She shrugged. “He’s an art dealer who went to the same painting class as me half a year ago. About portraits.”
Fuck.
She shrugged. “He said he loved my painting, and I showed him my collection. He said the same thing you’ve been telling me for years, that I should have an exhibition and sell them. And you know what, I’m doing it. He’s helping.” She giggled. “In New York, of all places!”
Konnor groaned. Fear gripped him in ice-cold vise. “You’re not serious.”
She blinked. “All right, all right. Calm down. I’m not moving in with Mark or anything. But we’ve been dating for six months now.”
“Dating for six months, and you’re only telling me now?”
“Because I feel like it’s only now gotten serious. While you were away in Scotland, we took a trip to Vegas. Mark’s very respectful and sweet and…”
She’d left town with a man he hadn’t even met while he was out the country? No wonder she hadn’t been worried her son hadn’t called.
His blood pulsed hotly in his temples. She was about to give him a heart attack. “Sweet? But after Jerry—”
She stood up and propped her hands against her waist. “No, Konnor. You don’t get to bring up Jerry now. I learned my lesson. I went through therapy. It was fourteen years ago, son.”
“And I still cannot forgive myself for letting him hurt you like that.”
She stilled, wide-eyed. Something he hadn’t seen on her face for a very long time appeared. Guilt.
“You? Forgive yourself? You were a boy, Konnor. Nothing about that situation was your fault. What could you have done?”
They had never spoken about it. Not while Jerry was alive, not after he died. But it hung on Konnor like heavy weight. The guilt.
“Something. Tell someone. Call the police.”
“I told you not to.”
“Still. I should have been stronger.”
“No, Konnor.” She took his face in both her hands. “I should have. Do you hear me? It’s on me. On the grown-up. I should have left him and protected both you and me.”
Tears welled in her eyes, and his chest tightened. She let him go and sat on the chair, taking a big sip of her wine with a shaky hand.
“Actually, it’s something I’ve talked with Mark about. He understands me because he, too, comes from a home where his father beat him.”
A spasm contracted Konnor’s stomach.
“But despite that,” Mom continued, “he’s a wonderful father, because he never wants his children to go through what he went through. I met his ex-wife. Actually, she owns the gallery in New York, and they’re very amicably divorced. Mark and I, we’re both victims of abuse.” Her voice shook. “And so are you, honey.”
Konnor jumped off his chair. It was too painful to listen to this, too shocking. He wanted to erase these words from his memory and not hear a word of it again. His mom was moving on. Either that, or she was making the biggest mistake of her life. Hadn’t she learned that love only ended in pain?
He paced along the kitchen island, clenching and unclenching his fists in an attempt to relieve the tension in his shoulders and arms.
“But how do you know he’s not going to be just like Jerry?”
She straightened her back and raised her chin. “You’re right. I don’t know it for sure yet. But I’m also not jumping into anything like I did with Jerry. I’m taking it slow. I’m looking after myself.”
She looked at the napkin with seashell patterns and shifted it on the table so that it lined up perfectly with the middle of the plate. When she met his eyes, Konnor felt as though a goddamn spear was ripping into his chest.
“I should’ve been strong enough to leave Jerry,” she said, “and not put us both through hell. But I am stronger now. I will recognize the signs of a violent man if they appear.” She lifted her brows. “Unlike then, I don’t need a man. And I’m not in a rush to move in with someone or anything. My life is great as it is.” She cocked her head and smiled. “I’m happy with myself, Konnor. I have you, my wonderful son. But you have your own life to live, and I’m closer to the end of mine.”
“Mom! You’re not even sixty.”
“Yeah, and I’m sure I have many more great years ahead, and I want to enjoy them to the fullest. You’re grown. You don’t need me. Maybe my art exhibition will be a hit, and I’ll finally get out of your hair and earn my own money doing something I love. Wouldn’t you like that for me?”
Yeah. His feeling had been right. His mom was moving on. Everything was changing. Except him. Was he clinging on to issues that were no longer there? Did his mom no longer need him?
A dark, bottomless wound throbbed in the middle of him. The only thing that would make the ache go away would be to get on the next flight to Scotland, find that ruin, and travel back through time to take his Highland Queen in his arms and never let her go.
He leaned against the kitchen island top, the black granite cool against his heated palms. “Of course, I’d love for you to be happy. But I need to make sure the guy is good for you. I won’t forgive myself if anything bad ever happens again. Safety comes before any infatuation.”
“Infatuation?” she said, looking puzzled.
“Yeah. Infatuation. What else can be there after a couple of months of knowing each other?”
She smiled. “Six months. And it’s more serious than infatuation. Here.” She shifted towards the tablet. “Let me introduce you. Please?”
Konnor’s nostrils flared. Everything within him screamed against it. He was worried for her. He hated the man already. He sighed. The guy was in his mom’s life, and it was Konnor’s job to make sure she was safe.
“Okay. But if I sense even a hint of violence in him…”
“Then what?”
“You’ll break up with him, that’s what. I’m not risking your health and your safety.”
She rolled her eyes. “It’s not for you to decide.” She unlocked the screen and called a Mark Campbell on Skype.
Campbell?
While the tablet rung, Konnor’s stomach roiled with a strange sensation of déjà vu. Campbell was no doubt a modern version of Marjorie’s clan name, Cambel.
“Does he live in New York?” Konnor murmured.
“No, L.A., but he’s in New York to set up the exhibition for me next week.”
“Next week? Were you even planning to invite me?”
The screen went live. “Hello!” a male voice said.
Staring at Mark’s face, Konnor sat completely still.
Tamhas looked back at him from the screen, only sixty years old, and with his long hair completely white. He even had the same white stubble on his chin, and intense gray eyes.
“Hold on,” Mark Campbell said, and the background behind him shifted. “Let me find a calm spot. Ah here, the back of the gallery will do.” He looked at Konnor and his mom and smiled. “Hello, Helen. Hello, Konnor. Nice to finally meet you.”
He had a bright, pleasant simile. Wise eyes. Calmness and peace radiated from him.
“Hi,” Konnor said, stupefied.
“Hi, honey,” his mom said.