by Lisa Carter
Charlie bristled. “You want to talk? Then talk.”
Her smile flickered. “I—I missed you.” A little-girl pang in her voice.
Charlie looked into her eyes then. That was a mistake. He started to go under. Drowning in her gaze. A willing victim.
She wore her heart in her eyes. Somebody ought to tell her that. Before...before she blew her own con.
He hardened his heart. “Did you? Miss me?”
The light in her eyes dimmed. He felt like a first-class heel. She placed the plates beside the cake box.
She bit her lip. “I forgot the napkins.”
And as she moved once again toward the kitchen, he felt rather than saw her do that thing. The shrinking, the pulling back, the withdrawing. Raising the drawbridge. Because of him.
He almost reached out to her. Almost. But then Mrs. Davenport and the other ladies arrived. And the moment was lost.
Charlie was afraid suddenly that something much more precious had been lost, as well. He hated the suspicion consuming him.
Her gaze darting from him to Evy, Dixie filled the awkward, tense moment with inane chatter. The way only Dixie could. But she was deeper than most people realized.
There was a lot more beneath the peroxide-blond perm and shoot-from-the-hip, gum-chewing stereotype that Dixie cultivated. She and Bernie had found each other later in life. Past the childbearing years.
The endless crocheted baby blankets she made in her off hours for the neonatal unit at the hospital were a quiet testament to how empty her arms felt. So she adopted strays. Offered Charlie bottomless cups of coffee at the diner since the Honey fiasco and his parents hit the road, too often out of reach.
Had she decided to adopt Evy, too? Who, perhaps, needed a mother like Dixie most of all.
* * *
Evy fought back tears as she called the book club to order. Something was terribly wrong with Charlie. Something terribly wrong between them.
If only she knew what she’d done. If only she knew how to fix it. To return to the easygoing camaraderie they’d shared last weekend.
She’d been disappointed when he didn’t call this week. Leaving her open to raking doubts, striking at the most inopportune moments.
Like anytime she drew a breath. But there’d been a string of burglaries in the usually tranquil county. She figured he’d been busy at work. Mrs. Davenport—who had her finger on the pulse of Kiptohanock via a police scanner—kept her informed.
Evy cleared her throat. “Anyone want to kick off the discussion tonight? What were your thoughts on our reading selection this week?”
Avoiding eye contact with Charlie, she glanced around the semicircle of women. Were any of them what they seemed? More than the image they projected to the outside world?
The young Coastie wife, Kelly, separated from her family by military life, was lonely. Frail Mrs. Evans, whose children and grandchildren lived off-Shore. Ashley, setting aside a flourishing career to fulfill her most important assignment thus far—being a mother. But who still craved more intellectual stimulation than wiping noses and changing diapers every day.
And how many took the time to look beyond Mrs. Davenport’s starched exterior to understand how desperately empty was the life she lived in the brick mansion on Seaside Road? Did anyone bother to look beyond her arm’s-length snobbery to the lonely hours she filled with books and meddling in other people’s business? While her husband did whatever it was he did so successfully somewhere else?
But Evy knew. Because more often than not, she learned more than just people’s favorite authors when they wandered the stacks at the library. People came searching for more than a good book. Old Mrs. Beal, the previous librarian, told her it would be so. And it was.
So like Mrs. Beal before her, she’d given the only thing she had to offer. A listening ear. Her time. And words of kindness.
Evy had created a small community within the library walls of Kiptohanock. Not only for herself but also for others. A safe haven among her beloved books.
Was it enough? She risked a glance at Charlie’s shuttered countenance. It used to be enough.
Mrs. Davenport, ramrod straight in the high-backed chair, balanced a plate on her immaculately tailored slacks. “I think at the heart of this novel lies tension. A tension between what is concealed and what is revealed.”
Charlie’s mouth flattened. “You mean secrets.”
Evy’s gaze flitted to Charlie. “Aren’t people allowed to have private places within themselves that they share with no one else?”
