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He knelt at the foot of her chair and took her hand. The palm was callused but the back thin-skinned and blue-veined. It was cold. “Listen to me. They can’t force you out until you have a chance to make the repairs. They have to give you some time. Let me—”
“No.” Wisps of white hair escaped bobby pins as she shook her head. Her remarkably clear green eyes met his. “Son, my family has owned this property for more than a hundred and fifty years. We’ve never had to resort to charity to keep it. I won’t start now.”
“What about your children? You did say you had kids.”
“Two.” She began to sniffle. “My son has four little ones and a big mortgage. I can’t ask him to help me out. My daughter is divorced and has a son in college.” Ina bowed over in her seat and sighed. “I don’t imagine I’ll be leaving any of them anything to speak of…not even this run-down place.”
Eric rubbed the hand enveloped between both of his gently. He looked toward one of the tall windows and at the rain beating against the glass. It was a dreary day, gray and bleak…fitting. The town’s big wigs, cowards all of them, were going to let self-interest and greed run a little old lady out of the only home she had ever known. An entire family legacy was going to be leveled so the upwardly mobile could improve their scores on the back nine.And golf is supposed to be the sport of gentlemen.
Eric watched more rain patter against the window and sighed. He was unsure of what lay ahead between himself and Jenna. He was even less sure of his divorce’s outcome. One thing of which hewascertain was that next year, when the golfers finished their day on the links, they would be bringing home fresh herbs and apple pie from the quaint little farmhousenextto Baldwin Ridge.
****
Randi rushed back into the store with a cup of chai tea she bought from the gourmet café two doors down. “Drink this, you don’t need any more caffeine.”
“True Hollywood Scandals.” Jenna scrubbed at her face and groaned as if needles were jabbing the backs of her cheekbones. “They’ll have a truckload of old footage from ten years ago and will report every bit of dirt—my assault, Eric’s trial, Mark’s lies about our supposed affair… How the hell am I supposed to shield Janie from all of that?”
“Tell her the truth. All the sacrifices you’ve made were for her. She’ll understand.”
The bell over the door chimed and a customer stepped in. Jenna called out a fainthearted welcome. A woman, wearing the Cromline mom uniform of beige slacks and cardigan, grabbed a basket and padded far down the aisle.
“Will she?” Jenna’s whisper was barely audible as she tugged Randi behind the counter. “Will she really understand that I ran away because I thought her father was a rapist. Will she understand that even after I found out the truth, I still kept her from her real dad?”
Randi placed her arm around Jenna’s shoulder and squeezed. The two friends stood with blank expressions on their faces as the customer approached. The woman set pink sunglasses edged with crystal beads and a palette of iridescent eyeshadows by the register. Jenna tallied up the sale, wrapped the items in tissue, and nodded her thanks.
Rushing to the door, Randi engaged the lock. “You know how I feel about Eric Laine, but you have to tell him the truth. You have no choice. Janie needs to be protected. Mr. Hotshit A-lister doesn’t deserve her, but you have to let him acknowledge her and end all the speculation.”
Overcome by trembling, Jenna wrung her hands. “And then what? I share custody of her with him? Pack her up to spend Christmas in California with a man she doesn’t even know? Expose her to an invasion of paparazzi?”
“It would be more devastating for Janie to think Mark Chambers is her father.”
The hair on Jenna’s arms stood on end. Though nine years had passed, the mention of the name still made her skin feel like it was crawling from her bones. Her windpipe was suddenly collapsing from the pressure of her esophagus contracting, and she gagged.
She bolted from behind the counter and ran to the bathroom where she retched her tea into the sink. Randi stood behind her, smoothing her hair back as she continued to heave. Blindly Jenna reached for the faucet and rinsed her mouth. She spat, still shivering, dread still clutching at her stomach. Outside a car door slammed, and Jenna quickly splashed cool water on her face and dried it with a paper towel.
“Do I look okay?”
“Fine, fine…just…” Randi pantomimed fluffing her hair, and Jenna gave a toss of her head. She wiped beneath her eyes with her knuckles.
Janie was rapping at the door. “Why is the shop locked?” she called out while continuing to tap her small fists against the glass.
Randi opened the door, but Janie, who usually skipped, animated and cheerful, everywhere, walked in with her head bowed in a solemn arc.
“Hey, kiddo, you okay?” Jenna asked.
The child’s glum expression was telling, and what little warmth Jenna felt faded away as she noticed faint blotches of red on her daughter’s nose and cheeks. “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve been crying.”
“Am I a bastard?”
“A what!” The expression “jaw dropping” was an accurate illustration as Jenna stood with her mouth agape. “Where did you get an idea like that?”
“T…Tiffany Baldwin.”
On a solitary and angry breath, Jenna rounded her fingers into fists tight enough to make her hands cramp. “What exactly did little Miss Tiffany say?”
Janie angled her head at the floor. “She said kids who are born without fathers are bastards.”
Could the day get any worse? Jenna relaxed the steely curl of her hands and folded her arms across her chest. “Janie, kids born without fathers are only bastards in old movies and Charles Dickens’ novels. It’s the twenty-first century.”
