Chapter 37
Monty
I call Penny back three times but she sends me to voicemail.
Two seconds later I get a text.
Penny: You’re off the hook. Everyone knows our relationship was fake.
I don’t want to be let off the goddamn hook. Fuck. I bang my hand against the steering wheel. How could I have fucked this up so badly?
I go to my text messages and click on the thread with Julie. Maybe she’s still on her way down.
Julie: Hey Monty, just checking to see if the signing is still on? I never heard from you yesterday.
I never saw that text from her looking to confirm. I was so in my goddamn head about my parents, I didn’t even look. How could I have let Penny down so epically?
Fuck, she’s better off without me. If I walk away now, she’ll have a shot at being with someone who doesn’t have all this baggage. Someone who can love her properly.
And yet, I can’t get Joe’s words out of my head. “She loved me until her last breath, and I love her still.”
I know without a doubt that even if I walk away, I’ll still love Penny. She is the love of my life.
I think of how Penny said that the love story I wrote about my grandparents, which we both know ends in heartbreak, is her favorite of all time. I think of spending my life with Penny. Marriage, kids, growing old together. A life filled with memories of her.
Maybe Joe was right. Maybe that is the dream. Loving someone until their last breath with your whole heart.
That’s not the scary thing to me, though. It’s the alternative. It’s what happened to my parents. It’s how one day you can think someone loves you only to find out that they want a divorce.
I need an answer. I need to know what happened all those years ago if I’m ever going to figure out how to make it work with Penny. If she’ll ever talk to me again.
Part of me wants to go to Penny right now, to apologize and tell her how I feel, but I know I won’t have the right words until I speak to my dad. I’ve waited a decade to have this conversation. I can’t wait another hour.
Back at the house I find my father out by the dock cleaning the boat. The wind has picked up since this morning and the white caps roll over the deep blue water, tossing the red sailboat from side to side.
When my dad notices my expression, his face drops. He’s barefoot, jeans rolled up past his ankles, as he steps off the boat.
“What’s wrong?”
“I saw you and Mom.”
“Saw us what?”
“Kissing. I saw you kissing her.”
My father’s face pales. “I’m sorry. I—” He shakes his head. “It was a mistake. It won’t happen again.”
“Do you still love her?”
My father shakes his head again as he looks toward the boat. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it matters,” I argue. “You kissed her! How dare you lead her on after everything you’ve done to her.”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Do you still love her?” I grit out.
“It’s not that simple.”
I step in front of the boat, forcing his eyes to mine. And then slowly repeat the question. “Do you still love her?”
“Of course I still love her!” he bellows. “She’s the love of my life. That didn’t just end when we signed the papers.”
He drops his head in shame. All the fight drains from his body and my anger disappears with it.
“Then why did you let her go?”
My father moves his head from side to side and then points to the end of the dock. “Can we sit?”
I follow as he leads us down the long, weathered planks that heave with every wave.
He drops down and dangles his feet in the water.
I slip off my shoes, roll up my jeans, and do the same.
The water is frigid despite the gorgeous day but something about the saltwater against my skin serves to calm my frayed nerves.
“Did your mother ever tell you how we met?”
I look over at him with a frown. I’ve heard the story of how my grandparents met dozens of times, but I can’t remember now if my parents ever talked about how they did.
I know it was during college, and that they were married before graduation, but I’m not sure I ever heard the moment they actually laid eyes on each other.
“No, I don’t think she did.”
A smile reaches my father’s eyes. “It was our sophomore year of college. I had a paper due for my writing class that Monday and my roommate was one of those people who could only study with music on—blasting—so I left campus to find a coffee shop.”
I don’t say anything, waiting for him to continue.
“The place was slammed with students. It was midterms, and late fall in New York, so everyone was getting their coffee fix and hiding from the cold. I was just about to give up on getting my own table when someone in the corner caught my eye. She was seated in the window—a cozy-looking shawl swallowing her whole—and was wearing the biggest smile on her face. ‘You looking for somewhere to study?’ she asked me. I had never seen her before, but of course she struck up a conversation.”
I smile. That sounds like my mother.
“I told her I had a paper to finish and she told me I could sit with her if I promised not to flirt or try to make conversation.” He chuckles.
“I held my hand up as if I was taking an oath and said she had my word. And I followed through. I sat down, took out my book, and focused on what I had to do. But about ten minutes in, I could feel her staring at me. After another fifteen minutes, I heard her huff. It was this adorable sound, as if she was really trying hard to get my attention, and when I finally looked up, she said, ‘You’re really not going to try to talk to me?’ I told her I was following her rules and I really did need to study, though I couldn’t help but add, ‘and if I look at you too long, I’m afraid I’ll never look away. ’ ”
“Smooth, Dad.”
