Travis (Pelion Lake) by Mia Sheridan

I had a vision of him as the quiet recluse he’d once been, shoulders drawn in, shaggy head down, utterly alone and ignored, walking down the streets of Pelion, and a sharp pang of regret burned through my gut.

I’d been one of the people doing the ignoring.

That burn intensified.

What’s wrong with you?

What’s wrong with you?

“Hmm?” Bree asked, bringing me back to the present, her eyes glued to her husband, that soft, gooey look she still wore on her face all these years later when she watched Archer interacting with others. Or fathering their children. Or breathing air. Just existing.

“Hmm what?”

She glanced at me, a worried frown replacing the look of love she’d just worn. “You just mumbled something.”

Had I said it out loud? I gave my head a small shake. The memory had been so shockingly strong, I’d zoned out for a minute there. “I said, what’s wrong with you,” I answered. “It’s what my father said to me the day before he left.” I paused. Haven had said the same thing to me at Gage’s party after the possum incident and it’d suddenly come back to me, the hurt of those words. I could feel Bree’s gaze on the side of my face as I continued to stare—blindly now—into the crowd, my mind cast back . . . back. “My father always seemed so concerned about Archer, gave him all this attention. I was jealous.” Another pause. It hurt to say this out loud. It felt good to say it out loud.

“You were seven, Travis,” she said gently.

“I didn’t want to share my dad. He was the only parent that felt stable, the one who didn’t confuse me. I didn’t want to be second best,” I murmured. Even before my mother had given me those words, I’d felt it. I’d known my father’s heart was split between the two of us. And why should it be? He was my dad. I’d only learned the truth later. “I was mean to Archer. I tripped him and he scraped his knee. My father knelt down and took my shoulders in his hands and gave me this hard, little shake.” I sat up and mimicked the action, replacing my hands on the blanket behind me. “He looked so damned disappointed. And he asked, what’s wrong with you? I still find myself asking that question sometimes, only there’s no answer. Just that same feeling. The feeling of being a disappointment.”

The next day he’d left me without a goodbye. He’d left me and taken Archer with him, the son he really wanted. Left me behind. Forever.

“Oh Travis,” she said softly, “he didn’t mean it. He said it in anger and frustration. Believe me, I get fed up with those wild children of mine a hundred times a day.” But the way she was looking at them run circles around their father, such open adoration in her eyes, told me everything I needed to know about what kind of mother she was.

“I know,” I said, because I did. On some level, I knew that. But I’d still acted on that feeling far too often over the years. Why? Had I let the lingering fear of not being good enough in the eyes of the one person who really mattered to me, rule my behavior?

The couple Archer was talking to turned to each other momentarily and I watched as Archer glanced somewhat longingly to the place Bree and I were sitting. The place devoid of people, except those he felt comfortable with, and perhaps that even meant me. The expression was fleeting, his smile returning as the couple’s attention focused back on him, but it suddenly hit me. Archer's life wasn't perfect. Sure he'd gained confidence and social skills over the eight years since he'd inherited the town. He had a family now, friends, a full life. But surely he also still carried the part of himself that had once lived as a complete loner, and perhaps he even missed some aspects of that life.

Weren't all of us a compilation of the versions of ourselves we'd once been? Maybe if we were lucky—and insightful—we learned how to extract the good, and leave the bad behind, the parts that hadn’t worked for us, and instead brought nothing but pain.

Maybe.

And maybe the things Bree and Archer signed to each other in the quiet of night weren’t just words of love and tenderness, but fears, and insecurities, and whatever their worries might be.

Bree and I were both silent for a few minutes as we thought our own thoughts, the whirring sound of the fan and the low din of the crowd beyond creating a peaceful white noise.

“What happened with Phoebe?” Bree asked finally. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

A small group of people moved from the place they’d been standing and I caught sight of Haven, her laugh ringing out as she listened to something Burt was saying. I felt a smile tilt my lips and a zip of electricity moved from my chest to my midsection and back again.

“She cheated on me. I walked in on it.”

Bree let out a small gasp. “Walked in on . . . you mean—”

“Oh yes. The thing you think I mean is exactly what I mean.”

She grimaced. “Oh my God. Travis.” She massaged her temple as though the image had literally brought her pain. My heart gave a small kick. I’d brought her pain once upon a time. Some would say that to witness mine might feel like poetic justice to Bree Hale. Some might be right. “I’m so sorry that happened to you,” she said.

I looked at her, noting the pure sincerity on her face. “I know you are.” Our eyes met and an understanding passed between us. “And I’m grateful.” I took a deep breath, looking away and ending the moment, my eyes finding Haven again. “But, on the bright side, better to know now, than at a point when breaking up involved lawyers and the division of assets.” Or in my case, property, as it was the only net worth of any real significance that I had.