Page 66 of Love Me Gently

He’d showed up with a couple bottles of wine, some light beer, and managed to say hello to Trina like it wasn’t the first time he was seeing her in twelve years, looking healthy, smiling, and sitting at my table.

Bless them for being able to act so normal when I knew they were feeling anything but. They kept it up all through dinner, too, sneakily tossing in news of town that we all already knew, brief mentions of people, and who was running what these days. No one too close to Trina, and no mention of her parents, but it was clear they were trying to make things as normal as possible for her while also filling her in on how the town had changed.

Like in the truck with me last weekend, she mostly stayed quiet, but there was interest in her expression versus the deadness I’d seen before.

I still had a dozen, if not a hundred, questions for her and still wanted to know why she’d fallen asleep in June’s bed, but the questions could wait.

They could wait a lifetime if she kept giving my mom that soft, timid smile.

Trina stood from the table and began gathering and stacking plates. “Thank you for dinner, Mrs. P. It was lovely.”

She reached for my plate, but I set my hand on her arm. “Don’t.”

Instantly, her face paled, white as the snow, and the plates in her hands began to shake. “I was going to clean up.”

I shook my head.

“I’ll clean,” I told her. “You two have spent all day in the kitchen.”

She opened her mouth to say something back, possibly to insist, but the light dimmed in her eyes, and she flicked her gaze toward my parents. “Umm…”

She swallowed, hands still trembling until I finally slid the plates from her before she dropped them. When I had them in my hands, she stepped back. Trina glanced at my parents, then me, and rolled her lips together. “I’m supposed to clean.”

Her voice had gone quiet, and in my periphery, Mom’s brows tugged closer with concern.

“You don’t have to,” I assured her, and I tried to quiet my voice, but when she got like this, my ire spiked. Seriously, what did that monsterdoto her?

How had she been treated?

I had a killing urge to know, and yet it was probably better I didn’t. Not if a simple touch and correction from me had her shaking like a leaf.

“Trina,” I rumbled her name, low enough to get her attention, hoping I didn’t scare her. “You can do anything you want in this house, butnothingis expected okay? You and Mom spent hours in the kitchen today, and you know her rule.”

“Whoever doesn’t cook cleans,” my mom said, but even she was quieter, worried.

Trina blinked. Glanced at my mom and then nodded.

“Okay.” She turned back to me. “But I still want to help.”

“I’ll let you help,” I told her. But she wasn’t doing it alone.

I wanted her to learn she never had to go it alone again if she didn’t want to.

“But I’m doing it with you,” I said, so she knew I’d be with her. Close. My kitchen wasn’t huge and the space to rinse and load was tight.

“Okay,” she finally whispered.

From his spot at the table, Dad stood. “I’ll get you ladies more drinks. Bridget isn’t cackling yet, so she’s not nearly done for the night.”

It was a joke to lighten the mood. My dad was good at that.

“I don’t cackle,” my mom cried out, laughing. But there it was…the hint of a cackle.

My lips twitched and I grinned at Trina. “She totally cackles.”

Her grin fought for its appearance, and then she turned to my dad. “I’d like to hear this.”

There she was.

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