Page 70 of The Tattered Gloves
I smiled. “Yeah, he is.”
“I always knew he would be — or at least, I hoped for it. Every day.”
“How come you didn’t visit him? I mean, it sounded like you were a special part of his life back then?”
She’d just rolled one of the meatballs and placed them in the oven. As she washed her hands, I could tell her mind was wandering back in time.
“It’s complicated,” she explained. “I tried; believe me, I did. But Sam’s father, he wouldn’t allow it.”
The more I heard about this guy, the less I liked him.
“He wouldn’t allow it? Why?”
She’d shut off the water by now, and she was drying off her hands, the towel moving over her skin long after it was needed. She took a deep breath of air. “Because I was the reason Sam’s mother left,” she confessed.
“What? What do you mean?”
“Willow,” she said softly, “I’m the one who convinced her to leave her family. I’m the reason Sam doesn’t have a mother.”
IF CARRYING SAM’S prized notes home had been difficult, returning back to work the next day with the information Addy had shared with me the night before was pure torture.
She was the reason Sam’s mom had left?
What did that even mean?
We hadn’t spoken much after she dropped that bomb on me. Dinner had been shared in silence, and afterward, I’d retreated to my room, trying to come to terms with the fact that my perfect aunt was… well, less than perfect.
How many bags of flour did she have on her scale?
I dragged myself into the store, bright and early, a change from my normal schedule. Since it was Christmas Eve, we were only open until noon, and the woman who normally worked in the morning had grandchildren visiting.
So, once again, it was just Sam and me.
And the giant secret I was carrying.
“Are you coming in, Mittens? Or are you planning on letting all the heat out instead?” Sam’s voice cut through my wayward thoughts.
Looking up, I saw him standing by the counter, grinning. It was then that I realized I was standing in the doorway with my hand still on the giant old knob, one foot in and the other still on the pavement outside.
“Sorry, tired,” I explained.
“You know what would help?” he asked as I stepped in and closed the door behind me. “Coffee! But we don’t have any of that. Well, not yet. But soon, right? Because you talked to your aunt, and she had brilliant ideas?”
His mood was lighter today, and I could see the hope in his face.
How I hated to ruin it.
“I actually didn’t get a chance to speak with her,” I said lamely.
His expression instantly fell. “That’s okay. It’s not a big deal.”
But it was. It was a huge deal. And I knew that more than anyone. This was his home. He’d spent every waking moment trying to keep it alive.
“I’m going to talk to her, I promise. Things just got…”
Weird?
Tense?
