His words cut deep, but I try and keep my expression controlled. “I’m sorry,” I say, because I know I shouldn’t have watched those tapes without permission. “I didn’t mean any harm.”
His jaw twitches. I can see that he’s trying to compose himself. But something about finding me in here watching his old home movies has hit an unsettling nerve.
His eyes keep flitting towards the screen. I resist the urge to do the same.
“Why don’t you go up to your room now?” he sighs. “I’ll be out for lunch, but I thought we could have dinner together. In the garden.”
“Oh. Okay. We can just eat in the kitchen,” I say. “I’m not fussy.”
“I know,” Cillian replies. But his expression is still a little tight.
And suddenly, the differences between the boy behind me and the man in front of me seem stark.
I nod slowly, wondering why exactly he’s reacting so badly to finding me in here, watching his old family videos.
I glance back at the screen.
“I’ll turn it off,” he snaps. “You can go.”
I walk past him, but he doesn’t meet my eyes. I think about asking him what’s wrong, but I can sense he won’t answer me.
It reminds me of the other tense moment we’d shared in my bedroom when I’d asked him whose clothes he had offered up to me.
The man has secrets.
More than I ever suspected.
Still, even as I walk through the house, still undecided about where I’m going, I find justifications for him. I make excuses. I pull out a defense he hasn’t asked for.
A secret is not a lie.
And God knows I have enough of both of my own.