He grins. “She thought so, too. But it was true. I’d never seen someone so beautiful, and the longer I stared, the harder I fell.
It only took a few seconds, really. And then she said, ‘Well, what if I sit next to you and we just read side by side, not looking at one another. Would that work?’ I didn’t wait for her to finish her sentence.
I scooted over to her side and then, over the next six hours, we talked between studying.
We ordered food, and read, and talked about what I was reading.
She told me how she wanted to go into publishing.
She had such a vivid plan for what she wanted to do with her life and it was inspiring.
She was this ray of sunshine, this ball of energy, and I was instantly smitten.
The owner finally came over to tell us the place had closed an hour earlier, that he didn’t want to bother us because we looked so content, but that he also really needed to go home.
My stomach sank then because I didn’t want to leave her side.
Fortunately for me your mother turned to me and said, ‘Want to come back to my place so you can finish reading?’ ”
I try to hold back a groan but fail. “Please don’t share any more of this story.”
My dad laughs. “Nothing happened. But I did spend the weekend in her dorm, just reading and talking. By the time Monday rolled around and I had to hand in my assignment, I knew I was in love with her.” He drops his eyes to the water and sighs. “And that feeling never went away.”
“Then why did you ask for a divorce?”
My dad shakes his head. “That’s not the question you should be asking me.”
“Then what is, Dad?”
“Why she agreed to marry me is what you should be trying to understand.”
I look at him, properly now, and see true sadness written across his face.
It’s so visceral I almost don’t want to ask the question.
But I need to know. I can’t ever have a successful adult relationship if I don’t understand how two people could love each other as much as my parents did, and maybe still do, and still not make it work.
“Why did she agree to marry you?”
“She was pregnant.”
I do the math, confused, because I’m definitely not that old. But my dad answers my question before I ask.
“We lost the baby after the wedding. After we’d graduated and moved back to Hope Harbor and decorated a nursery.
After she gave up her dream of working in publishing, of staying in New York City.
” He takes a breath. “Your mother followed me back here so I could get a steady teaching job, and so we could move in with my parents where there was plenty of room for a baby and good schools nearby.”
My stomach drops. Every puzzle piece that never seemed to fit takes a different shape and slots together, finally showing me the true picture.
“We were both devastated,” he pushes on.
“And I thought, for a moment, that your mom might leave, that she might realize that jumping into all of this with me was a mistake. But she never did. She stayed. And she seemed happy, especially after we had you. I thought that even though I couldn’t give her that first dream, I could give her another one. ”
“She always seemed happy to me,” I tell him, wanting to believe that she didn’t hate being here.
“I think she was,” he says. “But then she started talking about us traveling, or going back to New York when you started school. I knew I owed it to her to make that dream come true so I started looking for jobs. I was ready to do anything to give her that dream because she’d given me all of mine. Dammit, she was all of mine.”
My chest is tight. Because I know what comes next.
“And then your grandfather was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s and he deteriorated so quickly.
” My father blows out a breath and mutters, “He died so quickly. When your mother told me about the job in New York, she was so excited. It was such an incredible opportunity and I was torn. I couldn’t leave your grandmother alone in this house—she was so heartbroken—but I couldn’t ask your mother to stay, either.
I couldn’t ask her to give up anything else for me. ”
My head feels heavy and it falls in defeat. Everything makes so much more sense now.
“Did you ever tell her?” I whisper, turning to look at him.
“No. I couldn’t,” he says. “She would have turned down the job. And I couldn’t ask that of her. So I let her go, told her I wanted a divorce. And now she’s—” He smiles and it feels bittersweet. “She’s incredible. She’s made a career for herself and she’s finally doing what she always wanted to do.”
“But she doesn’t have you,” I croak.
Anger builds inside my chest. Regardless of what he felt was the right decision, my mom deserved to have a say.
But then I realize the hypocrisy of that thought. Because doesn’t Penny deserve the same thing? Doesn’t she deserve to know how I feel? To understand why I’m spiraling so badly?
I stare at my father, realizing how alike we are. “You need to tell her.”
He shakes his head.
“Well, I need to tell her,” I say.
“What?” My father’s eyes snap to mine.
“Not Mom. Penny,” I tell him. “You are the only one who can fix what you broke. And so am I. You can fix this, Dad. You should fix this.” I sigh as I move to stand.
“When it’s the end of your life, wouldn’t you like to look back and think the woman you loved until your last breath actually knew it? Isn’t that the dream?”
Because I know it’s mine. And I know now what I have to do.