Page 35 of These Secret Years

“It’s just a question,” he says—too simply.

“Um…when I was six, my parents separated for a while. I thought they were gonna get a divorce. They fought a lot and talked about who I was going to live with, even sat me down and asked who I wanted. I remember I couldn’t even talk because I was crying so hard.”

“But they didn’t get a divorce?”

I shake my head. “They worked it out in therapy. I never asked what made it get so bad, but whatever it was, they were able to come back from it.”

“What do you think it was?” Sullivan asks.

“It’s just speculation.”

“Yeah. I get it. Speculate.”

“Well, if one of them actually had an affair, I don’t think they’d still be married. But if one of them was maybe talking to someone online or maybe watching too much porn—I feel like that might have caused a rift.”

He huffs. “Yeah, I can see why you wouldn’t want any more details on that.”

“Exactly. I assume you’re not gonna tell me the worst thing that’s ever happened to you.”

“Why would you assume that? I mean, you’re a hundred percent right, but why assume?”

“Because mine wasn’t all that bad in the scheme of things and given what we were talking about before you changed the subject again, I’m guessing yours was worse.”

“It’s all relative, isn’t it? I’ve had a lot of shitty things happen to me. My dad’s a drug addict.”

“Oh.”

“And he and my mom are divorced, but I count that as a good thing. Not the addiction part, but the divorce for sure.”

“Do you talk to him?” I ask.

“Some. He’s not a terrible person or anything. He’s predictable anyway. Always asks for money. Always apologizes.”

It’s obvious by now that he’s finished with his half a hot dog bun, but as difficult as this conversation is, I’m not ready to end it. I stand up and clear his plate. “Want to go out back?”

“Why?”

“Fresh air.”

“I’m not sure the porch can support your weight,” he jokes.

There were some rotten planks when I walked around the house earlier, but for the most part, the wooden deck is holding its own. “Come on.” I grab the same two cushions we were using earlier off the couch and head to the back door, hoping he’ll follow.

He does with the rest of the beers.

Once we’re on the deck, I drop the cushions side by side and sit facing the lake where the remains of the sunset turn the water a light violet. Out here, away from any big cities, all the stars will be visible soon. Currently Venus shines the brightest near the horizon across the lake.

I sit, and Sullivan sits next to me, handing me a fresh beer. “It’s weird not being alone here,” he says after a few minutes where we sip our drinks and don’t say anything.

“Sorry about that.” Am I, though? Not really. Although he might be the only person in the world I’d rather be with here than alone.

“Thanks for not calling the cops,” he says.

“Thanks for hanging out.”

“Any particular reason you wanted me to?”

It’s another question that catches me off guard. And it’s another moment I have to consider how intensely interesting I find him. How beautiful. How attracted I am to him. “No,” I lie, “But feel free to speculate.”