believed there was no baby, no toddler, no child or teenager to wonder about? That he believed she’d moved on from their relationship more or less as he had—older, wiser...and childless?
Her breath came fast and shallow as the truth became clear. One thing about Nate: he didn’t lie, not even when it would be more convenient. He hadn’t said “I love you” to get her into bed, and he hadn’t said their baby wasn’t his when it would, after all, have been the word of the high school valedictorian against the girl everyone had assumed would follow in her mother’s footsteps.
No, he didn’t lie. But he had been lied to.
Izzy’s palms grew damp as nausea filled her stomach.
“We have a time constraint here, Izzy.” Irony shaded Nate’s voice. “Not that I have anywhere pressing to be today.”
He tilted his head in question. Will you change your mind and talk awhile? Nate was in his early thirties, like she was, but in this moment, even beneath the fluorescent glare, he looked eighteen again, sweet and teasing and persuasive.
She wanted so badly to get out of here so she could think. For the entire length of her son’s life, she’d told herself that Nate knew he’d fathered a child and simply didn’t care. She’d thought he’d been content to assume his child had been adopted and that he was completely off the paternal hook.
His lips curved as he gazed at her, and an electric feeling zinged through her veins. The first time she’d noticed him watching her, she’d been waiting tables at the deli, joining sweet, elderly Mr. Wittenberg in a quavering rendition of “Happy Birthday” while Mrs. Wittenberg giggled at the giant slice of New York cheesecake Izzy had set in front of her. The dessert was topped with so many candles Mrs. Wittenberg’s face had glowed like a girl’s in its light.
The Wittenbergs had been married as long as Izzy or anyone else could remember. They’d been old that long, too, and tended to look after each other like a parent hovering over a newborn—with a tenderness and tolerance that was both enviable and, for Izzy, as out of reach as the burning sun.
After Mrs. W had blown out her candles, with help, Izzy had headed toward the kitchen, passing the booth where Nate had been nursing an iced tea and studying. That was when she’d noticed him watching her. Holding her gaze steadily, he’d said, “That’s exactly how I want to spend my birthday when I’m their age.”
She’d started loving him a little bit right then. By the time she’d realized she was pregnant, Izzy had loved Nate Thayer with every fiber of her teenage heart. When it had appeared he didn’t love her at all, she had taken cold comfort in believing he was just one more irresponsible, self-centered teenage boy who’d had his fun and wanted to get on with a life that did not include a girl he didn’t love and a baby he hadn’t intended to make. Keeping that thought always in the forefront of her mind had gone a long way toward helping her let go of Nate. It had helped her let go of romantic fantasies altogether.
But now...
Dizziness and nausea rolled through her again. “Did your mother tell you about the miscarriage?” Was that her voice? She sounded calm.
Nate nodded.
Raw, burning anger filled Izzy’s body. She started to shake.
“I know it must have been painful. Terrible,” he said. “But I could never figure out why you didn’t tell me yourself. You were a gutsy girl.”
Gutsy. Is that what he thought? “I was never gutsy. I was always terrified.” She regretted the words the moment they left her mouth.
No hint of a smile remained around his lips. “That would have been more reason to phone, wouldn’t it?”
There was no miscarriage to phone about! She wanted to scream it. Shriek it. She wanted to find his parents and throttle them, and she was not a violent person.
Was she “gutsy” enough to tell him the truth now?
Would the truth have made a difference back
Her breath came fast and shallow as the truth became clear. One thing about Nate: he didn’t lie, not even when it would be more convenient. He hadn’t said “I love you” to get her into bed, and he hadn’t said their baby wasn’t his when it would, after all, have been the word of the high school valedictorian against the girl everyone had assumed would follow in her mother’s footsteps.
No, he didn’t lie. But he had been lied to.
Izzy’s palms grew damp as nausea filled her stomach.
“We have a time constraint here, Izzy.” Irony shaded Nate’s voice. “Not that I have anywhere pressing to be today.”
He tilted his head in question. Will you change your mind and talk awhile? Nate was in his early thirties, like she was, but in this moment, even beneath the fluorescent glare, he looked eighteen again, sweet and teasing and persuasive.
She wanted so badly to get out of here so she could think. For the entire length of her son’s life, she’d told herself that Nate knew he’d fathered a child and simply didn’t care. She’d thought he’d been content to assume his child had been adopted and that he was completely off the paternal hook.
His lips curved as he gazed at her, and an electric feeling zinged through her veins. The first time she’d noticed him watching her, she’d been waiting tables at the deli, joining sweet, elderly Mr. Wittenberg in a quavering rendition of “Happy Birthday” while Mrs. Wittenberg giggled at the giant slice of New York cheesecake Izzy had set in front of her. The dessert was topped with so many candles Mrs. Wittenberg’s face had glowed like a girl’s in its light.
The Wittenbergs had been married as long as Izzy or anyone else could remember. They’d been old that long, too, and tended to look after each other like a parent hovering over a newborn—with a tenderness and tolerance that was both enviable and, for Izzy, as out of reach as the burning sun.
After Mrs. W had blown out her candles, with help, Izzy had headed toward the kitchen, passing the booth where Nate had been nursing an iced tea and studying. That was when she’d noticed him watching her. Holding her gaze steadily, he’d said, “That’s exactly how I want to spend my birthday when I’m their age.”
She’d started loving him a little bit right then. By the time she’d realized she was pregnant, Izzy had loved Nate Thayer with every fiber of her teenage heart. When it had appeared he didn’t love her at all, she had taken cold comfort in believing he was just one more irresponsible, self-centered teenage boy who’d had his fun and wanted to get on with a life that did not include a girl he didn’t love and a baby he hadn’t intended to make. Keeping that thought always in the forefront of her mind had gone a long way toward helping her let go of Nate. It had helped her let go of romantic fantasies altogether.
But now...
Dizziness and nausea rolled through her again. “Did your mother tell you about the miscarriage?” Was that her voice? She sounded calm.
Nate nodded.
Raw, burning anger filled Izzy’s body. She started to shake.
“I know it must have been painful. Terrible,” he said. “But I could never figure out why you didn’t tell me yourself. You were a gutsy girl.”
Gutsy. Is that what he thought? “I was never gutsy. I was always terrified.” She regretted the words the moment they left her mouth.
No hint of a smile remained around his lips. “That would have been more reason to phone, wouldn’t it?”
There was no miscarriage to phone about! She wanted to scream it. Shriek it. She wanted to find his parents and throttle them, and she was not a violent person.
Was she “gutsy” enough to tell him the truth now?
Would the truth have made a difference back