you and Jonah? How long has that been happening?” There’s an accusatory tone to her voice.
“We weren’t . . . the night you walked in on us. That was the first time we ever even kissed. I swear.”
She’s crying now. She’s pacing, like she doesn’t know what to do with all the anger. Who to throw it at.
She clenches her stomach and stops pacing. “No. Please, no.” She points at the front door. “That’s why he left Elijah here? That’s why he said he couldn’t do it?” Clara is gasping now between tears. I pull her in for a hug, but it doesn’t last. She pulls away from me. “Is Dad? Is Jonah not Elijah’s father?”
I feel like my throat is so constricted noise can’t even slide up it. I just whisper, “Clara. Sweetie.”
She sinks to the floor in a heap of tears. I lower myself and put my arms around her. She hugs me back, and as good as it feels to be needed by her right now, I’d give anything for this not to be happening. “Did you know? Before the wreck?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Did Jonah?”
“No.”
“How did you . . . when did you find out about them?”
“The day they died.”
Clara hugs me even harder. “Mom.”
She says my name with such a guttural ache it’s like she’s needing something she knows I can’t give her. A comfort I don’t even know how to provide.
She pulls away from me and stands up. “I can’t do this.” She goes to her room and comes back with her purse and her keys.
She’s hysterical. I can’t let her drive a car like this. I walk over to her and take her keys out of her hand. She tries to snatch them back, but I don’t let her have them.
“Mom, please.”
“You aren’t leaving. Not when you’re this upset.”
Clara drops her purse in defeat and covers her face with her hands. She just stands there, crying to herself. Then she slides her hands down her face and looks at me with imploring eyes, dropping her arms to her sides. “Please. I need Miller.”
Those words coupled with that look in her eyes—it all shatters me. It feels like my soul has been stomped on. But somehow, even beneath all the pain, I understand. Right now, I’m not what she needs. I’m not the solace she’ll find the most comforting, and even though it feels like the death of a huge part of our relationship, I’m grateful to know there’s someone out there who gives her that besides me.
I nod. “Okay. I’ll take you to him.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CLARA
Miller has a line of customers when I walk into the theater. As soon as he looks at me, I can tell he wants to jump over the counter. He looks worried but helpless. He holds up four fingers, so I nod and walk to theater four.
I sit in the closest seat to the door this time. I’m too tired to walk all the way to the top.
I stare at the blank screen, wondering why Jenny never decided to act. She’d have been good at it. My dad too.
I shake my head, lifting my T-shirt to wipe my eyes. I should feel relieved to know that my text didn’t cause the wreck because Aunt Jenny wasn’t even driving, but I don’t feel any relief at all. I don’t even feel anger. I feel like all my anger has been directed at my mother for so long that I don’t even have any left. Right now, I just feel disappointed. Defeated.
It’s as if all the romance novels I’ve ever read have turned into dystopian fantasies. My whole life, I thought I had these great examples of love and family and humanity around me, but it was all bullshit. The love I thought my father had for my mother was a lie. And the thing that bothers me the most about it is that half of me is made up of him.
Does that mean I’m capable of being the kind of human he was? The kind to betray your spouse and child while plastering a loving smile on your face for so many years?
I hear the door to the theater open. Miller walks over to me and then leans down to kiss me. I pull away. I don’t feel like a kiss right now. Or maybe I don’t feel like I deserve a kiss right now. Whatever this is I feel for him, it worries me that it’s nothing more than