Page 38 of The Promise in Poppies
“Actually, Beverly,” she began, pushing her heels against the knotted-pine planks, setting the swing in motion. “I was hoping I could ask you something.”
“You can always ask me anything.” Beverly gifted her an encouraging smile.
“Did you…” Cassie’s voice fell away, replaced by the gentle squeak of the springs. This was going to be harder than she anticipated. Gathering a breath, she tried again. “Did you know my mother? When she was growing up?” She’d done the math, and knew Beverly would’ve been a librarian during her mother’s school years. Their paths must’ve crossed at some point.
Beverly exchanged a furtive glance with Frank before meeting Cassie’s questioning gaze. “Yes, I did. Although, not well. She’d come into the library from time to time to work on a school project.”
“Did you ever see her with anyone in particular?” Cassie asked, then decided to be more direct. There was no point in being coy. “I mean, with anyboyin particular? I’m trying to find my father, and I thought that if my mother had a boyfriend in high school, that might give me a place to start.”
“I see.” Beverly’s features softened, and she studied her for a moment, as if debating her next words. “Have you asked your mother?”
Cassie felt the familiar tingle of tears again, and she pinched her bottom lip between her teeth to keep them at bay. “I have. Multiple times. But she refuses to tell me anything. And the worst part is that she won’t explainwhyshe won’t tell me. I’m starting to wonder if she even knows.”
Beverly silently contemplated her admission before she planted both feet, stilling the gentle glide of her rocker, the one lovingly built by Luke. “I know this isn’t the answer you’d hoped for, sweetheart, but I don’t recall your mother having a suitor at that age. She mostly kept to herself.” She leaned forward, her pale blue eyes brimming with tenderness. “Perhaps it’s less about what a person says and more about what they don’t say.”
“What do you mean?” Cassie asked, too emotionally exhausted to solve any more riddles.
“Once you know something,” Frank interjected in his gruff, gravelly voice, “you can’tunknow it.” He paused and wrinkled his forehead before adding wryly, “Until you’re my age. Then you start to forget more than you ever knew.”
Cassie glanced between them as understanding slowly dawned. What if her mother was trying to protect her from something? Once she learned her father’s identity, she could never return to a state of innocence. In this case, was ignorance bliss? Or did she want to know the truth, wherever it led? Moments earlier, she thought she knew the answer to that question with absolute certainty. But now? She wasn’t so sure.
“It’s ready!” Vick rounded the corner of the house from the direction of the roastery in back, his tone bright with excitement. He smiled when he spotted her. “Hey, Cass. Are you here to try the special blend? The beans just cooled enough to grind them.”
Cassie tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, simultaneously sweeping aside her troubles as she tried to match his enthusiasm. “I’d love to.” She stood, sharing a look with Frank and Beverly that wordlessly expressed the depths of her gratitude before accompanying Vick to the kitchen. Although she hadn’t received the information she’d hoped to uncover, as usual, they’d given her the gift of a new perspective—one that would help her reconcile with her mother. Which, she realized, was what she needed most.
While Vick ground the beans and prepared the French press, Cassie arranged three mismatched mugs on a serving tray—one for Frank, Vick, and herself, since Beverly didn’t drink coffee. Although Frank had cut back on regular coffee, substituting a few cups a day with decaf—not without grumbling—she knew he’d make an exception this time. As would she, since she couldn’t resist sampling such an exquisite blend, despite her conviction to cut out caffeine.
From the corner of her eye, she watched Vick’s fluid movements as he seamlessly flowed through each step of the brewing process like a natural-born dancer. He’d come a long way in a few short months under Frank’s tutelage, and it warmed her heart to see how both men—hardened by their years in the military and subsequent lives of solitude—had helped soften each other’s steely exteriors.
Vick caught her staring and flashed a shy smile. “It’s strange, isn’t it?”
“What is?” Cassie asked. Deciding to brew some Earl Grey for Beverly, she reached into the cupboard for a teacup.
“You know, how if things work out with our parents, we’d kinda become siblings.”
Cassie jolted in surprise, and the dainty porcelain cup slipped from her fingertips, shattering across the counter and onto the floor. “I—I’m so sorry,” she stammered, gaping at the mess in shock while she breathed a silent prayer of thanks that the cup wasn’t one of Beverly’s favorites.
“Are you okay?” Vick sidestepped the broken shards littering the scuffed hardwood and grabbed a broom from the pantry.
“I’m fine. I just—” She shook her head, as if the jerking motion would rearrange his words and somehow make sense of them. “What did you meanwhen you saidif things work out with our parents? Are they dating?”
Vick’s eyes widened, and the broom stilled in his hand. “You didn’t know?”
“No. She never mentioned it.” What else had her mother been keeping secret? “Is it serious?”
“I can’t speak for your mom, but my dad sure seems like a goner.”
Cassie leaned against the counter, too dazed to support her own weight. Her mother had feelings for Rhett Douglas? She supposed that would explain her mysterious plans the other night.
Before she could mentally process her emotions, a smile swept across her face, revealing the silent hope hidden within her heart.
Would Rhett give her mother one more reason to stay?
CHAPTER23
DONNA
Donna stood on the gravel walkway, a jumble of emotions as she stared at the beautiful Queen Anne Victorian looming before her. The pristine white siding, fanciful gingerbread trim, and winsome red door created an idyllic facade, masking the painful memories preserved inside. Her gaze drifted up the round turret, pausing at the second-story window. A lace curtain fluttered in the breeze like a specter of her former self, sending a shiver skittering up her spine.
