Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
The Reading Nook held the distinct scent that all bookstores seemed to share—paper and ink, coffee, and that indefinable magic that came from thousands of stories gathered in one place.
Raven slammed a book shut, startling an elderly customer browsing nearby. “Sorry,” she muttered, forcing a smile as she reshelved the novel she’d been trying—and failing—to read for the past fifteen minutes.
Outside, summer rain tapped against the windows in a gentle, steady rhythm, while inside, the salvaged stained-glass window transformed the gray morning light into pools of color across the polished wooden floors.
“I’d ask if you were okay, but your face answers that question,” Sophie said, appearing at her elbow with two steaming mugs. “Chamomile. My grandmother swore it could cure everything from heartache to tax audits.”
Raven accepted the tea with a weak smile. “I’m not sure there’s enough chamomile in the world for what I’m feeling.”
Sophie guided her toward the reading nook in the corner—a cozy alcove with two overstuffed chairs and a small table between them. “The early birds have cleared out, Freddie’s handling the register, and that storm is keeping the tourists at bay. Perfect time to talk.”
“That obvious?” Raven asked, sinking into the chair.
“You’ve reorganized the romance section twice, alphabetized the bookmarks, and glared at your phone approximately thirty-seven times in the last hour.” Sophie curled up in the opposite chair. “So yes, that obvious.”
Raven wrapped her hands around the warm mug, the hollow ache in her chest expanding. “He asked for two more weeks,” she said finally, the words escaping in a rush. “Two weeks before he can explain whatever he’s been doing, wherever he’s been going.” She set the mug down, afraid her trembling hands might drop it. “I don’t know if I have two more weeks in me, Soph.”
“What happened?” Sophie leaned forward, her voice gentle.
“I confronted him.” Raven stood, too restless to remain seated. She paced the small area, the rhythmic sound of the rain a counterpoint to her agitated movements. “About the motel receipt, about Duncan seeing him at the Murphy cabin at dawn when he should have been at the station. About all of it.”
“And?”
“He said he couldn’t tell me yet. That it’s complicated.” Raven’s laugh held no humor. “You know what’s not complicated? Telling your wife the truth.”
The bell above the door jingled. Both women glanced over to see a mother with two children enter, shaking raindrops from their umbrellas. Freddie greeted them cheerfully from behind the counter.
“Did you believe him?” Sophie asked when they were alone again. “When he denied having an affair?”
Raven paused by the window, watching raindrops race down the pane. “Yes,” she admitted, surprising herself with the certainty in her voice. “When he looked me in the eyes and denied it—yes, I believed him. But that almost makes it worse.”
Sophie’s expression softened with understanding. Raven took a sip of the tea, wrapping her hands around the warm cup for comfort. The hollow ache in her chest remained, but simply being here with Sophie helped steady her.
“I feel like I’m going crazy,” she admitted, staring into the dark liquid as if it might hold answers. “One minute I’m convinced he’s having an affair, the next I’m worried he’s in some kind of trouble. Then I start wondering if maybe I’m the problem—if I’ve been so wrapped up in the boutique that I pushed him away without realizing it.”
Sophie settled into the chair across from her, tucking one leg beneath her with casual grace. “What does your heart tell you?”
Raven laughed mirthlessly. “My heart’s as confused as the rest of me.” She sipped her tea, gathering her thoughts. “When I look in his eyes, I still see the man I fell in love with. The man who serenaded me outside my dorm room my freshman year of college. The man who danced with me in our kitchen at midnight just because he felt like holding me.” She swallowed hard against the knot forming in her throat. “But then he disappears for hours, comes home smelling like cigarettes and secrets, and won’t tell me where he’s been. How am I supposed to interpret that?”
The rain intensified outside, drumming against the roof in a crescendo that matched the pounding of her heart. Lightning flickered, briefly illuminating Sophie’s thoughtful face.
“Trust is hard when someone’s keeping secrets,” Sophie said.
“Exactly.” Raven exhaled heavily, her breath fogging the rim of her cup. “I stopped taking birth control three months ago. We’d been talking about starting a family, and it seemed like the right time. Or it would have been—” Her voice dropped to barely a whisper. “We haven’t made love once in those three months. Not once. He’s either not home, or too exhausted, or already asleep when I go to bed.” She blinked rapidly against fresh tears. “It’s like we’re strangers living in the same house.”
