Gia hadn’t heard from Sammie since that call the day after they’d had drinks together. She hadn’t heard from Ruth, either. She kept thinking one of them would reach out, but she understood what was keeping them away. Ruth would feel disloyal to Edith, and Sammie would feel disloyal to Ruth, and since Sammie and Ruth had to live with each other—and the Harts—on a day-to-day basis, they were probably more concerned with protecting those relationships.
Evan Hart had maintained the same narrative for so long, the people in Wakefield had begun to accept his version of events, and any doubt or sympathy that’d once favored her was gone. Maybe that didn’t matter so much when she was in Alaska or Coeur d’Alene, doing her own thing. Then she could talk to Sammie and Ruth, and any relationship they had with Edith and Louisa didn’t play a role. But it was a completely different story now that she was back in town. They felt torn, as though they had to choose.
“You’re quiet today,” her mother commented as they played a game of gin rummy. Her father had gone to the office after breakfast and probably wouldn’t be back until dinner. He seemed grateful for the chance to take care of the things he’d had to let languish. It was about time she came through, but the fact that she should be here didn’t mean it was easy to stay.
“Just worried about Margot,” she said. The dynamic she’d witnessed in her sister’s kitchen last night had been curious. Margot had seemed so eager to talk to her about something—and yet she’d immediately sided with Sheldon when he’d entered the kitchen and made it clear he wanted Gia to leave. But Gia was also feeling bad about losing her oldest friends over an incident that wasn’t even her fault. Although she’d kicked herself for years for ever going to Mr. Hart’s house, there was no way she could’ve foreseen what he was going to do. Yes, she’d been aware of his partiality and was flattered by it. She and her friends had long talked about the cutest teacher in school. But she’d never dreamed of getting physical with him. He’d done so much to support her book club that she’d trusted him even more than her other teachers. And he’d betrayed that trust.
When she was in therapy—before she’d quit college and gone to Alaska to try to heal herself with freedom and time away—her psychologist had told her, again and again, that Mr. Hart was the one to blame. Her English teacher had set her up. He’d given her a low grade on purpose, had known it would drive her right into his trap. She needed to forgive herself for being so gullible.
But she couldn’t tell her heart how to feel; it just felt what it felt, and what it felt was regret. She could’ve avoided all the trouble and the pain she’d been through—and the trouble and pain so many others had been through—if only she hadn’t gone to his house that night.
“I’ve been worried about her, too,” Ida admitted. “The light’s gone out of her eyes. She’s preoccupied, nervous, always keeping one eye on her phone or the clock when she comes over.”
“You’ve noticed?” Gia said.
Ida nibbled thoughtfully on her bottom lip. “How can I miss it?”
“And you haven’t asked her what’s wrong?”
“I’ve tried. She insists it’s nothing.”
“It seemed as if she was going to tell me something last night, but then Sheldon came into the room.”
Ida frowned.
“What is it?” Gia asked.
“I think he’s having an affair,” she replied while stroking Miss Marple, who rarely left her side and had crept into her lap while they were playing.
Gia lowered her cards. “Are you serious? He’d risk losing Margot by getting involved with another woman?”
“I don’t know. I hope not.”
“What makes you think he’s cheating?” Gia asked, leaning forward.
Ida played a card. “A couple of things.”
“Like...”
Her mother sighed. “He’s become sort of...distant—rarely comes over these days. And the way he and Margot act when they are here together is... I don’t know how to describe it. Cool. Strained.”
It was Gia’s turn. She played, then chose her discard. “Who could he be cheating with?”
“His old girlfriend.”
“Cece?”
Ida nodded. “You remember her?”
“Of course. They were an item all the way through high school. I’ve often wished they’d gotten married.”
Her mother scowled, but she didn’t warn Gia to be careful of what she said as she normally would have. “Cece’s divorced and back in town—has been since last spring—and your father and various other people have seen them together here and there.”
Gia took a drink from her water bottle. “You mean...just the two of them?”
“Just the two of them,” she confirmed.
“What were they doing?”
“One day last month, your father drove past the park and saw them sitting at one of the tables in the picnic area, talking so earnestly he’s pretty sure they didn’t notice him. My hairdresser mentioned that she saw them both leaving Sheldon’s office last week—she couldn’t remember exactly what day. And when Roberta Peden, from church, called to check on me this morning, she said she’s seen his truck parked in front of Cece’s house a number of times. She lives on the same block.”
“That certainly sounds suspect to me...”
