today. He’s still taking everything hard, but he, Tracey, and I are going to talk more.”
“Really?” A small smile formed on his lips.
He’d always encouraged me to talk to my family, but I wrapped my grief around me like a cocoon and was too engrossed in my pain to see anything else. To see him. To see his pain. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
“About what?” He dropped the smile.
“About your past and what happened to you as a child.”
He sighed, shook his head. “I was ashamed. Men, we don’t talk about stuff like that. If you have sex with an older woman, it’s like a rite of passage.”
“Not when you’re a kid. How old were you?”
“Ten.”
“Ten.” I shook my head. “That’s rape.” The word was foreign and tasted sour on my tongue.
“I know that. I always knew, but I was confused. She was the only person to show me affection and touch me, though inappropriately.”
He bit into his sandwich. “Then I found Dr. Caine, and I’ve been talking to Father Frank, too. He helps me with the spiritual aspect. Made me realize the Big Guy upstairs actually cares for me.”
“Good, I’m glad. I’m happy for you.”
His eyes sought mine again. “Kara, I love you.”
I looked away and twisted the plastic in my hand. Does he?
Even after our counseling, I was still unsure, still thoroughly confused. But despite my dark thoughts, my heart leaped just a bit, as if it wanted to be closer to Darren.
“I know you’ve been working on yourself, and that’s great. But you said it before . . . you don’t know what love is.”
“I do.”
“You don’t. Or maybe you do? But I can’t afford to be your experiment. I need a man who loves me. Scratch that, loves me and knows it.”
“I’m your man and I love you. So much that it hurts looking at you, knowing the pain I caused by my actions, or rather inaction. Let me prove myself.”
“Fine.” I waved at him. “But, first, tell me what love is?”
He frowned, but not in irritation, as if thinking through his answers. “I can’t give you a definition. It’s complicated.”
“I need you to try,” I whispered, looking at Mama’s grave. “Help me understand why you didn’t love me.”
“It’s not that I didn’t love you. I just . . . my heart wasn’t turned on all the way. Back then, I loved you in a limited way. I was just bumping along in life. I didn’t believe in God, but you went to church and I wanted to make you happy. I didn’t love my job, but I was good at it and made good money. I didn’t have any passion. Not real passion, like you do for wine. I saw your light and it shined brightly. And I was drawn to it like a moth to a flame because everything around me was dark. You are my firefly. You guided me out of my darkness. Back then I drained your light. And when your mother died, your light dimmed. I saw it, recognized it, but I didn’t help you out of the darkness. I know I love you because I want to make you happy. I want to be your partner, the person you rely on. When I think of you, my heart speeds. I’d die for you. I know it hurts for me to say this, but back then, I didn’t love you unconditionally. I didn’t understand the full range of love. It’s like I was operating in black and white, and now I see color. I see you.”
My heart clanged like an old church bell. My body shook so much I had to clench my stomach to stop the shakes. But it didn’t stop the hope from growing in my core because, damn, he moved me. Moved my heart. I wanted to bury myself in his arms, but something held me back.
“What do you love about yourself?”
“Me?”
“Yeah, you.”
“I like my drive to make myself a better person. I like my relationship with God. I read and studied the Bible, and I realized that a part of me never forgave God for taking away my parents, for leaving me with loveless grandparents, and for allowing that to happen to me, an innocent child.”
“How did you move forward? How did you forgive Him?” I leaned forward, hoping he could give me the answers I needed.
“I realized that I knew nothing.”
“Huh?” I asked, underwhelmed by his answer.
“I’m looking through a keyhole. I won’t ever truly