Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
A fter a handful of days spent praying hard, a right course had finally settled in Declan’s heart.
But the response hadn’t been what he’d expected.
“What do you mean, not enough evidence?” Declan paced inside the Tourism Bureau, where Dani had asked him to meet her Thursday afternoon. “I told the council everything Isaac admitted to me.”
He’d met with them this morning, in a closed meeting—Uncle Patrick and Mom had been informed about it, but had not been invited.
They didn’t know the particulars, only that their presence would be a conflict of interest. Mom had probably guessed at the meaning behind it, because she’d been blowing up Declan’s phone all day saying she needed to talk with him.
Or maybe it was about the fact that Seb Jonathon had arrived back in town on yesterday’s ferry. Probably Lily and her mother had been the first one in his office this morning, trying to wheedle back the shop.
He didn’t blame them. Maybe it really did belong to them, despite the terms of the contest.
Seb and the council had heard his argument, quietly, no comment, and now, while the council deliberated, Declan had hidden out in the fudge shop, overseeing the repairs to the kitchen until Dani had summoned him.
“I know.” Dani leaned back against the large wooden desk at the entry.
“But the council said they didn’t think they could change everything based on hearsay, even though they all admitted they believed you.
There just wasn’t precedent for it…though to be honest, there’s not really precedent for any of this—the contracts, the competition. None of it.”
Declan stopped, looked up at Dani. “You’re right. There’s not.” His mind raced, putting all the details together. “What did Seb say about the lease?”
“He said that in his absence, he’d abide by the council’s ruling.”
“Good.”
“I feel like I’ve missed something…Good?” Dani cocked her head.
“Yes, good. I think. I need to go home and check something out.” If he was right…why hadn’t he thought of it before? “Thanks, Dani!” Declan headed for the front door.
“I don’t feel like I did anything, but you’re welcome!”
Declan strode down Main Street, turning up Jonathon Boulevard, waving at neighbors as he sped toward his parents’ house. He heard voices in the living room but raced up the stairs to his room, digging in his desk for the fudge shop contract the town had given him.
Sitting in the chair, he skimmed the contract language until he confirmed what he’d been looking for.
He smiled to himself and smacked the edge of the stapled document against the palm of his hand. “Thanks, God.”
Then he put the contract back in his desk and made his way down the stairs quietly, managing to avoid the squeaky third and tenth steps.
But somehow, Mom heard him.
“Declan?” She popped out from the kitchen, her glare finding him on the stairs. “Family meeting. Now.”
He groaned. This wasn’t when or how he’d wanted to tell them his plans, but Declan was learning that he wasn’t in control of everything. Never had been.
Sending up a prayer for fortitude, he rounded the corner into the living room, where Mom and Dad sat on the couch, Isaac on the love seat—and Grandma Kelley in the recliner.
Oh, man.
Flicking on a smile, he went to her, leaned down and kissed her paper-thin cheek. “Good to see you, Grandma.”
“You too, young man. I haven’t even seen you since the festival.” Her eyes shimmered. “Haven’t been able to thank you for everything you did to save my home.”
“I did my best.” He swallowed, glanced at Mom and Dad, who watched him with accusatory expressions. Isaac sat, arms folded, mouth pinched.
“Sit, Declan,” Dad said.
“I’ll stand. What’s going on?”
Dad opened his mouth to speak, but Mom placed her hand over his. “Declan, I was very surprised to hear that there was a meeting of the town council today. One I wasn’t invited to. Do you happen to know what that was about?”
He didn’t want to fight. But he had to do what he knew was right regardless of his desire to keep the peace. “I asked the council for a private meeting that would remain confidential.” He cleared his throat. “I told them about the sabotage.”
Isaac shot forward and turned in his seat. “You did what?”
“What were you thinking?” Dad yelled.
He looked up. “I was thinking that I couldn’t live with myself if I went back to Chicago knowing the truth.”
“And what is that?”
“We don’t deserve that fudge shop.”
His words shut down the room.
Grandma looked at him, something he couldn’t place in her gaze.
“You’re going back to Chicago?” Mom asked.
“That was always the plan. You know that.”
“I know, but…” Her nose wrinkled. “You’re still here. I figured you’d decided to stay.”
He shook his head. “I asked Ned for an extra week. He was gracious enough to give it, but I have to be back by Monday at the latest or my job is definitely gone.”
“But you don’t need that job. You can run the shop.” For the first time, Mom’s voice shook with emotion—one that wasn’t anger.
Maybe Isaac had been telling the truth. Maybe Mom really had missed him.
