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“I didn’t expect you until later,” she says.
“I—” My voice cracks, and Maeve’s gaze softens.
“Why don’t we go inside to talk? The gardening can wait.”
I drop onto the wood chair by the kitchen table while Maeve opens cupboards and removes dishes. She moves with the grace and speed of a dove, and after a few minutes, she pulls out the only other chair and sits across from me. She slides a mug across the table.
“What’s this?” I’ve gotten pretty good at identifying Maeve’s herbs. I can make some of her teas and tonics by heart now. But this one is unfamiliar.
“This is a more advanced brew. It’s for truth.”
I wrinkle my nose. “A truth serum?”
She smiles, and the smooth skin around her eyes crinkles with wisdom. “No, nothing like that. You won’t be bound to tell only the truth. But you will be able to access the truth in your own heart, and maybe you’ll feel comfortable enough to share it with me.”
“I know the truth in my heart.”
“Are you sure?”
I sigh. “I don’t even know where to start. Everything just got so messed up so fast.”
“Start from the beginning, and I’ll listen as long as you want.”
The gentleness in Maeve’s offer is enough to lessen the weight of the brick sitting at the base of my throat. I sip her tea, and tears begin to pour down my face as I tell her everything.
Somehow, Maeve is the only person I have left. In less than twenty-four hours, I’ve alienated Will and broken my relationship with Tessa. Both have left giant aching holes in my chest. Not as big as the hole Brandon’s death left, but—how many holes can one person live with?
“You did nothing wrong. You’re allowed to be happy, Hope,” Maeve says when I run out of words.
The truth pulses in my chest—a sharp, jagged rejection of her words. “You sound like my sister. I know I’m allowed to be happy. I know Brandon would want me to be happy. I know all of that.”
“Will makes you happy.”
“He’s just lonely. He needs a friend.”
“Yes, there seems to be a lot of that going around.” Her gentle gaze should not make every muscle in my body tense. But it does.
“He’s probably only staying here for another few weeks. I don’t think he’s all that happy in Kingsette.”
“Are you?”
“Tessa is here, and my nieces. My job.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s my home,” I say.
“That’s not an answer either.” In the gray morning light, Maeve’s pale eyes look colorless. There’s a wistfulness in her expression I haven’t seen before.
“What about you? Are you happy in Kingsette?” I glance out the window at the garden. At least a hundred flowers have set down deep roots.
Maeve flashes me a knowing smile. “I’m not quite welcome to call Kingsette home, am I?”
“You know what they’re saying?”
“They’re not exactly discreet, are they?”
“No. They just—they’re not used to different.” It’s not an excuse, but hopefully it’s an explanation. “They don’t mean harm.”
