Jennings still hasn’t said a word, so I know it’s up to me to speak. Without beating around the bush, I tell him, “I spoke with Kevin.”
“Christ, how did it go?” The immediate leap to concern in his voice makes cold parts of me want to warm.
I’ve never been answerable to anyone about Kevin before, so I grit my teeth before articulating each word. “Most of it is private between me and Kevin. If he chooses to share with you at a later date, that’s between the two of you.”
There’s a weary “Right.” Then his magnetism leaps through the phone. “You said ‘if he chooses to share with you at a later date.’ Does this mean…?”
Pain tears through me. I know what I have to do. It doesn’t mean the pulsating ache in my heart that’s being caused out of devastation and regret is any easier to bear. I simply say, “How about joining us for breakfast tomorrow morning? Your son would like the opportunity to meet you.”
His voice is gruff when he replies, “Just let me know when and where, and I’ll be there. I promise.”
My voice is neutral when I remind him, “Please remember, you’re promising your son, Jennings, not me. I assume this is your cell phone number?”
“It is.” A pause. “How did you get it?”
“Jed left a letter for me to open in the event…”
“Right. Yes, Kara, this is my cell,” he confirms. “Would you mind sending me a message with your contact information? I don’t know if the information from your last email is current.”
I hold my tongue about him finally reading them and instead reply, “Of course.” Quickly, I slide my phone from my pocket and send him a text. “You should have received a text from a 904 number?”
“Just got…Jesus. You didn’t need to tell me it was Kara Malone.” He sounds aggravated.
“Just making certain you knew it was me,” I say with forced lightness. “After I let Kevin know we’ve confirmed tomorrow, I’ll text you when and where.”
There’s a long pause before I hear Jennings’s broken voice mutter, “I know it was what Jed wanted, but this was your decision—yours and our son’s. I can’t begin to tell you what it means.”
My head falls forward against the glass. Memories of how I once loved this man fill me. Maybe it’s that knowledge that precludes me from the natural wariness I normally maintain. “Just…do right by him, Jennings,” I whisper before I hang up the phone without saying goodbye.
Sliding my cell into my pocket, I walk over to the back door, lean on the rail, and yell, “Who wants me to cook for lunch?”
Kevin calls back, “Do they have fast food here?”
I nod and his face lights up. “McDonald’s or Subway.” I name the top choices, thinking that naming the local salmon spot wouldn’t be high on his list.
His lip curls a little. “There’s not a Zaxby’s?” he says, naming a popular chicken chain near our apartment in Florida.
Shaking my head, I school him not only about food choices but about life. “Sometimes, my darling boy, you’re going to find out that you have to make do with what you have because what you want isn’t available.”
He grumbles something I can’t hear, but Maris does. She laughs and slings an arm around his waist, pulling him closer to the stairs. “Come on, kid. You can decide on the way.”
“If we go to Subway, I can pile on all the fixings for a monster sub,” he jokes.
“That is if they have the same fixings as home,” Maris tells him seriously.
“Oh, come on,” Kevin whines. And while that would normally grate at my nerves, it sounds so beautiful to hear him act like a normal teenager, I let it slide. Because for this moment, we’re not thinking about the terrible things that have happened to our family, nor are we thinking about what the future is about to bring.
All I have on my mind is the exquisite Alaskan day for us to spend with each other. Tomorrow, and breakfast with Jennings, seems a long way off.
Kevin is waiting patiently to have an attendant refill his drink when Maris tells me, “I haven’t slept well remembering what I said to you,” she admits.
I reach for Maris’s hand. Keeping one eye on my son, I murmur, “I should have told him sooner.”
“Maybe. But you were hurting for a long time.”
I nod. “Yes, I was. But I grew up. Shouldn’t I have figured your brother