Debauched (Undone Book 3) (32 page)

“I’d like that. Not that you haven’t been a good sister, just that I hardly know anything about your life, and as I get older, family becomes more important to me.”

I pick up a blade of grass and twist it around my finger, remembering growing up and making them into reeds as we marched around the yard. I glance at my sister. “I met someone.”

Her eyes turn wary, but she works hard to keep her expression impassive. “Really?”

I laugh. “You’d like him. He’s not my normal type at all.”

“Hmmm…” She gives me a sly once over. “What’s his name?”

“Chad. He’s got a job and everything.” I lean over and say in a conspiratorial whisper, “Don’t tell Mom, but he’s an IT manager and he owns property.” I lower my voice even more. “He wears khakis.” I don’t mention he looks like sin in them.

My sister howls with laughter and slaps my knee. “Your dirty little secret is safe with me.”

Later that evening I’m alone with my mom in the kitchen and the house is quiet. We’re drinking coffee and I’ve eaten about twenty-five chocolate chip cookies.

I glance at my mom. My whole life people told me I looked like her, and even though her hair is salt-and-pepper now, her skin is still pale and beautiful. She has this otherworldly quality to her I’ve always felt I lacked. Maybe it’s her peace—such a contrast to my restlessness—that makes it so.

I think about the conversation I had with Chad when he’d asked if I’d ever talked to her about the past. I’d said no then, but I intend to rectify that now. I decide to be honest. “I met someone.”

“Of course you did, dear.”

My brows rise. “You know?”

“A mother always knows.” She folds her napkin in a neat little square. “And where is your young man?”

I bite my lip. “I needed to think.”

She waves a hand. “You and your thinking. That was always your problem. Too much thinking.”

“I love him, Mom.”

“I’d hope so.” She smiles at me. “That’s always the best place to start.”

“I’m afraid.” I might as well admit it. One of the many things Chad has taught me is the value of not keeping everything so bottled up all the time, turning me into a pressure cooker.

“Of what?” She narrows his eyes. “Is he bad to you?”

“God no, he treats me like…I’m some sort of precious object.” I frown. He does. Like I’m rare. Special. Like I belong. To him.

“Then what are you afraid of?” My mom’s expression is curious, thoughtful.

“We’re very different.” Are we? Or is that what I keep telling myself to remain at a distance? To avoid getting too close? “There are things he wants I’m not sure I can give.”

“Then you don’t love him enough.”

The statement is a direct hit to the solar plexus. Defensiveness is like a thorn in my side. “I do.”

“No you don’t. If it’s important, you make it happen.” How can she state this so simply? So easily? Like it’s black-and-white instead of shades of gray.

I lay my palm on my heart. “Why do I have to be the one giving up though?”

Calm as can be, she takes a sip of coffee. “You don’t, all I’m suggesting is that if you don’t want to make the sacrifice, then he’s probably not the man for you.”

This stumps me. Scares me. And I realize the truth, right here, right now. More than anything I want Chad to be the one for me. I clear my throat and ask the questions I’ve always assumed I had the answers to. “Do you regret giving up your career to marry Dad?”

Her expression is blank, as though she didn’t know what I was talking about. “What makes you think I gave it up?”

“Didn’t you?” Under the table, I stretch out my legs. I’m in shorts and a tank top my dad deemed immodest, but he laughed when he said it so I didn’t take him too seriously.

“You know the story of how we met.”

“Yes, you were a talented violinist, and you gave it up when you met Dad.”

“Where do you get these ideas, child?” She raises her eyes to the heavens. “God always gives you a challenge.”

I’d be offended but she actually says that to all of us kids—just for different reasons.

I grin. “Well, if he didn’t, think how bored you’d be.”

She chuckles. “True. But to answer your question, I didn’t give anything up.” She gets a sly look on her face. “In fact, he was willing to give it up for me.”

Now this is brand-new information. “Really?”

“Really.” She winks at me. “When we met, I was a bit wild and rebellious, full of colorful ideas. As most young people believe about their time in history, it was the start of a revolution, and we were all ready to set the world on fire.”

Fascinated I lean forward.

“Truth be told, with your father being a minister and all we created a more—” She clears her throat. “Watered-down version of how we met for polite company. The true story isn’t the kind of thing you tell your kids, so that’s the version we told you too. You’re not as prissy as the rest of them, so if you’d like to hear the truth, I’ll tell you.”

I’m floored and I say in an impassioned voice, “I would
love
to hear the true story.”

She points a finger at me. “You have to promise me that you will never ever tell your father I told you. You also can’t tell your brother and sister.”

“I promise.” I will die if I don’t hear this story. I zip my lips and throw away the key.

She, glances at my dad watching the History channel in the family room, before leaning in to whisper, “Well, I was quite a looker in those days, and so was your father. Yes, I was playing in a very respectable venue at the time, but that’s not really where we met. We met in this scandalous club. I was playing a mean violin to ‘Devil went Down to Georgia
’
when I saw him, staring right at me. We had some sort of mad, instant, crazy chemistry, and I played four more songs just for him. Did you ever stop to wonder why we grew up in my hometown instead of his?”

