Change of Heart (The True Heart Series Book 3)

by Layce Gardner

“Oh, you know, just tormenting myself with past mistakes,” Susan said. It came out before she had a chance to censor herself.

  “Oh, baby, don’t go there. What’s done is done and can’t be undone,” Tess said, pulling Susan to her. Susan laid her head on Tess’s breast. She could hear the beating of Tess’s heart.

  “That’s a lot of ‘dones’ in one sentence,” Susan said, trying to lighten the mood.

  “Were you thinking about Carrie?”

  Susan was quiet.

  “You can tell me. I think you’d feel better if you got it out. I know seeing her is hard on you and it’s bound to bring up your past.”

  “Is that what you tell your kids?”

  “I do. They’ve got to get past their anger and replace it with compassion and understanding that what happened wasn’t their fault. And that’s what you have to do. What Carrie did was more about her than you. Loving a person puts a shine on the relationship that gets stripped away when love turns to disappointment, sadness, regret, and anger.”

  “That’s an understatement. I always thought Carrie was so gorgeous and afterward when she left, I’d look at the photos of her and I couldn’t understand what I saw in her in the first place. After six months, I couldn’t stand looking at her. She’d grown ugly because of how she’d broken my heart.”

  “Was it your broken heart or wounded pride that hurt most? Or both?” Tess asked, stroking Susan’s hair back from her forehead, the way a mother did to a child to comfort them after a nightmare.

  It seemed to Susan her entire life after Carrie had been a nightmare. She would wake up in the middle of the night and reach for Carrie only to remember that she wasn’t there. She would grab Carrie’s pillow and cuddle with it, almost able to smell her scent despite the numerous washings of the sheets. Carrie’s scent had become an olfactory memory that Susan hadn’t been able to purge herself of.

  “I think it was both. Shame burned itself into me. Everyone felt sorry for me. I know they all cared, but it was the pity in their eyes that I hated—I felt like the biggest loser ever.”

  “Perhaps Carrie felt the same way,” Tess said quietly.

  Susan wasn’t sure how she felt being in bed with her current lover talking about her past lover. It was oddly liberating. If she could explain her feelings about Carrie then she’d be purged and she and Tess would continue on their journey toward their own happy ending. “This feels weird.”

  “I don’t want you to hide your feelings from me. It’s the secret-keeping that concerns me. Can you promise me you’ll stop hiding things from me?”

  “Yes,” Susan said. And she meant it. She only hoped she could hold true to that promise.

  ***

  Rosa found Steph in the kitchen taking a cup of warmed-up milk out of the microwave. She watched Steph pour a copious amount of honey into it. Steph was not a big fan of milk and she liked to disguise it any way she could.

  “Want some?” Steph asked.

  Rosa shook her head. “Can’t sleep?” she asked, sitting at the kitchen table with Steph.

  “I can’t turn my brain off. Millie told me about the warm milk and honey trick,” Steph said, wrapping her hands around the mug.

  “What’s keeping you awake?” Rosa asked.

  “It’s this town.”

  “Wow, that’s big. No wonder you can’t sleep.”

  Steph sipped the warm milk.

  “Why don’t we break it into smaller pieces?” Rosa said.

  A gust of wind hit the house, sending the wind chimes on the front porch into a frenzy of clanging. As if a portent for what was coming, a sudden deluge of rain hit the roof, followed by the rumble of thunder and the crack of lightning.

  Steph stood up and looked out the kitchen window. “It’s a good thing it’s raining. I always worry about the lightning strikes in the dry forest. We didn’t have the wet winter we usually have. And climate change is a hoax according to those idiots in Washington.”

  “Come sit,” Rosa said, patting the seat of the chair where Steph had been sitting.

  The rain pounded on the roof and thunder boomed. Steph felt like the weather matched her mood. She didn’t want to worry Rosa with her own, over-blown concerns. She peered out into the garden. “It’s going to play havoc with the garden. At least I’ve got my days off to clean it up.”

  “Your milk is getting cold,” Rosa said.

  “You want some? I’ll warm up another mug.”

