Never Let You Go(8)

Your son is wonderful. Everyone loves him. He does all kinds of things for the community, builds park benches, belongs to a charity baseball team, and he even helped my dad build my mom a wheelchair ramp so she can get around better. You’d be so proud.

I sent an e-mail to the photo lab and asked if they could clean the pictures up, then browsed online for the perfect frame. Andrew was going to be so surprised.



It was Christmas Eve, and Andrew and I had decided to open one present each. In the morning we’d go to my parents’ and have a pancake breakfast. It was the first year I wouldn’t wake up with my family and I felt a little sad, but also thrilled to celebrate with my new husband.

Later we were going to finish wrapping the presents we bought for my parents and brother. I’d been excited to go around the mall with Andrew and heap our cart full of gifts. When I worried we were spending too much money, Andrew said he wanted to spoil them because they’d been so welcoming. “I just want them to be happy.”

“Maybe this one?” Andrew had chosen the frame I’d carefully wrapped in glimmering pale blue paper, the silver ribbon shaped into spirals like cascading icicles.

“Sure.” My stomach fluttered with excitement and I wished I hadn’t drunk so much eggnog. His large hands carefully eased the paper off. He was taking his time, giving me a wink, teasing out the moment. I was almost ready to snatch it out of his hands and unwrap it for him.

He removed the last piece of paper, then stared down at it. “What’s this?” His voice sounded hollow. I was confused. Was he overcome with emotion?

“It’s a photo of your dad.” I’d chosen one where his father looked the least stern, his gaze focused on something in the distance.

“I know what it is. How did you get it?” He was glaring at me, and now I saw it. That same expression as his father’s. I didn’t know his face could go like that. I fumbled for my words.

“You told me his name before, so I found a Navy Web site.” I reached out a hand, rested it on his forearm. The muscles flexed and bunched under my fingers. I slowly pulled my hand away. “We have all these photos of my family, and I thought—”

“That you would make me feel like shit? My father walked out on my family. I don’t need to see his face to remember that. I can’t believe you did this.”

My embarrassment was turning to hurt and my eyes stung. “I was trying to do something nice. I didn’t know you’re angry at him—I barely know anything about your childhood.”

“Is that why you looked online? So you could dig up dirt on me?”

“Of course not. I don’t understand why you’re so upset.”

“You want to know about my father? He was an *, okay? He treated me like crap, and he treated my mother like crap. He came back two days after she died, said he wanted to get to know me, but he just wanted money from the trust fund. I kicked him out.” He dropped the frame onto the floor, shattering the glass. “That’s what you’ve done to our Christmas.”

He walked away, and a moment later his office door closed with a thud.



I sat on the couch, staring at the tree through blurred eyes. How could I have been so stupid? Of course he didn’t want a reminder of his father. Just because I loved mine so much didn’t mean everyone felt the same way. But I couldn’t stop replaying Andrew’s words—the way he looked at me. We’d never fought before. There was only one time on our honeymoon when he snapped at me, then took off for a long walk by himself, and left me waiting in the room. Later he said that he didn’t like how the tour operator was speaking to me, which was totally my fault. I was definitely being too friendly and didn’t think about how someone could misread that.

Maybe Andrew was just tired, still recovering from our trip and the move. I glanced down the hall, wondered if I should apologize, then decided to give him some space.

I picked up the broken glass, swept up the tiny fragments, hid the frame in a closet, then turned on the TV. The distraction helped, but when Andrew still hadn’t come out for over an hour, I softly knocked on his door. He didn’t answer. I rested my hand on the wood.

“Andrew, I’m really sorry.”

Silence.

It was almost midnight. My eyelids were drooping and I needed to go to bed soon, but I was in the living room, wrapping the last few presents for my family. Finally I heard Andrew’s office door open, then his weight settling on the couch behind me. I held my breath.

“I’m sorry, Lindsey,” he said. “I behaved like an ass.”

I spun around. “No. I’m sorry. I should have known.”

“How could you? You’re right. I didn’t tell you about him. I’ve never talked about it with anyone, none of my friends, not even Melissa, and we lived together for three years.” I tried not to wince at the name of his ex-girlfriend, who cheated on him and then stole half his stuff.

“I’m not her,” I said. “I love you.”

“I know.” He let his breath out in a sigh. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Don’t say that. Of course you do. I just wish you’d share more about your life with me.” I moved to sit beside him on the couch. “I just want to know you.”

“There’s not much to tell.” He swallowed. “Let’s just say my father made it pretty clear I wasn’t wanted. He shoved me down the stairs a couple of times, knocked me around a bit, and was handy with the belt. I spent most of my childhood being afraid of him whenever he was home from the ships. He was always yelling at my mom—and I saw bruises on her arms. I was glad when he finally left, but then a few years later my mom found the first lump. I tried to take care of her the best I could until she died, but I was still a kid, you know?”