Sophie reached across the space between them, squeezing Raven’s hand. “I’m so sorry.”
“This isn’t what marriage is supposed to be,” Raven whispered. “Not the marriage I grew up watching my parents have, or like Mick and Anne have, or the one I thought Wyatt and I were building.” She smiled faintly, memories momentarily eclipsing her pain. “Did I ever tell you that I knew I was going to marry Wyatt the first day of kindergarten? Ms. Robinson seated us next to each other, and he shared his blue crayon with me. I went home and announced to my mother that I’d met my future husband.”
Sophie smiled. “Love at first crayon-share?”
“Something like that,” Raven said, nodding. “We were always together after that—best friends through every scraped knee and school project. The O’Haras practically raised me alongside their boys whenever my parents were working.” Her expression grew wistful. “I spent so many nights at their dinner table, watching how Mick looked at Anne, how they worked together, laughed together. They showed me what marriage should be—a partnership where you face everything side by side.” She twisted her wedding ring, the diamond catching the colored light from the stained glass. “That’s what Wyatt and I had. Until recently.”
A crash of thunder punctuated her words, making both women jump slightly. The storm had moved directly overhead, mirroring the turbulence inside her.
Sophie was quiet for a moment, her expression thoughtful. “You remember my grandmother?”
“Of course,” Raven said. “Ms. Alfie was a legend here in Laurel Valley. Everyone knew her.”
“She was a wise woman,” Sophie said, her voice softening with memory. “I remember once I’d made a promise out loud that I would never fall in love and she heard me. I was pretty cynical up until Hank.
“She told me something I’ve never forgotten. She said, love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, and endures all things.” She smiled gently. “I used to think it was just a pretty sentiment until I went through my own trials with Hank.”
“Are you saying I should just bear with whatever Wyatt’s doing?” Raven asked, a hint of defensiveness in her tone.
“Not at all,” Sophie replied, her eyes reflecting the dancing colors from the stained glass. “I’m saying that love—real, deep love like what you and Wyatt have—has incredible endurance. It can weather storms that would destroy something less substantial.” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “What Grandma taught me is that there’s more to faith than meets the eye. Sometimes we need to have faith in the people we love, especially when it’s difficult.”
Raven considered this, watching raindrops race down the windowpane, merging and separating in patterns as complex as her emotions. “It’s hard to have faith when you feel so in the dark.”
“I know,” Sophie nodded. “But isn’t that what faith is? And Wyatt needs to understand that trust is a two-way street. But sometimes we’re called to be strong enough to give grace, even when it doesn’t feel deserved.” She smiled softly. “Can I tell you something about Hank and me? Something not many people know?”
Raven nodded, curious despite her melancholy.
“When the bookstore was in danger of shutting down, I was devastated. Not just because of the business, but because it represented everything stable in my life—my family legacy, my independence, my identity.” Sophie traced the rim of her mug with her finger, her wedding band catching the light. “Hank wanted to fix everything. That’s what O’Hara men do, right? They see a problem, they solve it.”
Raven smiled faintly. “It’s practically the family motto.”
“I shut him out,” Sophie continued, her voice tinged with remembered pain. “He had all these plans—for keeping me in business, for our future together—and I was too caught up in my own fear to let him in. I convinced myself I had to handle everything alone because that’s what I’d always done.”
She paused, her gaze drifting to the stained-glass window that had miraculously survived the fire. “I almost lost him because I was too proud to admit I needed help, too scared to be vulnerable, too stubborn to share my burden.” Her eyes returned to Raven’s. “The night I finally broke down and told him everything I was feeling—all my fears, my doubts, my dreams—was the night our relationship truly began. Not the flirting or the dating or even when he asked me to marry him. The real foundation was built in that moment of complete honesty.”
The rain began to ease, as if heaven itself were pausing to listen. Raven absorbed Sophie’s words, finding an echo of her own situation in them.
“But I’ve tried to talk to Wyatt,” she said, her finger tracing a water ring on the table. “I know he works for the DEA, that’s never been a secret. But something is different. He’s keeping things from me that he never has before.”
“I know.” Sophie nodded. “And I’m not saying the situations are identical. But I learned something important through all of that—sometimes people keep secrets because they think they’re protecting the ones they love.” She leaned forward, her expression earnest. “Wyatt asked for two weeks. He didn’t dismiss you, didn’t deny there was something happening. That tells me whatever he’s involved in has some kind of timeline, some resolution point.”
