Kept by Sally Bradley Page A

pizza. “He had a crush on a girl whose last name was Tomlinson. Guess he never got over her.”
    “And the Petrosian?”
    “Armenian. You look just like my mother—and my aunts.” He set his fork down and studied her. “How are you doing? I should have remembered earlier that you were the only one without a mother today.”
    She’d spent all her tears. “Zane and Wade are in the same boat.”
    “They’re men. It’s different. And they’re caught up in their own… issues.”
    That was putting it nicely. “Have you talked to them?”
    “Some.” He sighed. “Zane’s cordial. We’ve met for drinks a time or two. He’s the one who gave me your number. But Wade—I don’t think he knows how to talk to me. Are they angry with me?”
    She shrugged. “They never talked about you.”
    He studied the room behind her. “They were bad, weren’t they?”
    “They were.” There was no sense softening the truth. “It’s the main reason we don’t see each other much. Through high school they were always using me to get to some girl, and girls befriended me to have a sleepover at my house. If you know what I mean.”
    He stared at his plate, mouth twisting.
    “Why does that bother you? How is it any different than what you did?”
    He looked up, eyes lit with surprise. Didn’t he see himself for what he was? What he’d been?
    “They’re not good men, Miska.”
    She shrugged. “They’re my brothers, your sons.”
    “It pains me because at some level their behavior is my fault. Mine and your mother’s.”
    “Mom’s fault?”
    “Miska.” He flashed a fatherly smile. “I don’t mean to make your mother look bad. She was a single mom doing the best she could.”
    “You have no idea.”
    He blinked at her.
    “How would things be different if you’d done it right?”
    “Miska, please.”
    “Humor me. What if you’d stuck it out with someone?”
    “For starters, you and the boys wouldn’t exist. It would be Jody, Adrienne, Alec, and me.” He chuckled. “And probably a few others.”
    “So we were a mistake.”
    “No. Never.” He crossed his arms. “Children are the good that come out of bad situations. You, your brothers, your half-sisters and brothers—all gifts.”
    Some gift if he’d chosen to neglect them. “What would you say if I were in a similar situation?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “If I were dating a married man. Would you say that was a mistake—”
    “Yes.”
    “You don’t think anything good could come from it?”
    “No.”
    “What if his marriage was already dying? What if we really connected and were happy together? Couldn’t that be the right thing?”
    “Never. If you’re seeing a married man, end it.”
    “I think you’re wrong.”
    “I’m not. I was the married man. None of those relationships had a chance because I didn’t respect—”
    “Mark respects me. I know he does.”
    Dad studied her. “Except everything’s rushed. Secretive. You have to meet on the sly, and there are certain people and places he wants you to avoid. So he doesn’t get caught. And it’s always sex. Just sex. You talk some, but most of those rushed moments together are just sex.”
    “No.” She lifted her chin. “We talk a lot. Skype, phone, texts. When he comes to town, there’s lots of talking too. He makes me happy. I make him—”
    “He’s no good, Miska. You send a married man packing.”
    “Or maybe you hang on to love when you find it. Maybe his first marriage was wrong and we’re the ones meant to be.”
    He grabbed her fisted hand. “Then you have that conversation. You find out if you’re right. And if he’s not serious about you, then you kiss him good-bye. Right? Okay?”
    Against her will, she nodded. The one thing her parents agreed on—and she’d done the opposite.
    *****
    Stomachs satisfied, they walked to her building, a strong lake breeze whipping her hair. Cars honked and sped past while pedestrians crossed into and out of Grant Park.
    Inside