  “Okay, sure,” Rosa said this time. Obviously, Steph’s mind was so cluttered she didn’t remember already asking.

  Steph busied herself with the milk and honey. She warmed up a cup and set it before Rosa. She sat back down.

  “So far you’ve talked about climate change, your garden, fires potentially caused by lightning, and the idiots in Washington, but not what’s keeping you up,” Rosa said.

  “You should try your milk,” Steph said.

  “Steph…” Rosa said.

  “All right, I’m worried about the change that’s occurring in Fenton because of that idiot in the White House. This used to be a really nice town where everyone got along and now we’ve got this division and I don’t think it all has to do with Amy’s column or Clementine’s political aspirations.”

  “What? Clementine’s running for office?”

  “Yeah, she’s getting signatures for a referendum to have the Mayor removed from office. She wants to have a special election and replace him.”

  “That is big,” Rosa said. “But I don’t necessarily think that’s a bad thing. Mayor Austin is an asshat and after the shoe-throwing incident maybe he does need to go. He’s obviously not sensitive to the concerns of the town’s women.”

  “But that’s just it. The men are feeling like they no longer have a voice,” Steph said.

  “Oh, geez, and we haven’t had a voice since the beginning of time! Come on, isn’t it our turn?”

  “Well, yeah. But the guys at the station are starting to look at Ruth and me like we’re the enemy. Our crew can’t work that way.”

  “Sounds like they’re feeling threatened. How does it feel? Looks like they don’t like it.”

  “See, now you’ve got your hackles up. It’s not hard to go there,” Steph said. “The thing is that it’s just some of the men, not all of them. Sal and Eric have never treated Ruth and me any differently than before the Great Divide.”

  “Great Divide?” Rosa said. She sipped her milk.

  “That’s what Clementine is calling it. Amy told me that Clementine is writing her own column beginning this weekend. It’s called ‘Say What?’ and it deals with the semantics of mansplaining.”

  “Yikes. She’s going to have to add a glossary for the men to understand it.”

  “That’s what I told Amy. She said Jeb thinks it’s best to let Clementine do what she wants right now.”

  “Can’t you talk Clementine down from the ledge? From what I can tell, she turned her family feminist. I mean, Luke and Sam are wearing skirts. Jeb’s not going there, but that’s kind of to be expected. He’s old school,” Rosa said. She pushed her mug to Steph’s side of the table, saying, “This is horrible.”

  “Yeah, it’s a tough sell,” Steph said. She got up and poured both the mugs down the sink drain. “Maybe we should take a slug of Bailey’s Irish Cream instead.”

  “Maybe these things will seem less large in the morning. Let’s go back to bed,” Rosa said, getting up. She took Steph’s hand.

  “Okay,” Steph said, following her to the bedroom.

  In the dark of the bedroom, Steph said, “Rosa?”

  “Yes?” Rosa answered. She knew that when Steph worried it was like all other things in her life—she threw herself into the activity with the fervor of Baptist preacher.

  “I think we need to do something with Amy and Parker’s wedding.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “At the rate those two are going, they won’t be getting hitched until they’re both collecting Social Security.”


  “What do you mean? They’ve been to the florist five or six times to discuss flower arrangements and corsages. I’d call that trying.”

  “How about deciding on a wedding cake, booking the church, getting a tux for Parker and a dress for Amy, and what about the bridesmaids, and what about invitations, the food, a rehearsal dinner, not to mention. . .”

  “Steph, stop it,” Rosa interjected. “I won’t be sleeping at this rate either. Let’s do some deep breathing exercises.”

  “That new age stuff doesn’t work for me.”

  “Humor me,” Rosa said. “Inhale… Exhale…”

  Ten minutes later Steph was snoring lightly and Rosa was wide awake worrying about Parker and Amy’s wedding. Rosa and Steph’s wedding had been a surprise and that made it a lot easier.

  Rosa watched the digital clock on her nightstand rotate through its illuminated numbers. Anxiety squeezed her ribcage. She thought about what Steph had said about the Great Divide. Was Fenton really hurtling toward the Us vs. Them mentality that gripped the rest of the country?