“Or he’s just buying time,” Raven countered, though without much conviction.
“Maybe,” Sophie conceded. “But in my experience, a man who’s truly checked out of his marriage doesn’t ask for time to explain. He just leaves.” She squeezed Raven’s hand again. “The Wyatt I know—the man we both know—has integrity. He loves you with his whole heart. I’ve seen the way he looks at you when you’re not watching, like you’re the answer to every question he’s ever had.”
A fresh wave of emotion threatened to overwhelm Raven. “Then why won’t he trust me with whatever this is?”
“I don’t know,” Sophie said honestly. “But I think there might be more going on than either of us can see right now.” She hesitated, then added, “Have you noticed anything else different? Beyond the absences?”
Raven frowned, considering. A memory surfaced—Wyatt checking the locks twice before bed, something he’d never done before. His new habit of positioning himself at restaurants so he could see the door. The way his hand sometimes drifted to where his backup weapon would be, even when he was off duty.
“He’s more tense,” she said slowly, connections forming in her mind. “Constantly checking his surroundings. Sometimes I catch him staring out the window like he’s expecting someone.” Her eyes widened slightly as a new thought occurred to her. “And he’s been carrying his backup weapon—the one he usually only takes when he’s on special assignments.”
Something flickered in Sophie’s expression—a moment of realization that came and went so quickly Raven almost missed it.
“What?” Raven pressed. “You thought of something.”
Sophie seemed to choose her next words carefully. “I’m not suggesting anything specific, but…have you considered that whatever Wyatt’s involved in might be police work? Something he can’t talk about for professional reasons?”
The possibility had occurred to Raven, of course. But the inconsistencies didn’t add up. “He’s been lying about his DEA assignments. I called his office in Boise when he said he’d be there for a meeting. They said he wasn’t scheduled that day.”
“Not all DEA work is on the official schedule,” Sophie pointed out gently. “Especially in operations where secrecy might be essential.”
The rain had stopped entirely now, a shaft of sunlight breaking through the clouds to cast a rainbow through the stained glass onto the floor between them. Raven turned the idea over in her mind, feeling its weight and possibilities. It made a certain kind of sense, and yet…
“If it were just work, why not tell me that much? Why the complete silence?”
“I don’t know,” Sophie admitted. “But two weeks isn’t forever. Maybe the best thing you can do—for yourself and for your marriage—is to give him those two weeks. Set a firm deadline. And in the meantime, take care of yourself.”
“Two weeks feels like an eternity when you’re living with a stranger.” Raven’s voice caught on the last word, the pain of estrangement from Wyatt still raw and bleeding.
“I know it does.” Sophie’s expression was filled with compassion. “But think of it this way—you’ve made it through months of uncertainty already. What’s two more weeks if it means getting answers?”
Raven sighed, feeling some of the tension leave her shoulders. She didn’t have solutions yet, but somehow the burden felt lighter for having been shared. “When did you get so wise about relationships? I seem to remember a time when you swore you’d never let an O’Hara man within ten feet of your heart.”
Sophie laughed, the sound bright in the quiet shop. “I learned the hard way that sometimes the thing you’re most afraid of is exactly what you need.” Her expression grew more serious. “Loving someone means risking pain. There’s no way around that. But I’ve found the alternative—a life without that love—is far more painful in the end.”
“Thank you,” Raven said quietly. “For listening. For understanding.”
“That’s what family does,” Sophie replied simply.
The words settled over Raven like a warm blanket, offering comfort in their certainty. She might not know what the future held for her marriage, but she wasn’t alone in facing it. “I love you, Soph.”
Outside the window, the storm clouds were breaking apart, revealing patches of blue behind them. The bell over the door jingled as the first customer of the day entered, bringing with them the fresh scent of summer rain and a gust of humid air. Sophie squeezed Raven’s hand once more before standing.
“Give him the two weeks,” she said softly. “And give yourself permission to hope.”
As Sophie went to greet the customer, Raven remained in the reading nook, watching as rainbow light from the stained-glass window danced across the floor while raindrops created their own patterns against the windows. Two weeks. She could do two weeks. And then, one way or another, she would have her answers.