by Regina Hart
Megan poured herself some coffee. Steam from the drink blew across her face. “Did they at least tell you whether the current center businesses’ rental agreements will be renewed?”
“No.” Darius’s response was succinct and tinged with regret. It added to Megan’s tension.
“High-end stores in Trinity Falls?” Doreen collected Darius’s empty plate. “Ramona knows the town’s culture won’t support exclusive labels and fashions. What is she thinking?”
“She wants to bring the big-city lifestyle to our little town.” Megan’s voice was tight with frustration. She carried her coffee to the counter and added cream and sweetener. “I should have realized this would happen as soon as the original center owners defaulted on the town’s loan.”
Her older cousin’s reasons for not staying in New York when Ean had asked her to marry him were still a mystery. It was now compounded by the puzzle of her goal to bring a piece of Fifth Avenue to their sleepy little town.
“How were you supposed to know?” Darius drained his second mug of coffee. “I wonder how Ean’s return will affect Ramona’s plans to gentrify Trinity Falls.”
Quincy stood abruptly. He put several bills on the counter. “Keep the change, Ms. Doreen.”
Doreen looked as startled as Megan felt. “Thank you, Quincy. Enjoy the rest of your day.”
“You do the same.” Quincy waved over his shoulder as he strode to the door.
Doreen stared after Quincy. “What was that about?”
Megan remained silent, but something told her Ean’s return wouldn’t affect only her unrequited crush.
Ean jogged down the deserted, quiet street of his hometown early Monday morning. He’d arrived in Trinity Falls late Sunday night, with only enough time to fall into his childhood bed to sleep. He drew a deep breath of the chilly mid-October air as he approached his parents’ home—now his mother’s house.
The buildings and lamps winding through the neighborhood displayed banners heralding next year’s Trinity Falls Sesquicentennial, the 150th birthday of his hometown. They read: 150 YEARS STRONG. He’d already caught the community’s excitement. Was the sole heir of the town’s founding family also excited? Last he’d heard, Jackson Sansbury had withdrawn from the town.
It had been a stressful six weeks since he’d announced his resignation at the end of August. Now with the scent of autumn washing over him, Ean’s tension drained from his muscles. Coming home had been the right thing to do. He’d had some trouble sleeping last night. But that had been because of the crickets, not because of his caseload.
He smiled, listening to the birds rehearsing their harmony as they perched high on the trees along his street. He took another deep breath, enjoying the clean, crisp air as the sun slowly rose, turning the sky a pale gray.
“Welcome home, Ean.” The disembodied voice drew him from his thoughts.
Ean looked up as he approached his neighbor’s oversized, stately house, across the street from his family’s home. He hadn’t noticed the tiny old woman standing in the threshold of her front door. She was wrapped in a thick green sweater two sizes too large for her.
Ean stopped at the end of her paved walkway, looking up at her. “Good morning, Ms. Helen. Thanks for the welcome.”
Helen Gaston, or “Ms. Helen,” as the residents of Trinity Falls called her, had been ancient the day Ean was born. Since then, time had stood still for her.
“Come on in.” She waved him up with a slim right arm. “Get out of the cold. I’ll get you a glass of water.”
How could he refuse?
Ean glanced at Ms. Helen’s sesquicentennial banner as he climbed the five redbrick steps and crossed the spacious porch. He toed off his running shoes beside her front door so he wouldn’t track mud from his run into his neighbor’s home.
Ms. Helen stepped backward, pulling the front door wider as she moved. “I’m glad to see New York didn’t leech out the good manners your parents instilled in you.”
“No, ma’am, it didn’t.” Ean crossed into her foyer in his stocking feet. He watched Ms. Helen disappear into her kitchen.
A deep breath drew in the scent of apple potpourri. The room was inviting, with honey wood flooring and bright yellow walls. Ean wandered closer to what appeared to be original framed watercolor paintings of the view outside Ms. Helen’s home. Very nice.