“Maybe that’s what’s wrong with Margot...” her mother suggested.
“I don’t think so. She would’ve told us if that was the case.”
“I’m not convinced she would,” her mother argued. “I’m guessing she doesn’t want to upset us.”
Given Ida’s health, Gia could see that and backed off a little herself. “It could be that they’re just friends,” she said. “There’s no law against being friends with a former boyfriend or girlfriend. I’ve asked Margot how she and Sheldon are doing, and she insists they’re fine.”
“How do you know she wasn’t going to tell you about Cece last night?”
“Because if she thought Sheldon was cheating, she would’ve told me that already.”
Her mother didn’t look convinced, but her phone rang before she could argue. She’d left it in the home office, so Gia jumped up to get it for her. “It’s Dad,” she called back and answered so that her father wouldn’t be transferred to voicemail. “Hey, Dad.”
“How’s it going?” he asked.
“Good. Mom ate almost a whole tuna-and-pickle sandwich for lunch, so that’s good. And she had quite a few of the date bars I made for dessert.”
“She loves those things,” he said. “I can’t thank you enough for what you’re doing.”
His gratitude was nice but also made her feel guilty. “I’m glad I came home.”
“I’m happy to hear you say that, especially because...well, I know you have good reasons for wanting to be anywhere else.”
“I’m an adult now. I’ll get through it,” she said, even though there were moments when the anger and outrage welled up and it was so strong she wondered how long she could truly last.
“Do you need me to stop by the store and pick up anything for dinner? I’m on my way home...”
“No, I’m planning to make a chicken pot pie, and I already have everything.”
“Sounds delicious. It’s great to have some different meals than what I was preparing.”
“I’m happy you’re enjoying them. Here’s Mom,” she said.
While her parents talked, she walked into the backyard to peek over the fence. She’d done that periodically throughout the day, hoping to see the rock she’d left on Cormac Hart’s back porch gone, so she’d know her message had been received. But it was still there, with the paper sticking out underneath.
“Damn,” she muttered. She should’ve put the note on his front porch. Then he would’ve seen it when he went to work.
She considered going over to move it. But she was afraid he’d pull up right when she was on his front stoop. Or that he’d bring his sister or someone else home with him, and they’d discover her note together. She was feeling defensive enough that she preferred her message to be private.
Deciding he’d find it whenever he found it, she turned to go back to the kitchen. But then she noticed the darkening sky, pictured it getting wet and falling apart and hurried over to grab it.
She didn’t need to talk to Mr. Hart’s son. She wasn’t sure why she’d agreed.
And yet, later that night, after Ida and Leo took Miss Marple with them and went to bed, she found herself obsessed with the house behind her—couldn’t stop watching it from her bedroom window since the weather was too bad to go outside. She wondered what Cormac was thinking about finding his message gone and no response. Was he assuming she must be as bad as he’d always believed?
Why did she care? she asked herself. He was never going to be her friend. They’d known each other but never really been friends even back in high school. And that encounter at her locker when his father was fired loomed large in her memory.
But she knew he’d been reacting out of his own pain. Maybe if it was her father who’d been accused of something that heinous, she would’ve reacted the same way.
She thought again of the note Cormac had left. He seemed sincere in wanting to talk. Certainly she could give him an audience, couldn’t she? Some kind of resolution could make her presence in Wakefield easier on both of them. Then maybe she could set the past aside, at least to a degree, and focus on getting through her mother’s illness...
Gathering her courage for what would undoubtedly be a difficult conversation, she threw on a pair of sneakers and ran through the backyard, trying to block what she could of the rain with one hand.
Cormac had reconciled himself to the fact that Gia wasn’t interested in talking to him. It’d only been twenty-four hours since he’d left her that note—not long enough to truly decide which way she’d go—but he’d expected rejection from the beginning and believed he was getting it. So he was surprised when she showed up at his door, soaked, just before he went to bed. With the storm, he hadn’t even looked outside to see if she’d appear by the pool.
“Wow, it must be raining even harder than I thought,” he said as he took in the water dripping from her hair and the white long-sleeved T-shirt that was plastered to her body, along with a pair of blue leggings.
“I’ve been out here a while,” she admitted. “I went back to my house twice before I actually knocked.”
He eyed her, trying to gain some idea of what he should expect in the next few minutes. “Couldn’t make up your mind whether to come?”
“Wasn’t sure it would do any good.”
