Chapter 19 Everly
Chapter 19
Everly
I step into Tabby’s boutique, the chime over the door ringing. My head is still at my house, where I left Beckett. I think back over the past four days with him. He hasn’t left my side, except to get his laptop and buy condoms. He’s worked on his book while I’ve recorded my episodes for the podcast.
Yesterday, he went with me to take Murder to the vet to get her shots. Watching him hold the squirming kitten that he gave me was hilarious, even when she bit him. After that, we went to the pet store and got her a collar with a tiny bell. Seeing “Murder” engraved on the tag made him growl and complain, but it felt just right.
Last night, we cooked dinner together, then got into the hot tub.
It all feels like a dream.
I’m just hoping my bubble doesn’t burst.
“Hey, girl!” Tabby calls from behind the counter, waving enthusiastically. Her red hair is dolled up in a sleek braid, and she’s wearing a bright-green silk jumpsuit. “Get over here!”
I grin as I make my way to the counter, where Fritz is already perched on a stool, sipping coffee. He looks up and gives me a nod. “Hey, love. Heard you’ve got some juicy news.”
I lean against the counter, feeling excited. “You guys won’t believe what I found.”
I reach into my bag and pull out the old family Bible I discovered in my mom’s room. I place it gently on the counter. “I was going through my mom’s things and found this,” I explain, opening the Bible to the family tree page. I point to a name, my voice tinged with wonder. “Look. Quincy Seaton. He’s my relative.”
Fritz whistles softly, leaning in to get a better look.
“And get this,” I say. “He never married. No children listed under his name. But his sister, Elizabeth, is my great-great-grandmother.”
Fritz tells us that he’s already called Summer and let her know about the yearbook. She apparently came over earlier in the day to take a look at it and told him that she felt like Lily would be happy knowing that he cherished her memory.
Troy walks in and eyeballs us. “Why does Everly look like she’s about to pop? Did Beckett send another gift?”
I smile. “No. I just found out that Quincy is my ancestor. You know, the usual.”
Later, I leave Tabby’s boutique, heading toward the coffee shop, Avina’s, to meet Margo. She called earlier to meet her for a chat. I push the door open, and she’s already seated at a corner booth and waves at me with a warm smile.
She gets up and meets me in line as we place our orders; then we go back to the table. Today she’s wearing a turquoise cardigan set with a floral skirt and heels. Her hair is up in a chignon. She’s always been fancy, and I loved that about her, growing up.
I smile, wondering if Beckett has told her where he’s been these past few days.
“So, how are you enjoying being back in Rose?” she asks as she carefully stirs her coffee.
I smile. “Great, actually. I’ve missed it.”
“Good.” She pauses. “I’m glad that you and Beckett are together again. I didn’t realize how conflicted he was over you until he wrote his last book.” She sighs, her eyes searching my face. “Rose has its charm because it’s small. It’s a place where people’s lives come together in the most fascinating ways. I once lost my wallet in Nashville, and the person who found it was a young man who works at the grocery store here. We’re all intertwined, good or bad.”
I tilt my head, sensing a deeper meaning. “True.”
She looks down at her coffee, her expression shifting to something more serious, almost pained. “Family history can be complicated.”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
Margo hesitates, her fingers tightening around the handle of her cup. It’s like she’s debating whether to say anything at all. “I don’t mean to be vague, but hasn’t Beckett talked to you about your mom and his dad?”
My mind goes to Beckett’s father, a man who was cold and stern, the complete opposite of Mom. “What about them?”
She takes a deep breath, her eyes searching mine for a moment before she continues. “I don’t want to be the one to tell you this, but you need to know. Your mother and Beckett’s father had a long-term affair. It went on for years. They were careful, but I knew, and so did Beckett’s mom. She never said anything, because their marriage was already falling apart. She just couldn’t bring herself to divorce him. Your mom’s death and his passing happened not too long after, but Beckett found out about the affair while he was still in high school, maybe a year after your mom died.”
I stare at her. My mom? An affair? It doesn’t make sense. She rarely talked about men. But then I remember those weekends she’d go out of town, claiming to visit friends. Is it possible she was with him? “I don’t believe you.”
“They were in love,” Margo continues softly. “At least, as much as Beckett’s father was capable of love. He’d had affairs before, but your mom was different. It was serious. They wrote love letters to each other, hid them in a secret spot in the barn. He even gave her riding lessons and helped manage the land around your house. He was crazy about her. They were very good at keeping it from everyone.”
My chest tightens as the memories start to flood back, riding lessons, hours when she’d disappear without explanation, the hushed phone calls late at night. How had I missed it? Was she lonely? Was she searching for something more than what our small-town life could offer? Did she love him?
He came to the house after she died, just another mourner, blending in with the rest. I was only fifteen. What did I know?
“But why didn’t anyone tell me?” My voice trembles with shock.
“No one wanted to talk about it,” Margo says gently. “Beckett found out by accident, and it devastated him. He felt betrayed by his father and your mother. That’s why he pulled away from you.”
The pieces start to click into place, the coldness, the distance in his eyes that I never understood. It was because of what he discovered about our parents. And in my confusion and hurt, I turned to Carson, then eventually left my diary out for Abigail to find, hoping to force Beckett to do something about our feelings. It only drove us further apart.
“I never understood why he changed,” I say.
She reaches across the table, taking my hand in hers. “He didn’t know how to deal with it, so he pushed you away.”
His mom was so frail then.
“He must have been so angry,” I murmur, my heart aching for the boy he was.
I swallow hard, the weight of it all pressing down on me.
The door to the coffee shop opens, and Beckett walks in, his eyes scanning the room until they land on me. I texted him that I was here, but I wasn’t expecting him to show up so soon. He spots us and makes his way over, concern etched on his face.
“Hey,” he says softly, reaching out to touch my arm. “What’s wrong?”
His gaze flickers to Margo, and I see a flash of realization cross his face.
Margo speaks quietly, looking up at him. “I thought you would have told her by now.”
I stand up, the need for fresh air overwhelming me. “Thank you, I think, for telling me, but I need to run some errands and work on my podcast ...” I swallow. I need space. I need to process.
He watches me carefully. “Okay, let me come with you.”
“Not right now.” I shake my head as I grab my bag and turn to hurry away. I walk out of the coffee shop, my mind racing.
I keep seeing my mom in my head, her fast smiles, the dimples in her cheek, the sparkle of her eyes ...
She was part of his mother’s unhappiness.
The mom he adored.
Am I going to run away because of it?