Tim wouldn’t look at her. He sat on the porch steps, elbows on his knees, staring at a crack in the concrete like it owed him an answer. “I don’t want you to marry my dad.” He said it flat, no anger in it, which somehow made it worse.
Julia sat down beside him, careful to leave space. “Can you tell me why?” He shook his head, a small, tight shake, like the reason was something he’d locked away and swallowed the key to. “Tim, the wedding is in a week. If there’s something I should know—” “I can’t,” he said, voice cracking. “You wouldn’t believe me anyway.”
She wanted to press harder, but something in his face stopped her. Not stubbornness. Fear. “Okay,” she said quietly. “Not tonight. But this isn’t over.” He nodded, still not meeting her eyes, and went inside. Julia sat alone on the steps a long time after, turning the last year over in her mind, looking for the thing she must have missed.