“When you were a little girl, you used to crawl into my lap and beg me to read you a story. As soon as I started reading, you’d lay your head on my chest and get very still, like you were listening with your whole being. Until the day I die, I will never forget what you felt like, snuggled up like a kitten, your silky hair brushing under my chin.” He smiles. “Your brothers were never like that.”
The memory makes my heart ache, because it’s another time I experienced that indescribable feeling. “I used to love the sound of your heart thumping in my ear. It sounded so sure and steady, like something I could depend on.”
“You were my reward, and that was enough for me.”
My throat grows tight, and I speak, in halting words, the hurt from my past. “I didn’t know. I just remember wishing I was somebody’s favorite.”
The tears well again. Those might be the truest words I’ve ever spoken. My heart breaks open, and my chest aches. I want so bad to be Caden’s. For a blink of an eye, I let myself sink into it, but it turns out I’m just one in a list.
He frowns at me. “You were your momma’s.”
I shake my head. “No, I wasn’t. Daddy was her favorite. He always came first with her.”
“That’s not true. She protected you kids from a lot. Things I never told anyone.” He shifts in his chair. “She did the best she could.”
“I can’t let that happen to me, Uncle Beau.” Wetness weaves a path down my cheeks. “I loved her, but I have to figure out a way to break the pattern.”
“You will.” He smiles at me. “She used to tell me God blessed her with a strong-willed girl to show her how life would have been if she’d been better.”
Another failure mark in her column. I guess it’s good she didn’t live to see how I turned out. I sigh. “Do you think she’d be disappointed in me?”
“Hell no, Catarina McKay. Not in a million years.”
“But can’t you see I turned out just like her?”
“In some ways you are—in all the best ways.” His head tilts. “But you keep going, no matter how many times you get kicked down.”
“Dragged along, you mean. There’s a difference.”
He huffs. “That’s the silliest thing I ever heard.”
“What? It’s true. Wyatt came up with the distillery. I just went along because I had no other choice in the matter.”
“Bullshit. You were as much a part of your survival as Wyatt was. You just forget because it’s easier for you to think you had no part in it.”
“Why would that be easier for me?”
“I don’t know. Why would it be?”
I squeeze deeper into the corner of the couch. “It doesn’t feel like mine.”
“Well, it should. You put in the work to claim it.”
We fall silent.
My brain is so tired from all my thinking. I can’t do it anymore. I sigh. “Well, I hope someday you find someone that deserves you.”
“You keep using that word, girl, and I think you’re confused.” He flips the lever on his chair, and it springs upright. He leans forward, planting his elbows on his knees. “You’re under the mistaken impression that the world owes you something because you’ve suffered, and I’m going to be blunt with you. Take it from an old guy who knows: you don’t deserve anything. Life’s not a point system. It’s not a bank that pays you interest.”
The words sting, and I want to lash out against them. But I don’t because I know they’re true.
His fingers lace between his knees. “You can’t keep waiting for something to come along and make you happy and fulfilled. If you do, you’re going to have a long wait. If you want something, it’s up to you to make it happen. You’ve got to show up for it each and every day. So it’s time to ask yourself: are you ready to show up? Are you just going to take what life’s dishing out, or are you going to do something about it?”
“What would you like me to do?” I throw up my hands, anger replacing the heartache. “Is it my fault I went and fell for a guy who was supposed to marry someone else and failed to mention it? Why is it my responsibility to fix it?”
He shrugs. “It’s not. But you’re looking at it all wrong.”