She wasn’t giving much away, except a general sense of fatalism, which he supposed he could understand, given the longevity of the feud between her and his family. That didn’t mean she wasn’t up for a fight. But he’d asked for this audience; he needed to take his chances. “Please, come in,” he said, holding Duke out of the way and stepping back at the same time. “I’ll get you a towel.”
Leaning to one side, she tried to peer around him. He got the impression she was checking to make sure he was alone, that she wasn’t about to walk into an ambush. The fact that she felt the need to be so cautious made him feel sorry for the way he and his family had treated her in the past; it also made him admire her for being brave enough to come over, despite their history. “We can talk right here,” she said.
She didn’t trust him. That was obvious. But he was the son of the man who, according to her, had betrayed her trust seventeen years ago, so it made sense. “It’s freezing outside,” he said. “And I’m harmless. I promise. I have a business here in town. The clinic is everything I’ve worked to achieve in the years since high school. I wouldn’t jeopardize what I’ve built, wouldn’t want to lose everything like my father did.”
Her gaze swept over him and his dog as if she was trying to size them both up. They must not have seemed too threatening, because her chest lifted as though she was drawing a deep breath. Then she stepped inside.
He closed the door to keep his dog in and the cold out and went to the linen closet to grab a towel. He’d already started back to where she was waiting in the entryway, dripping on the hardwood floor, when he realized he should also get her some dry clothes and ran upstairs to his room.
“Here. You can towel off in the bathroom and have something to put on afterward,” he said when he returned and handed her a sweatshirt with the towel.
She lifted the sweatshirt as if she wasn’t convinced she should even be touching it.
“You’ll be more comfortable,” he said by way of enticement. “And you won’t have to worry about changing back before you go. You can just leave it on the fence, and I’ll grab it when I see it.” He raised his eyebrows. “Unless you’d rather stay wet and cold...”
She must’ve decided that she didn’t want to remain wet and cold, because she took it into the bathroom he pointed out to her and emerged a few minutes later with it on. For the time being, she must’ve left her own shirt behind with the towel.
He’d just finished wiping up the floor in the entry. “Can I get you a cup of hot chocolate?” he asked.
“Hot chocolate?” She bent to pet Duke; apparently, she didn’t hold anything against him.
“I can make coffee if you’d prefer, but I figured you probably wouldn’t be too keen on drinking caffeine this late.”
“And that would be true,” she admitted as she straightened. “It’s been hard enough to sleep.”
Because... He wished she’d elaborate, but she didn’t, and he didn’t want to scare her away by pressing her for answers too soon. He felt it would be wiser to ease into it. “I have wine, whiskey, other things that might also warm you up...”
“I’ll stick with hot chocolate.”
Relieved she didn’t make a joke about being poisoned by him, he gestured toward the kitchen. “Come on. You can have a seat in here.”
She followed, albeit slowly. He could tell she was taking in everything she saw in his house and drawing whatever conclusions she could.
“So?” he said.
She slid onto a seat he’d pulled out for her as he rounded the island in the center of his kitchen. “So...what?” she replied in confusion.
He tossed the dirty towel he’d used to wipe the floor into the laundry room. “What does my house say about me?”
“That you’re not much of a decorator,” she replied, which made him laugh. He’d bought only the most functional furniture, hadn’t done anything to dress up the place. One, he didn’t have the cash. He was still making sizable payments to the veterinarian he’d purchased the practice from, not to mention his student loans. And two, he didn’t have the time. He was either running at the park or working at the clinic and didn’t want to dedicate his days off to anything other than rebuilding the vintage motorcycle in the extra stall of his garage.
He supposed that indicated he didn’t really have any interest in decorating, either. “I have a TV, a bed and a couch. What more does a guy need?” he asked with a grin to show he thought he had his priorities straight.
“Do you really want me to tell you?” she asked, but she was trying to resist a smile, so he could tell she was only joking.
It was good to see that she had a sense of humor. And she seemed to like Duke, who’d followed them and was sitting dutifully at her side. Maybe they could find some common ground, after all. “Wow, and here I thought you’d come over to help me call a truce.”
“We haven’t been fighting. It was your sister who had the nerve to call my mother.”
“Something I’m embarrassed about,” he said. “But still, there’s work to be done. We definitely haven’t been friends.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Is that what this is about? Becoming friends?”
He pulled the mug he’d filled with milk from the microwave and added a packet of hot chocolate mix. “It’s about conflict resolution.”
“You hate me for ruining your father’s life. How are we ever going to resolve that?”
She scratched Duke behind the ears, and the dog moved even closer to her. Apparently, he didn’t understand she wasn’t to be trusted.
