Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
SAbrINA
M organ sat sideways on the couch, one knee pulled up so she could face me. “This ranch has been in my family for decades. It belonged to my mother’s parents and her mother’s parents before her, though it was little more than a cabin and some fences at that time. Every generation has lived and raised their family here except my mother. Well, I guess me as well, but we’re here now.” She looked at her kids and smiled. “Sit. You both will want to hear this.”
I waited patiently for the story to continue. Cal took a seat next to me and Brynna in the oversized chair next to us. I handed her the glass bowl.
“My mother went away to college on the East Coast, and there she met and married my father. He became a professor at a university in Williamsburg, Virginia.”
I straightened, surprised. “That’s where my mom was from.”
Morgan nodded and smiled. “Yes, I know. I grew up with your mother. That’s why the first time I saw you, I said you remind me of someone I used to know. It’s incredible how much you look like Rachael.”
I sank into the couch, stunned. “You knew my mom?” Other than my dad and grandparents, I’d never met anyone who knew my mom.
Cal came in closer and rested an arm along the back of the couch and me. “Seriously, Mom? How come I’ve never seen this album before?”
Morgan held up a hand. “I’m going to tell you why. It’s not the best story.” She cupped her hands to her face “But I am so ashamed, so please forgive me in advance.”
I looked to Cal, confused. He arched a brow. Clearly, he felt the same.
Morgan opened the album. Instantly, my eyes were draw to various pictures of two little girls.
“Your grandfather was a professor who worked with my dad. And we lived on the same block. A coincidence. My mother and your grandmother became good friends, and since Rachael and I were close in age—she was a year ahead of me—of course, we became good friends too. The best.” Her voice dropped, thick with emotion.
She pointed to a picture of two little girls with Popsicles and tutus, their hair in pigtails, each with an arm thrown across the other’s shoulders. “Rachael and I did dance classes together. We learned to ride horses together. We were cheerleaders at our high school. Not only was she my best friend, but I admired her too. She was kind and funny and pretty and so confident, and I had gone through this ugly duckling stage”—she flipped the pages and pointed to a picture—“and felt so self-conscious around her and, well, anyone I thought was pretty and had it together. Rachael never made me feel bad or anything. She wasn’t like that. She was a good friend until the end. I, however, was not.”
My mother’s image was on these pages. I ran my hand down the page, touching each picture with Mom in it, tracing the lines, feeling her memory. “I’ve never seen some of these,” I whispered.
Morgan let me turn the pages, explaining certain pictures as we went. She picked up her story when I came to pictures of them in college.
“Because our parents taught at William you owe me the truth.”
He turned, his face a ragged mess of emotions, so many I couldn’t parse them. “He said he would destroy both of you. Your dad had that big tournament coming up in Monte Carlo, and Dalton knew people in the IRS and customs, and he said he would stop at nothing. And he would have done just what he said. You don’t know how he is. He would have buried you both. It would have been worse than what he’s doing now.” He pushed off the mantel and came to stand in front of me.
All I could do was stare at him, incredulous. “I can’t believe this.” I shook my head, then pressed my palms to my temples, trying to squeeze the circle of thoughts spinning like an endless round doodle on a page. “I can’t believe this.”
He cupped my cheek. “Reenie.”
I put up my hand, stopping any more words from coming at me. “Nope. Nope. You do not get to say anything else. You have done enough.” Not caring about my sore ankle, I pushed passed him and limped my way around the couch and the stairs.
“Where are you going?” he called.
“Home. I have to get out of here. I can’t stand to look at your face right now. I am so mad at you.”
He had changed the trajectory of our lives because of a threat his father had made, without even talking to me or my dad. He’d given up on us, our future, for what? He’d never given me a say.
I was right. I had been the one more in love with Cal than he was with me.