“Oh boy.” Twain groans.
“Doesn’t work that way,” Harper whispers. “Julie had a baby growing inside her. A baby she wanted. Because she loves you.”
“I know.”
“I mean, if she hadn’t been ready…that’s one thing. But asking her to abort your baby so you could play a little longer?”
I jerk my gaze up from the granite counter to meet my sister’s eyes. “Yeah, I know.”
“Put you right in the same category her dad and brothers are in.”
I nod.
“So.” I cough a little to hack that emotion out of my throat and then take a deep breath. “Now you know why she’ll never forgive me. And why we’ll never be together.”
15
Julie
Ryle looks like a bedraggled puppy when Truman brings him home. He steps inside and leans into me with a yawn.
“Are you tired?” I smooth my hand over his hair and note the milk mustache on his face when he tips his head up to look at me. When he nods, I look back at Truman, who honestly looks even worse than Ryle. It’s late enough that I send Ryle straight to the shower. Once Ryle’s in the bathroom, I turn back to Truman.
“Thanks for letting him stay for a while,” he says quietly. His hands are in his pockets, his shoulders slouched. “Goodnight—”
“Truman.” I reach for him but catch myself before I actually touch him. “Look. I think we need to clear the air.”
He quirks his eyebrows at me and clears his throat.
“I’m sorry. I’ve been a jerk lately. Just…” He shrugs. “I have some stuff on my mind—”
“Will you come in? Please?”
He ducks his chin and steps inside.
“Let me just check on Ryle. I’ll be right back.”
With a silent nod, he leans on the counter by the stove, and I move quickly down the hall to check on Ryle. I find him in the bathroom, already in his pjs, brushing his teeth.
“I don’t want to shower,” he tells me as he leans over the sink to spit. “Can I just do it in the morning?”
“Sure.” I brush his hair back again, a little bit sad when he ducks away from me. “What’d you do at Aunt Harper’s?”
“Played whiffle ball,” he answers.
“Again? Who won?”
“Grandma, Mabry, Craig, and Bryson.”
“You and Dad lost, huh?”
“Dad didn’t play.” Ryle shakes his head as he puts his toothbrush back in the holder and wipes his mouth off with the hand towel. “He was grouchy.”
Ryle doesn’t say things like that often. Knowing that whatever is going on between me and Truman right now is affecting the way Truman treats Ryle makes me feel guilty.
“Maybe he’s just tired,” I suggest. Truman did say he has a lot on his mind right now. Maybe his moody behavior has nothing to do with me.
“Goodnight, Mom.”