Page 52 of Easton Island: Old-Fashioned Christmas
They made small talk until Greg left to finish shoveling out his walkway.
Morgan and Tristan stayed on the cleared path all the way to the front steps. Using her key, she unlocked the door and stepped inside.
A whoosh of warm air greeted them, along with the fresh scent of pine and a lingering aroma of cinnamon.
Tristan sniffed the air. “It smells good in here.”
“Like Christmas.”
“Uh-huh.” He slipped past her and walked to the living room entrance. “You have a cool tree like the ones at Easton Estate.”
Morgan stepped in next to him. “Similar for sure, but maybe a little smaller. Grandmother does everything on a much grander scale.”
“Do you own this house too?”
“I do. I inherited this, plus the cottage, from my mom when she died.” She trailed behind Tristan, following him to the fireplace. Lining the mantle were family photos—Morgan and her mother, a photo of her grandparents along with a photo of Laura when she was younger.
She’d even framed the picture of her and her brother Rhett when they were babies. Proud Mama Laura stood behind them, protective hands resting on the matching baby bouncers.
“Is that you?” he asked, pointing to the photo.
“I’m on the left. The baby on the right is my brother Rhett. He died when we were young.”
“What about your mom? You said she was dead.”
“She died almost two years ago.”
“I bet you were sad.”
“Very sad. Sometimes I still am.”
Tristan turned, a puzzled look on his face. “Did you have to move after she died?”
“I didn’t have to, but when I came to Easton Island and found my grandmother and brother, I wanted to be close to my family.”
He nodded his head, listening carefully to what she said.
“It was hard losing my mom and feeling all alone, kind of like you except you have your uncle.”
“Uncle Jeff says maybe if we find out Brett is my dad I should think about moving here.”
Morgan carefully chose her next words. “Would you consider it?”
“Living here?”
She nodded.
“Maybe.” Tristan lowered his head. “I mean, what if Brett doesn’t want me?”
Morgan clenched her jaw, feeling every emotion she’d gone through over the past couple of years…grief, denial, anger, confusion, and here this poor kid was dealing with an equally heavy load but at a young age.
“What if hedoeswant you? What if he wished he’d known you all along?” Morgan fought the urge to break down in front of him. This…this conversation was important and could easily be a deciding factor about the direction Tristan’s life might take. “You know what else?”
“What?”
“If Brett is your father, it means I’m Aunt Morgan.”
He stared at her. “Aunt Morgan. Can I call you Aunt Morgan, I mean as soon as we find out if we’re related?”
