Finn
“Pretty, pretty please.” Merry begged, tugging on my arm. “I need blueberry pancakes so bad.”
She had her head tipped back and she was giving me the look she referred to as “sad puppy eyes.” The expression that I simply could not say no to, despite the insanity of the attached request.
“Fine. We can walk over to the diner. There may be a wait, though. Saturday mornings are busy.”
She pumped her fist in the air and bopped along the sidewalk beside me, happy to have gotten her way.
Alicia and Mike were down on the coast looking at wedding venues, so Merry and I planned to hike, then settle in for a movie marathon.
We’d start with her all-time favorite, A League of Their Own, as we usually did.
I had seen the movie more times than I could count.
I’d even dressed up as Jimmy Duggan last Halloween.
I’d watch it a thousand more times if Merry wanted me to.
Nothing made my girl so happy. We’d follow it up with Bend It Like Beckham, another one of her favorites.
Dissecting Taylor Swift lyrics to find secret messages had been one of her suggestions for the night—and something I’d spent a lot of time doing in the last few years—but watching movies I knew every line of was far less taxing on my brain, so I had no interest in complaining.
I smiled down at her. She was getting so tall and grown up.
My heart clenched. I’d always seen myself raising a whole bunch of kids.
When I was a kid, our home was total chaos, but we loved it.
With so many boys running around, we were never short of playmates, and this great wilderness was our playground.
Merry was the most amazing thing to ever happen to me, but sometimes I ached for more.
For a wife, more kids, barbecues with my brothers on the weekends and joint Christmases, where we wore PJs all day and ate too much.
I had mostly avoided the diner as of late.
A fixture of my childhood, it was the epicenter of Lovewell life and, therefore, Lovewell gossip.
I’d have to face it sooner or later, and my girl wanted pancakes, so it looked like the time had come.
I needed another cup of coffee to keep up with her for the rest of the day anyway.
When I held the diner door open, I was met with the chattering of patrons and the ringing of the bell above us. It was nostalgic. The sounds hadn’t changed a bit in decades.
The place was packed, as it always was on weekends. Stepping inside, I scanned the dining room, hoping to find a small table available or two open seats at the counter.
Immediately, a hush fell over the room, and every head turned our way.
Merry stepped back, snaking an arm around my waist and ducking behind me.
I couldn’t blame her for wanting to hide. The scrutiny was intense. Dozens of patrons were watching me with either curiosity or pity, and many with a sprinkle of scorn.
And my poor daughter was feeling the judgment.
She tugged on my arm and whispered, “Let’s go.”
I surveyed the room, standing a little straighter. It was a cross section of our community. Retirees, families, and a big table full of tween girls who couldn’t contain their giggles. Adele sat in a corner booth with her mother. Our eyes locked, and her gaze narrowed.
Lowering my head, I looked down at Merry, who’d moved so close to me she was tucked under my arm.
Her little mouth was turned down and her eyes were glassy.
At the sight of my daughter’s dejection, a part of me broke.
I had to get her out of here. There was no saving this for us.
This place would never forgive or forget, and I didn’t know why I thought it would.
I grasped Merry’s hand, ready to make a hasty exit, but before we could turn and leave, her voice echoed through the quiet room.
“What is your problem?”
Heart lurching, I turned to her. She wasn’t looking at me, though. No, she was pacing through the diner, glaring at every person in her path. Even Bernice, never one to stand down, was frozen, her ever-present coffee pot held aloft.
“This is not how we treat people,” Adele said, spinning on her heel to begin her trek back to the other side of the dining room. “You should all be ashamed of yourselves.”
A few people murmured in protest, but that only made a fire ignite in her eyes.
“Really, Mrs. Leary?” she said, striding over to where the older woman sat with a group of ladies. They wore twinsets and holier-than-thou expressions. “You’re going to throw stones? This town supported you when your son got drunk and drove into the hardware store.”
Mrs. Leary’s face was purple and full of indignation, and she was sputtering like she was gathering up a retort. But Adele continued, her hands on her hips like she was only getting started.
“We all chipped in to help with repairs. And didn’t we do a bake sale to help pay for him to go to rehab? Yet you and your friends have nothing better to do than gossip, and it hurts good, hard-working families.”
She pivoted to another table. “Father Renee, don’t you preach about forgiveness on Sundays?”
He nodded, not daring to make eye contact with her.
“Correct,” she said, answering her own question. “You, for one, should know better than to jump on this judgment bandwagon. Because if we believe a person is guilty by association, then you and your archdiocese comrades would be in big trouble. Eh, father?”
The priest’s face fell as several patrons around the room sniggered.
Merry and I were frozen, watching this unfold. She was still tucked up against me, but she was peeking out under my arm, intent on Adele.
She pointed at the table of young girls. “I’ll be sure to text every single one of your parents about your behavior this morning. And don’t forget, your school principal is my sister now.”
Their little faces went ashen as that threat landed.
