Chapter Twenty
Katrina
Dinner was over, the dishes were done, the kitchen set back to rights, and Frankie and Cami had rushed upstairs to Cami’s room to giggle and talk like girls did.
Like best friends did.
“Let me show you the guest room.” Nox grabbed my bag without a word and took off down the hall.
“We waited a year after my dad left before we changed anything,” Maggie explained as we followed behind her little brother.
“There are four bedrooms upstairs; I’m in the master, and Rhoda, Cami, and Nox all have their own rooms. Rhoda and I shared before. ”
Maggie stopped in front of the door. “This was my parents’ office.
I’ve since moved everything to the office above the store.
It helps to shut my brain down at night.
When everything for the orchard was here in the house, I found myself in this room too many times at two a.m. working on spreadsheets, marketing, and anything else that popped into my head.
Now, I make a note of what I’m thinking and I set regular hours.
If it doesn’t get done...” She shrugged.
“It’s good to have a balance,” I added.
Maggie smiled and nodded, and I thought again about how much pressure she must be under at such a young age. I stepped into the room behind her and gasped.
Nox set my bag on the upholstered bench at the foot of the bed and dashed out, leaving Maggie and me alone.
“This is beautiful,” I said, my eyes taking in every inch.
There was a blueprint of the office it once was, with the built-in shelving that lined one wall, now holding a collection of vintage books and woven baskets.
A queen-size bed dressed in crisp white linens and a chunky gray knit throw sat in the middle of the room, replacing the desk that once held the secrets to running an orchard this size.
A repurposed wooden ladder leaned against the wall, draped with extra quilts in muted plaids.
The walls, painted a few shades softer than the gray blanket that lay across the bed, held framed pictures of botanical prints, and a weathered landscape painting that resembled the orchard just beyond the windows covered in sheer linen curtains that filtered the warm amber glow of dusk as the day faded into evening.
On the nightstand, a simple mason jar held sprigs of dried lavender.
Maggie saw me staring at the painting above the bed. “My mother painted that.”
“It’s incredible,” I breathed.
“Rhoda inherited my mother’s love of art and creativity.” Her words were sad, holding a hint of envy.
“Does she paint?”
“Not much.” Maggie sighed. “We’re always so busy, there’s never enough time to do things for ourselves.”
I turned toward my new friend. “What would you do?” I asked.
“What do you mean?”
“If you had the time, what would you do for yourself?”
Maggie moved the curtain aside to look out the window into the darkening outside. She took a deep breath. “Date,” she said.
“Date?”
She gave me a sad smile over her shoulder. “I’m twenty-two years old and I’ve never been on a date. I’ve been working since I was Nox’s age and raising children that aren’t mine since I was seventeen.”
She turned fully to face me. “Don’t get me wrong, I love my siblings, and I wouldn’t change a thing, but...” Her voice trailed off.
“It’s lonely,” I finished for her.
Maggie nodded, her eyes glistening. I moved across the room and pulled her into my arms. She had the weight of the world on her shoulders, and I was whining about my terrible taste in men.
I squeezed her tight and then pulled back. “Any time you want to go on date, Frankie and I can come spend the night. Give you some time off.”
Maggie chuckled. “Where would I even meet someone?”
“The clubhouse,” I answered, waggling my eyebrows.
“Yeah, that’s what I need, some caveman who wants to come in and take over everything I’ve worked for. No thanks.”
I laughed with her; she definitely understood bikers.
“Speaking of, how did you end up invited to the clubhouse if I’m the only person you know?”
“That is a very long story.”
“Let’s make some coffee and sit out on the porch; we have all night.” Maggie smiled, and it settled deep inside my chest in a place I thought had frozen over completely. Maybe Maggie Winslow was just what I needed in a friend.
We sat on the back porch with steaming cups of coffee cradled in our hands and blankets over our laps to ward off the chill that settled in when the sun went down.
“So what’s your story, Kat? We’ve been having dinner together for weeks and I feel as if you know everything about me.”
“My life isn’t as exciting as yours. It’s rather cliché, to be honest. Got married too young to a man I thought I knew and didn’t see the monster inside him.”
Maggie was quiet as we rocked on the swing, looking out over the land we could barely see.
I told her about Richard and what he had done, conscious of how my story affected Frankie, but what I told her was true.
The story wasn’t just hers, and right now I needed someone to confide in.
Not just about Richard and Clay, but about Derek.
Maggie had no experience with men; that was clear from what she told me, but maybe that would give her a different perspective. I told her about Slyce rescuing us from the clubhouse and bringing us to Diamond Creek.
Then I told her about Derek.
I told her everything. About the attraction I felt for him, and Frankie’s strange obsession with him. I told her about my non-date with Zero, and the way Derek followed me to the bathroom at the restaurant.
About the way he kissed me.
Then I told her about the night at the diner when I told him about Richard and the way he stormed off. She apologized again for her part in it, even though she had no idea what the kids were scheming.
