Once she finished that sentence, there would be no going back.
“You realized what?” Kent pressed, not realizing that she was trying to protect him.
Gwen took a deep breath. “That I’m in love with Hank.”
Kent’s reaction ran a range of emotions. Within seconds, he went from shock, his mouth falling open; to anger, his expression darkening; before ending at disbelief by shaking his head. “You’re joking, right?” he asked, then let out a burst of nervous laughter.
Gwen didn’t answer, certain that her silence would tell him everything.
It did.
“You’re serious…You really did mean it before, when you…when you…” he said, hardly louder than a whisper.
“I’m sorry,” she told him. A part of her was relieved that the truth was out, but she braced herself for what she knew came next.
“You’d rather be with him than me?!” Kent asked, his voice back with a vengeance, the words he spat incredulous. “You’re choosing some bumpkin woodcarver,” he said, pointing at Hank’s truck, “who doesn’t look like he has two nickels to rub together, who your parents despise, over me?”
Gwen wasn’t surprised by his outburst. Everything in Kent’s life was measured in prestige and wealth. If a man didn’t have an important job, the respect of his peers, and a bank account stuffed with money, then he was nothing, a failure. She supposed that she couldn’t blame him for being this way, not entirely. He’d been raised in opulence and was expected to carry on the family tradition, just like his father before him. Kent didn’t know how else to live.
But Gwen wanted more than money could buy.
What mattered to her was the love of someone who would support her, who wished for nothing more than to be by her side.
And that man was Hank.
“What can he possibly give you that I can’t?” Kent pressed, struggling to accept what she had told him, some of it said the day before.
“Hank wants to walk next to me, not tower above me.”
Kent threw his hands up. “What are you talking about?”
“The night you announced to my parents that we were getting married without bothering to ask me first,” Gwen explained, “I made it perfectly clear to you how I felt. I told you I had my heart set on becoming a writer, and that because you couldn’t support that, I wasn’t ready to accept your proposal.”
“That’s what this is about?” Kent asked, using almost the same words and dismissive tone as he had on the night of the storm.
Gwen wanted to answer “yes,” but she realized that what had led to the end of their relationship was about so much more. It wasn’t just that Kent didn’t want her to pursue her dream of becoming a writer, it was that he didn’t want her doing anything that might contradict the image he had of their life.
“Give me another chance,” he said, bartering.
“Kent, I don’t—”
“With time, maybe I can see things differently. Maybe I can figure out a way to live with you doing this.”
“You shouldn’t have to force yourself,” Gwen said, exasperated. She shook her head. “It’s too late. I’ve made up my mind.”
Once again, Kent’s expression changed. Where an instant before he’d appeared hopeful, his cheer collapsed, leaving behind a frightful scowl beneath flat eyes. “You never loved me,” he said with a sneer.
“Kent, you know that I—”
“Save me your fake pity,” he snarled, stepping closer, a finger jabbing the air inches from her face. “The only reason you were ever with me was that you liked riding my coattails, enjoying the fruits of my success. Oh, you might insist otherwise, but you ate every one of those fancy meals I bought, you wore each dress I brought home from Wieboldt’s, and you attended every play or party my name got us into.” Kent was smiling again, but this one was cruel. “I was your ticket out of this backwater nowhere into the upper crust of Chicago! You took it all in like Cinderella at the ball, but without me, your life will turn back into a pumpkin!”
Gwen quickly saw that Kent’s argument made no sense. If she was so obsessed with his status, if she was only with him because of what his money could buy, then why was she leaving? Wouldn’t she have fallen all over herself accepting his proposal in order to live a life of luxury? And why would she stop their relationship to be with someone who struggled to make ends meet? Kent’s anger had blinded him. He was so upset at being rejected that he was lashing out, saying anything and everything he could think of to hurt her, to render the time they’d been together meaningless. But she wouldn’t take the bait.