Heavy pale brocade curtains were drawn open over the row of windows to his left, allowing the gray morning light inside. A reclining chair was stationed in front of the windows, apparently to assist in neighborhood surveillance. In warmer weather, that chair would stand on her balcony. Ean’s gaze dropped to the current issue of the women’s magazine resting on the seat. Ms. Helen’s nephew bought her a subscription to the monthly journal every Christmas. Did she still accuse the postal carrier of reading it before he delivered it to her?
His hostess returned from the kitchen with a tall glass of ice water. “You went running this morning in the dark.”
A glance at the chair answered how his vigilant neighbor had known that. Ever since he was a child, Ms. Helen seemed to know everything that occurred in Trinity Falls, sometimes before it happened.
Ean swallowed a gulp of water. “It was dark when I started running, but the sun came up pretty quickly.”
“Did you notice the streetlamps along the jogging path in the park?”
An image of the lamps, each waving a 150 YEARS STRONG flag, flashed across his memory. “Yes, they’re new.”
“Not that new.” Ms. Helen nodded toward his house across the street. “Adding the streetlamps was your mother’s idea. Did you know that?”
Ean’s brows rose in surprise. “No, ma’am. I didn’t know that.”
Ms. Helen nodded for emphasis. “Yes, indeed. That was Doreen’s idea, although Mayor Ramona McCloud takes the credit.”
Ramona was mayor. His former high-school girlfriend had e-mailed him after she’d been elected three years ago. What had made her become political?
“It doesn’t surprise me that my mother recommended the town council add lamps to the path. She’s been active in supporting improvements for Trinity Falls all my life.”
“Longer than that.” Ms. Helen nodded again. “You know she’s jogging now.”
Another bit of news he hadn’t been aware of. “No, ma’am, she hasn’t mentioned that.”
“She started jogging with Megan McCloud when your father got ill. Said exercise helped clear her mind. I’d sit with your father in the mornings, until after your mother came home and cleaned herself up.”
Ean felt sick. He should have been the one watching over his father, waiting until his mother returned from her run. “Thank you for helping my parents.”
“I was happy to do it.” Ms. Helen waved a thin, wrinkled hand dismissively. She glanced out the window toward his house again. “Young man, it’s good that you’re home. Trinity Falls needs the shake-up.”
“I’m not here to shake things up.”
Ms. Helen clucked her tongue. “That doesn’t matter. It’ll happen, anyway. Some people are shuffling around here like they’re afraid to make a move. But you’re not afraid, and you know how to make things happen, just like on the football field. People used to call you ‘Fearless Fever.’ I’m looking forward to the fireworks.”
“There won’t be any fireworks, ma’am. I’m not here to change anything.”
“Then why did you come home, Ean Fever?”
Ean crossed his arms. His stomach was still queasy over the fact he’d been hundreds of miles away when his parents had needed him. “I came home to take care of my mother.”
Ms. Helen’s expression softened. “You’re a good son, Ean. And I’m sure your mother appreciates the sentiment.”
“Thank you, Ms. Helen.”
She continued as though Ean hadn’t spoken. “But Doreen Fever is one woman who doesn’t need anyone to take care of her.”
Ean smiled as he waited for Ms. Helen to stop laughing over her own words. �
��I want to be here if she needs me.”
“Trinity Falls hasn’t changed much since you’ve been gone, a couple of new shops, a new restaurant, streetlamps in the park. But people change. That’s a good thing. People shouldn’t stay the same. It means they’re not learning. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She gestured toward him with her fragile hands. “Like you. When you were younger, it was always, ‘Hi, Ms. Helen. Bye, Ms. Helen.’ You were always on the go. And I’d call after you, ‘Don’t spend all your time on the field. Hit those books.’”
Ms. Helen’s gaze returned to the window. Why did she keep looking at his home?
“I remember.”
