Chapter Twenty-Eight
Sam responded right away, accepting the invite. She wanted to dispel the bad feelings she had from her last moments in Twice-Told Tales with better memories.
When she arrived later that day, she found the core group gathered in the shop. “How’s your mom?” Sam asked Charlotte.
“Stable,” she said with a smile. “Thanks. She’s in a physical therapy rehab facility for ten days or so.”
Charlotte had ordered pizza for everyone, and Claire, Dylan, Sofia, and Olivia were there. The atmosphere was subdued but warm.
They all settled into seats in the back room with their food and drinks. Charlotte cleared her throat. “I’ve been thinking about what we want to do moving forward. About book club.”
“I think we all love the book club,” said Olivia, glancing around at everyone, looking for agreement. There were lots of bobbed heads.
“Even when Margaret was being impossible,” said Dylan wryly. “Seriously, this club keeps me going sometimes.”
Sofia said quietly, “I came to this club looking for something totally different. Really, I guess, just trying to figure out my mom. I didn’t succeed at that, but I really enjoyed connecting with all of you.”
Claire hopped into the discussion. “I hate to let what happened destroy something we all got a lot of enjoyment and satisfaction from. Let’s keep meeting. The same group. If everyone’s comfortable with that.”
There was a murmur of agreement around the room.
Charlotte smiled. “Then that’s settled. Thanks so much, everybody. I always look forward to the books and discussions. It’s always one of the highlights of my month.”
Dylan shifted in his seat. “So are we still doing Middlemarch? Because I have to say that book is seriously humbling me.”
A ripple of laughter went through the group.
“How far are you?” Sofia asked.
“Page 127.” Dylan grimaced. “Of 880. And I’m reading like my life depends on it.”
“I’m at page 610,” Sam admitted, pulling out her heavily tabbed copy from her purse. Several members stared at her sticky tabs.
“Of course you are,” Olivia said fondly.
Claire laughed. “I’m at 290, and I have to say that Margaret knew what she was doing when she picked this one. Stick with it. It’s challenging, but brilliant.”
“The prose is beautiful,” Sofia agreed. “I’m only on page 180, but I’m taking my time with it.” She grinned. “My mom would have eviscerated us for not being further along.”
“She always had lots of opinions,” said Claire with a smile.
Charlotte said, “Margaret would have read it twice by now and annotated every page.”
Sam looked down at her purple-penned notes. “She’d probably have loved that someone in this group actually made character index cards.”
“You made character index cards?” Dylan asked.
“There are lots of characters,” said Sam in self-defense.
“My mother would definitely have approved,” Sofia said gently. “She believed in taking books seriously.”
“Even when she was impossible about it,” Dyland added. But his voice was warm now, not bitter.
Claire raised her water glass. “To Margaret. Who challenged us, infuriated us, and made us better readers, whether we wanted to be or not.”
They all raised their drinks—water, tea, or soft drinks. “To Margaret,” they echoed.
“And to Middlemarch,” Dylan said. “Which I am absolutely going to finish, if only so Margaret can haunt me less judgmentally.”
Claire said, “On a different topic. I did speak with Gerald’s wife. She’s planning a memorial service for Gerald and asked if we could all come. She said he loved books and good conversation. And she said she hoped our club would continue on. She said Gerald wouldn’t want us to stop.”
“So it’s settled,” said Charlotte with a smile. “Thanks, everybody.”
There was a pause where the group seemed to be deep in their own individual thoughts.
“I keep thinking about Pamela,” Olivia said. “All that anger she must have been carrying all these years. It’s just so sad. It doesn’t excuse what she did. But it just feels tragic.”
They talked it all out for another hour, sharing their memories of Gerald, amazed at his being Geraldine Hartwell. They talked about Margaret’s sharp intelligence despite her difficult personality. It felt like a kind of closure to Sam.
After the meeting finally broke up and as Sam was leaving, Charlotte pulled her aside. “I’m so sorry about what happened at the bookshop. If I’d known, I’d never have put you in the position of waiting for the delivery.”
“You couldn’t have known,” Sam said. “And your mom needed you. How is she doing with the rehab program?”