“I’m sorry,” she told him again, meaning it but knowing that it could never be enough, that it would likely enrage him further.
“Stop saying that!” Kent snapped, stepping close and grabbing her arm; even though her heart raced, Gwen held her ground. “I bet deep down you’re gloating. You really took me for a ride, didn’t you?” he continued, his words dripping with both rage and sarcasm. “And to think, I was going to marry you. What a mistake that would have been! You’re nothing but a conniving—”
But before Kent could finish his insult, the front door opened and her mother stepped onto the porch.
“Is everything all right out here?” Meredith asked.
From the expression on her mother’s face, Gwen understood that she’d been listening to their conversation from inside the house. Gwen didn’t know how much she’d overheard, but it’d been enough to make Meredith decide to intervene.
Faster than a snap of his fingers, Kent’s angry, almost frightening frown disappeared, replaced by his more familiar charming smile. “Everything’s fine,” he cheerfully told Gwen’s mother, addressing her as deferentially as he would a judge in the courtroom, which made sense, since Meredith was someone whose favor he coveted. “Your daughter and I were just having a little disagreement, that’s all. It’s nothing to worry about.”
While Kent was distracted, Gwen yanked her arm free from his grip. “I want you to leave,” she told him.
When he turned back to her, his smile slipped, revealing his simmering anger. “Now, Gwen, why don’t we go and—”
“Now,” she hissed, cutting him off.
“I think you should listen to her,” Meredith added, folding her arms across her chest.
Kent’s eyes smoldered. He looked like he wanted to argue more but knew it wouldn’t be wise to defy the judge’s decision. He stepped close. “Is this the way things are going to be?” he asked.
“I’ve made my decision,” Gwen answered.
He leaned even closer. “Then promise me something,” Kent said, lowering his voice. “When you’re struggling to make ends meet, when you’re living in a run-down shack and are exhausted from taking care of a couple of bawling brats, when your sad little dream of becoming a writer has failed, I want you to think of me. Think about the life I could’ve given you, one of luxury, of privilege. Then have yourself a good cry when you realize you were stupid enough to throw it all away.”
Without missing a beat, Kent turned to her mother, his smile again at full wattage. “Thank you for your hospitality, Mrs. Foster.”
Then he retrieved his luggage and started off down the sidewalk under the summer sun, headed for the train depot and ultimately Chicago.
Though Gwen had been hurt by the terrible things Kent had said, it wasn’t enough to make her shout back at him or burst into tears. If anything, his spiteful words had only proven that her concerns about their relationship had been well-founded. Not that long ago, Gwen had believed she loved him. Now she understood that until she met Hank, she hadn’t known what true love was. So while they’d made memories together that she hoped never to forget, there was no doubt in Gwen’s mind that Kent Brookings was not the man she was meant to marry. All she could do now was watch him walk away.
Kent never looked back.
“Are you all right, sweetheart?” Meredith asked as her daughter climbed the steps, heading for the front door.
> She knew that her mother was concerned, that she wanted to talk, but Gwen wouldn’t allow herself to be distracted from what was really important. Right now, she needed to go inside, take off her two-day-old clothes, shower, and get to work.
“I’ll be fine,” she answered.
Meredith sighed softly. “He wasn’t right for you anyway,” she said. “What you need is a man who will walk by your side, not tower over you.”
To Gwen’s ears, her mother’s words sounded more than a little familiar, given that she’d spoken something similar herself only a few moments before. She knew that Kent was the type who would always want to dominate the spotlight, that her career and success would always take a backseat to his. But Hank was different, a partner upon whom she could depend.
“Maybe you should lie down for a while,” Meredith suggested. “Things might look better when you wake up.”
Her conversation with Kent had exhausted her, but Gwen didn’t dare take her mother’s advice. If she closed her eyes, she was certain she’d sleep for days.
“I can’t,” she said, offering a weak smile. “I need to be strong. I just have to keep going.”
