He scratched his head, mashing his lips together for a moment. “I’d always wondered if you got the money I’d sent. Figures your dad wouldn’t spend a dime of it. Probably thought it was drug money or something.” Drug money?

His hand rubbed over his mouth. “I had some problems before I went into the army.

Let’s just say Uncle Sam kicked that shit out of my system quickly.”

I had no doubt about that. “I have savings bonds for both your girls. I want them to have the two thousand dollars.” Joe held out a hand, ready to rebuke me, but I spoke over him. “Joe, it’s for their future. I appreciate your generosity, but it’s not necessary.”

Joe’s wife, Jill, overrode his disapproval.

“Thank you, Taryn. That is very thoughtful of you. The girls will be going off to college before we know it so we’ll make sure it goes to good use.” Jill looked over at Ryan. “Although meeting you is going to be priceless to them. They haven’t shut up about it since we told them. Our oldest thought we were playing a practical joke on her up until the moment you walked into that dining room. I can’t thank you enough for all that you’ve given my family today.”

Ryan smiled but waved it off as no big deal. “I’ll make sure they get some pictures of us together to take back with them.” Both Joe and his wife seemed exceptionally pleased by that. Then Joe turned his attention back to me, studying me as if I were made of glass. “You probably have so many questions now.”

That was an understatement. “I have so many questions, I don’t know where to even begin.”

Joe rested his elbows on his knees. “Ask me anything. Jill has a right to know, as well.

I know I shocked the hell out of her, too”—he reached over and took his wife’s hand—“but like I told her, I never thought I’d see you again, so what would be the point of upset-ting her.”

Jill gave him a reassuring smile, rubbing the back of his hand. “I’m not upset. You were a teenager, Joe.”

Joe shrugged, seeming to want to atone for his sins. “A kid that got his teen girlfriend pregnant.”

Ryan crossed his foot up on his knee and reached for my hand. “And for that, I thank you,” he said, pulling my hand up to his mouth to grace me with a kiss. “You created the woman I love. There is no better gift than that.”

Something silent seemed to pass between the two men, a mutual understanding of sorts.

Joe seemed relieved. “At least I did something right. I’m glad to know she’s in such good hands.”

I felt a blush warm my cheeks. I was in the best of hands. How vastly different my life could have turned out had my parents not given me up. Bits and pieces of the army letters Joe had written to me came swirling back. All of them hinted at the fact that Joe was a bit of a hellion when he was a teenager.

I squeezed Ryan’s hand. “You dated Kelcie in high school?”

Joe glanced at his wife, silently seeking her approval to talk about this. She gave him a thoughtful smile in return. “Yeah. She sat by me in math class. I used to cheat off her paper. We were fifteen when we started going steady.”

I could see he was recalling fond memories.

“We were like kindred spirits; both of us were hell-raisers who hated our parents.

When I got Kelcie pregnant, I honestly thought my life was starting over. I’d hoped that her mom would at least be understanding, but instead she kicked her own daughter out onto the street. And Kelcie’s dad . . . that bastard ruled with an iron fist. To this day, I still think he used to beat her mom, but I could never prove it. Both of them were not good people.”

Thoughts of having “not good people” as a set of grandparents I’d never meet crossed my mind.

“Anyway, I tried to get her out of there.

We even thought that if she’d get pregnant my parents would take sympathy on her and let her move in.” He laughed. “Yeah, that wasn’t one of our brightest ideas.” Ryan sat forward. Something had un-settled him.

“Don’t get me wrong, we both wanted you,” Joe said, backpedaling. “It’s just, well, my dad got laid off and my mom wasn’t making all that much at her job. Kelcie tried to get on welfare to help feed you. We were just kids, barely able to wipe our own noses.”

“I always dream about you having black hair,” I said, unconsciously touching my hair.

Joe appeared taken aback. “You do? Huh.

I actually used to dye it. I wanted to be a punk rocker. My mom almost cried when I traded in piano lessons for a guitar with an anarchy sticker on it.”

Ryan glanced over at me. “Well, now we know where your musical talents come from.”

I smiled. My mom couldn’t even tune the car stereo.

Joe’s eyes widened. “You play?” I nodded. “Started on piano and taught myself acoustic guitar.”

Ryan brushed my arm, smiling. “And she’s got a beautiful voice, too.” Joe seemed impressed. “Wow! That’s excellent!”

After a few moments of silence, I went for the question that burned the most in my mind. “I dream about you quite often, Joe.

Whenever I do, my dad, Dan, is always there, too. And you two are fighting. I mean, physically fighting. And then there’s blood. Lots of blood. Your teeth, your mouth.” Joe winced, shaking his head. “Taryn . . .”

“No, I need to know. It’s always the same dream and after all of these years, I need answers. I have nightmares—scary, horrible nightmares.”

Ryan’s mouth opened, realization dawning on him. I nodded at his silent conclusion, knowing I’d never fully explained why I sometimes woke up terrified. Now he understood. I squeezed his hand harder.

Joe stared across the short distance between his seat and mine, his lips mashed into a hard line.

“And they always end the same way. You say ‘I’d never hurt you, baby girl’ and then your teeth turn red with blood.” I knew I was goading him, but I didn’t care. It was time to find out just how fucked-up this situation really was.

Ryan’s face fell, coated with pitiful sorrow.

This was news I’d never shared before. I thought he might be miffed about finding out this way, but I’d just have to deal with him later.

“Taryn,” Joe started, using a tone that was obviously a warning.

“No, I need to know. Why? Why do I have the same dream over and over again?” He hesitated, holding his breath, but I was tired of waiting. My dream was always the same, and now I knew it wasn’t just a fig-ment of my imagination. I’d been recalling a memory over and over again.