“I know what you’ve been told. What you’ve been blamed for. At first I thought the same thing. But then a few things happened that made me question what the letter from Octavia said. Sure she had issues. We all knew that. She was spoiled beyond repair. However, when a psychiatrist came to the funeral and told us how sorry he was for our loss and that he’d tried to help Octavia the past couple of years the best he could her father demanded his records or he’d have him accused of something and his license to practice taken away. So he got the records.

Octavia was molested as a child by a close friend of her father’s. It went on for years until Octavia was old enough to get away from him. Two years ago, she paid a hit man to kill him. The disappearance of Vincent Brooklyn is now solved. He’s been dead for two years and his body is at the bottom of the Mississippi River.”

She paused and I tried to wrap my head around this. I had been to the man’s house before with her father. When he went missing Octavia been truly upset or acted like it. She had called him Uncle Vincent.

“The guilt of his murder was making her depression more severe. She was withdrawing and working on the store as a way to distract herself. She knew she was pregnant for three months. She was considering abortion and saying she didn’t want to be a mother. Months before you broke things off. What she wanted to talk to you about was she needed to confess her crime. She thought that telling you everything would ease her guilt. She never planned to tell you she was pregnant. She wasn’t going to keep the baby. Her abortion date had been scheduled. You are not the reason she hung herself or killed your child. She was never even going to tell you she was pregnant.”

All I could do was sit there. It was once again like I was hearing a horror story that wasn’t real. This time I didn’t have guilt on my shoulders. But the horror was all the same. Octavia had lived a much darker life inside her head than I imagined.

She’d suffered and mentally she wasn’t stable. She never had been. I had missed that. Thinking her indifference and distance was a good thing. She’d been that way to protect her secrets.

It didn’t change the fact I had lost my son. I would have lost him anyway and never even known it. She was never going to let me have him. She didn’t want a child. She’d said that often.

Standing up I walked out. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t ask questions. I just needed to leave. Be alone. My mother didn’t come running after me. She understood.

I climbed back into my truck and drove. I ignored my phone. I’d call them back. I just drove. I drove until the town changed. Until the scenery became something else familiar. Until I was parked outside my grandpop’s bar.

Sitting there I let the facts measure up in my head. I was able to let go of the self-blame. Move on from the guilt. I mourned the lives lost that didn’t have to be. For the sickness that causes people to act in a way that ruins lives and often ends them. I mourned the woman she could have been if she hadn’t been abused. I mourned the life my son could have had.

But I no longer blamed me. I was free of that guilt. My choices didn’t make Octavia take her life and the life of my unborn son. Her choices and emotional damage had. I’d missed that. Yes. I hadn’t realized she was hiding pain but then we’d never been connected. I’d called that easy. When, in reality, it was wrong.

I wanted what my parents had. I wanted that connection. I wanted a life with a woman I loved. That I could share with. The other way no longer felt easy. It was lonely. It was empty.

I wanted Bliss.

Opening my truck door, I got out and headed inside. My Grandpop had been worried about me. Called several times. Mom had told him I needed space not to come. Now I needed to plan. Decide how I would approach Bliss. She hadn’t heard from me in two months. I didn’t know what she was doing or if she was dating. The way we felt . . . the way it had been I didn’t want to think she could move on so quickly. But I owed her more. And I wanted to give it all to her. I was ready to deserve her. Whatever I had to do I was willing to do it.

Bliss York

TODAY HAD BEEN a success. The turn out for the first Teen Day at the library had been bigger than I hoped. One hundred and eleven teens came to meet the author and play the trivia games we had set up for them. I was happily humming to myself as I finished cleaning up the area we had held the event when the Media director, Matthew Goodwin, came walking into the room. He was six foot tall with dark brown hair and pretty green eyes. He had a definite nerdy vibe with his glasses and technical side but he was attractive. He pulled it off.

I could tell he was interested in me by his daily flirting. It was subtle. Almost shy like. If there hadn’t been a Nate in my life. If I hadn’t fallen in love with him all over again just months ago then maybe Matthew would have been fun. Maybe we could have made it work. But there had been a Nate. And my heart wasn’t ready.

“Great event,” Matthew said with his straight white teeth smile.

“Yes it was. I couldn’t be more pleased with the turn out.”

“Never had an event here so successful.”

That fact made me beam with pride. I may have gotten this job because of Blythe but being successful at it was important to me. I wanted them to be glad they hired me.

“I’m glad tomorrow is Sunday. I need a lazy day at home.”

“I can imagine after today. What about tonight? You headed home?”

I had thought about going to Live Bay. Having a drink, visiting with friends, being normal. Things I rarely did anymore.

“Not sure,” I replied honestly.

“Want to go get a drink?”

Here it was. The question. It wasn’t a date. Just drinks. I could invite him to Live Bay. We may enjoy each other’s company. It could be good for me.

“I was thinking of going to see some friends at Live Bay. You want to come with me?”

The smile was back on his face. I wished I felt that excited about this. Instead it felt wrong. I couldn’t back out now.

“Sounds fun.”

Great. He was coming. Okay. I asked him, now I just had to get through it.

“I’m headed out the door. You ready?” I tried to sound happy.

“Yeah, already closed up my section.”

We started for the door and my brain was racing trying to come up with an excuse to cancel. I didn’t want to do this. I wanted to go home now. Be alone. I had changed my mind. I started to say something when my eyes locked on the man standing at my car. I stopped walking.

He was here.

Or I was delusional.

Could be that I had lost my mind.

“Do you know him?” Matthew asked and I nodded. My voice wasn’t working. Words weren’t there. If Matthew saw him too then I hadn’t lost my mind. He was actually there. At my car.

“Are you okay? Need me to have him leave?”

This time I just shook my head no. Still words weren’t working. Nate took a step in my direction and I was unsure what to do. Was he here to tell me something? To see me? To rip open the wounds that were still fresh?

“I can’t . . . I have to . . .” I was trying to tell Matthew I wouldn’t be going to Live Bay. Because after this encounter I would need more bottles of wine and cake while I once again nursed the pain.

“If you don’t want to see that guy I can make him leave,” Matthew said. He sounded as if he believed he could. I knew he couldn’t. Didn’t matter. I wanted to see Nate. Hear his voice. Know that he was okay. Even if wine and a lot of calories followed.