Love Unrehearsed

“I always dream about you having black hair,” I said, unconsciously touching my hair.

Joe appeared taken aback. “You do? Huh. I actually used to dye it. I wanted to be a punk rocker. My mom almost cried when I traded in piano lessons for a guitar with an anarchy sticker on it.”

Ryan glanced over at me. “Well, now we know where your musical talents come from.”

I smiled. My mom couldn’t even tune the car stereo.

Joe’s eyes widened. “You play?”

I nodded. “Started on piano and taught myself acoustic guitar.”

Ryan brushed my arm, smiling. “And she’s got a beautiful voice, too.”

Joe seemed impressed. “Wow! That’s excellent!”

After a few moments of silence, I went for the question that burned the most in my mind. “I dream about you quite often, Joe. Whenever I do, my dad, Dan, is always there, too. And you two are fighting. I mean, physically fighting. And then there’s blood. Lots of blood. Your teeth, your mouth.”

Joe winced, shaking his head. “Taryn . . .”

“No, I need to know. It’s always the same dream and after all of these years, I need answers. I have nightmares—scary, horrible nightmares.”

Ryan’s mouth opened, realization dawning on him. I nodded at his silent conclusion, knowing I’d never fully explained why I sometimes woke up terrified. Now he understood. I squeezed his hand harder.

Joe stared across the short distance between his seat and mine, his lips mashed into a hard line.

“And they always end the same way. You say ‘I’d never hurt you, baby girl’ and then your teeth turn red with blood.” I knew I was goading him, but I didn’t care. It was time to find out just how fucked-up this situation really was.

Ryan’s face fell, coated with pitiful sorrow. This was news I’d never shared before. I thought he might be miffed about finding out this way, but I’d just have to deal with him later.

“Taryn,” Joe started, using a tone that was obviously a warning.

“No, I need to know. Why? Why do I have the same dream over and over again?”

He hesitated, holding his breath, but I was tired of waiting. My dream was always the same, and now I knew it wasn’t just a figment of my imagination. I’d been recalling a memory over and over again.

“Just tell me. Please.”

Joe huffed, then rolled his gaze back to me. “It was the Fourth of July, right before I shipped off to boot camp. You know your birth mom got killed in a car crash, right?”

I nodded. “Your mom told me.”

Joe frowned, pained by this walk down memory lane. “It was right after Christmas when it had happened. You weren’t even two yet. Your mom—Je

I swallowed hard as answers started to fill the empty spaces.

“Aunt Je

I held up a hand, not wanting to know I was used as barter. “Is this the reason why our mothers stopped talking to each other?”

Joe’s face blanked, and then he gave me one nod of confirmation.

“Taryn,” Ryan groaned. I knew he was telling me not to feel guilty about that.

I gave Ryan my own pleading warning. I still had unanswered questions. “So then what happened on the Fourth?”

Joe hesitated, gazing at the ornate rug beneath his feet instead of answering.

“Joe, both of my parents are gone. I have a right to know the truth. What happened?”

“Nothing, really. It was a family picnic, no big deal.”

Somehow I highly doubted that.

I could see him caving a bit more, his broad shoulders slumping. “I may have been a bit surly, considering the circumstances. Part of the agreement was that you were never to know that they weren’t your natural parents. I had to swear I’d never reveal the truth. It”—he gasped, choking up—“it killed me to do that, Taryn. You were my baby girl. Mine. I held you from the moment you came out of your momma’s belly and I promised you . . . I promised that I’d never stop taking care of you. I rocked you and fed you and read stories when you had colic and wouldn’t sleep. And then when that asshole drove too fast on the icy road and smashed into us, I was all you had left. I knew we shouldn’t have taken you out, but all we had to do was put you in that car seat and drive around a bit and you’d be out like a light. I couldn’t just let them take that from me!”

Jill rested her hand on Joe’s thigh to comfort him, her hand trembling slightly.

My own hand started to tremble as well. In the dream, I know I’m alone with him and I can feel him touching my hair, talking to me as if he’s sorry. And then my father pounces, ready to kill him. Maybe my intimacy and fear-of-abandonment issues have atrocious origins?

I felt my chest tighten even more, fearing the answer to my next question. “Did you hurt me?”

Joe winced. “What? Oh, Lord, no. No.”

“Then why did my dad hit you? He beat the crap out of you until you bled. He was a levelheaded guy.

Why would he attack you so brutally?”

Joe was glowering at me, his breathing labored with his frustration. “Because I told you the truth! I told you about your real mom and I told you that I was your real dad and no matter what they did, they would never take you from my heart. You are my daughter. That’s why!”

Chapter 22

Fiasco

I could feel our plane descending on its approach to Providence. I’d been watching the arrival time on the screen, counting from one to sixty to help take my mind off the change in pressure squeezing my ears. I was all out of chewing gum, slightly in pain, and flat-out exhausted.

A huge part of me, though, felt relieved. Meeting Joe and his family, being able to reconcile that part of my life, was emotionally taxing but very necessary.

I departed Lake Tahoe hoping that my disrupted soul could finally find peace.

Joe had shown me a picture of Kelcie, and after the shock wore off at how much I really did look like my birth mother, he told me I could keep it. I squeezed my carry-on bag, hugging the picture that I’d placed inside my wallet. Kelcie Tremont was two months away from her eighteenth birthday when she died on that icy winter night.

The last thing she did before leaving this earth was tend to my needs, even though it was obvious from this meeting that Joe had been harboring the guilt since he was the one that suggested taking me out in the car. I held his hand for a long time while he and I had a private moment to talk about forgiveness.

Ryan reached over the armrest and patted my leg, rubbing his palm over my denim-clad thigh. I met his gaze, understanding his thoughtful look. Right after that, I had a revelation. Somewhere along the line, Ryan and I had developed the ability to say a hundred words to each other with just one look. I could read him just as easily as he could read me, and what he wanted to know right now was what I was dwelling on.

“I have to talk to Pete,” I answered. With all of the other revelations we’d been dealing with over the last three days, speaking with Pete had been put on hold.

Ryan nodded but I could tell he was concerned. I knew he had a lot to do; the third Seaside movie was scheduled to start filming in three weeks and he’d be on location in New Orleans for three and a half months. “We’ll talk to him together. I’ve got to tell you, Taryn, I’m not happy about Tammy having an attitude. You’ve allowed her to run her business out of that kitchen for pe

My mouth popped open to speak, only to be shut by him continuing with his small rant.