“But now that you’re older, you know you need to slow down. That’s why you’re here, standing in my foyer, taking time to talk with me.”
Ean was irritated with his teenage self. He’d been too wrapped up in what he wanted to spend a few minutes with a charming and interesting old lady. “You’re right, Ms. Helen. And spending time with you is definitely a change for the better.”
“Save those fancy words for your lady friends.” Ms. Helen’s thin cheeks blushed.
“You’re breaking my heart, Ms. Helen.” Ean handed her his empty glass before opening her front door. “I’d better get cleaned up. Enjoy your day.”
“You do the same.” Her gaze drifted toward her window and his home again.
Ean paused on the porch to shove his feet back into his running shoes. He crossed the street and navigated the curving walkway that led to his mother’s front door. After unpinning his key from his running jersey, Ean pushed it into the door’s lock. He swung the front door wide, then froze in the threshold. Shock rattled him at the sight of his mother standing in the center of the living room, wrapped in a stranger’s arms.
“Mom?” Ean’s voice shot across the great room like a bullet before he realized he was going to speak.
Doreen jumped free of the romantic embrace and whirled toward her son. “Ean.”
Ean’s attention jerked to the man beside his mother. Shock rocked him back on his heels. He caught his balance. “Coach?”
“Hello, Ean.” Leonard George’s calm voice didn’t belong in this tumultuous scene.
CHAPTER 3
Ean locked the front door, using the menial task to steady his mind. What was his mother doing in the arms of his former high school math teacher and football coach?
He leaned against the door and faced his parent. “What’s going on?”
“Ean.” Doreen spoke haltingly. “Leo and I . . . are in a relationship.”
His gaze flew to his former coach as the man stood beside his mother on the other side of the family room’s thick, dark pink sofa. He was older. But then, it had been more than fourteen years since he’d quarterbacked Coach George’s football team at Heritage High School.
Ean’s gaze challenged his mother to take back her words. “You’ve been dating Coach George?”
Leonard answered for her. “We’ve been seeing each other for some time now.”
“Please, Leo.” Doreen touched his shoulder. “Let me handle this. There’s no need for you to be here.”
“I won’t let you face this alone.” Leonard took her hand from his shoulder and held on to it.
Ean wanted to drag the other man away from his mother. He fisted his hands to control the impulse.
His coach couldn’t be more different from his father. Whereas Paul Fever had been tall, lean and an introvert, Leonard George was average height, bulky and a clown.
“How long has this been going on?” Ean worked the words through his tense jaw.
Doreen held her son’s eyes. “For a couple of months now.”
Months? “Dad’s only been gone a couple of months.”
His mother’s features softened. “It’s been a little longer than that, Ean.”
His father had died Friday, February 8. It was now Monday, October 14, less than nine months later.
Ean swallowed hard to dislodge the lump of grief from his throat. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d started dating?”
Why hadn’t you told me my father was dying?
Doreen’s gaze dropped to the thick rose carpet. She seemed to brace herself before looking at Ean again. “I thought it was too soon to tell you about my relationship with Leo. And, since you were in New York, I didn’t think there was a rush to address it.”
Was that also the reason she hadn’t told him his father had cancer? Because he’d been in New York?
Ean struggled with his feelings, chief among them resentment. “My decision to return to Trinity Falls must have sent you into a panic.”
Why are you dating so soon after Dad’s death? Why did you choose my former coach?
Ean’s thoughts came to a skidding halt. He couldn’t handle them. Maybe his mother was right about it being too soon to talk about this.
“We did want to tell you.” Leonard’s voice further agitated Ean.
Doreen continued. “When you told me you were coming home, I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t know how.”
“We weren’t deliberately trying to hide anything from you,” Leonard added.
Ean’s temper snapped. “This is a private conversation between my mother and me. I’d appreciate it if you’d stop talking.”
Leonard’s eyebrows rose. “But this—”
Doreen put her hand on Leonard’s shoulder again. “It’s all right, Leo. I’ll call you later.”
