“What an awful end to a really nice night,” one of the mothers said. “That woman is obviously out of her mind.”
The voices couldn’t seem to melt the ice inside her. She was humiliated, her privacy broken, her past revealed. She felt raw, scraped open.
Trey was ushering Imogene out, and Imogene was going, though she continued to call out threats and accusations.
Mary looked around, then spoke in a low voice to Erica. “Could you ask everyone to leave? I just want to go home.”
“Of course.” Erica moved through the little crowd, speaking to everyone. A couple of people were cleaning up the cookies and napkins and plates, and others expressed concern and sympathy, or even just squeezed her hand, before exiting the store. And then everyone was gone and she was alone.
No, not alone. “We’re driving you home,” Erica said, and she and Trey walked with Mary to their vehicle and drove for the short distance, then deposited her at her house. Erica insisted on walking her inside.
Once Erica left, Mary sank down into a chair, staring straight ahead while memories played across the screen of her mind. Ben’s voice, his cheery goodbye that morning. Her daughter’s excitement about getting to go somewhere with her stepdaddy, just her alone. The feel of the little arms around her neck, hugging her goodbye.
And then once they’d left, she’d gone back inside and planned her earnest effort to connect with Imogene. She’d bake her favorite coffee cake, ask her about school and friends. It wouldn’t make their relationship perfect, not right away, but she’d hoped that by putting something positive into the bank of their relationship, it would continue to improve.
But before she could get started on her plan, a loud crash had sounded outside. They’d both rushed out and discovered Ben’s truck, wrapped around a giant tree in their front yard. In the distance, another car engine sound was disappearing.
She’d never forget the sight of twisted metal, of bodies, of blood. Her whole world, and Imogene’s as well, shattered.
Mary heard a whining sound, and at first she was so lost in the past that she didn’t know where it came from. It sounded again and she realized it was her puppy, Coco. The little dog managed the great leap to the ottoman and then another into Mary’s lap. There, she planted her paws on Mary’s chest and licked her face.
Her face, that was wet with tears. She cuddled the dog close to her chest and gave herself up to the pain she’d been trying to shut out for years.
Sometime later—she had no idea how long—the phone rang. This late at night, it was either a wrong number or bad news.
She wasn’t going to answer, but it stopped and started again, and she warily picked it up and clicked into the call. “Hello?” she croaked out.
“This is the Pleasant Shores Police Department, is this Mary Rhoades? Listen, a vandal broke into your store and destroyed a bunch of the books.”
“Excuse me. What did you say?” She couldn’t take it in, couldn’t take anything in, not tonight.
“No need to come down now. We’ve got it cordoned off and the rest of your merchandise should be safe tonight, but you’ll need to call your insurance company in the morning.” He went on, talking about fingerprints and photographs and cleanup.
She agreed to everything and after ending the call, let her head tilt back against the chair.
There was no doubt in her mind as to who the vandal was: Imogene.
It drove home the fact that this was never going to go away. Why had she thought she could start over? She would always have to deal with Imogene and with the past. And it wasn’t fair to the citizens of Pleasant Shores to have her here.
She looked down at the puppy. She’d have to move. And moving, with no idea of where she was going... She couldn’t put a puppy through that upheaval.
She clutched Coco, her chest heaving with a sob. She didn’t want to give the dog up. Didn’t want to lose everything, not again.
But fair was fair. She’d hold the puppy for one more night, take it into her bed and tomorrow she would take it to Kirk or Goody, let them find a new home for it.
The puppy’s fur was wet. So wet. She tried to dry it off with her sleeve, but the source of the moisture was her own tears. And they weren’t drying anytime soon.
ON THURSDAY MORNING, Paul walked through the door of Mary’s vandalized bookstore. Some self-preserving part of him was glad that he had something constructive to do this morning.
He’d gone through the motions of helping Davey get dressed, fixing him breakfast and dropping him off at school, but he was numb inside. Every time he started to feel, or think, the huge realignment his world had made last night threatened to overwhelm him. Better to just stay busy.
“Glad you could come,” Trey said. “Mary didn’t even come in yet. Too upset. We already took prints and got all the evidence we could, so now we just want to get the place cleaned up to help Mary out.”
“Sounds good.” Paul hadn’t seen any vandalism when he walked in the door, but when he progressed farther into the shop, he realized that books were ripped off the shelves and thrown all around, some defaced with paint, some that looked like they had been stomped. Compared to the cozy and comfortable environment it had been last night, this was a travesty. “Was it her stepdaughter?”
“You know about her? Yeah, we think so. Earl and one of the other guys are looking for her right now.” Trey shook his head. “I just don’t get how anybody could do this to a bookstore. To any place, really, but books help people. They’re a good thing.”
“That’s why,” came a voice from the counter, and Paul looked over to see Drew Martin,