The older woman’s lower lip trembled and her eyes filled with tears. Meredith reached out and pulled her daughter into an embrace. Even as Gwen returned the affection, she knew that her mother had misunderstood what she’d said. Meredith had thought she was talking about breaking up with Kent.
But that wasn’t it. Not by a mile.
What happened next would determine her future with Hank. Talking with Myron had brought her a step closer, but there was still a long way to go. She couldn’t stop now. Maybe she’d do the right thing and bring herself and Hank closer together. Or maybe she would fail and ruin what they’d only just started to build. Gwen didn’t know what the future held.
Either way, it was time for her to do her part to make it come to pass.
“Oh, man,” Skip said. “I’m pretty sure that ain’t what you wanted to see.”
Hank didn’t answer. He was too busy grinding his teeth.
After being rousted from bed, Skip had picked Hank up in his car and the two of them had driven into Buckton to look for Gwen. After searching aimlessly for a while, they’d finally spotted Hank’s truck headed toward her parents’ house and had followed at a distance, curious as to what she would do. At the corner before her block, Skip had pulled over, the engine idling, leaving them a good view down her street. Gwen had parked, gotten out, and started talking with someone on the porch. Hank hadn’t known who it was but hoped it was her mother. His heart had skipped a beat when Kent came sauntering down the stairs.
It felt like it’d stopped altogether when the big-city lawyer pulled Gwen into his arms.
“Drive,” Hank said.
Skip looked at him, then back at the couple down the street. “You sure? Maybe you oughta do somethin’.”
“There’s been enough fighting in front of that house.”
“Yeah, but—”
“Just get going!” Hank snapped.
Skip stopped arguing. “All right, all right,” he said, pulling away from the curb and racing down the street. “You’re the boss.”
As fast as his friend drove, Hank’s thoughts raced faster.
What did I just see?
Even after what happened last night, am I not enough for her?
Has Gwen gone back to Kent?
“I can’t believe you’re just gonna turn your back on that,” Skip said, unable to hold his tongue. “If I stumbled across the girl I was sweet on in some other guy’s arms, she wouldn’t get off that easy.”
“What was I supposed to do?” Hank asked, his head starting to hurt.
“Confront ’em! Give her a piece of your mind! It ain’t right for Gwen to be treatin’ you like that!”
Skip didn’t know the half of it.
Hank hadn’t told his friend the whole story of what had happened between him and Gwen the night before. Skip knew that they had found Myron unconscious on the floor and that Gwen had spent the night at the house, but he didn’t know that they’d made love. Hank could only imagine Skip’s reaction if he did.
Right now, the only thing Hank could think to do was give Gwen space. Clearly she was confused about her feelings, both for him and for Kent. As hard as it would be, he’d go home, try to lose himself in his work, and wait for her to come back with his truck. Then they would talk.
Hank could only hope that he’d like what she had to say.
Chapter Twenty-Three
GWEN STOOD WITH her back to the shower’s spigot, her eyes closed. Hot water pounded her neck and shoulders. Soap slid down her skin as it rushed toward her feet before finally swirling down the drain. Steam billowed, clouding the windowpanes. All the while, her mind raced, weaving the tapestry of a story.
By the time Gwen shut off the water, she was ready to write.
She quickly toweled her hair and dressed, then sat down in front of the typewriter. Gwen fed in a clean sheet of paper and took a deep breath before getting to work. Words poured out of her as fast as she could type them, her fingers practically dancing across the keys. Before she knew it, she was finished.
And now let’s see what I have…
Whatever optimism she’d had was soon dashed. Nothing was as she’d wanted it. Gwen wadded up the pages and threw them in the trash. She put more paper into the typewriter and tried again.
Her second go-around was better, but she still wasn’t satisfied.
So she did it again.
And again.
And again, until the rejected pages overflowed the wastebasket and were strewn across the floor, like an odd arrangement of flowers.