“I think secrets destroy people.” Resting on his thigh, his hand flexed. “And relationships.”
Jolene raised the coffeepot. “Anybody want decaf?”
“Thanks, but I’m fine.” Charlie glared at Evy. “Truly.”
Dixie cut her eyes at Charlie and then at Evy. “In the novel, Elinor goes to great lengths to keep her feelings for Edward concealed beneath a cool exterior to protect their relationship from outside damage.”
Charlie cocked his head. “In refusing to tell the truth, Elinor did that anyway.”
Evy’s stomach turned over. “Did something bad happen at work today, Charlie?” she blurted out.
Their gazes locked. No one said anything.
Mrs. Davenport wiped the edge of her mouth with a napkin. “The secrets were eventually revealed.”
Charlie’s nostrils flared. “They always are.”
“Intentionally or not.” Kelly took a bite of cake. “This is good. Who brought the cake?”
His mouth thinned. “Unintentional revelations often prove the most damaging. And painful.”
Evy’s chest rose and fell. “Everything’s about proof with you, isn’t it, Charlie?”
His eyes narrowed. “Since that’s what I do, Evy.”
Ashley exchanged a worried glance with Mrs. Evans. “In the beginning of the novel, Marianne believed only in love at first sight. That second attachments weren’t possible.”
Dixie chewed her lip. “I think Austen shows through Marianne’s subsequent marriage to Colonel Brandon that people can indeed start over.” She fingered the plastic bangles on her wrist. “Bernie and I are proof of that.”
Proof? Evy withheld a sigh. Et tu, Dixie?
Evy lifted her chin. “So real, lasting love means loving only one person, Charlie?”
He broadened his shoulders. “Do you live your life with more sense or more sensibility, Evy?”
She planted her feet on the floor. “Do you ever wish you could live your life differently, Deputy Pruitt?”
A muscle thrummed in his cheek. “Do you, Miss Shaw?”
She stared into his eyes. “Is something wrong? Is there something you need to say?”
“Nothing’s wrong.” He smirked. “Is there something you’d like to say?”
Evy steeled herself. “Do you believe, if given the opportunity, that Marianne would’ve reunited with Willoughby, her first love? Would you, Charlie?”
“A do-over?” He hunched forward. “I think life rarely gives second chances, Evy.”
His hazel eyes had gone hard. What had she done? Why was he so upset with her?
The wall clock ticked. The refrigerator hummed. Jolene opened her mouth, maybe thought better of it and closed her mouth again.
“I think...” Dixie waited until she had everyone’s attention “...that passion for life—or sensibility, as Austen coins it—does not have to equal one love over the other.”
Peggy, a retired math teacher, nodded. “In my experience, the most remarkable loves are characterized by selfless choices that point others to the greatest love of all.”
Old Mrs. Evans smiled. “Loving others more than you love yourself.”
With effort, Evy broke the laser-like intensity of Charl
ie’s gaze. He folded his arms across his chest. She knotted her fingers in her lap. For the life of her, she didn’t know what to say. Couldn’t speak past the tears clogging her throat.
Mrs. Davenport rose. “Excellent discussion.” She briefly touched Evy’s shoulder, interrupting her miserable contemplation of Charlie across the circle. “I think we’ve explored this topic as far as we can take it. At least for tonight.”
The grande dame pursed her lips. “Cake, anyone?”
Chapter Nine
Book club had gotten entirely out of hand.
That night, Charlie lay awake, tormented. He couldn’t go on this way. Feeling as he did for Evy. Doubting himself and his instincts. Doubting her.
When further sleep eluded him, he gave in to the inevitable and padded downstairs to reheat a cup of day-old coffee. He grimaced at the bitter taste. Cream and sugar didn’t help. He set it aside.
At loose ends, he hunched over the kitchen island and riffled through the folder he’d started on Evy. A folder on someone who was supposed to be his friend. Suddenly Charlie was sick of his own secrecy. Sick of himself.