  She had a growing suspicion that things were going to get worse before they got better.

  Chapter Eleven

  Susan came out of Fargo’s shoe store. She’d purchased the last remaining pair of size eight black Dr. Martens boots. Mr. Fargo told her that he’d never sold so many combat boots in the entire history of the shoe store. He had to put in a rush order for more that, hopefully, would arrive today by FedEx. He’d scratched the five hairs he had remaining on his liver-spotted skull. “I’ve never seen anything like it. The women folk in this town are usually buying sandals this time of year, not boots.”

  “I think it has to do with the mayor,” Susan said, handing him her credit card. “The next time shoes are thrown, they’re going to hurt.”

  “That idiot,” Mr. Fargo said, shaking his head. “I hope Clementine wins the referendum. I’d vote for her. Have you signed it?” he asked her, pointing at the clipboard he had on the counter next to the foot powder.

  “Yes, I have,” Susan said, tucking her credit card back into her wallet. “Can you hold me another pair of size eight boots when they come in? I’ve got a friend who’ll be needing a pair.”

  “Sure thing,” Mr. Fargo said. “Black?”

  “Of course. The color of the revolution.”

  “I would’ve thought it’d be pink,” he said, then put his hand over his mouth. “Was that sexist?”

  “I won’t tell.” She winked. “I think black is symbolic for the death of the patriarchy. That’s why Clementine chose it.”

  “I’d never seen anything like this before now,” Mr. Fargo said. “Guess I better get up to speed.”

  “You and the rest of us.”

  ***

  Susan saw Carrie sitting on the bench outside the Fenton National bank. She was staring blankly into space. Susan considered going back inside the shoe store and asking Mr. Fargo if she could slip out the back door. Then she decided that was an immature reaction. She’d just say hello to Carrie and pass on by. She’d tell Tess she’d seen Carrie and leave it at that. It certainly wasn’t her fault Carrie was sitting outside the bank, which happened to be next door to the shoe store.

  Carrie glanced over and saw her. “Hi. Buying new shoes?”

  “Boots,” Susan said.

  “The revolution?”

  Susan nodded.

  Carrie looked down at the sidewalk. She looked very sad and dejected. It tugged at Susan’s heart. She took a seat on the bench. “You okay?”

  Carrie shrugged. “I got turned down for a small business loan despite having two jobs and some money in a savings account,” she said, staring at her hands like somehow they were responsible for her downfall.

  Maybe they were responsible. If she’d kept them away from Monica, none of this would’ve happened, Susan thought. She shoved the thought away. She didn’t want to ruminate on her and Carrie’s failed relationship. It ate at her soul and she needed to let it go.

  “What did they give as a reason?” Susan asked.

  “No reason. But Mr. Arveston is the loan officer.”

  “Oh, that’s not good,” Susan said. Mr. Arveston’s daughter, Emily, had been one of their bridesmaids. She had witnessed firsthand Susan’s being jilted at the altar.

  “I knew the moment I walked in and saw him sitting behind the desk that I was doomed,” Carrie said.

  “Yes, that would do it,” Susan agreed. She had an overwhelming urge to take Carrie’s hand and comfort her. She gave it a tiny pat instead.

  “I guess my dream is going to take a little longer than I had planned. Story of my life.”

  Before she knew it, Susan asked, “What if I cosign for the loan?”

  She mentally slapped herself. Why did she do that? It was like all the other times when she did something because she couldn’t say no. How many unpleasant things had she done because she didn’t want someone to suffer? She hated conflict. She hated not helping people. She’d gone to the college her parents wanted her to because she didn’t have the guts to tell them that she wanted to go to Stanford. But she was afraid that moving across the country would hurt their feelings. They’d been planning her life since she was in kindergarten.

  “I couldn’t ask you that,” Carrie said, breaking in on Susan’s thoughts.

