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Emily shows us the photo of a woman in her early forties. Her thick blond hair brushes against her jawline. “My old colleague from when I was an elementary school teacher was recently diagnosed with cancer,” Emily explains. “She wanted to get a wig. And she wanted something that didn’t cost a fortune but is still stylish.”
“Wow. That’s a wig?” I would never have guessed.
Simone nods. “The woman who designs them does a great job. The best ones are made from natural hair, but those are pricy. Her wigs are the next best alternative.”
Simone takes a sip of her drink. “So, how are things going, working with Troy?” The question is directed at me.
Everyone peers at me expectantly, her curiosity mirrored on their faces.
“It’s going well. But working in an office isn’t my dream job. And I’m not thrilled at the idea of working for the man I’m also dating.”
It’s one more piece of my life that Troy’s part of, along with sharing the same friends. That was the problem I had when I was married. The few friends I had were married to my husband’s friends or colleagues. I couldn’t even call them close friends, which meant I had no one to turn to. The women were loyal to their husbands…who were loyal to mine.
My only friend in Maple Ridge who isn’t linked to Troy is the one friend who is married to an abusive man.
“Why not?” Simone asks. “A lot of husbands and wives work successfully together. Although I do get the part about it not being your dream job.”
“I don’t want to have to rely on a man for my happiness and money,” I explain. “A girl I knew in college ended up marrying a man who became abusive. She had no way to support herself, even if she could’ve escaped him. He made her give up her career. And then he made her give up her friends. He manipulated her every move.”
“What happened to her?” Sadness radiates from Simone, and she shares a quick glance with Avery.
“She died.” It’s not a lie. Savannah Townsend died the day I was released from prison. My husband and prison broke her. The woman she became is the woman trying to rise from the ashes. Building a new life in a town that doesn’t know who she is. “My friend lost so much because of a man. I don’t want to make the same mistake.” Again.
Heartbreak flickers on Emily’s face. “We’ve known Troy since elementary school. You never have to worry about him being abusive.”
“I know. But that doesn’t change anything. Fortunately, I’m not interested in getting married, so that partially solves that problem.” It’s the first time I’ve said it out loud or even thought it. The possibility of marrying a second time hadn’t crossed my mind while I was in prison. I hadn’t expected to survive my time locked away.
Growing up, I’d dreamed of one day finding Prince Charming. Too bad my Prince Charming turned out to be a psychopath. I would’ve done better marrying a toad.
“You don’t want kids one day?” Em asks.
“You don’t need to be married to have kids.” My parents were proof of that.
“So you do want kids?”
What I want is my daughter. But that will never happen. Not in the way I wish it could.
I tear off a piece of my muffin, unable to look at the four women. Afraid if I do, they’ll see the pain in my eyes, see the truth about Amelia. “I have no intention of having kids without a loving father to be there for them. I know what it’s like to grow up without a father.” Fortunately, I had a grandfather to fill that role until I was twelve.
My words are just an excuse. If I hadn’t been wrongfully imprisoned for my husband’s death, I would have raised my daughter without a father figure in her life. But after losing my daughter, I’m not willing to go down that path once more and risk losing another child—one way or another. I can’t go through that pain again.
I glance up from my muffin.
All four women stare at me with a compassion that’s beginning to not feel so foreign since moving to Maple Ridge. Compassion had been in short supply while I was in prison. Any hope of it had been stomped out, like a daisy underfoot.
Even when Anne had offered me a place to stay while I was healing, I’d been half expecting her to change her mind. To crush my dream of starting over. And yet, these four women, who don’t know anything about that part of my life, seem to get me.
Guilt tugs at me, whispers in my ears, reminds me that as much as they’ve been there for me, have been supportive, I haven’t fully let them in. But I’m not ready for that yet. Not ready to tell them the truth about my past. Not all of it anyway.
“I lived with my grandmother when I was a kid,” I say. She was the poster woman of compassionate. “My mom didn’t want me. I have no idea who my father is.” And I don’t care who he is either. “Anyway,” I say, needing to get this conversation back on track, “are any of you free next Thursday so I can practice taking wedding photos?”
Zara nods, thankfully taking my cue to switch topics. “Garrett and I are free. His book’s due on Monday, so he’ll be available after that. He usually likes to take the week off after sending a book to his editor.”
“Perfect. Do you still have the outfits you used for Kim’s photo shoots?”
I pedal up the driveway leading to a small bungalow and dismount. An assortment of flowers is blooming in the planters by the front door and from the hanging baskets above the porch.
The porch swing reminds me of Granny’s old one. I used to love sitting on it as a kid, gently swinging while she read me a story.