What right did he have to question Evy when his own conduct wasn’t exactly above reproach? Yet his training forced him to check the dates of Sawyer’s duty stations against the papers his detective friend had emailed regarding Evy’s employment history. Same towns, but different dates.
No overlap. Not a match. His spirits lifted.
Until he noticed that in each city, Evy arrived six to eight months after Sawyer departed. And his instincts, which made Charlie a good cop, vibrated.
If it had happened once, he might have believed it was a coincidence. Three times, no way. It appeared as if she’d been tracking Sawyer Kole. Charlie bit the inside of his cheek so hard he tasted blood.
The dates revealed a pattern of behavior. As if she’d been searching for Sawyer Kole. Only to be two steps behind. Stalking the ex-Coastie. Arriving at each city a little too late each and every time.
Fatigue overwhelmed Charlie. He rested his arms on top of the paperwork and laid down his head. Trust came so hard for him. He wanted to believe in her. Despite the evidence, he wanted so much to believe Evy Shaw was who and what she claimed to be.
Why had he agreed to start this underhanded business with Honey? Why had he continued it, long after his heart told him to trust Evy? Especially when the only one who’d abused his trust hadn’t been Evy Shaw but Honey.
Didn’t loyalty to Evy outweigh any other factor? Hadn’t she earned the right to be trusted? Was his trust in Honey misguided and misplaced?
He squeezed his eyes shut. He hated this. He despised himself. For the first time, he regretted the profession he’d chosen, the oath he’d taken to serve and protect. He hated what the job—and pride—had done to him in terms of cynical disbelief. What it had cost his faith.
But if not for his investigation, would he have ever walked into the Kiptohanock library and met Evy? Despite everything, his life was far richer from knowing her. He’d started to believe again. Truly believe in a lot of things, not merely giving lip service to faith on Sunday morning.
Was this part of some plan I don’t understand, God? Have I ruined everything with Evy? What should I do? I’m so sorry for not seeking Your wisdom first. Please help me make this right.
He must have drifted off to sleep. Because the next thing he knew, ice fell with a clatter from the ice maker inside the refrigerator. He jerked upright on the stool.
And awoke knowing what he had to do. He’d behaved like an idiot. No excuses. He had to act like the friend he was supposed to be. A friend to Evy. No matter whether or not God intended anything else ever to develop between him and the most enchanting librarian he’d ever known.
Charlie’s mouth curved. He could hear Evy’s amusement in his head. Evy was the only librarian he’d ever known.
There was probably a reasonable explanation as to why Evy Shaw always found a job in a city Sawyer just happened to live in first.
Charlie stared at next week’s book club selection where he’d tossed it on the counter after tonight’s meeting. Northanger Abbey. Marvelous. He made a face.
He couldn’t wait to crack the spine. Right... Still, he’d enjoyed the whole Austen club more than he’d have ever believed.
With dawn streaking the sky, he might as well dive in. Further sleep wasn’t an option. He’d be dead on his feet during his shift tomorrow—he took another glance out the window—today, that is. He’d apologize to Evy first chance he got on his morning break. He flipped open the book.
Catherine Morland’s over-the-top imagination made him laugh. Seeing a mystery where there was none. He frowned. Had he done the same with Evy?
And he wasn’t sure he cared for the hero of the story, Henry. Or his sometimes patronizing attitude toward the younger heroine. Had Charlie misjudged Evy and her motivations?
He’d gotten well into volume two of the book when his cell phone buzzed. It skipped and skidded across the granite countertop. Glancing at the text, he put the book down. A situation had arisen. He’d been called in to work early.
Further reading—and an overdue apology—would have to wait. He pushed back the stool. It scudded over the hardwood floor. This was shaping up to be a potentially exhausting day.
He put everything else—including Evy—into the box in his mind labeled Not Work. Same as every cop he knew. Like his dad had taught him.
To do anything else dulled his senses and put his life in jeopardy.
* * *
Evy was mad.
