Goddamn it. I was an idiot. Blind to the most obvious thing any other man would have instantly realized from his woman. I knew Mandy was in trouble. She acted distant, was sick with stress. She guarded herself as best she could against my charm, but I'd never met a woman I couldn't seduce.
We hadn't moved too fast, I just never stopped to see what she needed along the way.
And it was me.
Or I thought it was.
I drove until I had no other place to go. Then I pulled into my parents' driveway.
It was late, but the light in the study was on. Dad said he prayed better at night, but he still enforced a strict silence during the day when Mom and I were home.
The curtains stirred. I had a key for emergencies, but I never used it. As far as I was concerned, I escaped the house. That severed all ties.
Except now.
Figured.
I knocked. Dad answered after a moment. He stood in the doorway, somehow colder than the door itself. I matched his scowl.
It was a mistake to come here.
"Nathan." Dad's voice rang with condescension. "Would you like to come in?"
Any other father would have extended the invitation as a means to console an obviously troubled son. Not my father. His sneer was vindicating, as though he expected this moment. He'd always warned me of my errant ways and womanizing.
Except Pastor Kensington wasn't afraid for my mortal soul. He wanted to make sure our good name wasn't marred by my indiscretions.
So he'd probably love this.
I accepted the invitation inside, but I lurked in the entryway like a stranger. I followed him to his study. Nothing had changed there. No dust. Not a spec of anything out of place. The only clutter he permitted was his Bible, and even that was for show.
He sat behind his desk with a brand new laptop, probably purchased through the church. The silence crackled.
"Where's Mom?" I asked.
"Asleep, as most decent people are at this hour." Dad didn't blink. "Why is my son out so late?"
"I got news."
"News? You don't call your mother. You don't attend church. You don't respect me. What makes you think I'm interested in your news?"
"You'll find out sooner rather than later. Probably best if it's sooner."
"Then perhaps you should start with an apology to your honored father?" Dad always was a stickler for humility. "Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son."
I gritted my teeth. "Luke 15:21."
"Very good."
"I'm not the prodigal son returning."
"Of course you aren't. So why are you here?"
I sucked in a breath. "Mandy Prescott is pregnant."
Dad didn't blink. "Yours?"
"Yes."
If he was surprised, he hid it well. I didn't look away, meeting his green eyes. Mom always said we looked alike, but the similarities ended there.
"Marry the girl."
I knew it was coming. "I tried. She refused."
"Try again. This is important. Both of our families are respected in this community. I'd hate to think what a scandal like this would cause."
"It's not a scandal. It's 2016. People get knocked-" I hated to say it. "These things happen."
"Not to Kensingtons."
"Even to us, Dad. We're not untouchable."
"No thanks to you. I've dealt with your misbehavior and foolishness long enough, Nathan. You've brought nothing but shame upon this family, and now you've caused more. Have you any idea what people will say about this? My own son, getting a woman into trouble? A Prescott?"
I stiffened. "What's her family got to do with it? They're members of your church."
"It's not her family, son. Use your head. She's a … and your … "
I knew my father, and I expected that, but it still pissed me off. "That's my child you're talking about."
"Don't pretend to be attached to something you didn't know existed an hour ago."
"Who cares how long I've known?" I stood. "Since when does it matter what color my baby is?"
"Do you care nothing for the reputation of this family?"
I might have breathed fire. Every breath strained my lungs. "I care about Mandy. I care about my baby. And if you were a real father, you'd understand."
"Sit down before you wake the neighborhood … or perhaps we should. Does her mother know?"
"No."
"Well, I should be delighted that I'm the first to hear of this wonderful blessing." He frowned. "You have ruined yourself and that girl. You must make it right, Nathan. Marry her."
"I tried," I said. "She doesn't want to marry me."
Dad snorted. "And why would she? Not like your reputation has been anything but disgraceful. I've known Amanda Prescott for some time, Nathan, and she is not a girl who would throw her future away on someone undeserving. And you have proven that you are a man who only seeks sinful pleasure. You've refused to take responsibility for anything in your life."
I gritted my teeth. "What are you talking about? I left home at eighteen and started a business. No college. No help from you. I'm goddamned responsible. And successful. I pay my bills, my employees, and I could open a new location if I wanted."
"There's more to becoming a man than generating wealth," Dad said. "You've created a life, but you've shown absolutely no maturity or responsibility towards the woman who carries it. You're right. In this day and age, it is not uncommon for people to find themselves in these troubles, just as it is not necessary for a woman to wed because of pregnancy."
"You said I had to marry her."
"She as a right to refuse you, as well she should. You've never given her proof that you'd make a good father or husband." Dad looked away. "It is a quality women want, and it's the true mark of a man. Don't make the same mistakes I did."
Dad said nothing else on the subject, and I doubted he ever would.
"Mandy's afraid of marriage and relationships now," I said. "Everyone's divorcing or unhappy, and she has no faith in it anymore."
"Perhaps it's time for you to become a man and show her how a true marriage could last. Do you care for her?"
No reason to lie. "Yes."
"Then why are you here in the middle of the night talking to me?"
I looked up. Dad folded his hands, not to pray, but to act. Kensington men never shied from a fight.
"You have a chance to fix this, Nathan. Not only for yourself, but so you don't ruin the good name of both our families."
"Believe me. I'm not doing it for this family."
"Then whose are you helping?" Dad asked.
"My own."
20
Mandy
Taking the flowers from Great Aunt Mildred's funeral wasn't stealing.
Was it?
Technically, I planned to borrow them. The family knew she loved white flowers, and the funeral parlor crammed was full of lilies and orchids and roses and everything else that, quite frankly, was a little depressing.
Great Aunt Mildred didn't need the flowers anymore, and our florist didn't have enough time to deliver anything but red carnations. Lindsey hated red carnations.
So, for what I hoped would be the first, last, and only time in my life, I went grave-robbing. I borrowed the flowers from a dead woman and snuck out of the back of the funeral parlor with baskets, bouquets, and wreaths.
I might have felt bad, but it wasn't possible to think of myself as anything lower than the scum of the earth.
Because I was pretty sure that's what Nate thought of me too.
He hadn't called. I tried once, but I couldn't will the words out for a voice mail. Texting was just as horrible. I had no idea what to say, what to write.
How to fix it.
I loaded the flowers in the car and hurried to the church for the final wedding preparations and rehearsal … cheese and crackers? It wasn't even a dinner at this point. My great aunt's insulted spirit wouldn't have to haunt us to wreck the wedding. It was already a disaster.
And I wasn't sure how much energy I had left to pull us together.
I hopped out of the car and promptly broke the heel on my black shoes.
Yep. That was karma. They were my only pair for the night, and I hadn't brought a change of clothes. The mourning black dress seemed less sincere as I limped into the party with an armload of stolen-borrowed-funeral flowers.
I set the bundle on the card tables haphazardly sprawled across the church's back lawn. The bridal party hustled to set up chairs, finalize the seating chart, write out name tags, string the lights and load the premade food into the fellowship hall.
Mom and Dad screamed at each other, though I had no idea what the family vacation from 1999 had to do with stringing crepe paper between rows of off center chairs. The Washingtons and Rick struggled with a busted ladder and a strand of flickering Christmas lights.
Lindsey surveyed the yard in yoga pants and white pumps, trying to break in her shoes and memorize pitted places in the grass. Bryce followed behind, discretely searching the ground too, but for something smaller than potential divots …