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A sob escaped Grams’s mouth, and Beck quickly looked over at her. She suddenly stood from the table and walked out of the room. Grandpa stood as well.
“It’s okay, you didn’t say anything wrong. Please excuse us a moment.”
Beck watched as Grandpa followed after Grams. He looked at my parents with a stricken expression. Daddy gave him a reassuring smile and shook his head. “Like Ty said, you didn’t do or say anything wrong. I think it all just hit too close for her.”
Beck looked at me, and I wanted more than anything to reach for his hand.
“Which part? Clearly, I must have said something?” Beck asked my father.
For a moment, Dad seemed to be choked up.
Bradly cleared his throat. “Uncle Beck didn’t like to fish.”
Dad finally found his voice. “He hated sushi as well. He loved to camp, and his favorite place to be in the world was sitting on top of a horse. You may have never known your father, Beck, but you’re the mini version of him in more ways than just your looks.”
“I’m sure it simply just brought up a lot of memories for Stella.”
Beck nodded. “This was why I wasn’t sure whether or not I should even come. The last thing I want to do is hurt anyone or cause them pain.”
“You’re not.”
All eyes swung to Grandpa, who was standing just inside the entrance to the dining room. “Beck, would you mind if the three of us spoke alone together? We can heat up our dinner in a bit.”
Beck stood. “I don’t mind at all, sir.”
Grandpa smiled and motioned for him to follow. I craned my neck to see where they were going. Most likely, Grandpa’s office.
“You’re going to fall out of that chair if you lean any farther, Avery,” my mother stated dryly.
I sat back in the chair and pushed the pasta around with my fork.
“That’s crazy that Beck has so much in common with Uncle Beck,” Bradly said as he looked over to my father.
Mackenzie, who’d been silent throughout the meal so far, finally spoke. “I don’t think so. You have many of the same traits, and even the same likes, as your father.”
“Yeah, but I grew up with my dad, so it makes sense. Beck didn’t know his father. It’s like it was bred into him or something.”
Mom set her fork down. “My best guess is at some point in Beck’s life, his mother most likely told him little things about his father. Maybe that he didn’t like fishing or sushi, and subconsciously he took on those same traits.”
Mackenzie nodded. “That makes sense.”
Dad looked at Mom. “Do you think the fruit dip is the same dip?”
She laughed. “I don’t know, but I’m sure he probably told Heather about it.”
“What dip?” I asked.
“The cream cheese fruit dip that Grams always makes and everyone goes crazy over,” Dad said with a grin. “One time, I think it was Beck and Ty Junior who took a bowl of it and went up to the loft above the barn and ate it all. They were so sick afterward.”
“I love that dip!” Bradly exclaimed. “I think we should make some later, Kenzie.”
Mackenzie smiled at him, then sobered. “I feel bad for Beck. I wonder why his mother chose not to tell him who his father was. I mean, I know she told him that his family was from Montana, but why not tell him everything?”
“I’m not sure, sweetheart,” Mom answered. “Only she knows the reasons why she kept information from him. A part of me wonders if she was afraid as well.”
“Of what?” I asked.
Mom and Dad exchanged a look before she focused back on me. “Sometimes when we lose someone we loved so dearly, we want to keep ourselves wrapped up in the memories we shared with that person. Heather might have been afraid to see the other side of Beck’s life. She may have been worried his parents wouldn’t like her, or maybe the thought of little Beck being hurt by possible rejection was something she couldn’t handle. I think the words her father put into her ear didn’t help. It sounds like he was the one who’d instilled doubt into Heather’s mind.”
“How do you think Uncle Brock, Ty, and Tanner will react?” I asked.
“Probably the same as Stella and Ty Senior, I’d imagine,” Dad replied.
We went back to eating. When it was clear that Beck, Grams, and Grandpa weren’t returning to eat, we all cleared the table. Mackenzie and my mother put the leftovers in containers while Bradly and I loaded the dishwasher. Dad had cleaned and dried off the pots before he put them away. Just as he finished, his phone buzzed.
He took one look at it and walked out of the kitchen.
“What was that all about?” I asked no one in particular.
Mom shrugged. “I’m not sure.”
