Chapter 17 The Addams Family #2
Without exchanging any words, I accepted the help.
Somehow, that simple concession on my part overwhelmed me more than the possibility of rolling down the hill ever could.
His palm was a warm, sturdy support that I probably clutched tighter than I should have.
I felt cold where our bodies didn’t touch.
“Just so you know,” he said. “I’ve always been sorry that I hurt you.
You were the last thing on my mind, and loving you as much as I did, maybe I should’ve considered your feelings a little, despite my rage.
However, Clive’s death was the only thing that would ever make me somewhat okay with my mother’s death. ”
We stood at the bottom of the hill. There was no place left to go in Tarrytown unless you jumped on the train or walked into the Hudson River. From here, we had to make a decision. Thaddeus removed his hand from my arm and looked at me.
“Where should we go?”
Thaddeus
I left Summer at home to rest and drove further up the hill to my house. Nothing could have prepared me for today. I was going to be a father to a little boy or girl. The woman I’d once loved, and now had a difficult relationship with, was carrying my baby.
I pushed the door open, and Aston stared at me. “Everything okay?”
“She’s pregnant,” I blurted out.
The elderly man smiled. “Well, you always wanted to have kids with Summer.”
I drew my eyebrows together. “Wait. What? How did you know I was talking about Summer?”
Aston looked like I’d insulted him by asking and just matter-of-factly answered, “It was always her.”
Leave it to him to say it so clearly. Who else would I marry? Who else would be the mother of my children but Summer Cohen?
After our brief chat, Aston left the room. I phoned my father. It seemed to take forever for him to answer, and by the time he did, I had forgotten my rehearsed speech, opting instead for: “You have a grandchild on the way.”
The silence went on for so long I wondered if he’d hung up.
“Are you kidding me?”
I took a deep breath before continuing. “No, I’m being serious. Summer is pregnant.”
I heard a loud thud through the phone. “Hello? Hello?”
A strange voice rang in my ears. “Your father fell. Oh, he’s coming to now.”
“Give me the damn phone,” I heard my father order, so I braced myself.
Breathing heavily, he composed himself. “Are you sure she’s pregnant?”
“She went to see a doctor this morning.”
The old man squealed, actually squealed. I pulled the phone away from my ears.
“Take her yourself and get confirmation . . . wait, will you marry her?”
Silence.
“Yes.”
Silence.
“It’s your life. As long as I get my grandbaby, and you have control of the shares, do whatever you want to do.” As if he were reading my mind, Father added, “I’ll deal with Melissa and her father.”
I released a long-held breath. Good. It was him who got me into this, so he should get me out of it. I’d be happy never to cross paths with Melissa again. Summer had done me a huge favor in that respect.
After calling my sister and breaking the news to her, Henry was next to be told.
He coughed and spluttered for what felt like five whole minutes. “You knocked Summer up?”
I stared behind me at the very bed we made Baby Fitzgerald in and sighed. “We’ll have to lie and tell the baby they were made out of love and not anger.”
Henry scoffed. “Oh, please, you two have always loved each other. Nothing changed that.”
He spoke just like Aston did. Was everyone always so certain and loud about Summer and me reuniting, and I always ignored them? I suspected they kept it to themselves, afraid either of us would chew their heads off, and only now felt safe enough to say their true feelings.
“Nobody is happier about you and Summer burying the hatchet, but I think you’re rushing into marriage.”
“It’s not as if I wasn’t going to marry her anyway,” I reminded him.
Henry replied quickly. “But that was before you . . . it’s all just happening too fast, and I don’t want you to end up like me and Ashley.”
By my calculations, everything was falling right into place. I needed a wife and a child. Summer was going to be Mrs. Fitzgerald.
“Thad, hear me out. I love Wylie, but you know I didn’t want kids. Ashley got pregnant, and I did the honorable thing. That lasted nearly five years, and then I met Cora.”
“Wait, Summer and I are different from you two. You never loved Ashley. It was a one-night stand.” My guard was up.
My friend sighed loudly over the phone. “Anger, resentment, two deaths . . . you and Summer have so many things that Ashley and I didn’t have. All I’m saying is, slow down.”
I heard him, but I’d wasted ten years already.