  “You didn’t ask me. I offered.” Susan knew it was too late to back out and she wasn’t sure she wanted to. Part of her wanted Carrie to find her calling. Would cosigning really be such a bad thing if it meant Carrie would be tapping into her potential and her business would be helping out the community’s elderly population? Susan had seen firsthand how difficult it was for the seniors to get to their doctor appointments or grocery shopping, especially if they no longer drove or had no family members living in the vicinity. Was co-signing the loan such a bad thing?

  “What about Tess?” Carrie asked, staring out into the street where Mike, the police officer, was talking to somebody parked in an orange GTO.

  “She’s in the business of helping people,” Susan said, feeling color rise to her face. Would she even tell Tess? It didn’t really concern her. It wasn’t like Susan was blowing cash at one of the casinos. She was making an investment in someone’s future. Surely, Tess would understand that.

  Carrie must have sensed her trepidation. “Susan, really it’s all right. I’ll save and get there myself. Eventually.”

  Susan didn’t want to disparage Carrie’s effort, but tips and minimum wage wasn’t going to cut it. A van with a lift was a major investment, not to mention the necessary insurance which she assumed would be high due to the nature of the business.

  “Carrie, I want to help. Let’s go see if we can convince Mr. Arveston to give you the loan. I’m sure if he sees me supporting you, he’ll look at your loan more favorably.”

  “I don’t know about that. People around town are pretty slow at forgiving me. It’s not like their own relationships are that great. I’ve seen some pretty miserable married people around here.”

  Susan looked at her.

  “I didn’t mean we would’ve been miserable. And if we were, I’m sure it would’ve been my fault. I should stop talking now, huh? I’m making things between us even worse,” Carrie said.

  Susan laughed. That was the thing about Carrie. She always could make Susan laugh.

  “I’m sorry, you know. I really am,” Carrie said abruptly. “I know that won’t fix anything. But for what it’s worth, I am sorry.”

  Susan nodded. It was remarkable how those two little words lifted such a great weight from her shoulders. It was like a balm to her wounded heart.

  “Let’s go get you a loan,” Susan said. She stood and held out her hand. Carrie took it, stood, and they walked into the bank.

  Neither one of them saw Millie sitting inside her orange GTO parked across the street. She watched the meeting between the two women with obvious interest.

  Millie shook her head and sighed deeply.

&n
bsp; ***

  Amy went by Millie’s on the way home from work. She wanted Millie and Bernie to look over her column before she turned it in to Jeb the next morning. Millie was delighted as always to see her.

  Amy remembered the day at the diner when Millie and Bernie had told her that they were in love and planned to move in together. Amy had been blindsided, but now she was ecstatic they’d found each other. Who said you couldn’t find love later in life? These two proved the point.

  “Well, let’s see it,” Millie said, rubbing her hands together eagerly.

  Bernie poured Amy a glass of iced tea. “I bet you’re thirsty after all that writing,” she said. Bernie had changed from her yoga pants and looked all the more comfortable for it. She was back in a pair of overalls and had gardening gloves jammed in one pocket and a trowel in the other.

  Bernie was turning Millie’s yard into a beautiful garden. Steph was giving her tips. This was Bernie’s first garden. Connie had never wanted the mess and responsibility of a garden, always telling Bernie that there were more entertaining things to do than taking care of stuff.

  “You better be careful with those sharp tools in your pockets. You wouldn’t want to hurt your you-know-what,” Amy teased.

  Millie leaned over and looked at Bernie’s pocket full of tools. “Bernie, you get that stuff out of there. I’ve just gotten into you-know-whats and I certainly don’t want a damaged one now.”

  Both Amy and Bernie laughed. Bernie took the Fenton Sentinel newspaper that was sitting on the table and set her tools down on it. That was a considerate thing to do. She didn’t want to mess up Millie’s kitchen, Amy thought. It was that kind of sweetness and respect that made a love affair last.

  “How are your wedding plans coming along? Am I ever going to walk you down the aisle?” Bernie asked, pouring herself another glass of iced tea. The afternoon was warm especially after working out in the yard.

  “We’re working on it,” Amy said.

  Bernie and Millie exchanged a worried look.

  “It will happen, don’t look at each other like that,” Amy said.