I hold up a palm to my daughter, warning her to respect Jack. Then I point to the phone and head away from the group on the sand.

Chapter 27

Slowed by indecision, I stare at the screen as I walk through the sand toward the stairs. I’m certainly calmer than I was at the cemetery, but Paul’s confession remains hard to grasp. Having made tough decisions about my own child, I understand that he did what he thought was right. And then there’s the matter of a co-parent. I had the advantage of making decisions myself; Paul did not. My mother had a say. I could be angry at her, but she is dead. And Dad is dead. And here we are, just Paul and me.

I don’t know what my relationship with him is supposed to be. Don’t know where it is headed. Don’t even know what name to use when I think of him.

After a last few seconds of hesitancy, I click in with a simple, “Hey.”

Silence greets me, and for a split second, I wonder if I’m too late. But no, he hasn’t hung up. I can sense him on the line.

Finally, tentatively, he says, “Are you all right?”

Am I all right? Of course, I’m not alright. I have a slew of challenges lying in wait.

But that’s the big picture. The small one—the one involving just Paul and me—has changed in this very instant. It feels more defined now that we’re on the phone, as if the hardest thing was reconnecting after I walked away. The fact that he has called me, rather than the other way around, feels like caring. It feels like a cushion that will make things a little more comfortable as we work out what’s to come.

“I’m fine,” I say with a sigh. Having reached the beach stairs, I lean against the wood rail. Paul is, after all, the answer to a question that has haunted me for so long. Not the answer I expected. Still, an answer. “I just needed a little time.” I gulp in a breath. “About the things I said—”

“I understand your shock,” he interrupts. “I understand your disappointment, even your anger.” His voice gentles. “But I don’t want to lose you, Mallory. I’ve waited a long time to tell you all this.”

I swallow and say, “Yes.” I don’t say, You might have told me sooner, because that is water over the dam. A peacemaker doesn’t rehash the past but tries to move on.

It strikes me that if all of what Paul has said is true with regard to his relationship with both my mother and my father, he may be a peacemaker as well. That doesn’t forgive him the deception, simply softens it.

“You’ll have questions about your mother and me.”