Page 75 of Hearts Don't Lie
“Yes.”
“I heard them,” Stowe said angrily.
Hardin turned, leaning forward, his elbows on his thighs and asked quietly, “What did you hear, son?”
“They sounded snotty, like they think they’re better than everyone. Are they rich?”
“Very much so.” Hardin pressed gently. “What did you hear?”
Stowe set his lemonade down and became engrossed in Homer. He wiped angrily at his eyes, his chin trembling, and gently stroked the Lop’s soft mottled fur.
Hardin waited, giving his son time to pull himself together or fly apart.
“They did horrible things. They ruined Mom’s life. They ruined your life together. Your mother called Mom a whore!” His crying became jagged and loud. “They hate her!”
Hardin got out of his chair and moved Stowe’s leg carefully before sitting next to it on the ottoman. “Hey,” he said gruffly.
Stowe put the Lop gently on the floor and stood, balancing carefully, moving into his dad’s lap with help. He cried harder, burrowing into Hardin, sweaty with emotion, his heart thundering like mad.
It was surreal, holding and comforting his son, experiencing the fierce need to protect him at all costs. Hardin stroked his back. “Ssh… Ssh…”
“I hate them, Dad,” Stowe said into Hardin’s neck.
“Are you listening?”
Stowe nodded into his neck and sniffled.
“Hate hollows you, son. It serves no purpose other than to strip your guts out, rob you of your integrity and character. Your soul. You’re better than that. So much better.”
Stowe sat up and said solemnly, “You sound like Mom.”
“I consider that the highest of compliments.”
“Can I say I pity them?”
Hardin’s mouth moved around as he thought it over. “Um… What you might consider is forgiving them.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s the best they can do.”
“That’s really sad. How did you end up so good?”
“Luck, and I had your mom. For a while at least.”
“You’ve got her now.”
“I do.”
“And me, Dad.”
Hardin’s heart pounded. He closed his eyes to stanch the threatening tears, but his breath stuttered as he inhaled and his scratchy voice gave away what he felt. “Having you means the world to me, Stowe.”
Stowe’s arms snaked around his shoulders. “I love you, Dad.”
“I love you, son,” Hardin said, letting the tears flow.
Stowe pushed away and sat up, wiping his face, grinning at his dad. “You know, Mom says real men cry.”
