Page 103 of Meet Me at the Fudge Shop

“So that’s it, then?” Dad lifted a hand to Mom’s back, rubbing circles into it. “The council gave the shop back to Ms. Hart?”

“No. They said there wasn’t enough evidence.”

Mom blew out a breath. “Thank goodness.”

“No.” Declan shook his head. “Not good. Lily deserves that shop and I?—”

“Your grandma deserves her house, and even ifyoudo,Idon’t trust that Hart girl to give it to her if she owns the shop,” Dad said. “Case closed.”

“No, Dad. It’s not. I won’t let you take this away from the woman I love.”

Dad’s eyes widened. “Do you know how much we’ve done for you? How much we’ve sacrificed? You have a responsibility to do what’s best for all of us.”

“Actually, I have a responsibility to do what God’s leading me to do. And in this, you’re wrong. I won’t stand by and let you?—”

“Letme?” Dad stood abruptly, advancing toward Declan.

“Frank, sit down.”

The words, spoken so loud and clear and strong, halted everyone, who turned to Grandma where she sat in her chair. Her eyes flashed.

Dad stared at her. “Mom?”

“I said, ‘Sit. Down.’”

Huh. Declan couldn’t remember the last time—if ever—he’d heard Grandma raise her voice.

His dad sat down.

Her eyes seemed to glisten. “I never wanted this.”

“Wanted what?” Declan asked softly.

“This division. For all of you to feel the burden to help me out of my mess. For you to stoop tocheatingto do so. I’m the one who didn’t pay the back taxes, who allowed the sadness to weigh me down so deep that I stopped caring about anything but how much I missed your grandpa.”

Declan’s eyes burned. “But I’m the one who let Grandpa get out. I should have been there?—”

“Oh, Declan.” Grandma lifted a shaking hand and wiped away her tears. “Surely you know? That wasn’t the first time he’d escaped. It wasn’t on you. He was a tricky old sneak, even at the end.” She smiled, however.

“What do you mean, Edna?” Mom sat up straighter. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Grandma sighed. “I’d been in denial for a while. Thought I could care for him here, but he should have been in a home. I just didn’t want to let go.”

Declan allowed her words to sink in.

“It wasn’t my fault,” he breathed out.

“No, Dec. It wasn’t. You were a boy—of course it wasn’t. It was a terrible, tragic accident. No one is to blame.”

Of course, that didn’t stop the sting of his family’s blame for the last decade. Leaning forward, he reached for Grandma’s hand. “Which means it wasn’t yours either.”

“I know that now, child. With much counseling and prayer. Doesn’t mean I don’t miss him terribly, but I’m at peace.” She patted his hand. “The thing that’s threatening this peace, though, is you all fighting. Your grandpa never wanted a fudge war. He was a peacemaker and didn’t even want to open up that competitor’s shop, buthisfather convinced him that it would be better for the family. Sound familiar?”

Dad had the decency to look chagrined.

Grandma’s cool fingers wrapped around Declan’s wrist, not quite reaching all the way. “And no, your grandfather didn’t steal William Hart’s recipes, but the damage was done. That rift between friends, it festered with unforgiveness. And that spilled over into our current situation—with generations of hating and fighting that doesn’t do anyone any good. Not only between the Harts and Kelleys, but among all of you.”

She turned to Dad and held out her other hand.

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