But that wasn’t enough. “I can’t, because it isn’t ours to run.”
“So that’s it, then?” Dad lifted a hand to Mom’s back, rubbing circles into it. “The council gave the shop back to Ms. Hart?”
“No. They said there wasn’t enough evidence.”
Mom blew out a breath. “Thank goodness.”
“No.” Declan shook his head. “Not good. Lily deserves that shop and I?—”
“Your grandma deserves her house, and even if you do, I don’t trust that Hart girl to give it to her if she owns the shop,” Dad said. “Case closed.”
“No, Dad. It’s not. I won’t let you take this away from the woman I love.”
Dad’s eyes widened. “Do you know how much we’ve done for you? How much we’ve sacrificed? You have a responsibility to do what’s best for all of us.”
“Actually, I have a responsibility to do what God’s leading me to do. And in this, you’re wrong. I won’t stand by and let you?—”
“ Let me?” Dad stood abruptly, advancing toward Declan.
“Frank, sit down.”
The words, spoken so loud and clear and strong, halted everyone, who turned to Grandma where she sat in her chair. Her eyes flashed.
Dad stared at her. “Mom?”
“I said, ‘Sit. Down.’”
Huh. Declan couldn’t remember the last time—if ever—he’d heard Grandma raise her voice.
His dad sat down.
Her eyes seemed to glisten. “I never wanted this.”
“Wanted what?” Declan asked softly.
“This division. For all of you to feel the burden to help me out of my mess. For you to stoop to cheating to do so. I’m the one who didn’t pay the back taxes, who allowed the sadness to weigh me down so deep that I stopped caring about anything but how much I missed your grandpa.”
Declan’s eyes burned. “But I’m the one who let Grandpa get out. I should have been there?—”
“Oh, Declan.” Grandma lifted a shaking hand and wiped away her tears. “Surely you know? That wasn’t the first time he’d escaped. It wasn’t on you. He was a tricky old sneak, even at the end.” She smiled, however.
“What do you mean, Edna?” Mom sat up straighter. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
Grandma sighed. “I’d been in denial for a while. Thought I could care for him here, but he should have been in a home. I just didn’t want to let go.”
Declan allowed her words to sink in.
“It wasn’t my fault,” he breathed out.
“No, Dec. It wasn’t. You were a boy—of course it wasn’t. It was a terrible, tragic accident. No one is to blame.”
Of course, that didn’t stop the sting of his family’s blame for the last decade. Leaning forward, he reached for Grandma’s hand. “Which means it wasn’t yours either.”
“I know that now, child. With much counseling and prayer. Doesn’t mean I don’t miss him terribly, but I’m at peace.
” She patted his hand. “The thing that’s threatening this peace, though, is you all fighting.
Your grandpa never wanted a fudge war. He was a peacemaker and didn’t even want to open up that competitor’s shop, but his father convinced him that it would be better for the family. Sound familiar?”
Dad had the decency to look chagrined.
Grandma’s cool fingers wrapped around Declan’s wrist, not quite reaching all the way.
“And no, your grandfather didn’t steal William Hart’s recipes, but the damage was done.
That rift between friends, it festered with unforgiveness.
And that spilled over into our current situation—with generations of hating and fighting that doesn’t do anyone any good.
Not only between the Harts and Kelleys, but among all of you. ”
She turned to Dad and held out her other hand.
Frowning, he took it.
Grandma spoke again. “Here’s what I’ve learned in my long life, though.
God keeps no accounting of our wrongs. If God keeps no accounting, then who are we to keep one?
” She turned her face toward Declan. “You may not agree with your father, but I don’t want to see you running off to Chicago before you’ve talked through your issues. ”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “But what if he won’t listen? He’s kind of stubborn.”
Dad coughed. Didn’t say anything.
And Grandma laughed. “Yes. You’re a lot like him in that way.
” Then she turned to Dad. “And you. You may be fifty-seven years old, but I’m still your mother, and you still have to listen to me.
” Her mouth twitched with the announcement.
“Your son is not a fool to be in love. If I recall, you were once young and in love. Try to remember what that was like.”
“But—”
“But nothing.” Grandma tutted. “Get past the fact that he’s fallen for a Hart, and ask yourself if your unnecessary hatred of another family outweighs the love you have for your son.”
Dad slumped. Mom did too.
Maybe with a little forgiveness and understanding, they really could get past this…even if—no, when —Declan enacted his plan.
Isaac stood. “Well, this has been fun?—”
“And then there’s you, young man.”