Page 82 of Secondhand Secrets
Whatever his dad felt, it wasn’t grief over his youngest child moving. No. His dad wouldn’t know what grief was. The man having failed to show any anguish in the wake of his divorce.
Meanwhile, Ally and I were together for mere weeks, and her absence hurts more than anything I’ve experienced.
He reached the stair’s top landing and went straight to his room, nothing left of his belongings beside one large box and a sports bag packed with clothes. He’d be at Greg’s apartment soon enough. Maybe not as glamorous or big as this house but far friendlier with more room for independence. He’d stay for a few weeks, make decisions on a few new opportunities in town, then settle on a permanent home elsewhere.
Though the sports bag weighed heavy on one shoulder, he aimed for a short and final journey downstairs, adding to his burden by hefting the last box in his hands too. Very soon, this part of his life would be over forever.
He should have left right away. Shouldn’t have cared about rushing his escape. But once again, he paused. This time to take one slow and sweeping glance of his room.
Ten years of memories here. Not all bad, but not amazing either. A room that had kept him far from the girl destined to become the woman he loved. The woman others had suggested would be lucky to have him. A woman to show him he’d been the one lacking and fortunate all along.
And she’d unceremoniously dumped him. Of course, she had.
A deep heat filled the space under his ribs, prodding him to think over what coming to this city would have been like for her. To enter this home. To meet his father. To attend an event surrounded by his peers.
As much as he wanted to blame her for not trying hard enough, truth was, she had tried. She’d tried more than him. She’d pushed past her comfort zone, then pushed right back when none of it fit. Fight over. Decision made. He wasn’t enough.
He slammed his eyes shut and bowed his head, lowering the box to press his fingers to the bridge of his nose. All those times he’d bowed to the pressure of justifying her presence in his life when his affection for her alone should have been enough.
He’d sat beside her and hadn’t truly been there for her. For all his supposed perfection, he was the royal screw up here. So yes, he wasn’t enough.
He let out a sigh and abandoned another self-punishing moment to open his eyes. To move on. To pick up that final box again and get the hell out of here. Down the stairs. Gaze pointed forward. Diminishing his dad’s presence in the living room in favor of the front door just yards away.
“Your mother was the first to ask for a divorce.”
Chip stopped, his dad’s voice reverberating through the foyer, somehow breaking and adding to the existing tension all at once. All these years, Chip had been led to believe his dad was the one to end his marriage.
Even though he didn’t know why, box still clutched to his chest, Chip turned to focus on his dad. “You mean, after you cheated on her with Kelly?”
“No, Son.” His dad shook his head, slow and sure. “Long before then.”
His dad’s stare, though unwavering as always, held a weary edge—the lines around his eyes deeper, his skin somewhat gray. And still, years of animosity warned Chip not to mine for more detail. “And you’re telling me right at this moment because?”
He offered a flat stare, suggesting his dad shouldn’t answer, already turning to step away.
“I begged for more time and tried to make things work. We both tried, Chip. We tried until we couldn’t anymore.” Again, his dad’s words held Chip captive, his direct approach often successful at maintaining calm in difficult situations. At gaining people’s instant trust and attention.
But Chip didn’t want to be like most people, and he flicked his gaze to the eminent front door. He’d accumulated enough regret of late and had no way of predicting if or when he’d speak to his dad again.
“If that’s true”—he re-focused on his dad and narrowed his eyes, making it clear he still wasn’t convinced—“why was she so torn apart after you left?”
“You think your mother’s breakdown was all about me?” His dad’s lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze doing an uncharacteristic dip. “Do you know what it’s like to have plans for your life, and no matter how much you grasp at them, they crumble and slip through your fingers?”
Chip frowned, the tight defense in his body melting a little. “I do now.”
He’d vowed to ignore his dad, to move on and out as quickly as possible, but now he lowered the box to the floor and embraced the delay while he worked to reframe a decade’s worth of memories and hard feelings.
With recent experience in how a breakup could be more about circumstance than the couple involved, he strangely related to his dad’s new offering. How could it be that Chip had glimpsed a future he’d wanted so badly, only to now face the impossible task of getting on with life? To never hear from the one he wanted to hear from most. To pretend his heart didn’t live in another state entirely—his woman in Harlow busy painting plant pots, content with the decision she’d made.
Even though she’d also wanted some other ending.
Still, he pushed away from his present issues and returned to gathering more information on his past. “How does Kelly factor into all this?”
“Your mom and I, we wasted a lot of years making excuses for each other. Just trying to make things work.” His dad’s lips bent into a frown, his gaze still low, and his brows pressed into a thick and heavy line above his eyes. Chip had never seen him look so pensive. “If I ever gave you the impression I dislike Harlow, it’s because I do. And I know you think I look down on the people there simply because they’re small-town folk, but that’s not the case. I begrudge those people because they’re the reason we held on so long. That and their preoccupation with gossip and maintaining a social vacuum where no one is allowed to step out of line. Your mom’s family, they had ancient history in that town, with all the expectation and scrutiny that brings. Can you imagine being the newcomer in all of that? Having to maintain the image of a perfect, happy family when you’re anything but? I had no one to turn to or talk to, not without risking everyone else finding out about our troubles. Harlow was a pressure cooker for us. ”
“You’ve never given the impression of someone who wanted to talk.” Even as new understanding seeped through, Chip let out a scoff. “Hell, you made me maintain a greater air of perfection here than when I lived in Harlow.”
His dad’s gaze flicked back up to him, pausing a moment before he replied, “Maybe I went about building some resilience in you in the wrong way.”