Then I explained about the article Slyce sent me, Haizley inviting us to Thanksgiving, and Frankie’s conclusion about Derek being the unidentified man who almost killed Richard. I kept my voice low in case the girls came downstairs, not wanting them to overhear my conversation with Maggie.
“Wow,” Maggie said when I finished. “And you said your life wasn’t exciting.”
I chuckled, but the sound was hollow.
Maggie was quiet; she sipped her coffee, and I waited to hear what she thought. She dropped her hands to her lap, careful not to spill her coffee, then looked at me.
“I don’t have any experience with men. I’ve never even been kissed.” I tried to hide my shock at her confession. “But after hearing all that, I have to agree with Frankie. I think Derek’s disappearance is one hell of a coincidence.”
“But why would he do that? He barely knows us.”
“I told you about my parents. How my dad started drinking when my mom died.” I nodded silently, waiting for her to continue.
“People ask me all the time how I’m not angry with him.
What they don’t understand is, I know how much my dad was hurting.
My mom wasn’t just his world; she was his universe.
He loved her in a way I have never seen before, and I don’t think I will ever see again.
“This orchard has been in my family for generations, but what people don’t realize is that it’s not my father’s legacy. It’s my mother’s. When my parents got married, my dad changed his last name so their children would have the Winslow name.
“He gave up everything for her; he took over running the orchard so she could paint, so she could raise us.” Maggie inhaled deeply, letting the breath out slowly before she continued, “When she died, his universe collapsed on top of him. He didn’t know how to live anymore.”
I shook my head. “That’s no excuse,” I said softly, not wanting to upset her. “You can’t let grief stop you from living. You can’t allow the bad things in life make you neglect everything and everyone around you.”
“Isn’t that what you’re doing?” she asked carefully.
“What do you mean?”
“You told me about Stacy, and how she lied. How you lost your trust in friendship. One bad friend doesn’t mean everyone will hurt you.”
“It’s not one bad friend.” I argued. “It’s a series of people who have let me down.”
“What about the ones who haven’t?”
“There aren’t any,” I said. Except Frankie. She was the only person in my life who hadn’t let me down. She was a child. Children weren’t born with the capacity to hurt; I didn’t care what religion said about everyone being born in sin. It was bullshit.
Children weren’t born with an inherent desire to be mean. They did what appealed to them because they didn’t know any better. If it was wrong by society’s standards, then it was the parent’s fault for not teaching their child the difference between right and wrong.
“How will you know if someone will love you or hurt you if you don’t give them a chance to be in your life?”
“It’s not worth the risk,” I said.
Maggie shrugged. “Then maybe I’m better off not meeting anyone.”
My eyes snapped to hers. “That’s not what I meant.”
“It’s what you said,” she countered, bringing her cup to her mouth.
“You’re twisting my words around, Maggie.” The words came out sharper than I wanted them to.
“No, I’m trying to show you the flaw in your logic.
If you’d never met Richard, you likely wouldn’t have Frankie.
If you never met Clay, you wouldn’t be sitting here on my back porch, and Frankie wouldn’t be upstairs hanging out with someone who needs her as much if not more than Frankie needs a friend. ”
I slumped back against the swing and thought about what she said.
“Is the reward worth the risk?” she asked, then shrugged. “Sometimes. But until you take the risk, you’ll never get the reward.”
I side-eyed my new friend and pouted because she was right. I hated that Frankie had to endure so much at such a young age, but without her mother’s abuse and her father’s rejection, I wouldn’t have her, and there was no doubt in my mind that Frankie was always meant to be my daughter.
“You aren’t allowed to be more mature than me. You’re only twenty-two.”
Maggie threw her head back and laughed.
“We’ve all had bad things happen, Kat. It’s how we respond to those things that makes us who we are.
For instance, you are a strong, protective mother.
The mother Frankie needed. You may not have carried her inside your body and given birth to her, but you gave her a life she never would have had without you. ”
Maggie’s words ran through my head as I lay down in her guest room that night. After we came in from the porch, Maggie led me upstairs so I could check on Frankie. She and Cami were sprawled out on Cami’s bed, sound asleep. Candy wrappers and empty soda cans littered the floor.
Like Frankie, I never had siblings growing up. I’d always wished for a sister or two. I always wished I could have given Frankie a brother or sister, but Richard and I had just started talking about a second adoption when I came home and discovered what he was doing.
After that, I was barely able to support Frankie and me; there was no way I could afford to adopt another child.
Now I wondered if it was too late. She was twelve years old.
Would bringing in another child cause her to feel left out or forgotten?
Would she be jealous of another person taking up my time?
Would she even want a sibling? Would I be able to foster as a single woman? There were a lot of questions I didn’t have answers to, but I let them run through my head in place of the questions I didn’t want to answer.
Questions about Derek and how he might impact our lives if I let him in, or if I kept him out.