Chapter 21 Lynley
Lynley
Ifollow behind Grafton’s SUV with no idea of where we’re headed, and I wonder what I’m risking by putting so much trust in him—someone I haven’t known for very long.
It had been instinct, calling him the way I had and asking for help, especially after I’d registered the lack of surprise on my mother’s face. I’m not sure if she knew everything Caroline and Christopher had done, but she knew enough.
And she still took Caroline’s side.
The pain is a constant throb, confusion at how my own mother could do this to me battling alongside it. But I force it back, knowing I can’t let the kids see how badly I’m hurting. I’ll have time to fall apart later, after I find a place for us to stay, and they’re both asleep.
The kids are buckled in the back seat, both still grumbling over our quick departure from my mother’s.
I can’t stop the doubts coursing through me, terrified that every move I’m making is wrong.
For too long, I’ve ignored my gut instincts about my husband.
I saw the signs, the warnings, but I pretended I didn’t, desperate to try to hold my family together. But at what cost?
The day I woke up and didn’t recognize the person staring back at me in the mirror, seeing the hopeless look in my own eyes, I knew I’d taken the wrong path. In my misguided attempt to protect our lives, I lost parts of myself, and I’m not sure I’ll ever get them back.
Pulling my attention back to the road, I tighten my hands around the steering wheel, disquiet rising as I consider if I’m making another mistake by putting my trust in Grafton.
But it doesn’t feel the same with him. It’s been such a short time, but he doesn’t feel like a stranger. His help has come without conditions or expectations, and his words have felt nothing but honest. Nothing about him has my instincts flaring in warning. Not like they have been with Christopher.
And I refuse to let Christopher take anything else from me.
I need to trust myself again, and I think that might happen by putting my faith in Grafton.
I don’t need him to rescue me. But it feels nice to know that someone is on my side, fighting in my corner, especially when every other person in my life has let me down.
“Mom, where are we going?” Mase complains from the back seat, and I look at him in the rearview mirror, catching the scowl he’s pointing at me.
“I’m not actually sure,” I admit. “Grafton has a surprise for us, I think.”
Ginny crosses her arms over her chest, face aimed at the window. “I don’t even know who he is. I wanna go home. And not to Nanny’s. I wanna go to my home.” Even from here, I can see the way her eyes glimmer wetly, and something pinches in my chest.
“I know, Ginny,” is all I say. And I don’t know if they can sense the weariness in my voice, but neither says another word.
We drive through the town center of Sterling Creek, Grafton keeping his speed to a couple of miles below the limit, clearly making it as easy as possible for me to follow him.
As we leave the urban area, the houses start spreading out, the properties getting larger and less clustered.
After a couple more minutes, he turns down into a long, winding driveway, each side lined with huge cherry blossoms.
“Wow!” Ginny gasps, her nose pressed to the glass. “Look at the flowers!”
I lean forward, peering up the branches arching overhead, watching as a slight breeze shakes the trees, sending pink petals floating to the ground.
“It’s like pink snow!” she says.
Mase grunts, unimpressed, but my attention is stolen by the massive house that rises proudly at the end of the driveway.
It’s a sprawling two-story Colonial, built with whitewashed brick and a slate-gray roof, with blue shutters on the windows.
There’s a wraparound porch framed by white concrete pillars, and I can imagine sitting on a swing seat out there, drinking iced tea as I watch the kids play.
It’s timeless and beautiful—something I’d expect to see on a postcard.
“Mom?”
I’m startled out of the daydream by Mase’s question, realizing I’ve come to a stop too far away. Grafton’s already standing at the bottom of the steps, watching us with a furrowed brow.
I inch the car forward, pulling in behind his SUV, trying to slow my breathing and calm the way my heart is racing in my chest. The kids don’t have the same problem, their reticence missing as they scramble from the car, yelling at me to get a move on.
Grafton’s blue eyes lock with mine through the windshield, his expression understanding and warm.
He tips his head at the house, mouthing, “Come on.”
Nerves make my hands shake, and I get out and slowly head over to where they’re all standing. Ginny looks at me as I stop at her side, suddenly remembering she’s supposed to be nervous, tucking her hand into mine. Mase is just staring at Grafton.
“Whose house is this?”
He lifts his eyebrows, his stare never leaving mine. “Why don’t we go find out?”
