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Chapter 4: A Painful Encounter

Chapter 4: A Painful Encounter

Three days after the lake, and Ethan wouldn't answer my calls. I'd seen his truck parked outside Turner Construction, watched him duck into Henderson's Hardware when he spotted me coming down Main Street. Each dodge felt like a fresh wound, reopening scars I thought had healed decades ago.

I was cleaning out Mom's closet when I found it – a powder blue shoebox tucked behind her winter sweaters. My hands trembled as I lifted the lid, recognizing her neat handwriting on the label: "Caleb's Special Memories."

The first photo caught my breath. Ethan and me at seventeen, sprawled on the hood of his father's Chevy, my head thrown back in laughter while he watched me with those eyes that had always seen too much. Mom must have taken it before... before everything fell apart.

"Find anything interesting?"

I jumped, nearly dropping the box. Dad stood in the doorway, his pastor's collar still starched and perfect despite the summer heat.

"Just some old photos." I tried to slide the box behind me, but his sharp intake of breath told me he'd seen.

"I told your mother to burn those." His voice had that same edge it got during sermons about sin and redemption. "Nothing good comes from dwelling on... that time."

"That time?" I stood, anger burning away the lump in my throat. "You mean when you and Mr. Turner decided to destroy two kids' lives because you couldn't handle the truth about your sons?"

"We saved you both." He stepped into the room, reaching for the box. "Look at Ethan now – respected businessman, father, pillar of the community."

I clutched the box tighter. "He's divorced. Unhappy. Is that what you wanted for him?"

"What I wanted—" He stopped, shoulders sagging suddenly. "What I wanted was to protect my son."

"From love?"

The word hung between us like smoke. Dad looked away first, his eyes falling on another photo that had slipped to the floor. I knew which one it was without looking – Ethan and me at my eighteenth birthday, careful inches between us as we smiled for the camera, both of us already carrying the weight of secrets.

"He's avoiding me now," I said into the silence. "Just like back then. Because he's still terrified of disappointing you and his father."

"Caleb..." Dad's voice softened. "Son, what happened at the lake—"

My blood ran cold. "How did you—"

"Small town." He gestured vaguely. "Martha Peterson's grandson was fishing late. Saw two men on the dock."

Of course. There were always eyes watching in Pine Ridge.

"We're not teenagers anymore," I said, hating how defensive I sounded. "You can't send me away to conversion therapy this time."

Dad flinched like I'd struck him. "I was wrong about that. Your mother... she never forgave me."

"But you still think we're wrong. That what Ethan and I feel is wrong."

He didn't answer, which was answer enough. I turned back to the box, pulling out more photos. Ethan in his football jersey, me in my debate team blazer. Us washing his car, water fights turning to lingering touches when we thought no one was watching. Mom had seen it all, captured it all.

"Did she know?" I asked suddenly. "Back then, before we were caught?"

Dad's silence stretched for a long moment. "She suspected. Said she'd never seen you happier than when you were with him."

A sob caught in my throat. Another photo – Ethan teaching me to drive stick shift, his hand covering mine on the gear shift. The casual intimacy of it stabbed at my heart.

"He kissed me first, you know." The words spilled out, twenty-five years too late. "Behind the school after he won the championship game. I was so scared, but he just smiled and said he'd been waiting forever to do that."

"Caleb, please—"

"And now he's avoiding me again because he's still scared. Because this town, this perfect little Christian town, would rather see us miserable apart than happy together."

"Is that what you want?" Dad's voice cracked. "To be with him? After all this time?"

I looked down at the photos scattered around me – fragments of a love story that never got its proper ending. "I never stopped wanting that. Even in Seattle, even with other men, it was always him."

Dad moved to the window, staring out at the maple tree where Ethan used to park his truck. "He comes to church every Sunday," he said finally. "Sits in the back pew where you used to sit. Sometimes... sometimes I see him touching the hymnal you used to share."

My heart twisted. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because." He turned back to me, looking suddenly older. "Because your mother made me promise, before she... she made me promise to stop standing in the way of your happiness. Both of you."

I sank onto Mom's bed, photos spilling across the quilt she'd made for my high school graduation. "It might be too late. He won't even talk to me now."

"Give him time." Dad's hand landed on my shoulder, tentative but there. "That boy... that man has loved you since you were sixteen years old. Some things don't change, no matter how hard we pray they will."

I looked up at him, startled by the admission. He squeezed my shoulder once, then turned to leave.

"Dad?" I called after him. "Would you... would you really be okay with it? With us?"

He paused in the doorway. "I'm learning to be. For your mother. For you." A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "And because Martha Peterson's grandson said it was the most romantic thing he'd ever seen."

After he left, I spread the photos out on Mom's bed, piecing together the story she'd seen unfolding all those years ago. Young love captured in stolen glances and secret smiles. My fingers traced Ethan's face in each one, remembering how those lips had felt against mine on the dock.

Now I just had to make him stop running long enough to remember too.

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