Adele was in the middle of the diner now, commanding the attention of everyone there. “No one here is faultless, and we’ve all been associated with people we wish we could distance ourselves from. Our town has not survived for this long because we turn our backs on one another.
“This is not the Lovewell my great grandparents founded. And it’s time you all get your shit together, because if not, you will have me to answer to.”
The room remained silent, and every jaw in the place was slack as she spun on her heel and headed back to her booth.
Halfway to her table, one person spoke up. “But your father!”
She turned and stalked toward the man who dared to put up a fight.
It was Mayor Lambert. He was an affable guy who had coached my peewee baseball team for several years.
I’d known him my whole life, and he’d always been involved in the community.
Even before he became mayor. He loved his job and this town, and he took his duties seriously.
Honestly, he was the last person I thought would join the angry mob.
He was perched at the counter with a fresh slice of blueberry pie with homemade vanilla ice cream on top sitting in front of him.
Adele loomed over him, silently inspecting him for a long moment. I thought she would curse him out. Instead, she grabbed the plate and a fork and took a big bite of his pie.
My jaw hit the ground.
“You don’t get pie,” she said, her voice low. “Pie is for kind people who don’t gossip about or judge others.”
The mayor’s eyes widened, and his face flushed. He probably wasn’t used to having his authority challenged.
Shoveling another bite of pie into her mouth, she scanned the crowd. “Bernice, don’t you dare give him more pie. He doesn’t get pie until he learns how to be a decent fucking human.”
Bernice, the sassy owner of the diner, nodded at Adele, her beehive bobbing as she did. That small interaction was the most shocking part of this entire encounter. Bernice wasn’t known for taking anyone’s shit.
Still holding the mayor’s pie, Adele tilted her chin higher and scrutinized one person after another. “This ends now. You will not punish good people, and you will not damn a child for the actions of one evil man. We’re better than this.”
With that, she pivoted sharply once again and prowled toward us.
Her expression was still set in a severe scowl as she moved closer.
I was glued to the spot, baffled and at a loss for words.
But when she approached, she didn’t speak to me.
Instead, she kneeled, softened her expression, and looked straight at Merry.
“My mom and I have room in our booth. Do you want to join us?”
Merry studied Adele with stars in her eyes, and finally, a tiny smile lifted one side of her lips. “Okay.”
Adele heaved herself back up and led us to the booth, where she gestured for us to slide in before taking a seat next to her mom.
She still commanded the attention of every patron in the place.
They hadn’t stopped watching her since she opened her mouth to defend us.
“Now eat your damn breakfasts,” she said, giving each and every one of them a pointed look, “and stop being assholes.” With that, she lifted her hand, gesturing at Bernice for more coffee.
“Sorry about that,” she said to Merry, picking up her menu. “I’m in the mood for pancakes. What about you?”
My daughter gave her a bright smile, then opened her mouth and proceeded to expound on her love of pancakes.
I exhaled, feeling the knot that had tightened the second we stepped into the diner finally loosen.
People had gone back to their meals and conversations, and the tension that had thickened the air began to dissipate.
Mayor Lambert snuck a few looks in our direction, but otherwise, things cooled down.
My pulse slowly settled, and my breathing returned to normal. In the military, I had learned to assess threats. I’d had to use that skill many times overseas. It was ingrained in me. How could I have underestimated how dangerous it would be to bring Merry into the diner on a Saturday morning?
I was still silently berating myself when a small hand covered mine.
“It’s okay,” Mrs. Gagnon said softly. “It’s not your fault.
” She was of medium height with dark hair cut in a neat bob.
She had all the appearances of a sweet middle-aged woman, but there was a fierceness in her eyes that reminded me of her daughter.
If I had to guess, she was also a force to be reckoned with.
I’d seen her plenty over the years, but I hadn’t been able to look her in the eye since learning that my father was responsible for her beloved husband’s death. That shame washed over me once more as I sat across from her now. Would I be apologizing for his actions forever?
“I’m sorry,” I said.
She tilted her head and assessed me for a long moment. Finally, she breathed a quiet “thank you” and patted my hand. The contact was comforting, friendly. She wasn’t judging me. She didn’t hate me. And with that realization, the wave of shame began to wane.
It was only then that I picked up the sound of Merry’s laughter. She and Adele were playing hangman on the paper menu, and Adele had chosen the word booger.
Adele sat across from Merry, laughing right along with her. Her blond hair was in a ponytail, and she wasn’t wearing a lick of makeup. She had clearly come from the gym, but the sight of her took the breath right out of my lungs.
This woman was exceptional in every way. She was brave and kind and more empathetic than I’d ever realized. There was absolutely no way I wasn’t going to spend the rest of my life pining for her.
Two years ago, we had kissed. A moment I still relived almost every day. After that night, I vowed to make her mine. To take my time, get to know her, and lock her down forever. Because she was one of a kind.
Things had changed. She’d never be mine now. But fuck if I didn’t wish it were possible.