I shake my head. “I just assumed it was because grandma and grandpa died before we were born.”

“That’s part of it. But your father was a bit of a troublemaker in his youth before he got the call.” She glances toward the door where my dad sits and continues softly. “The story is that mothers locked their doors when he walked down the street.”

“Daddy?” I can’t keep the shock out of my voice. Yes, my father is a handsome man, but he’s like a lamb. Docile and sweet. Harmless.

“Yep.” She laughs.

My father instantly perks up, turning to call out, “What are you laughing about in there, woman?”

For the first time, I really listen, move past my judgments, and hear the affection in his tone. I’d always thought when he called my mom woman he’d used it as a way to put her in her place, but now I hear it for what it is—an endearment.

“Nothing, dear,” she says, a sassy smile on her face.

He turns back to the television and my mom continues. “He’d already reformed his wild ways by then, and it’s true he was already studying theology, and had plans to be a minister. But our proper courtship is a bit exaggerated.” She snickers and her cheeks turn a pretty pink. “Unless you include sex in the storage room thirty minutes after we met proper.”

In shock, my mouth drops open. “Mother!”

She gives me a pure, angelic innocent smile. “I love how each generation believes they alone discovered the one-night stand.”

“I can’t believe you.” My tone is as flabbergasted as I feel. How is this even possible?

“I’m afraid to admit I’m including the time I played in that thirty minutes.” She giggles again.

Again my father turns to face her. “What are you up to?”

I hope I’m not gaping at him like a fish out of water. I don’t think one can appreciate the shock of finding out your parents were not who you thought they were. That you did not spring onto this planet through immaculate conception.

“I told you, nothing.” She calmly takes a sip of her coffee.

“It’s something,” he says.

“Go back to your program and let me talk to my daughter.”

He looks back and forth between us and I do my very best to look innocent, until he finally turns back to the television.

My mom straightens, all proper in her chair, cup in hand. “I’ll spare you the gory details, but I’d never been with a man who knew where the clitoris was. That wasn’t talked about then.”

“God! Yuck!” My cheeks flame red and I cover my ears. “We don’t talk about it with our moms now!”

“Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain, dear.” She harrumphs. “All I’m trying to say is it was quite good.”

Deliver me from this sharing. I both equally love and hate everything about this story. “I get the picture.”

“Well, we agreed we had no future, I was off to Europe and he needed to go back to his studies. But we couldn’t stay away so we spent the week in bed, trying desperately to get sick of each other.”

My mother and my father. The two most pure, devout people on the planet had spent an entire week trying to essentially screw each other out of their systems. How has this happened? How can I ever look my dad in the eye again?

A shadow crosses over her face. “The day came and we were forced to say goodbye. His studies were over and I was set to go to London. It was the worst day of my life. In between all our…” She smiles. “Craziness, we talked for hours and hours. He’d gone from a stranger to the person who knew me better than anyone in the world. Thinking I’d never see him again was the most miserable time in my life. He stayed away for two whole weeks and showed up two nights before I was to leave for Europe. He said he couldn’t live without me. That’d he’d follow me anywhere. That he loved me. I said yes and that night we planned for him to come with me. I was going to let him do it, give it all up for me. But the next day I went with him to church where he was a guest speaker and once I saw him, I couldn’t let him do it. His calling to God was too important to sacrifice for me. I’d always loved music, but I never planned on doing it forever. I’d always dreamed of a family. I was talented, but I’d already gone as far as I was going to go. In the end, I loved him more, and he made me happier than playing violin in the orchestra. So we struck a bargain. I’d make an honest man of him, but I wanted to live in my hometown. I promised to be a good minister’s wife, and upstanding pillar of the community, as long as he stayed wild where it counted. We’ve kept our promises and I have never regretted a single second with that man. I truly believe if we’d parted, I’d be out there, alone and unhappy, longing for my missing half.”

I blink. My parents are a love story. Not a tragedy. I cover her hand. “Thank you for telling me.”

“You’re welcome.” She smiles. “My motherly instincts thought you needed to hear it.”

“I did.” I ask the other question, but with a different understanding now. “You like taking care of him, don’t you?”

She beams, and her whole face lights up, knocking ten years off her in an instant. “I know it’s old-fashioned but I do. Over the years I’ve learned I’m a nurturer at heart.”

I squeeze her fingers. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Good.” She gets up and kisses me on the cheek. “Go to bed and sleep tight, baby girl.”

I nod and my throat goes tight. I meet her gaze. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to need to go home.”

“I know.” She hugs me. “You bring him home to us soon, okay?”

“I will.” Chad might not be whom I envisioned, but he’s mine and he makes me a better person, makes me happier, more complete.

I want my love story.