I twisted and mangled the handkerchief for the rest of the service, staining my cheeks with my tears, not caring who could see them. I needed to be real, if only for a moment.
When the service ended, I could feel the stares of several parishioners. Sheridan sprang into action and sat on my other side, taking my hand. “Darling, what’s wrong?”
Everything. “I’m tired is all,” I told the truth.
“Well, let’s get you home so you can get some rest.”
“Love, didn’t you need to talk to Janice about the fall festival before we left?” John reminded her, though I could sense the ulterior motives.
“Oh, yes,” Sheridan sighed. “I’ll only be a few minutes. If I don’t talk to her now, I’ll never hear the end of it. Do you mind, dear?” she asked me.
“Not at all.” I knew poor Sheridan was on the planning committee, and according to her, Janice was a tyrant and expected everything to be Pinterest perfect for the festival at the end of the month.
Sheridan gave me a squeeze before she popped up and scurried over to the other side of the chapel. That left me with my father-in-law, who took the opportunity to scoot closer. He said nothing while the chapel cleared, though his heavy breaths spoke volumes. I was sure he was disappointed in my human display, and I was not looking forward to him berating me for it. Each person who walked past us glanced at me with questions in their eyes. Did they wonder if there was trouble in paradise, since Brock had left early? Or perhaps they questioned why I would have any reason to cry, living the charmed life they thought I had. I didn’t really care. I only wanted someone to take the hurt away.
Once the chapel had mostly emptied, John cleared his throat.
I braced myself for his diatribe.
“I know what you’re feeling,” he whispered.
“You have no idea,” I scoffed.
“We have more in common than you would like to believe.”
I had no words for his audacity. I only sat there twisting the handkerchief, seething that he would say such things to me.
“I know you don’t wish to believe that. But once, when I was a younger naive man, all I wanted to do was make the world a better place. Use the wealth my family had accumulated to make a difference. To my father’s chagrin, I made Holland Industries a leading donor in the nation for veteran services and combating childhood diseases. Still, giving money could only do so much. I wanted to make real change. Enact laws to better the lives of our most vulnerable citizens. The type you work with every day.”
I snapped my head in his direction. “Don’t you dare draw comparisons to me.”
He ran a hand through his thick gray hair, just like Brock did when he wasn’t sure what to say. He looked up at the dove that had been captivating me all during the sermon. “You don’t think I know exactly how it feels to sit here week after week, being haunted by the things I’ve done to keep my family safe, to bring about the kind of change needed for my constituents and the great people across this nation? You’re wrong. However . . .”—he hit me with his steely brown eyes—“I will not let it rule me. Nor should you.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t turn my conscience on and off like you do.”
“This isn’t about conscience. This is about consequences.” He leaned in closer and whispered in my ear. “You know full well Edward is suspicious that you’re pregnant. He’s also suspicious about who the father is, though you did an excellent job in DC to dispel any of those worries. Regardless, don’t give him any room to doubt again. Forgive yourself and move on.”
I closed my eyes, holding back the tears that were begging to spring free, feeling more trapped than ever. “I will keep pretending for the sake of my child, your sons, and your wife, but I don’t have to lie to myself.”
He chuckled low, in a condescending manner. “You’re not pretending. You love my son, but your guilt is preventing you from letting him love you.”
I grabbed my heart as if to block any hope from taking hold. “You have no idea what you’re talking about it.”
“Dani,” he sighed, “I know there is hurt, but it will heal. Though only if you allow it to.”
He was wrong. So wrong. Brock was never going to forgive me, and I was never going to forgive myself.
He shrugged his shoulders, knowing I wasn’t buying his pep talk. “Whether or not you prolong your pain is your choice, but remember . . . your choices don’t affect only you. You and Brock need to be careful. I would announce your joyous news soon, if I were you.” That wasn’t a suggestion. He stood. “Now, let’s get you home so you can get some rest.”