Unforgettable (Cloverleigh Farms #5)(66)

“I’m fine.” I gritted my teeth.

“Have you seen it?”

“I’ve seen it.”

“I can’t believe we didn’t notice the cameras out on the lawn. When your father realized they were out there, he and Mack went right out and kicked them off the grounds.”

“Good.”

A pause. “I didn’t realize you and Tyler were in touch.”

“We weren’t. I mean, we haven’t been.” My head began to ache, and I touched two fingers to my temple, closing my eyes. “We reconnected right before Sadie’s wedding.”

“Oh. And is it . . . how’s it going?”

“It’s actually going great, Mom,” I said with a little more venom than necessary. “We have fun together. That news story was bullshit, okay? Don’t believe it.”

“Okay, darling. I didn’t mean to upset you. I just wanted to check in.”

I sighed. “Sorry. I’m just—my head is pounding right now. I’m not upset with you. I’m just angry at that story.”

“Of course you are. Can I do anything for you?”

I took a deep breath. “Not right now. But thanks for checking in.”

“I’m always here, honey.”

After we hung up, I called Chloe.

“Hey,” she said as soon as she picked up. “I saw it. Fucking Bethany Bloomstar. I hope she gets a big wart on her face.”

I almost laughed. “Yeah, she deserves it.”

“You okay?”

“Yes. But I’m worried about Tyler. He’s trying so hard to move on from everything, and the media attention doesn’t help.”

“I know.”

“Why can’t they just leave him alone?” I asked angrily. “He’s not even playing anymore.”

“Because he’s still a story, especially around here. People are still interested.”

I frowned. “He’s going to hate that. He doesn’t want to be a story. He just wants to be himself. But it’s like the public only has one version of him they want, and if he can’t be that, they won’t accept it.”

“Well, that’s why it’s good he has you,” she said. “And soon he’ll realize he has the rest of the Sawyer clan too. We’re a package deal.”

That made me smile. “Yeah.”

“Hey, want to get together this weekend? Maybe we can all hang out at Sylvia’s. Or even at Mom and Dad’s for Sunday dinner. You skipped it last weekend.”

“I was busy,” I said.

She laughed. “Yeah, I know what you were busy doing. But now that he’s staying for good, you guys don’t have to be so precious about your time. You can spare a few hours for the rest of us.”

“I guess we could. Actually, I like that idea a lot.”

“Perfect. And don’t worry about that stupid news thing. It’ll blow over and Bethany Bloomfart will be on to the next fake scandal.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it. And I was just snippy to Mom. I’ll call her and apologize, then I’ll ask if I can bring him to dinner.”

After ending the call with Chloe, I reached out to my mom and asked about bringing Tyler to Sunday dinner.

“Of course, darling,” she said brightly. “Your friends are always welcome here.”

I took a deep breath. “Mom, I need to ask you something. Did you ever tell Dad about the baby and adoption?”

She didn’t answer right away. “I did. I’m sorry if I betrayed your confidence, but I didn’t feel it was something I should keep from him. Plus, I was struggling too—it’s not easy to see your child in pain, and I knew how hard that was for you to go through. Also . . . it was our grandchild. I had to mourn a little bit.”

I swallowed hard. “I understand.”

“If it makes you feel better, he was very understanding. He wanted to respect your privacy, so he never mentioned it, but he knew, and he was so proud of you.”

My throat tightened, and I had to take another deep breath before speaking. “Thanks, Mom.”

“Would it be okay to tell him you’re aware that he knows now?”

“Sure,” I said, feeling oddly good that the air would be cleared once and for all. “I recently told Meg, Chloe, and Frannie as well.”

“Did you?” She sounded surprised.

“Yes. My therapist encouraged me to be more open about it, starting with people I trust. And there’s no one I trust more than family.”

“That’s wonderful, darling,” she said warmly. “I’m so happy to hear it.”

I thought about telling her I’d written a letter to the adoptive mom, but decided against it. One thing at a time. I could wait until I heard back—if I heard back—to share that news.

“I better go, Mom. I have to get to work, and I’m running a little late.”

“Okay, darling. I’m glad you called.”

We hung up and I glanced around for my bag.

That’s when I looked over at the table, where I’d tossed the stack of mail.

Gooseflesh blanketed my arms, and a strange shiver moved up my spine. Slowly, I walked over to the table and picked up the letter on top. It was addressed to me in black cursive lettering. I picked it up, knowing what it was before I even checked the return address.