Page 61 of 10 Signs You Need to Grovel

There’s no other way to describe her. But Olivia. Except Olivia. The perpetual thorn in my side. She’s blocking my path, her face more stoic and intense than her usual rabid-for-more-dirt expression. “I have my question.”

“I don’t have time for today’s interrogation.”

I’ve avoided her until now. Busy, busy, busy. Explaining today’s activity to the group, while stressing over telling Max I’m his dad. Dodging her proximity by chatting with the other kids, while stressing over telling Max I’m his dad. But Olivia. It was only a matter of time.

She fiddles with one of her many bracelets. “Fine. If you’re busy or whatever.” She sighs. “I’ll just double down next time.”

Not fine. There’s a vulnerability to her tone I’m not used to. Her usual lioness flair is nowhere in that sad sigh. “Changed my mind. Ask now, but make it quick.”

“Really?”

“Time’s a-tickin’.”

“So. Um.” Accelerated bracelet twirling. “Did you forgive your dad after he hurt you and your family?”

Wow. Okay. I scrub my hand over my mouth, unsure how to navigate this familial land mine. Olivia must be struggling with her feelings toward her dad, torn between hating him for hurting her mom and maybe missing him. I mean, the guy’s certainly not in line for any Man of the Year award. Cheating on your wife with her best friend is harsh. Still.

I crouch on my heels, lowering closer to her height. “Forgiveness depends on a lot of factors.”

She digs her toe into the ground. “Such as?”

“Well, my dad was a good enough dad growing up. We weren’t super close, and we fought plenty, but he showed up to some of my football games and helped me with homework from time to time.” The basics of being a father. Never above and beyond, but he was present, any of his good intentions crushed under his irrevocable actions. “While I have some solid memories of him from my childhood, what he did later was worse. The bad outweighed the good.”

“So you didn’t forgive him?”

Not unless fantasizing about tying his tortured body to train tracks counts as forgiveness. “I didn’t, but that’s a case-by-case situation. If, for example, we’re talking about a guy who cheated on his wife with his wife’s best friend . . .”

She makes an irritated noise. “Way to be subtle.”

“Not going for subtlety, squirt.”

“Do not call me squirt.”

“As I was saying, in your situation, you need to weigh a bunch of stuff. Was he a good dad to you before? Has he tried to apologize since? Will staying mad at him hurt more or less than forgiving him? Forgiveness is a big ask, but not forgiving someone is sometimes harder. Sits with you in a rougher way.”

I see that roughness with Lennon. He may be the Bower jokester, quick to cover his discomfort with humor. Smiles and jazz hands at work. But I’d bet part of the reason he never grew out of his ish personality is because he was closest with Dad. The only Bower boy who fished with him. The one who was never on Dad’s bad side, the two of them often in cahoots. I used to be jealous of them, unsure what I did or didn’t do to miss out on the dad-son bond. Probably lashed out a time or twenty because of it.

Lennon, though. I’m guessing he’s felt displaced in a different way since WITSEC, unsure how to forgive Raymond S. Bower, the father who singled him out as worthy, while still being furious with him.

As trying as Olivia is, I’d hate for her to lose her fire and become ish.

“At the very least,” I tell her as I stand, “hear your dad out. Don’t make any rash decisions. Also, I charge for advice by the minute. If you need more, it’ll cost you, and I take payment in silence.”

She replies with one of her this-adult-is-so-not-cool eye rolls and trudges off. For some reason, I smile. Now it’s time to steal my last minutes with Max, before he needs to blackmail an adult to ask similar probing questions, including the zinger, Should I forgive my dad for lying to me?

Carter and Jun are tossing rocks into the creek, making pew-pew sound effects again. I don’t know how I got lucky enough to have a kid who doesn’t make pew-pew noises constantly. Small mercies. Max is with Zoey and Jasmine, the three of them glued to their phones. While the phone time would normally annoy me, their eager faces and busy thumbs do the opposite. Not only have I allowed them to use their phones on today’s hike, but I’ve made it part of the activity.

Their task has been to snap pictures of as many birds and butterflies as possible. We’ll tally them at the end and decipher which species we caught. Since bribery still motivates the heathens, I told them there was a prize for the kid who snaps the widest variety of species. They’ve been nature paparazzi the whole hike.

I could interrupt them, ask Max to attend our planned book club meeting. Discuss Divergent and which faction we’d each be in, while I silently plead with him to not freak out later at my impending confession. But he’s smiling and laughing with the girls. Seems he’s really coming out of his shell with Jasmine and Zoey, having fun the way kids should be having fun. I don’t have the heart to take him away from that.

I join Sadie instead. She’s leaning against a tree, looking relaxed, watching the water meander around rocks. I lean on the opposite side, anything but relaxed.

“Butterfly!” Jasmine calls. They all clamber to get shots, falling over one another, ending with Max on the ground, Zoey with one foot in the creek, and Olivia with her phone punched up in the air, yelling, “Got it!”

Sadie knocks her foot against mine. “You planned another fantastic hike.”

I grunt.