“Nothing, of course. Nothing at all. But you’re a success, honey. You’ve always seemed happy to me.”
My mom’s apparent aversion to therapy disturbs me. What exactly is going on?
“I’m happy enough, but that’s not what therapy’s always about, Mom. There are some things I don’t understand about myself. Things I want to understand.”
“Oh, God.” She quickly fills the dough with apples and throws them onto another greased cookie sheet. Then she sits next to me. “I hoped this wouldn’t happen.”
Apprehension edges into me. “What are you talking about? You don’t want me in therapy?”
“No, that’s not what I mean. If you need therapy, I definitely want you in therapy. I just always hoped…”
“Hoped what? What exactly are we talking about here?”
She bites her lower lip. “Where do you think your father went for those months?”
“Honestly? I assume he had an affair.”
“Oh?” Mom cocks her head. Is she surprised?
“If you just tell me, I’ll know.”
She shakes her head. “I can’t.”
“For God’s sake—”
I jump at the doorbell.
Braden. Braden is here, just when I’m making some headway with my mother. I rise to answer the door. “This isn’t over,” I tell her. “Not by a long shot. He’s leaving tonight to go to New York, but I’m here for the rest of the week.”
Braden doesn’t smile when I open the door, but he does seem relaxed, which is a good thing.
“Good morning,” he says as he walks in. He kisses me chastely on the cheek.
“Good morning. My mom has a treat for you. Homemade apple turnovers.”
He inhales. “Is that what I smell? Sounds delicious.”
“Plus bacon and eggs. And strong coffee.”
“Perfect.” He follows me into the kitchen. “Good morning, Maggie.”
My mother pastes a smile on her face, though she’s not fooling me. Something’s got her freaked.
“Good morning, Braden,” she says. “Please, have a seat. I’ll get you a cup of coffee. Cream and sugar?”
“Just black. Thank you.”
Mom sets a cup in front of him. “Turnovers will be out in five minutes. How do you like your eggs?”
“Scrambled,” Braden and I reply in unison.
“Scrambled it is.” She turns back to the stove and takes four eggs from the carton.
I feel like I’m sitting on a block of ice. What have my parents been keeping from me all these years? But next to me sits Braden, the man I adore, looking scrumptious in jeans and a blue button-down the exact color of his eyes. I’m fraught with ambivalence. My body doesn’t know how to react. Braden’s nearness warms me, makes me feel all mushy inside. But my discussion with Mom has me frigid, ready to either fight or take flight.
Perhaps my father didn’t have an affair. That should please me. But all I really know is that my mother has to confer with my father before telling me anything.
Which makes me think it can only be bad.
Chapter Seventeen
“When do you fly out?” I ask Braden when we’ve both cleaned our breakfast plates.
“Not until five p.m. I’ve got a car meeting me at the hotel at two thirty.”
“Okay. What would you like to do until then?”
His gaze burns into me.
Yeah, I know the answer.
“Not here,” I say under my breath, though I don’t need to be so cautious. My mother escaped the kitchen as soon as she served breakfast. She’s freaked out in a major way. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen her like this before.
Except maybe…
Fragmented images float through my head. My mother. My father. Me. But they’re like puzzles missing that one essential piece that remains elusive no matter how hard I look for it.
“Show me around,” Braden says.
“Why? You’ve seen the house. And the cornfields are huge, but if you see one acre, you’ve seen them all.”
He reaches toward me, trails a finger over my forearm. “Show me a certain part of it.”
“What part?”
“The part where you got lost.”
Again I’m sitting on that damned block of ice. I never ventured so far into the fields after that time. I haven’t given it any thought in ages—at least not until I told Braden the story a few weeks ago.
But maybe this is important. Maybe I need to face that part of me to understand the other parts. I swallow. “All right. I’ll take you there.”
I’m an adult now. I’m not seven years old. I’m taller than the corn, and even if I’m not, Braden certainly is. We won’t get lost.
He touches my hand. “You’re frightened.”
“Not frightened exactly. A little apprehensive.”
“Why?”
“Why do you think?”
“You’ve never gone back there, have you?”
My eyes widen. “How did you know that?”
“You got rigid. Tense at the mere thought.”
“You can tell that by looking at me?”
“Of course. I know you, Skye. Sometimes I think I know you better than you know yourself.” He looks toward the entry and then lowers his voice. “I have to know my partner. I have to be able to read her body when she can’t speak to me. It’s part of the lifestyle. Part of how I keep you safe.”
His words give me hope. “Will we ever get back there, Braden?”
“I hope so,” he says, “because I don’t think I can exist without that part of my life.”
“You mean last night didn’t mean anything for you?”
“Last night meant everything to me. It was completely new to me, and I wanted it with you. But I can’t deny I still crave the darker side of sex. I always will. And if you and I can’t go there, I’m afraid there’s no future for us.”
Sadness sweeps through me. “We can go there, Braden. You’re the one who stopped it, not me.”
“True. But as long as you have that need—for the neck binding—I can’t be with you. That’s why I need you to figure out why you want it. That’s the only way we can deal with it, but until you know the reason behind that need, you’ll always want something I can’t give you. And that’s no way to begin a relationship. To begin a future together.”