“Better. The doctor says she’s getting stronger every day and might go back home next week.” Charlotte squeezed Sam’s hand. “But I keep thinking about you being there alone with Pamela.” Her voice caught, and she shook her head.
“I’m okay,” Sam said. “Really. The delivery driver showed up at exactly the right moment. Even if he hadn’t, I feel like I could have gotten away from Pamela once I’d gotten out that back door.”
“Still.” Charlotte’s eyes were damp. “You’re my friend, Sam. The thought of something happening to you in my shop just hurts me.”
Sam hugged her. “I’m fine. Everyone’s going to be fine.”
Sam had just gotten home from the book club meeting when her phone buzzed. Aiden’s message said: How are you doing?
She smiled and typed back: Home from book club. Want to come over? Fair warning: I’m planning popcorn and a romcom to escape reality.
The three dots appeared. Be there in 20.
When Aiden arrived, he had a bag of peanut M she noted the way he smiled at the funny parts, the way his hair was slightly rumpled from his day at school, and the simple fact he’d dropped everything to be with her.
“You’re not watching,” he observed, glancing over at her.
“No,” Sam admitted. “I’m not.”
“Is the movie not working as a distraction?”
“The movie’s fine.” Sam set the popcorn bowl on the coffee table. “I was just thinking about when you started to say something to me, before Phillips called and interrupted us.”
Aiden’s expression grew cautious. “I remember.”
“What were you going to say?”
He was quiet for a moment, and Sam could see him choosing his words carefully. “I was going to say that I care about you. A lot. And seeing you in danger made me realize I should probably stop pretending I’m content with us just being friends.”
Sam’s heart hammered in her chest. “What if I said I’m not content with that either?”
His eyes widened slightly. “Then I’d ask if you’re saying that because you mean it, or because you just had a traumatic experience.”
“I’m saying it because I mean it.” Sam shifted closer to him. “I’ve meant it for a while now. I just wasn’t sure about getting into another relationship again. But now I am.”
Aiden smiled. “I’ve been half in love with you since I met you.”
“Half in love?”
“Maybe more than half,” admitted Aiden.
Arlo, apparently deciding this had gone on long enough without him, jumped onto the couch and wedged himself between them, his tail wagging furiously.
Aiden laughed and scratched behind Arlo’s ears. “I think we have a chaperone.”
“He’s very protective.” Sam settled back against the sofa, and this time when Aiden put his arm around her shoulders, it felt natural. Right.
They finished the movie that way—Sam tucked against Aiden’s side, Arlo sprawled across their laps.
The following week, Lieutenant Phillips called with a final update.
“Pamela Cross gave us the full background. Ms. Cross accused Margaret Brennan of plagiarism, then Margaret counter-claimed Ms. Cross was trying to steal from her. When the department investigated,” Phillips’s tone was neutral, “they sided with Margaret. Ms. Cross was pressured to resign and left academia completely, never finishing her PhD dissertation.”
“Did she actually steal the research?” Sam asked quietly.
“We’ll never know for certain. The university records show competing claims, with no definitive proof either way.
But Margaret Brennan had the reputation and the connections and Ms. Cross had none of that.
” He paused. “And it certainly appeared Ms. Cross thought she was wronged. She saw Margaret’s memoir as the final humiliation, making the accusations permanent and public. ”
Phillips went on to say that Pamela Cross had been formally charged and had pleaded guilty to two counts of second-degree murder and one count of attempted murder. Her attorney was working on a plea deal, but she would go to prison. The only question was for how long.
Despite everything, she couldn’t help feeling a thread of sympathy for the woman who’d let twenty years of anger destroy her life and take two others.
Life in Sunset Ridge continued as usual.
Nora’s relationship with Harold continued to develop.
They’d moved from coffee dates to actual dinners, and Nora seemed genuinely happy and a lot less nosy about her neighbors’ business.
Most of the time, at least. Olivia adopted Marmalade and sent Sam at least a dozen photos a day of the orange cat happily sleeping in various sunny spots.
The book club attended the memorial for Gerald, sharing memories with his wife.
And Sam continued her work volunteering, walking Arlo twice a day, and meeting Aiden for dinner at least twice a week. They took things slowly and carefully. Life had a way of moving forward.
And sometimes, if you were very lucky, it moved forward into something better than what had come before.