You smile, reach for my hand, and put the car in gear.
* * *
“Rudy isn’t your real father,” I say on the way home, after we’ve cleaned the office, after we"ve wiped any evidence of us having been there.
You aren’t expecting me to say it, but I can’t help myself.
“I know,” you tell me.
“What? Really? For how long?”
“For longer than he would have liked.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask. Suddenly, I feel lost. You aren’t fazed. “Did you know I knew?”
“I suspected.”
“Did Rudy tell you that I knew?
“No. Rudy doesn’t know I know. Not really, anyway.”
“What do you mean?”
You let out a long sigh and then you finally look over at me. “There are two kinds of people, Kate,” you say, and you pause. “Those who lie outright. And those who avoid the truth.”
“So you don’t believe in being hon
