Chapter Eight
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“IF YOU find yourself with nothing to do this afternoon, feel free to swing by the shop. Take a look around. You never know what may inspire your own creativity.”
Cash’s words to Gwynn before they parted ways at the Davisons’ front porch swam in her mind on perpetual repeat as she showered, dressed, gave Holly a quick update over the phone, and descended the stairs to see what the kitchen offered in the way of breakfast.
She didn’t know about inspiration so much as the excuse to enjoy Cash’s company a little more. A pleasure she couldn’t afford.
“This dude sounds too good to be true,” Holly had said a few minutes earlier. “You better not leave there without snagging his phone number.”
“Remember my rule about guys and their numbers.”
“I know, I know.” Holly’s voice reflected the eye-roll Gwynn couldn’t see. “He’s got to ask for your number first. I’d say it’s a stupid rule, except you have decent luck with it. Your dates start out with potential, at least.”
“Yet I’m still single.” And she always would be. Liars didn’t deserve a happily-ever-after.
Then it’s time to face the truth.
Gwynn shoved aside the thought as she reached the base of the wide staircase. Not now, Lord.
She checked the front living room, where the Christmas tree bathed Santa and the surrounding area in a soft yellow glow, then padded across the central hallway to the dining room. Finding no one, she moved down the hall with its lineup of Christmas trees toward the back of the house and entered the kitchen.
Aunt Maude looked up as she poured herself a mug of coffee from the coffeemaker, Brisket hunkered by her feet. “Good morning, Gwynn.”
“Morning.”
The dog’s ears perked, and he scurried to greet her, jumping on his hind legs to paw at her knees. Gwynn crouched and rubbed under his chin. “And good morning to you, Brisket.” She grinned up at Uncle Russ, who leaned against the countertop, legs crossed at the ankles, sipping from a cup with “Glacier National Park” printed on its side. “That smells heavenly.”
“Would you like a cup?” Aunt Maude opened a cupboard door above the coffeemaker and at Gwynn’s nod, she removed a ceramic mug.
“Leave extra room for cream, please.” Gwynn gave Brisket a final pat and stood, once again admiring the kitchen with its recently renovated white-washed oak cupboards, ivory granite countertop, and reclaimed barn wood floor. It had sported a 1970s vibe the last time she’d been here, in a terrified daze, years ago—the dazed part according to Uncle Russ. She, herself, didn’t remember, nor did she want to. “Are there any plans for breakfast? Otherwise, I’m content with having cereal.”
Handing Gwynn her coffee, Aunt Maude looked sidelong at Uncle Russ. “We were hoping to treat you to breakfast at Verdie’s Vittles.”
Gwynn smiled her thanks as Uncle Russ offered her the pitcher of cream but shook her head at her aunt. “I’d gain too much attention there, which is the last thing we need.” The cream swirled and expanded in the black liquid. “When I went for a run this morning—”
“I told you I heard her up and about at a ridiculous hour,” Aunt Maude said to Uncle Russ. To Gwynn, she added, “So, you got in a bit of exercise already. Good for you.”
“If you call a labored jog exercise.” Gwynn took a sip of coffee then set her mug on the counter. “Anyway, Cash Cooper and his dog were also out for their morning run.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. I kinda called him out on his hasty departure yesterday, and he admitted I remind him of Hadley Jacobs.” She rubbed a thumb along the puckered scar on her left hand. “Despite my different hair and eye color, and the passage of time.”
Uncle Russ shielded his reaction behind a long pull of coffee while Aunt Maude blinked at Gwynn, unruffled. “Okay.”
“It’s not okay. The only reason Cash hasn’t figured things out is because God must be blinding him. But I can’t expect God to blind everyone.”
“Those who cared about Hadley may note similarities,” Uncle Russ said. “Most everyone else will be oblivious.”
“Besides”—Aunt Maude withdrew a bag of dry dog food from a lower cupboard—“you can’t hole up in here for the next two days until you go back to Boston.”
“Why not?” Gwynn turned a pleading look on Uncle Russ. “My plan in visiting did not involve me traipsing around town like a resurrected ghost, giving people nightmares.” Or giving myself nightmares.
“Can ghosts be resurrected?” Aunt Maude scooped dog food into Brisket’s metal bowl next to the fridge as Brisket wagged his tail in anticipation. “And can you have night mares during the daytime?”
Uncle Russ cradled his mug against his chest. “You might have made this trip with one purpose in mind, Gwynn, but God brought you here to do more than humor an old man. Don’t squander this opportunity.”
Gwynn huffed. “What opportunity?”
“To heal.”
“You said that last night. I’d have to rip off the scab first.”
“Good.” Aunt Maude gestured to Brisket, and he dashed to his bowl. “Better to clean out the infection that way.”
Gwynn trembled, her eyes wide. “You knew. You two knew I might be forced into an uncomfortable situation if I came here.”
Uncle Russ studied his coffee, but Aunt Maude’s chin rose. “So did you. Deep down. But I’ll admit my reasons were partly selfish in getting you to visit.” She glanced at her husband, moisture collecting in her eyes. “I don’t want this to continue hanging over Russell’s head, sweetheart. When he does die someday, I want it to be with a clear conscience.”
Uncle Russ patted his wife’s cheek. “No one is dying, love.”
“Not right now, no. But we’re not guaranteed tomorrow.” Aunt Maude plunked the bag of dog food onto the countertop, her face taut. “I don’t mean to be difficult, Gwynn. On the one hand, with each passing year it becomes easier to ignore the decisions we made. On the other hand, the weight of it gets heavier.”
Guilt twisted Gwynn’s insides like a hand fisting a rope, and she sagged against the counter. “I hadn’t thought about this being so taxing for you both. Perhaps I’ve been the selfish one.”
“Then maybe it’s time to sort this out.” Aunt Maude fingered a strand of Gwynn’s bottle-blonde hair. “You’re creatively blocked. Your career’s stuck. You keep any romantic interest at arm’s length. If you want to move into a promising future, Gwynn, you need to deal with the past.”
Gwynn pressed her palm against her breastbone, her pulse quickening. “What if that reveals the true nightmare? Are we prepared to deal with the consequences?”
“Now you listen to me.” Aunt Maude cupped Gwynn’s face, her own wrinkled one growing steely. “Don’t think for one minute that we’d have jumped through certain hoops if we believed you capable of your worst-case imaginings.”
Uncle Russ jabbed his mug in the air, coffee sloshing over its rim. “You are not a monster, young lady.”
Gwynn blinked back tears and whispered, “There’s a reason I don’t remember what happened.”