Chapter 42

She raised her hand and knocked on the shiny black door. A glow of lights shone through the beveled glass. It had taken all her strength of will to say goodbye to Russ and Otis at the Vancouver airport. Already she missed them.

Every time she closed her eyes, Russ’s image rose before her. He was all she thought of, all she dreamed about. Unspoken words had burned in her throat, desperate to be set free, but she hadn’t told him she loved him. How could she when the future was so uncertain and more secrets waited to be uncovered?

The door swung open, and a blaze of light streamed onto the porch. “Athena! What a pleasant surprise. I wondered when you’d get back from the coast.”

Maggie gulped, at a loss for words. Mouthing the usual pleasantries seemed ridiculous, but she couldn’t blurt out the real reason she’d come. Not yet. “My name’s Maggie.”

Clara blinked. “Maggie?”

Maggie nodded. “I’ve decided to reclaim my old name.”

“It’s about time.” Tears welled in Clara’s faded blue eyes. “Your parents would be so happy. They loved the name Maggie.” Her brow furrowed. “Are you okay? You seem—” She waved her hand in the air as if searching for words. “—upset.”

“I need to talk to you.” Maggie swallowed back a lump and blinked against the sting of tears. This wasn’t going to be easy.

“Of course.” Clara opened the door wider. “Come in, my dear.”

Stepping into the over-warm house, Maggie hung her coat in the hall closet, slipped off her shoes, and set them on the mat like she’d done hundreds of times. The normalcy of the simple actions gave her courage for the coming confrontation.

Clara fussed about like a mother hen, smoothing Maggie’s hair, straightening the collar of her blouse, all while mouthing a steady stream of loving platitudes.

She followed her aunt through the small, tastefully decorated living room, past the television where a game show was playing, the canned laughter loud, and into the cozy kitchen. Drawing out a wooden chair, she sat at her usual spot at the antique, round maple table and clenched her hands in her lap.

Clara filled the kettle and set the old, dented pot on the stove to boil. Opening the pantry door, she removed a container, pried off the lid, and lifted out several cookies. She arranged them on a plate and set the plate on the table in front of Maggie. “I had a feeling you’d be stopping by, so I made these yesterday. Chocolate chip and macadamia nut—your favorite.”

The sweet scent of rich milk chocolate filled the air, but Maggie’s stomach roiled. She couldn’t eat, not with so much resting on the next few minutes. She shoved the plate of cookies away.

“Eat up, dear.” Clara tsked. “You’re far too thin.” The kettle whistled with a high-pitched shriek, and she tossed two tea bags into a dainty, rose-patterned china teapot. Lifting the steaming kettle, she poured boiling water into the teapot.

Maggie glanced at the familiar surroundings—the soft, butter-yellow walls, the golden oak cupboards, and the gleaming laminate countertops. The sunlight reflected like a yellow flame off the row of lush potted plants set on the windowsill. How many times had she sat in this same chair while she’d cried out her woes over a cup of tea and awaited Clara’s sage advice?

Her aunt was the closest thing to a mother Maggie had for the past twenty-three years. Clara gave up so much to raise her orphaned niece, and never once complained. How could Maggie question her honesty?

Clara poured tea into two, dainty china teacups and set one in front of Maggie. She sank onto the facing chair, added two spoonsful of sugar to her own cup, and stirred. “Okay. Now tell me about your trip to Sewell Island. Did…did you find—” Her throat worked. “—what you were looking for?”

The concern on the older woman’s face brought a fresh sting of tears, but Maggie steeled her heart. She was there to find answers. She inhaled a breath for courage. “Did you know that my mother and Angus continued their affair after I was born?”

Clara’s face paled, and a heavy silence descended on the overheated kitchen. “What…what are you talking about?” Her actions were as good as a confession.

Maggie tapped her fingers on the tabletop, her nails clicking a rapid beat. “Come on, Aunt Clara, it’s time you told me the truth.”

Clara worked her bottom lip with her teeth, chewing off her shiny, cherry-red lipstick. Her narrow shoulders slumped, and she looked every day of her seventy-four years. She set her cup on the saucer with a loud clatter. “Your mother and Angus knew what they were doing was wrong, but they couldn’t stay away from each other.”

Maggie picked up a cookie and crumbled it between her fingers. JD had told the truth. “My mother cheated on my father for years.”

“She wasn’t proud of her actions, but telling William of the affair would have devastated him.” Clara’s lips tightened, deepening the fine lines grooved around her mouth. “You’ve always been wrong about Angus. He was a good man, and he wanted the best for you. That’s why he dropped his custody claim when the publicity over your parents’ disappearance blew up all over the news. He realized the best thing for you was for him to keep his distance. If news of his affair with Anna and your true parentage came out, your life would have become even more of a circus.” She met Maggie’s gaze. “He loved you enough to let you go.”

