The Bookstore on the Beach - Brenda Novak Page 0,88

to know who I am, where I come from. And I’ve waited all my life. How long will it take? Will I ever learn? I’m afraid my father will be dead before you feel comfortable enough to tell me, and then I’ll never get the chance to meet him.”

Mary gripped the stair rail to steady herself. “That’s what you want? To meet him?” That was exactly what she’d been afraid of...

Autumn’s eyebrows snapped together. “Sometimes. I guess. All the question marks in my life are hard. Think about it. I don’t know who my father is, not even what he looks like. I don’t know anyone from his side of the family. I don’t know why you won’t tell me more about him. I don’t know where my husband went. I don’t know why he left. I don’t know if I can allow myself to fall in love with someone else.” She threw up her hands. “I just want some fucking answers!”

Mary threw her shoulders back. “You love your children so much you’d do almost anything to protect them, right? Isn’t that what we were just talking about?”

“Of course!”

“Well, take it from me—sometimes it’s better not to know,” Mary told her and let herself out.

She couldn’t tell Autumn about the Skinners right now, not so soon after coming into contact with Tammy. First, she had to determine if Autumn’s half sister was as trustworthy as she pretended to be—or if she’d turned out more like her parents than she’d ever willingly admit.

20

Taylor was startled awake by Caden pounding on her bedroom door.

“Hey, you up?” he called out.

“I wasn’t,” she grumbled, rolling away from the noise and dragging most of the blankets to the far side of the bed.

“We need to talk.”

She squinted at the light coming in around the edge of the blinds. “What time is it? Why are you bothering me?”

Instead of answering, he came in and plopped on the bed.

“Caden!” she cried, irritated that he’d jiggled the mattress. “Stop it. Go away.”

He easily resisted her attempt to shove him off with her foot. “It’s eight-thirty, so not that early. Mimi just left for work, and Mom will be in soon to make breakfast. She won’t sleep in because she has that fundraiser this weekend and has a lot to do. We might only have a few minutes.”

“A few minutes for what?” she asked, although she was afraid she already knew the answer to that question.

“To talk.”

She felt her heart sink. She could guess where this was going, all right. “There’s always later,” she suggested weakly.

“Except I want to know now,” he said. “I’ve waited long enough.”

A fissure of alarm brought Taylor fully awake. She’d known she wouldn’t have much time before Caden started pressing her for the name of her baby’s father. He’d given her a couple of days, and he’d been patient and kind during that time—probably more patient and kind than she would’ve been had their roles been reversed.

And now the moment she’d been dreading had arrived.

“Tay?” he prodded when she kept her eyes closed, anyway.

She buried her head beneath her pillow. “Not now, Caden. I couldn’t sleep last night. I’m tired.” She doubted she’d be able to stall any longer. The news she’d given him was too big. But she was desperate enough to try.

“I can understand why you’re freaked out. I’m freaked out, too. God, Tay, a baby! But you can sleep all you want after I leave. Right now I want to know what’s going on, and I want you to tell me it has nothing to do with Oliver.”

Her heart started to pound against her ribs. “Oliver who?” she asked, stalling.

“Oliver Hancock. The only Oliver we know. I got a weird text from him last night.”

A knot formed in the pit of Taylor’s stomach as she sat up. She should’ve responded to Oliver. Maybe then he wouldn’t have contacted Caden.

Oliver had texted her several times the past few days. It’d been over a month since they’d had sex. He knew she should’ve had her period by now. But she’d been ignoring him. She didn’t want to lie to him, but she didn’t want to tell him about the baby yet, either. That would make the pregnancy too real and start the avalanche of repercussions she was trying to put off until the summer was over.

“Weird in what way?” she asked, feeling as though she was marching toward the death chamber.

“He was acting like we’re still friends, as if he didn’t ask Miranda