in his favorite SpongeBob T-shirt and a sagging pair of pull-ups. “I pooped,” he announced proudly.
Brooke scooped up her son and handed him over to Pete. “About that dad thing…”
Epilogue
October 2018
Moonlight dappled the water, and a stiff wind rattled the fronds of palm trees and swirled sand around the ankles of the five women standing at the water’s edge.
Felicia tightened the blanket draped around her elderly aunt’s shoulders. It had been an unusually chilly October on Talisa, with temperatures dipping into the forties and high winds buffeting the fragile dunes.
“Are you warm enough, Auntie?” she asked.
“There’s an extra blanket in the back of the Packard,” Lizzie offered.
“Don’t y’all be fussin’ over me now,” Varina said. “I’ve lived this long, and I haven’t frozen or blown away yet.”
“Well, I for one am chilled to the bone,” Marie said with an exaggerated shiver. “I know we agreed to do this every time we’re together on a full moon, but nobody said anything about getting frostbite in the process.”
Brooke gestured at the quilt, beach chairs, and picnic basket they’d set up a few yards away. “Don’t be such a whiny baby, Mom. We’ve got hot toddies in the thermoses and plenty of beach towels.”
“And what about that fire I built?” Lizzie asked. She’d spent hours digging a pit in the sand and circling it with bricks left over from the latest island restoration project. They’d hauled down a load of wood in the beach cart, and now the flames leaped high into the frigid night air, crackling and sending up showers of sparks.
“I think we should wait until the weather warms up again in the spring,” Marie said. “After all, we didn’t swim last month when you had court in Brunswick, Brooke, and it seems to me that Felicia was off island in August, visiting her new beau.”
“No, ma’am,” Varina said firmly. “Y’all know what today’s date is?”
“It’s October 21,” Felicia said.
“Same exact date as the first time, the night after Millie’s engagement party,” Varina said solemnly. She pointed up at the star-shattered night. “You know what that is? It’s a hunter moon, just like that night it all started. We only get one of those a year. Might be the last one I ever see.”