There was no Cora coming along to sway my interest. Respectfully, I listened to Henry’s advice for the next few minutes, but this train was leaving the station, and nobody could convince me that wasn’t the best decision.
I knew what I had to do. I grabbed my keys, rushed out of the house, and made my way down the street.
I hurried to the cemetery. There was only one other person left I needed to tell. Mother.
As I looked at her memorial stone, a pang of guilt crashed over me. I was about to build a life with the daughter of her killer.
“Mother, I’m sorry.” My voice cracked, and the lump in my throat grew.
Obviously, her stone didn’t grant me forgiveness and give me permission to enjoy the life I saw possible with Summer and our child.
I hoped she’d forgive me, or at least understand.
I placed my head against the stone and repeated, “I’m sorry. ”
She was the only one I wanted forgiveness from.
When I was done and heading back to the car, I spotted Clive’s tombstone.
I could go stand over there and tell him I’d take good care of Summer and make peace, but that wasn’t the sort of person I was.
Despite everything Clive ruined, I was trying to carve out a bit of happiness, and even though I loved Summer, I owed him not one ounce of forgiveness.
I’d spit on his blasted stone if I went any closer to it, so I quickly left the cemetery.
Along the Hudson River stood a charming, cozy restaurant called Belle, where Summer and I had always enjoyed eating.
When I learned it was still around, I made a reservation and convinced her to meet me.
We had a lot to clear up, especially after our strained talk about arrangements yesterday.
Because we were eating at a restaurant outside Tarrytown, I hoped we’d be free of interruptions.
God knows how many times we’d have had to pause and explain why we sat together if we’d eaten at one of the local spots.
Summer and I had become a source of entertainment for many in Tarrytown.
Knowing them as well as I did, I guessed that people had placed bets on which of us would strangle the other to death.
Eager to escape the town for a while, we took a seat in the back across from each other.
My leg shook under the table, and my hands tightened around the glass of scotch, only because I didn’t want my fingers to fidget anywhere else. Why was I so nervous?
“Thaddeus, are we really about to have the marriage we desperately wanted to avoid all those years?”
I didn’t follow.
Summer continued, “One like your parents’, filled with arguments, causing our kid to wish we got a divorce.”
I took a sip of my scotch. It burned as it coated my throat.
“I hope not,” I said honestly. It wasn’t much, but I didn’t have all the answers. Probably not even any of them. I’d never imagined Summer and I would be back here.
For a while, neither of us spoke, which was becoming a habit of ours. Water filled Summer’s eyes. It pained me to see her hurting. It was like we’d traveled back to ten years ago, and all the feelings I had for her came rushing at me again.
“I’m going to give it my best shot so that we don’t have that kind of outcome,” I said, knowing I sounded overly formal but wanting to reassure her.
A smile played across Summer’s lips. “I promise to do the same. Give it my best shot, I mean.”
There you have it: two people about to plan a whole complicated future, without much enthusiasm, while bringing a whole baby in the mix. I chuckled, and Summer squinted at me.
Before she could ask, I shared, “Doesn’t sound very romantic, does it?”
“Ha! Romance? The best we can hope for is amicable behavior.”
A sharp sensation grew in my chest. She’s telling the truth. We were getting together out of love for our child. Not each other. Even the sex that resulted in our baby was done in a confused haze.
The arrangement was just a practicality. No romance.
“We’ve made progress. You’ve gone from planning to shoot me dead to agreeing to marry me,” I nudged lightly. I didn’t know why I sounded so breathy, so nervous. Like I was afraid to confront the reality of our relationship we’d long known was true.
Summer rolled her eyes. “I wasn’t thinking straight . . . plus, it was that night we made the baby. So, it kind of worked out.”
A sudden rush of humor gripped me as I took in the ridiculousness of it all. “I can picture exactly how to explain it to our dear child now. ‘Others were made in love, but not you. Your mother snuck into my house to kill me, I charmed her into my bed, and nine months later you were born.’”
Shock painted her face red for a few seconds, and then we both laughed. Who would’ve thought we were past those events and could laugh about them already?
Our server appeared with our appetizers: bruschetta, marinated olives, prosciutto with melon, and tiny arancini. We relaxed and ate. It almost felt like we were truly enjoying ourselves.