Imogene’s face turned red. She grabbed the photo, ripped it in half and threw it to the ground. “I hate you for what you did!”
Mary hated herself, too, had for years. She leaned forward and picked up the pieces, putting them on the end table beside her, smoothing them out. “I can understand that.”
Imogene thrust the album aside and rested her face in her hands. After a minute, Mary dared to put an arm around her.
To her shock, Imogene leaned into her, crying. Mary stroked her hair. Despite everything Imogene had done, Mary still felt the younger woman’s pain as if it were her own. How terrible to lose your beloved father at such a young age, when you were still dependent on him but unable to show it.
Suddenly, Imogene jerked away and shoved at Mary. “Don’t be so understanding!”
Coco had been sleeping at their feet, but the jerky movements woke her and she snapped at Imogene’s ankle.
Imogene kicked out, and the little dog flew several feet and landed, yelping. Mary rushed to pick her up, running her hands over the pup’s body, her heart pounding.
Coco cried a few more little bleats and then settled into Mary’s arms, nibbling at her, too.
Mary sank down into an armchair beside her, cradling the dog.
“You love that dog more than me, just like you loved your baby more than me.” Imogene came toward them, reaching toward Coco, eyes fierce and angry.
Mary stood and turned so that Coco was shielded by her body. “Stop,” she said. “Hurting an animal is just wrong.”
“Hurting an animal is just wrong,” Imogene said in a mocking, shrill voice, exactly the way she’d sounded at fifteen.
And Mary realized, finally, that all of her efforts were futile. Maybe someone else could help Imogene. She certainly needed help, a lot of it.
But if Imogene was sick enough to threaten a puppy, she was too sick for Mary to even nudge onto the road toward healing. “You need to go,” she said. “Now.”
“Scared of me, old lady?” Imogene taunted, looming over her.
Actually...yes. Mary was afraid. Imogene’s eyes looked like those of a villain in a horror movie.
But showing fear was the wrong thing to do. Mary had learned that from her abusive first husband. So she narrowed her eyes and, still holding the puppy close to her body, she moved past Imogene. She walked to the front door, opened it and stepped out onto the porch.
At a time like this, she was glad Kirk James and his father lived next door, was glad of Primrose Miller’s habit of watching everything that went on in the neighborhood. If Imogene attacked her physically, someone would at least call the police.
She held open the door. “You need to leave,” she said.
Imogene came toward her, stepped out the door and hesitated, too close.
Mary braced herself and turned the puppy farther away from Imogene’s reach.
Kirk James’s ninetysomething father came out on the porch next door, a cell phone in his hand. He didn’t speak; he just stood watching them.
Imogene made a disgusted noise, spat on Mary’s porch and stomped down the stairs and off down the street.
And Mary collapsed onto her porch chair, waved thanks to old Mr. James and cuddled her dog close to her chest.
For better or worse, she was done trying to connect with Imogene.
CHAPTER TWENTY
PAUL LOOKED AROUND Mary’s store, at the little circle of parents and children listening to Mary read a Christmas picture book to them, and felt incredibly grateful to be here, among these people, in this small town that was starting to feel like home.
When Davey climbed out of Paul’s lap and into Amber’s, snuggling against her, he felt even happier. Especially about the loving way Amber cuddled him close.
It was a Christmas event with cocoa and puppets and a free book for every child. Paul had invited Amber after they’d wrapped presents together two nights ago. Now she looked over at him, caught him studying her and Davey, and smiled. What was she thinking?
Even Trey and Erica were there with Hunter. He’s way too young, Erica had told Paul beforehand, but we love stuff like this. I can’t wait till I can read to him more. She was cuddling Hunter in one of Mary’s comfy chairs right behind where Paul and Amber sat with the others on the floor. Trey stood beside Erica’s chair, his back to the wall.
Stop being a cop, Amber mouthed to him, making Paul smile.
A text came in on Paul’s phone from an unknown number, and he ignored it. But when another from the same number popped up, he opened the message.
This is awkward, but I need to talk to you. I’m a friend of Wendy’s, and I’m in downtown Pleasant Shores, hoping to see you for a few minutes.
The mention of Wendy made him curious enough that he responded with his location, and the person texted back that they would be there in five minutes. So after listening to a little more of the story Mary was reading, Paul whispered to Amber that he was leaving for a minute and headed outside.
He was in a great mood. Such a wonderful, warmhearted community, so good for Davey. He’d like to stay here. And he’d like to be here with Amber, and so would Davey.
There was a lot to think about.
Outside the store, a man in the kind of designer outdoor clothing favored by Wendy’s parents lifted a hand. “Andrew McMartin,” he said, holding out a hand. “You’re Paul Thompson?”
“Yes.” Paul got a strange, nervous vibe from the man. “You wanted to connect because of having known Wendy?”
Andrew nodded. He sucked in a breath and looked off down the block, then met Paul’s eyes. “This is embarrassing, but let me just dive in. I was with your wife, and, well, you should know that your son is technically mine.”
“What?” Paul stared at