There it was again, the reference to the fact that Angus Crawford loved her. An image of his cold eyes and austere bearing flashed before her, and she shuddered. “He didn’t want me until he realized he wasn’t going to have any other children.”

“That’s not true. He watched over you from a distance and made sure you didn’t want for anything. He even paid me—” Clara’s hand flew to her mouth.

“Paid you?” Maggie’s heart thudded. “For what?”

“Never mind. I shouldn’t have said anything.” Clara struggled to her feet, grabbed her cup, and shuffled to the counter, then refilled the cup with hot tea from the pot. “Whether he paid me or not isn’t important. Not anymore. Your parents are gone. Angus is gone.” There was a hitch in her throat. “They’re all gone.”

Maggie slammed her palms hard on the table. Cookie crumbs scattered, spilling onto the floor. “Why did you accept his money?”

Tears filled Clara’s eyes and streamed down her seamed cheeks. “He…he paid me to look after you. I needed the money…I had to quit my job and move…”

Maggie sucked in a breath. “Why would he pay you—” Before the thought fully formed, she knew the answer. “You’re not my aunt, are you?”

Clara’s lips trembled. “When your parents vanished, Angus hired me to be your guardian. We both decided it would be easier if you assumed that I was your mother’s long-estranged sister, a blood relation.”

“That’s all I was to you—” She sneered. “—a paycheck?” Maggie rubbed the burning knot in her stomach.

“No, it wasn’t like that. I—” Clara must have seen the disgust on Maggie’s face, because she stopped trying to defend her actions. “Okay, I’ll admit that at first, looking after you was just a job, and Angus paid good money. But soon—very soon—I grew to love you.” She sniffled. “I still do.”

Maggie swept the cookie crumbs into a pile. She wanted to believe Clara, but this woman had lied to her for over twenty years. How could Maggie trust anything she said?

Clara set her cup on the table, pushed up from her chair, and plodded to a cupboard. Reaching to the top shelf, she removed a large, leather-bound book and plopped it on the table in front of Maggie. “Look through this photo album, and then tell me I looked after you just for the money.” She heaved a heavy sigh and shuffled out of the room.

In the silence of the empty kitchen, Clara’s plodding footsteps and the closing of her bedroom door were loud. The ticking of the clock on the wall and a steady drip from the faucet echoed in the tiny kitchen. The familiar scents of chamomile tea, fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies, and lemon furniture polish filled the air.

Brushing the cookie crumbs aside, Maggie slid the album closer. She wiped her palms on her leggings and lifted the cover. Color photographs of her as a child filled the page, starting in the first months after she arrived at her aunt’s—she grimaced—Clara’s place. She’d been a thin child, all gangly arms and legs, with a mass of shoulder-length, red frizzy hair. The sadness in the hollows of her blue eyes was haunting.

An ember of warmth melted the block of ice in her chest. Clara had welcomed her into her home, and her life, with kindness and compassion. Without her support, Maggie wouldn’t have survived those first bleak months.

She flipped the page. Page after page of pictures tracked the major and minor events in her life…birthdays, Christmases, summer holidays, high school graduation, prom… Beneath each photo, written in Clara’s precise script, was a caption and date. Tears filled Maggie’s eyes, blurring the images.

The photographs weren’t like the sterile, impersonal ones she’d found in the cardboard boxes in Angus’s cottage. An irrefutable truth shone from every page and in every lovingly captured moment—Clara loved her. Looking after Maggie might have begun as a good-paying job, but no blood-related aunt could have cared for a niece more.

She looked up at the soft rustle of a footstep.

Clara stood in the kitchen doorway. Anxious concern shone from her pale eyes.

“How can I ever thank you?” Maggie patted the photo album. “All these years, you’ve looked after me and wanted only the best for me.” She swallowed back tears. “I’m sorry I doubted you.”

Tears gleamed in Clara’s eyes, but a brilliant smile lit her wrinkled face, making her look years younger. “Don’t thank me, Maggie. I’d do it again in a heartbeat. I only wish I’d told you the truth from the beginning.”

Dozens of emotions rioted through Maggie. “I don’t know what to think. My entire life has been a lie.”

“You’ve had a lot thrust upon you these past months.” Clara’s veined hand patted Maggie’s arm. “Why don’t you take a holiday? Get away from everything and give yourself time to think?”

The words ignited a spark that flared into a flame. A holiday. What a great idea. Maggie leaped up and hugged Clara. “Thanks, Aunt…er…Clara.”

Clara’s forehead wreathed in furrows. “What did I say?”

“I have to go. I’m going on a trip…a sailing trip.” She smiled at the perplexed expression on the other woman’s face, but she didn’t have time to explain.

She flew out of Clara’s house, leaving the old woman standing openmouthed in her doorway. “I’ll call and let you know where I am.” She bounded down the porch steps and ran to her car. “Oh, and by the way, I love you, Aunt Clara.”

Tears filled Clara’s eyes. “I love you too, dear. Say hello to your young man.”