“Traitor,” Cormac grumbled to Duke and saw Gia’s lips twitch, as if she wanted to smile again.
“Apparently, he’s a better judge of character than you are,” she quipped.
He arched an eyebrow. “He likes my dad, too.”
“Never mind,” she muttered.
He chuckled. “Actually, Duke’s not that keen on him,” he admitted. “And if my dad did what you claim he did, he ruined his own life, right?”
“Whoa! Those are words I never dreamed I’d hear you say,” she replied. “But that was my therapist’s take on it, yes. And he was a professional.”
She’d had to go to a therapist? He was beginning to feel even worse about what he’d believed—or chosen to believe—in the past. “That would be my take, too,” he said. “Even though I don’t have the same credentials as a therapist.”
She frowned. “Problem is...you’re still using ‘if,’ and I don’t know how to convince you that it really happened.”
The levity he’d felt drained away as he stirred her hot chocolate before sliding it across the granite countertop. “I’m afraid you already have.”
She sat up taller in her seat. “How’d I do that—after so long?”
Feeling like a traitor simply for admitting what was going through his mind, he blew out a sigh. “I think I was afraid of it almost from the beginning. Well, not in high school, of course. I was as shocked and outraged as anyone—”
“I remember,” she broke in, sending him a sulky look.
“I’m sorry I... I verbally attacked you at your locker. Especially because the way my father’s lived his life since then hasn’t built much credibility.”
“Wait. You’re not blaming me for the way he’s lived his life since then, too? Your sisters think I broke him, that he would’ve continued to be a stellar husband, father and teacher had I not ‘lied’ about him.” She used fingers to make quotation marks around “lied.”
“I know. But the more I’ve watched him, the more I’ve had to face the fact that he isn’t the man I once believed him to be. Maybe if he’d never met you—”
“Met me! I was his student!” she cut in.
He lifted a hand to signal he wasn’t finished. “I was pointing out that part of it might simply be bad luck. He ran into someone he craved badly enough to break every rule in the book.”
“I was his student,” she repeated. “And you’re blaming it on bad luck instead of his character.”
“I’m saying you were young and beautiful, and I believe he fell in love with you. That would explain why he never did that kind of thing to anyone else. It’s not an excuse, it’s—” he shook his head “—it’s just trying to understand how it occurred.”
“You mean how he could do what he did?”
He nodded. “I guess that’s what I mean.”
“So you invited me over to apologize?”
He watched as she took a tentative sip of the hot chocolate he’d made and couldn’t help noticing the subtle changes in her face and body since he’d first known her. He’d already admitted to himself that she was even more attractive these days, but now he had the chance to study her long enough to decide why. Her face had thinned slightly, making the most of her high cheekbones. She hadn’t lost that dusting of freckles across her nose, which he hadn’t been able to see from his window. And her eyes, while wary and distrusting, also seemed...hopeful, and he found that incredibly appealing—that she hadn’t become a total cynic.
If she were any other woman, he knew he’d go to bed dreaming about those eyes. “If I’m being honest, I invited you over hoping there would be something about you—or something you said—to shore up my belief in my father. Ignorance is bliss, right?”
“The truth is the truth,” she replied.
He nodded. “I know. And hiding from it doesn’t help.”
For a moment, his honesty seemed to take her aback. She’d barely drunk any of her hot chocolate, but she shoved the cup away and got off the stool. “It’s not your fault. None of it was ever your fault. I’m sorry you were hurt by it, too. I feel terrible your whole family was hurt. That was never my intention when I came forward. I just... I wanted to get out of his class and be able to go to college.”
Of course. Anyone in her shoes would want the same thing. He believed her. Everything—her tone of voice, her approach to the subject, the sincerity in her expression and body language—suggested she was the one telling the truth. If he’d ever been willing to hear her before, really hear her, he might’ve come to the same conclusion. But it’d been too awful a reality to face.
It wasn’t easy even now.
“Shit,” he said, coming around the island to sink into a chair.
She’d started to leave, but seeing this, she hesitated. “What is it?”
“I wish you were lying. I wish...I wish he didn’t do it.”
The empathy in her expression when she briefly touched his shoulder surprised him, because it let him know that they really had been victimizing an innocent person. A caring person. “It’s in the past, Cormac. Let it go,” she said and showed herself out.
But she didn’t understand. He couldn’t let it go. His father was still perpetuating a fake story, still refusing to take responsibility—still hurting Gia by calling her a liar.