33. Alessandra
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
alessandra
When Booth shared that saying goodbye to his father was the scariest thing he’d done, I felt pathetic.
Booth’s constant assurances and pep talks have diluted that view.
Sharing my biggest fears with him was unnerving, but I’m almost confident I wouldn’t be sitting in Martin’s living room this second if it wasn’t for him.
I’m more emotionally prepared this time around, and knowing a light tap on his leg is all it’ll take to shut this down is a huge reassurance.
Booth sits next to me on the sofa, his denim-clad thigh pressed to mine, my hand firmly clasped in his.
His presence anchors me.
Holding me steady to endure whatever storm I’m about to face.
I allow myself to take in Martin’s home properly now.
Despite its size and being filled with random clutter, it feels empty.
There are no photographs, no signs a family lived here.
Worn oak floorboards are the only tell.
They’ve endured years of traffic, perhaps even played on by a young boy once upon a time.
The floral upholstered furniture and drapes are drab but give a hint to a woman’s touch .
The rattling of china draws closer until an uneasy-looking Martin appears.
His tall, wiry frame curves in on itself, shoulders sagging.
Thick hair, more gray than black is combed neatly to the side.
Like on Christmas Day , he seems overdressed for the occasion.
His eyes flit between us and the large bay window, his discomfort evident.
The air grows tense as he sets the coffee and cookies on the table.
Between his unease and my chagrin, the atmosphere here is stifling.
“I’m sorry abo—” I start, just as Martin asks, “ Cream or sugar?”
He cringes, and my grip on Booth tightens.
“Aly will have one sugar, black—because she isn’t sweet enough. I’ll take a splash of cream, please. Thanks , Martin .” Booth’s lighthearted joke does the trick.
My muscles relax and the thick fog clinging to my brain lifts.
I wait for Martin to serve our drinks, and once he’s settled in the pale green wingback, I dive in.
If my voice wobbles or I lose my cool, it’ll be okay.
I can do this, but it’s easier with Booth here.
As if sensing I’m about to speak, he flashes me a reassuring look and strokes his thumb over the back of my hand.
“I’m sorry about turning up unannounced the other day.” When Martin looks up, I hold back my flinch at the silver eyes staring back at me.
“ I suppose you have some idea why I’m here?”
He remains stoic, no reaction to my bluntness.
“ I’m not sure how I didn’t see it before. You …” His gaze drops, fingers twisting so tight his knuckles turn white.
“ You look just like Harvey . The eyes. The hair. You even have the same nose.”
I stiffen and Booth shifts beside me.
“I’m not going to ask if you knew, because it’s clear you didn’t,” I say.
“ Harvey’s name wasn’t on my original birth certificate, so I can only assume he didn’t either. Unless he wasn’t interested.”
Martin’s expression is torn.
“ He , um, I haven’t seen him for…” He clears his throat.
“ We haven’t spoken in a long time. He must have been quite young when you were born. How old are you?”
“I’ll be thirty-one in May .”
After some quick math, he nods.
“ Sixteen . He would have been sixteen.”
I nod.
“ The same age as my birth mother. I don’t blame her for the choice she made—or either of them. I’m just looking for answers. To understand my heritage and medical history. I don’t expect anything, if that’s your concern. I’m not on the hunt for some hidden inheritance.”
I want to protest when Booth lets go of my hand until he rubs my back in reassuring circles.
Martin’s silence irritates me, which I know is unfair—which irritates me further.
“Harvey’s mom, do you speak to her?”
“Not in over thirty years,” he replies solemnly.
My heart drops.
“Do you know the best way to contact Harvey ?”
His regret simmers and I already know his response.
“ It’s been so long. I’m sorry.” The last two words are barely above a whisper.
“There’s no record of a Harvey Willis after his graduation from a high school in Wisconsin . Is that where they live?”
Again, nothing.
My skin grows flushed.
“ Do you know if he’s married? Has other children?”
He shakes his head and he slumps further into himself.
With each question and no answer, we both grow more irate.
Realization hits me in the chest like a sledgehammer .
He doesn’t know where they live.
He knows nothing about his ex-wife or son.
He knows nothing.
All of this, for nothing?
I up and left my apartment, my job, bought a restaurant on a whim, and spent weeks in a small town in the middle of nowhere.
And for what? This is nothing like the meetup with my birth mother.
Somehow it’s worse. I gave up nothing then.
Now , so much is on the line.
Subtly, Booth taps the side of his leg with his index finger.
My eyes follow that tiny movement.
My emotions don’t control me.
I am in control. If this were a meeting with a prospective investment and it wasn’t going smoothly, I would shut it down.
Which is what I need to do here.
“Obviously, this was a waste of time. I apologize for bothering you.” My voice is sharp enough to cut a diamond.
“Aly,” Booth whispers softly as I wipe my sweaty palms down my pants.
Monotone words halt me.
“He might have taken his mother’s maiden name.” Martin scrubs a thin hand down his face.
“ The reason I don’t know his or his mother’s whereabouts is because I never looked for them, as per her request, and I wanted to respect her wishes.”
My stomach churns.
What reason would his wife have for never wanting to see him again?
Thankfully , he stops my mind from going to the worst places.
“I was absent. Work obsessed.” This is the most I’ve gotten all evening, and it doesn’t come easily.
His jaw is tight, eyes hard.
“ She asked me to spend more time with her and Harvey , and I ignored her. Providing my family with a big house”—he gestures around us—“toys, nice clothes was more important. When she slowly withdrew, I didn’t fight. I worked longer hours and buried my head in the sand. I realized too late that her threat about leaving me wasn’t empty.”
Indignation tickles my throat .
The remorse etched in Martin’s face tells me he’s punished himself enough over the years.
If I thought he was uncomfortable before, it’s nothing compared to his rigid posture and distraught expression now.
His candor doesn’t change the outcome.
“I’ll try.” His eyelids close, heavy with emotion before opening again.
“ I’ll try to reach them. Please …please give me some time. It’s the least I can do.”
Time isn’t something I have much of.
That’s not to say my search ends when I leave Sutton Bay , but can I do this without the safe, supportive arms of the man next to me?
For some unknown reason, that question bothers me.
I did well alone. Long before Booth came along.
A soft touch stalls my inner conflict.
I turn to find a set of calming, blue eyes watching me carefully.
Give him a chance, his face says.
So I do.
I twist to face Martin , shoulders pulled back.
“ Okay . But if they don’t want to know me, just say it. Don’t indulge me or try to protect my feelings.”
He nods once.
Expecting this interaction to be over, I make for my escape just as he murmurs behind me.
“ I’d like to know you, Alessandra . If that’s okay.”
With a single glance over my shoulder, my dying hope clutched close to my chest, I catch his shoulders collapse.
Only to lift at my response.
“Friday morning, at ten o’clock. We can meet at the bakery before I head to the restaurant.”
I don’t wait for his reply.
I’m aware of my unpleasant, surly attitude, and he’s likely second-guessing his request to know me.
That’s his choice.
Mine is to get out of this room.
This house .
The second I step outside, I finally breathe, gulping down the blistering cold air until solid arms encompass me.
“You did it. You did so good. I’m so proud of you.” Booth’s warm breath coasts over my cheek.
I don’t trust myself to talk.
The tight hold he has on me keeps me upright.
But it shouldn’t.
Relying on him is foolish.
Our time is almost up.
He won’t be there to pick up the pieces when it ultimately falls apart; fractured by more disappointment.
That’s my job. No one else’s.
It’s about time I remember that.