I swallow thickly. “What have you done?”
My eyes drop as his lips curl into a soft smile, stealing my breath. My palms start sweating, and I quickly look away, hoping he hasn’t noticed. But when I lift my eyes back to his, the heated look he sends back tells me he hasn’t missed a thing.
“Lean in, darling,” he reminds me huskily, and then tilts his head toward the front door. “Shall we?”
Grafton doesn’t give me a tour, instead choosing to follow silently as I make my way through the ground floor. Mase and Ginny took off the minute we got in the front door, but I can hear them chattering somewhere close by.
The house is just as impressive on the inside as out, even without any furniture in the place.
It’s spacious and open, with original hardwood floors and high ceilings.
There are windows in every room that flood the place with natural light, making it feel warmer.
As I move through each space, it’s all too easy to imagine the place filled with furniture and family, laughter bouncing off walls covered in artwork by the kids and photos that document our lives.
The kitchen is a dream, with white marble counters and soft, pastel-blue cabinetry.
I find myself standing at the large farmhouse sink, staring out at the well-manicured lawn.
My eyes lock on the wooden play structure sitting not too far from the house, my mind spinning so fast that it’s hard to pick the words I need from the chaos.
“Why are we here?” The question is yanked out of me, and there’s a rustle of fabric as Grafton comes closer.
“You know why,” he murmurs. I turn around, pressing my back against the sink, flutters filling my stomach. He’s standing right in front of me, his broad shoulders blocking my view of the rest of the room. His eyes are solemn, steady, and there is a gentle curve to his mouth.
“This isn’t—”
He cuts me off, his reminder gentle. “You told me you’d let me help.
” He waits a beat, checking if I am going to argue.
“This is me helping, Lynley. Christopher isn’t about to play nice.
We both know that. He’ll be doing everything in his power to make sure the divorce doesn’t go through because he knows he’s about to lose everything.
” Grafton steps closer, and his cologne washes over me, making me feel dizzy.
“You didn’t want to go back to that house anyway, right? ”
“Right,” I whisper.
“So here’s your solution.” He says it so easily, like he gives women going through messy divorces houses every day.
“I wanted to have it furnished, but I thought I had more time.” He glances around the empty kitchen with a frown.
“Easily rectified, though. And probably better this way, so you can choose what you want. The deed is in my name. I didn’t want Christopher to try to use it in the divorce, but as soon as I can, I’ll transfer complete ownership to you. ”
Tears spring to my eyes, unbidden, my voice hoarse as I tell him, “This is too much. I can’t accept this.”
He looks back at me, taking another step closer and reaching out to trail a finger over my cheek. “Nothing is too much, darling. You deserve all this and more.”
My skin prickles where he’s touched me, even when his hand falls away, and I desperately want to grab onto him so he’ll do it again.
A shrill scream pierces the air, and we share an alarmed look before we’re running to the stairs. Grafton’s long legs cover the distance faster, and he takes the steps two at a time in his rush to get to Ginny.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” he barks out, practically skidding to a stop in an open doorway.
“Is this my room?” she demands, and I step through the door, ready to tell her to change her tone, but pull up short at the sight of the pink and white bedroom.
It’s a stark contrast from the rest of the house, but it isn’t just the wallpaper. There’s a princess bed, complete with a silk canopy and a white oak dresser. There’s a matching bookshelf and desk, as well as a fluffy pink beanbag and a chest full of toys.
“Grafton,” I breathe. “What did you do?”
“Mom, look!” Ginny demands, pointing at a decal above her bed—two ballerinas dancing across the wall.
She races across the room, snatching a jewelry box off the dresser.
“And this!” She snaps it open, and the tinkle of music chimes through the room, a tiny ballerina snapping upright to twirl on her pedestal.
Grafton’s deep chuckle rolls through me, and I glance at him just in time to see the affectionate look in his eyes as he looks at my daughter. “Yeah,” he says. “It’s your room, Ginny.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to collect myself, but my voice is still hoarse when I say, “I thought you said you didn’t have time to furnish it.”
He looks at me over his shoulder, eyes sparkling. “I had time for a little shopping.”
“Mom!” Mase yells from down the hallway. “There’s a shirt from the Red Sox, and it’s signed. And a baseball from the Yankees! Jacob is gonna flip!”