Reckless Hearts (Oak Harbor #2)(60)

“But you could have started again,” I argue. “Found someone else if you didn’t want to be alone.”

Mom shakes her head. “It wasn’t like that. You have to understand, sweetie, we had twenty years together. Good years. Laughing and waking up together and going to sleep in the same bed every night. And raising you,” she adds with a smile.

“But he hurt you.”

She nods. “I never said he didn’t. When I found out . . .” The shadow is clear on her face. “I thought I’d lost my whole world. Some nights, I would tell you I was running errands,” she adds sadly, “and I’d go take a drive and just sit in the woods and cry.”

“Mom . . .” Now I feel terrible for even bringing it up. I reach for her hand, but she just squeezes it and gives me a smile.

“It’s fine, sweetie. Ancient history.”

“But that’s what I don’t understand. How could you ever take him back after what he put you through?”

“Because he asked.” Mom’s expression is still calm. “I lost my best friend, but he lost me too. Whatever he thought he was getting into . . . well, it didn’t come close to what the two of us had. And once he realized what he was losing . . . he came to his senses again.”

I sigh, still confused. “Just like that, you took him back.”

She looks at me wryly. “Don’t think I made it easy on him. I was spitting mad, hurt, betrayed. I didn’t know if I could ever trust him again. But he promised to do whatever it took. We went to couples counseling, and it was months before I even let him back in the house. It was work,” she admits. “To rebuild after such a betrayal and let go of my anger. It took a long time to move past it, and even longer to forgive him.”

“So how?” I ask again, my emotions still so tangled up and confused. “He broke your heart. He betrayed us both. But you still found a way to forgive him in the end.”

My mom sighs. “I know you think I was just being weak—” I start to argue, but she stops me. “It’s OK, sweetie, I know. You haven’t forgiven him, and that’s your right. He hurt you too. But I stand by my choice. He’s the love of my life,” she says, matter of fact. “And some things are worth fighting for.”

We sit in silence for a moment as I think over her words. I was hoping she’d have something more for me: concrete advice, a handy how-to-forgive guide. Foolish, I know. I guess however old you get, you never grow out of hoping that your mom will have the answers to everything. But instead, she made it sound different: a simple choice. To be with him, or not.

Which life she wanted more in the end.

Mom pats my hand. “Your father will be home soon. Let’s go put dinner on.”

I follow her inside the house again. This isn’t the home I grew up in, with creaking floorboards and clutter everywhere. It’s sleeker and new, with polished countertops and a kitchen that’s white and clean. “Is that why you moved?” I ask, suddenly thinking of something. “To make it a fresh start, away from all those bad memories?”

Mom nods. She opens the gleaming refrigerator and pulls out a package of chicken and an armful of vegetables. “It was part of my conditions, that we would move, and he’d find a different job. Away from her. But yes, I knew we couldn’t ever go back, so we needed to build something new together. And we have.”

She passes me a stack of potatoes and I rinse my hands and start peeling. It’s good to focus on a task like this, while my mind turns over everything she’s said. Will moved on too: he packed up and came hundreds of miles for a fresh start. So what am I still so hurt about: that he had a life—and love—I know nothing about, or the idea that one day, he might want a fresh start from me, too?

“So are you going to tell me what’s going on with Will?”

I shake my head. I’m not ready just yet—not when I still don’t know what I want her to tell me to do.

“I’ve been worried about you, you know.”

I look up. “What? That I’ll die alone?”

“No.” She gives me an indulgent smile. “That you’ll miss out, you won’t open yourself up to love. I know you’re independent,” she continues quickly, “and I’m proud of that, both me and your father are. But watching you act like these relationships don’t matter, that it’s all just fun and games . . .” She sighs. “I want more than that for you, I want you to have everything. A real partner, somebody to love, and support you, and build a life. I thought that maybe Will—” She stops, catching the stricken look on my face. “Never mind.”

I feel a lump in my throat. “He lied to me,” I say softly, concentrating on the vegetables. “He kept a whole part of his life hidden. I know it’s not the same as what Dad did, but it still feels like a betrayal. He’s sorry now, I know he is, but . . . how can I trust him again?”

I look up at her, tears pooling in my eyes. She puts the oven mitts down and comes to me, pulling me into a warm, comforting hug.

“Oh, baby. Only you can make that choice.” She holds me close. “Only you know if he’s the one worth fighting for.”



I don’t stay for dinner; I hit the road back to Oak Harbor instead. It’s getting later, and the miles blur outside the windscreen, my emotions still storming in my chest. Everything Mom said has only confused me even more.