Marriage of Inconvenience(Knitting in the City Book #7)(107)

“But it’s not that. I mean, it is that. He has been sick, he hasn’t recognized me in years, but it’s also . . .” I shook my head, feeling frustrated.

“Can I ask, and tell me to back off here if I’m overstepping. I never seem to know when I’m overstepping. But from the outside, from our conversations this last week, and the way you’ve avoided talking about your childhood, it seems like maybe your dad wasn’t very nice to you. Is that right?”

I met her gaze, saying nothing.

It didn’t feel right to pass judgment on the dead, or speak ill of my father. He was my father, and I wanted to honor him. I wanted to think he’d done the best he could given difficult circumstances.

On the other hand, I also wanted to believe, even if I were faced with similar circumstances, that I would make different, better choices. That no matter how busy I was, I’d never treat my children with indifference.

She gave me an understanding smile. “Now I’m going to give you unsolicited advice, which—if you’re anything like my kids—you’ll ignore. And that’s fine. But I like giving it anyway.”

“Okay.” I returned her smile, seriously doubting her kids ignored her advice.

“You can’t make yourself feel something for a person if it’s not there. Trust me, I have firsthand experience with this.” She gave a little laugh, it sounded self-deprecating.

“You felt that way? About someone?”

“Uh, no. Not quite.” She glanced at her plate, a sudden sadness claiming her features. She buried the feelings quickly, sighing. “What I’m saying is, whether they’re alive and well, or dead, or dying, trying to force a connection with someone is like trying to light rain on fire. And feeling badly about your lack of emotion, filling that void with guilt, is a waste of time and destructive, not only to you, but to those who care about you. So, if you can’t bring yourself to mourn his passing, maybe, instead, mourn the relationship you wished you’d had with your father, so you can let him go.”

We sat in silence for a minute, her words of wisdom ringing in my ears. I latched on to the idea that I could mourn the relationship I wished we’d had. Then at least I’d be mourning something. I’d spent the week trying to locate my grief, whereas my thoughts had gravitated anywhere and everywhere else:

What was Caleb up to? Where was he? What sinister plan was next on his agenda?

What would happen at the reading of the will? Would there be any surprises? Would the transition be seamless? Or would the company suffer? And what could I do to minimize potential instability?

And, of course, there was Dan.

Sigh.

“Well.” Eleanor stood, the movement startling me and yanking me from my thoughts. I watched as she moved to the sink with her dishes, her steps shuffling, like she was out of energy.

“No.” I stood, inserting myself in front of the sink. “Let me do those. You relax.”

“Maybe it makes me terrible, but I’m not going to turn you down.” She yawned, giving me another hug before she backed away.

“Why don’t you go change? I’ll finish making the tea.”

She nodded tiredly, her hand covering her mouth as she yawned again. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll be right back.”

I washed and dried the remaining dishes, putting them away and busied myself straightening up the rest of the kitchen while my thoughts invariably returned to Dan.

Yesterday, just after my impromptu therapy session with Dr. Kasai had ended and I’d gone to the study so we could talk, Dan received a call from Alex. I watched as he’d sent it to voicemail, placing his phone on the table so we could finish our discussion.

I couldn’t even explain it to myself, but something about him sending the call to voicemail had sent a thrill from the base of my spine up my neck, around my heart, to my forehead, and behind my eyes.

Like nothing else, Dan sending the call to voicemail had made me feel like I was important. To him.

And that was probably nuts, because he’d already done so much for me, so many big things. He’d married me. He’d opened his home to me. He’d rearranged his life. He’d made me part of his family. Huge, sweeping, selfless deeds I could never hope to repay.

Sending the call to voicemail wasn’t a grand gesture. It was an everyday, likely unthinking, demonstration of his priorities.

It took my breath away.

See? Nuts.

And then, Dan had looked at me and said, “Let me know if you want to take the lead, or if you want me to.”

Another grand gesture.

No pressure, no thought for himself.

And in that moment, I was arrested by a single thought.

I’m falling in love with him.