Ean held Leonard’s gaze, willing his former coach to leave. He couldn’t stand to see or hear the other man right now.
“All right.” Leonard kissed Doreen’s hand before circling the sofa.
Ean flinched.
As he crossed to the front door, the high school coach inclined his head toward Ean. Ean didn’t respond. He pulled the door open for the older man and waited for Leonard to walk through.
Ean locked the front door again before facing his mother. “What was he doing here so early?”
“He didn’t spend the night, if that’s what you’re asking.” Doreen went to the kitchen. “He usually stops by on his way to school.”
Why didn’t you look at me when you answered?
Ean followed his mother. “So if I’d stayed in New York, I still wouldn’t know about you and Coach George?”
“Have you told me about every woman you’ve dated?”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“I’m not a grieving widow.”
Doreen poured a cup of coffee. “Don’t judge me, Ean. I’m your mother, not some witness on the stand.”
“I’m not judging you.” He rubbed his eyes with a thumb and two fingers. “I’m trying to understand why you kept your relationship with Coach George a secret from me.”
“I didn’t want to have this conversation.” She leaned back against the kitchen counter with her coffee mug in hand. “I didn’t want you to make me feel guilty about my feelings. I didn’t want you to see me differently.”
“But you are different, Mom.” Ean started to feel chilled in his damp jogging clothes. Or maybe it was from the awareness that his mother had changed. “I came home because I didn’t want you to be lonely and sad with Dad gone. Obviously, I was worried for nothing.”
Ean spun on his heels. He left the kitchen to shower and change, but the question kept playing in his mind. What other secrets were left for him to discover in this town?
Ean wasn’t the only one awake in his mother’s house at six o’clock the next morning. He followed the light from the foot of the stairway to the kitchen and discovered his mother sitting at the table. She was drinking coffee and reading the daily newspaper, The Trinity Falls Monitor.
Doreen’s still-dark hair swung in thick waves above her shoulders. She was dressed in a lightweight pinkish sweater and dark blue jeans. When had his mother started wearing jeans?
They’d settled into a brittle truce yesterday after their argument about Leon
ard George. He wasn’t happy his mother had a boyfriend—he wouldn’t explain why—but he was hoping they could put the unpleasantness behind them and start over today.
Ean halted in the doorway. “Why are you up so early?”
Doreen’s smile seemed forced. Her warm brown eyes were wary. “I have to get to work.”
Ean froze. “You have a job? Since when?”
She lowered the Monitor. “I told you I worked in a bakery. It’s been almost six months now.”
Ean rested a shoulder against the doorjamb. “I thought all you did was bake.”
“It’s a bit more than that.”
“How much more?”
She glanced at him, then looked away. “I run that section of the business.”
Ean processed that information. His mother had a boyfriend and a job. What other secrets would he have to pry from her?
He rubbed the nape of his neck. “I thought you only spent a couple of hours a week there. Why didn’t you tell me it was a full-time job?”
Doreen folded the newspaper. “I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. I don’t need the money. But this job is fun. And it gets me out of the house.”
“It’s a big deal to me, Mom.” Just as his father’s illness had been a big deal to him. But his mother hadn’t told him about that, either. Not until it was too late. Ean shut off those thoughts. “Tell me about your job. Where’s the bakery? What do you do?”
Her face glowed with pride and pleasure. “Megan added a bakery and meal counter to Head in the Clouds Books. She changed the name to Books and Bakery about six months ago.”
Ean frowned. “Megan? You mean little Meggie McCloud?”
Doreen sobered. “Don’t call her that. She doesn’t like that nickname.”
“Ramona called her that all the time.”
Doreen’s expression didn’t change. “Her name’s Megan.”
“OK.” Ean shrugged. “How did you get the job there?”
Doreen’s features brightened again. “Megan asked me to run the bakery. She said I could make a lot of money selling my cookies and brownies.”