She was so mad, she wished libraries still used those rubber stamps for due dates.
Stamping something, anything, would have been so satisfying right now. Mainly though, she would have liked a chance to thump Charlie Pruitt upside his hard, stubborn head.
Instead she ripped the slip of paper from the printer. She thrust the printout of due dates at Agnes Parks, the preacher’s wife.
Agnes gave Evy an uncertain smile. “Is everything okay, Evy?”
“Everything is great,” she huffed. “Jim-dandy. Outstanding. Magnifi—”
“Good.” Agnes backed away, her eyes never leaving Evy’s face. “Good to hear.” She groped for the door. “Bye now.”
Evy sagged onto the checkout desk. One more person to apologize to. After she found out what was eating Charlie and apologized for whatever it was she’d done to tick him off so royally.
Mrs. Davenport’s bulk filled the vestibule. “Evy.” She quivered in her stylish designer flats. “I was listening to the police scanner. There’s been an incident.”
A sinking feeling in the pit of Evy’s stomach threatened to swallow her whole. She was thankful she and Mrs. Davenport had the library to themselves.
“What’s happened? Is Charlie involved?”
“A Shore Stop convenience store robbery over the state line in Maryland. The police chase spilled over into our county. And yes, Charlie is involved.”
Evy’s knees went weak. Of course Deputy Charlie Pruitt was involved. It’s who he was. What he did. Protecting and serving the citizens of Accomack County.
Mrs. Davenport drew herself up, arms crossed over her ponderous chest. “Which is why I came straight here. I knew you’d want to know.” Her blue-green eyes glinted. “You do want to know, don’t you?”
Evy nodded. Thinking of Sunday afternoon along the waterfront, she swallowed. A perfect day. A glorious day.
When the world appeared bright with possibilities. With hope and a future she hadn’t dared allow herself to believe might exist for someone like her. The girl who hid behind books and library walls.
“Just wanted to clarify.” Mrs. Davenport pursed her lips. “After the ridiculous way the two of you behaved last night.”
Why hadn’t she understood the
real life-and-death stress Charlie’s job entailed? Why had she never stopped to consider the danger he endured on a daily basis? And the toll it had to take on him—physically, emotionally, relationally.
Evy sank onto the stool behind the desk. “What’s happened to Charlie?”
“The Accomack sheriff and deputies were in pursuit of two suspects in a blue Taurus. State troopers established a roadblock close to the Northampton County line.”
Evy’s gaze cut behind Mrs. Davenport to the framed map of the Eastern Shore on the wall. The highway split the two-county Virginia portion of the Eastern Shore in half.
A dividing line, parting bayside from seaside. The highway connected the small hamlets like a concrete ribbon. From the border of Maryland to the end of the highway at the Chesapeake Bay-Bridge Tunnel.
Keep him safe, Lord. Please don’t let anything happen to Charlie. Please, God...
Mrs. Davenport came around behind the desk. She put her arm around Evy’s shoulders.
Evy blinked at Mrs. Davenport. “But he’s okay, right? He has to be okay.”
Fear coiled in her belly. She couldn’t seem to catch her breath. She was afraid to move. To breathe. To think.
“Shots were fired. There was an accident involving Charlie’s cruiser.” Mrs. Davenport’s chin trembled. “An ambulance was quickly on the scene.”
“No...” Evy sagged against her. Please, God, no. She squeezed her eyes shut.
Mrs. Davenport captured Evy’s face between her hands. “Look at me.”
Evy opened her eyes.
“Don’t assume the worst. They’re transporting him to the hospital. That’s all the information I have.”
“But suppose...” Tears fell unheeded on Evy’s cheeks. “Suppose he’s already...?”
She couldn’t—wouldn’t—say those words.
Could she have come this close to happiness only to see it snatched away?
Mrs. Davenport hugged Evy close. “He’s strong. And you must be strong for him. You need to go to Riverside Hospital. Be there for him. He’ll need you, Evy.”