Somewhere between the fifth and sixth drafts, Meredith brought her lunch; Gwen was thankful that her mother didn’t ask what she was doing.
Finally, after so much typing that her fingers hurt, she read a version that she was happy with. Gwen got out of her chair and paced the room. Early-afternoon sunlight spilled across the floor as she went over what she had written, weighing every word.
On those two pages, Gwen laid out the truth about the night Pete Ellis died, just as Hank had told it. She’d added quotes from Myron, who had agreed to her proposal and confessed from his hospital bed. Her article also explained the motivation for Hank’s lie: that he’d taken the blame for the accident in order to protect his father. What she held in her hands was a bombshell.
All she had to do to make it explode was take it to Sid Keaton.
For the first time since she’d woken up that morning, Gwen’s resolve faltered. A sliver of doubt crept into her mind. Was she doing the right thing in revealing Hank’s family’s deepest, darkest secret? Would it help Hank as she intended, or would it make matters worse? How would he react? Would he be angry with her? She’d been all set to march her pages over to the Bulletin in the hopes that they would be published, but now she wasn’t quite so sure.
Downstairs, the phone rang. Moments later, her mother answered.
“Gwendolyn, dear,” she called from below. “It’s for you.”
Descending the staircase, Gwen’s first thought was that it was Hank, wondering why she’d left the way she had, driving off in his truck and not bothering to tell him she was going. She’d meant to call him before taking a shower, but with so much swimming around in her head, she had forgotten. She knew that they needed to talk, that she had to tell him what she was doing, but she feared his reaction. Whatever they would say to each other needed to wait a while longer. Her second guess, more of a worry, was that it was Kent calling from the depot. Maybe he was making one last attempt at reconciling. That, or he wasn’t done cursing her name.
But she was wrong on both counts.
“Gwen!” a man shouted when she picked up the phone. “It’s me! I mean, it’s John Fiderlein! You know, Sandy’s husband!”
“What’s wrong?” Gwen asked, certain from the frantic tone of his deep voice that something bad had happened.
<
br /> “Sandy’s in labor! She’s gonna have the baby!”
“Now?!” she cried.
“It came on real sudden,” John explained. “One second she was in the kitchen finishin’ lunch, and the next she could hardly stand, she was crampin’ so bad. I drove her to the hospital just as fast as I could, but I started to worry she was gonna have the baby right there in the backseat!”
Sandy’s husband’s love for his wife was so obvious that it brought tears to Gwen’s eyes. “I’m so happy for you both!”
“Then get over here.”
“Wait, what? Me? You want me to be at the hospital?”
“Sandy sure does!” he said with a loud laugh. “Right before they took her into the delivery room, she made me promise to call you. She said that you’re like a sister to her and she wants you to be here when the baby’s born. It’s like Sandy’s always sayin’,” he added, “the more the merrier!”
“I’ll be right there,” she said, her thoughts about Hank, Kent, even her newspaper article all momentarily forgotten.
As quickly as she could, Gwen told her mother what was happening. Then she flew up the stairs to gather everything she’d need. Within minutes, she was out the front door, running toward Hank’s truck.
Sandy is having her baby!
For the second time that day, Gwen entered Buckton’s hospital. Unlike her first visit, when she’d taken Myron Ellis’s incredible confession about the death of his son, this trip was one of celebration. She raced up the stairs two at a time before breathlessly bursting into the waiting room.
“Gwen!” a deep voice boomed.
John Fiderlein embraced her. He was a big man, broad across the chest and shoulders, seemingly three times the size of his wife. Even as a boy, John had been a head taller than his peers. He was always the first chosen for sports, the last anyone would ever want to fight. But inside, he was as gentle as a lamb, kind, considerate, and quick to laugh. He had taken one look at Sandy from across the playground and been instantaneously smitten. Since then, he’d never left her side, loving her unconditionally, wanting nothing more than to build a family with the girl of his dreams.
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