She put up her hand to stop me from speaking. “Before you say anything, I know we can’t go backward. That’s not what I’m asking. Whatever happens in the future—whatever relationship we manage to salvage—I understand that it won’t be what we had.”
Whatever we’d had hadn’t been enough. It hadn’t stopped our family from falling apart.
“I know I’m asking a lot. And I understand it’s difficult for you to trust me after what I did. But I’m patient.”
It would have been far easier if Penelope had tried to excuse what she’d done, if she’d demanded that I let her back into Bethany’s life or if she’d lacked remorse. But the way she’d explained things, it painted the situation in an entirely different light. The anger and bitterness I had toward Penelope seeped away until I was left with nothing but sadness. For her. For Bethany. And for me.
I nodded. “Thank you for telling me this. I’m sorry . . . sorry for not noticing at the time. For not coming after you. And for hating you for all these years.”
She smiled at my confession. “I hated me too,” she said, tears forming in her eyes. “And some of that feeling still lingers.”
I drew in a breath and pushed back my shoulders. Penelope wasn’t a monster, and I wasn’t about to keep her in a cage, protecting Bethany from someone who cared for her. There was no going back. We could only move forward. “We should tell Bethany that you’re her mother.”
A guttural sob broke from Penelope’s throat and she nodded. “Thank you,” she whispered.
It was the last thing I’d expected to come out of this lunch. I’d expected to be going through the motions so I could tell myself I’d done what Autumn had asked. Autumn couldn’t have known Penelope’s reasons for leaving and staying away, but she knew enough to understand that I should hear Penelope out. She was the wisest woman I knew.
“You should come to dinner later in the week,” I said. “We can tell her together.”
“You’re a good man, Gabriel.”
“I’m going to ask you for something in return.”
“Anything,” she asked, her eyes brightening.
“Don’t take her from me, Penelope. I can’t give her up.” My jaw tightened and my fists clenched like I was ready to fight anyone who would even think about taking my daughter from me.
“Never,” she replied, shaking her head. “I promise.”
I reached across the table and put my hand over hers and my chest loosened at the softness of her familiar skin. We had to find a way forward. For Bethany and for ourselves. We had to move on from the hatred and anger, the shame and guilt. Contrary to everything I’d taught myself to believe, we all deserved a second chance.
Thirty-Nine
Autumn
As I looked up at the bulging, undulating steps, it struck me. “It’s like Barcelona is the younger, wayward sister of the grown-up Madrid.”
“Madrid is Prada and Barcelona is Lacroix,” Jackson said as we made our way up to the steps.
“La what now?” I asked. Every other sentence Jackson spoke needed translation. There was no way we had grown up in the same country. It felt like we inhabited different planets most of the time.
“Christian Lacroix,” he said as if I might be the stupidest person to ever walk the earth. “They must have Lacroix in Oregon.”
“In Oregon they might, but I’m certain Christian never entered the gates of the Sunshine Trailer Park.”
He cackled and then spun three hundred and sixty degrees. “I mean, it’s pretty. I’m just not sure it’s very me. It’s not that I don’t appreciate the drama, because you know I do. But I’ll take the baroque glory of the Spanish steps over this any day.”
I groaned. “No Rome references,” I complained. “Not today.”
I didn’t have to see Jackson’s face to know he was rolling his eyes. “Listen, I’m up before noon so we can spend an entire day in this place. I can’t promise I can go the whole day without mentioning Rome. Anyway, it’s where you first fell in love. It shouldn’t make you grimace. It should make you smile.”
I linked my arm into Jackson’s. “No offense. I just wish I was spending the day with Gabriel today. He loves this park.”
“No offence, but I’ve seen a picture of that man. I wish I was spending the day with him, too.” Jackson was also in Spain nursing heartbreak. Hiding or running or distracting himself. We were in the same boat and had been each other’s companions in misery for the last week.
I laughed. “We’re both each other’s consolation prizes.”
“You never know. He might take you here for your honeymoon.”
“That hopeless romanticism is what will get you into trouble next time,” I said to him. “Gabriel won’t be the man I go on honeymoon with. I honestly wonder if I even want to get married.”