My mother sighed and nodded her head. Marigold, or rather Mary as the siblings called her, was my younger sister only by a year. “She has space. It’s just her, Thomas, and the baby,” she said to me.
But she hadn’t forgotten my earlier request and glanced at Father who nodded. But I waited for the words.
“Yes, you may be excused,” she said, sounding as sad and resigned to be stuck in the middle between father and daughter as she had when I’d lived here.
There weren’t any choices for privacy. Despite the cold, I set out into the cover of darkness that completely obliterated any light.
I wrapped my arms around myself to ward off the chill as snow still lightly fell. When the door opened, I wasn’t surprised to see my mother wrapped in an afghan.
She came over and cupped my cheeks.
“Let me look at you. Still as pretty as the day you were born.”
The love in her eyes broke me. “Mom,” I said, choking out a sob.
She wrapped me in a loving embrace. One that I hadn’t known I needed until I was there. Fiercely, I hugged her back and let the tears I’d been holding in fall.
She rubbed circles on my back, and for the first time all day, I felt completely safe.
“He’s not mad at you,” she began.
“Of course, he is. I’m his one failure.”
She pulled back and met my eyes. “You are not. He’s scared for you. You’re out there in the world where he can’t keep you safe.”
That’s when it hit me. “How did Dad know Scott comes from money?”
I hadn’t mentioned that in my letter to them, knowing Father’s feelings.
Her eyebrow lifted. “Your father may not be much for technology, but he knows how to search. He found an article about Scott and his family.”
He could have only found something in the society section. I couldn’t imagine my father reading about social events where dressing the part would be more important than the reason for the event.
I imagined Scott’s parents had orchestrated getting themselves in such an article likely in The New York Times.
Unable to imagine my father doing a google search on me, I said as much.
“He might not say it, but he’s very proud of you. He’s just an old-fashioned man who wants to know the man you’re with is worthy of you.”
I wanted to believe her, but she saw the best in him as he always pointed out the worst in me.
“Now, come inside and tell me about this man.”
I stopped and glared at her.
She smiled. “Come on now. I see that look. Someone has broken your heart and it’s most certainly not Scott.”
She made it very hard to keep secrets from her. “Father?” I asked before following her inside.
“You know he has an early start. He’ll be in bed. We’ll have the fire to ourselves to gossip.”
She winked and I gave her a wry smile. We sat by the fire, and though I’d wanted desperately to forget about the man who’d crawled into the depths of my emotions, I whispered the story, an edited version.
“He lied to me,” I said, in conclusion. “His name wasn’t Kalen Brinner, but Jeremy King.”
“Wasn’t it, though,” she said. “Kalen Brinner is also a part of his name, correct?”
I shrugged. “He claimed as much, but that isn’t the point.”
“Isn’t it? We all have secrets. My parents had them when they moved here for a better life, or so they said. Yet the community embraced us and made us feel welcome.”
“But you didn’t want to be here.”
She shook her head with a secretive smile. “I hated every second.”
“Until Father?”
She sighed. “Until your father,” she agreed, with a girlish smile on her face. “His courting was so subtle; I had no idea it was happening. He was so sweet, showing me the beautiful life we could have together.”
It seemed foreign to hear that about the man who seemed so cold and remote.
“He’s a good man,” she added. “Sometimes love can be found in the oddest of places.”
I thought about the gorgeous but grumpy Scottish man who had stormed into my life.
“He doesn’t love me.”
“But you him?” she asked.
I shrugged, not ready to admit anything yet. “It doesn’t matter. It’s over.”
She didn’t press, just patted the hands I’d rested in my lap. “Let me get you some blankets.”
She stood after pressing a kiss to the top of my head. “Maybe he isn’t the one. Maybe Turner is.”
Before I could respond, she’d disappeared behind her bedroom door.
I closed my eyes and let myself think of the possibilities. Could I live here in this community for the rest of my life? Could I do that as Turner’s wife?
Eight
Kalen
The phone felt it might crack under the pressure of my grip. It took several calming moments before I was able to place it on my desk without slamming it. It wasn’t conceivable to me that every muscle in my body could be so tense at the same time. My chest felt constricted, like it was impossible to get enough air.