I turned, watching Van’s profile. What he was saying was a gift to me, even more so than our festive decorations. His protruding brow furrowed and his jaw clenched as he stared at the flames. I started to ask if she was his sister’s child, since Margaret had asked if I was Van’s sister, but before I spoke, he went on.
“She’s my brother’s daughter. He and I haven’t spoken for over a decade.”
I laid my hand on his jean-clad thigh, silently encouraging Van to continue.
He let out a long breath. “He and his wife were having some financial problems. I’d already walked away from my family and had achieved what many would consider success.” His nostrils flared. “I fucked up. If I were him, I wouldn’t talk to me either.”
“What happened?”
“I wanted more. Nothing was ever enough. I wanted every asshole who ever stood in my way or ever doubted me to suffer.”
As his confessions wafted through the air, I chanced another question. “Did you want your family to suffer?”
He nodded.
“Your brother?” It could be why he wasn’t welcome to see Brooklyn in person.
“Yes.”
I waited.
“I succeeded.” Van stood and went to the kitchen area, filling two mugs with coffee. When he came back and handed me one, he feigned a grin. “Maybe I should have brought something stronger?”
Bringing the rim of the mug to my lips, the strong aroma of coffee overtook the lingering pine scent. “I think this is plenty strong.” I patted the spot where he’d been sitting. “You don’t need to tell me more if you don’t want to. I promise that none of this will be in your memoir.”
His green orbs snapped to mine. “I’m telling you this because you agreed to marry me, Julia. It has nothing to do with the memoir. Like I’ve said, I want the memoir for one reason.” He shrugged. “Maybe two. First, I am sick and tired of the rumors and untruths that resurface on and off about how I made my money.”
“And the second?”
“It goes back to what I said, wanting every asshole who stood in my way or doubted me to see in print that despite them, I have succeeded.”
I smiled at his claim of success in the past tense. I’d bring it to his attention, but I didn’t want him to change his mind. “Maybe it wasn’t despite those people but because of?”
Van placed his mug on the hearth and then leaned back on his outstretched arms. “No.”
“No?”
“No, those people don’t deserve an ounce of credit.”
“I’m getting the theme of your memoir. Were there any people along the way who deserve credit?”
He hesitated. “Yes. A handful.”
“Are you willing to acknowledge them in print?”
“Some of them, yes. I didn’t start out knowing everything. I still don’t. My need to achieve narrowed my focus. I’ve been fortunate enough to run into people who took the time to teach me,” he scoffed, “after kicking my ass.”
“What?” I asked with a giggle. “You’re admitting to having your ass kicked?”
“Those people would never have gotten my attention without first proving that they knew more than I did. There was one in particular.” Van shook his head. “I never imagined talking about this. I figured, give the information, read the draft, dictate changes…”
“If it makes it easier, as you know, I’ve never interviewed anyone for information on a memoir.”
His hand landed on mine. “I’m getting off on all these firsts.”
The pink of my cheeks from our earlier hike and the firelight increased. “I can help with that.”
He squeezed my hand. “Oh, you already did.”