Colleen fell back on the couch, lifting her face to the ceiling, where the whirling fan swirled the dust motes into a dance inside the evening light. “It was never about me at all.”

“She just wanted to protect her life and love with your dad.”

“Yes,” Colleen said. “And maybe that’s all she knew to do. I don’t blame her. Or at least I think I don’t blame her, but I’m glad I know now.”

“Does it change anything?” he asked. “Anything at all? Or is it just something you now know about your dad?”

Colleen closed her eyes, felt the information moving around inside her belly as a living thing. “Oh, yes, it changes things.” She opened her eyes and glanced at Beckett. “I just don’t know how yet. I just don’t know how.”

“I need to ask you something else . . .” He touched her hand and traced a circle on her wrist.

“What is it?” She took his hand.

“Do you still love Walter? Still want him back?” He averted his eyes, looking beyond her shoulder.

A noise that sounded much like a cough but was meant to be a laugh erupted from Colleen and she released his hand and leaned back, ran her hand through her hair and shook her head. “Hell no. The wounded part of me that wanted him has healed. There is nothing about him, even the good memories I hoarded for years, that I want anymore.” She leaned closer. “If you’d asked me that question even a month ago, my answer might have been different. I might have thought I still cared deep down. But the minute I saw him, I knew that the scraped places of my heart had healed over and he held no allure for me. I waited for it—after I saw him—I waited for the shame and the sorrow to wash over me and discovered that the only thing that arrived was disgust. Absolute and pure disgust.”

Beckett nodded and the smile she had already come to anticipate lifted his lips, the lips she suddenly and clearly wanted to kiss.

“And I’ve been wanting to tell you this, too . . . I’ve been asked to write a travel memoir with essays about my life and trips. And this new piece of information—it changes even that because if I didn’t know this about myself, how could I possibly write about my life?”

“We live and write what we know when we know it, Colleen. You don’t have to understand everything at once. Give yourself and all of this some time.”

“I already feel like I’ve wasted so much of it, so much of time. I could have been here for my dad, could have . . .”

“Stop.” He kissed her to stop the flow of would-haves and could-haves.