Page 37 of The Promise in Poppies
Donna wanted to stop her, to cry out, to fight her way back into her daughter’s heart and mend what she’d broken. But what could she say? The only card she had left—the identity of Cassie’s father—would bring the entire house tumbling down around them. And she couldn’t let that happen.
“Are you okay?” At the soft, compassionate question, Donna turned to find Maggie standing in the doorway leading to the kitchen, holding a tray of fragrant raspberry Linzer cookies.
Donna shook her head as a sob rose in her throat, strangling her words.
Just then, Ryder strolled through the entrance, whistling as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
Maggie intercepted him. “Ryder, dear, would you mind putting these in the display case while Donna helps me with something in the kitchen?”
“Sure thing, Mrs. D.” He snatched one of the buttery morsels and placed it between his teeth for safekeeping before taking the tray from Maggie.
With a gentle grip on her elbow, Maggie guided her into the kitchen and settled her on a barstool before filling a glass with cold water.
Donna blinked at the ceiling, determined not to cry.
“You think parenting will get easier when they’re all grown up,” Maggie said as she placed the glass in Donna’s hand. “But the truth is, in some ways, it gets even harder.”
“Not for you.” Donna took a sip, thankful for the cool liquid on her raw, swollen throat. “You make it look so effortless.”
Maggie offered a kind smile. “Many things look different from the outside. That’s why it’s best not to assume what’s behind a door before we’ve taken the time to open it.”
Donna took another sip, mulling over Maggie’s words before she set her glass on the counter. Maybe it had something to do with the woman’s benevolence, or the way her time with Rhett had lowered her walls, but a sudden urge to finally clear the air overtook her reservations. Expelling a deep breath, she said, “Maggie, I owe you an apology.”
“For what, dear?”
“For the last two and a half years, I’ve envied your relationship with Cassie. And I let it come between us, which wasn’t fair. All this time, I’ve been fighting my jealousy when I should have been thanking you.” Her voice broke, but she forced herself to continue, sharing a sentiment long overdue. “Thank you for being the mother I wasn’t. The mother I should have been.” The tears fell freely now, and she didn’t bother hiding them. Embarrassing or not, the words needed to be said, and she felt a strange sense of relief in the wake of her confession.
Maggie took her hand, cradling it between both palms. “You’ll always be Cassie’s mother. But not by birth alone.” She held her gaze, and Donna glimpsed a fierceness in her eyes that she’d never seen before. “You’ve earned the title. You never gave up, no matter how difficult the road became. Which is why I know that whatever happened between you and Cassie, you’ll find a way to work things out. Your daughter not only needs you, Donna, shewantsyou in her life. Just as much as you want to be in it.”
With a surge of overwhelming gratitude, Donna stood and embraced the woman she’d once viewed as a rival. Even as an adult nearing half a century of life experience, she struggled to sift through her fears and uncertainty to find the truth. For years, she’d missed out on this woman’s friendship thanks to her misplaced insecurities.
What else had she gotten wrong?
CHAPTER22
CASSIE
Cassie tightened her grip on the steering wheel, her eyes burning as she blinked back tears. She’d been so foolish, believing her mother would finally be forthcoming simply because they’d grown closer over the last several days. But she shouldn’t have pushed. Deep down, buried beneath her hopefulness, she’d had an inkling that despite their progress, her mother would never give her the answer she craved. Like all the times before, the fruitless conversation left her more confused and conflicted than ever.
In all her futile attempts to uncover her father’s identity, she’d learned only two things: that her conception hadn’t involved an assault or a drunken blackout resulting in memory loss. Which meant Cassie had ruled out the only two reasons she could fathom for her mother’s closely guarded secrecy. Nothing else made sense.
Her thoughts flickered back to the father-daughter duo from the café, and a familiar ache wrapped around her heart. Did her father ever think about her? Did he wonder what she looked like? Or where she lived? Did he want to know her favorite book, how she took her coffee, or if she preferred mustard on her fries instead of ketchup? Basically, all the things she’d pondered over the years about him. He could literally be anyone—and anywhere—in the world. And he could be searching for her as desperately as she sought after him. Why did her mother insist on keeping them apart?
For a brief moment, a cynical suspicion slithered through her mind. What if her mom didn’t want her to know that for all the years she’d suffered in the shadow of her addiction, she could have lived a better, more stable life with her father? As soon as the misgiving pricked her subconscious, the tears fell harder, drowning her in grief.
“That’s not true,” she murmured in the silence of her car, banishing the ugly thought. For all her mother’s faults, she knew she loved her. Which is why she couldn’t understand her stubborn concealment. Whatever her mother was hiding, didn’t she trust her to handle the truth?
Cassie parked beneath the shade of a sweeping oak tree, wiping the dewy trail of tears from her damp cheeks. The sight of the cozy, moss-green farmhouse bathed in warm, golden sunlight soothed her throbbing heart. And even more comforting was the couple swaying side by side in tandem rocking chairs.
Beverly spotted her in the driveway and waved.
Cassie returned her welcoming smile then composed a quick text to Eliza, letting her know she’d arrive a bit later than expected. Eliza immediately responded, telling her to take her time. With one last sniffle, Cassie slipped from the driver’s seat and ambled toward the broad front steps flanked with red and purple pansies spilling from terracotta pots.
She gave Frank and Beverly each a kiss on the cheek hello before settling on the porch swing, sinking with a sigh into the plush cushions.
“To what do we owe the lovely surprise?” Beverly asked. “Are we all set for the festival?”
“Almost. I have pledges for all the silent auction items, but I still have a few left to collect.” She hesitated, not sure how to proceed. The second she’d climbed into her car, she knew she’d arrive on Frank and Beverly’s front porch. They’d become like grandparents to her, a safe harbor and wellspring of wisdom. Frank’s blunt, no-nonsense insights on life paired perfectly with Beverly’s sweet, more subtle advice. They always seemed to know exactly what to say. Or when to say nothing at all.
