From the back seat he imagined the two girls watching the ghastly scene unfold, helpless to stop it. He understood the paralyzing fear that must have gripped them both; he saw it in Brooke’s eyes now. What he couldn’t fathom was that eighteen years later, as a grown woman, she’d allowed him to confide in her and grow to trust her, with memories of that awful night still imprinted on her brain—and said nothing.
She held fast to the pendant around her neck, as though drawing strength from it. Ian had given it to her to symbolize his faith in her. Since his mother’s death he’d been wary of allowing anyone too close, protecting himself from the pain of loss that he couldn’t bear to suffer again. But Brooke had found her way into his heart so easily, and he’d placed it willingly into her hands, trusting her implicitly. The irony almost made him laugh.
“Ian, are you all right?” she asked, her voice high and tentative. “Please say something.”
He couldn’t speak for a moment longer, the smoldering anger within him threatening to flare beyond his control. He only realized as his fingers numbed and his shoulders began to ache how tightly his hands were balled into fists, and how rigid his muscles had become.
“So what you’re telling me,” he said at last between gritted teeth, “is that all those years, you knew, you
saw
, what happened to my mother, and you never said a word.”
“I’m so … so sorry.” Tears spilled freely down Brooke’s cheeks as she struggled to speak, her chest hitching between words. “It’s tortured me all this time. In high school, I wanted so badly to get close to you … but I couldn’t bear to, knowing I couldn’t tell you the truth. I thought that moving away would help me forget. I haven’t been able to come back to Eastport because of the memories, and the guilt I feel.”
The anguish in her face tugged at Ian’s heart, compelling him to gather her in his arms and console her. But the pain of her betrayal, fresh and overpowering, kept him rooted to the spot. He scrubbed a hand over his face, drawing deep breaths to settle himself, before he replied.
“I really don’t give a damn about how
you’ve
suffered, Brooke.
My
life was shattered.” His voice quavered with constrained anger. “You couldn’t bring my mother back, but it would’ve made a great difference in the aftermath if you’d come forward with what you knew. You could have made Ross Kinley pay for what he did, and it could have helped me to recover. But you chose not to. Up until this moment, you chose to keep lying to me.”
She shook her head vigorously, her breath coming so fast and shallow that he feared she might lose consciousness and crumple to the ground. “I know I should have told you. But I’ve fallen so helplessly in love with you, I couldn’t stand to lose you. I was afraid you wouldn’t forgive me.”
For a moment her words cut through his rage. Her face wet with tears, she looked as fragile as a glass sculpture, and his chest ached with desire for her. He’d been longing to hear her say she loved him, impatient to know that she returned his feelings. But not like this. How could he trust anything she told him now?
“Your fear was well founded,” he told her coldly. “I don’t think I
can
forgive you.”
She drew a shuddery gasp, but didn’t reply. Her eyes glistened, the sting of his words drawing fresh tears. Ian let his gaze drift away from her; he couldn’t let the hurt etched in her face crumble his resolve.
“I have to go,” he muttered, stepping onto the flagstone path that led to the front of the house. “I’m sure Faith can give you a ride home.”
Brooke reached out to him with both hands. “Ian, please stay.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t spread it around,” he said bitingly, moving into the deepening night beyond the glow of the lanterns. “I can keep a secret just as well as you can.”
Chapter Ten
Brooke checked her watch again, then glanced out the window to scan the empty street. The delivery truck was fifteen minutes late.
Never mind; she could spend the whole afternoon wandering around the bakery if she needed to. The interior looked pretty close to the way she’d envisioned it, with its floral-print tablecloths, warmly lit display cases and marbled tile floor. But there were endless little touches to complete, from the hand-printed markers on the racks to the rosewood napkin holders she’d found at a vintage store and planned to inscribe with the name
Sweet Dreams Bakery.
Nervous excitement swept through her as she imagined the first customers walking through the door in a few days’ time. She knew that running her own bakery would mean early mornings, exhausting days and plenty of challenges. But succeed or not, she would not regret taking the chance.
The decision to stay had been much easier than Brooke had expected. For the first time in memory, Eastport felt like the only place she could feel at home—despite the constant ache in her heart, left in Ian’s absence, that couldn’t be soothed. The look of devastation on his face, his eyes ablaze with rage toward her, continued to haunt her. She’d tried to make him understand her reasons for holding back what she knew of his mother’s death, but realized her intentions did little to ease the sting of her betrayal.
Still, in spite of the consequences, Brooke didn’t regret telling him the truth. The terrible weight of her secret had been lifted from her. And even if Ian never forgave her, at least he had the answers he’d been denied for eighteen years, and the peace that would bring him helped to ease the pain of loss that lingered within her own heart.
A knock on the door jarred Brooke from her thoughts.
Finally
. But rather than a delivery crew, it was Faith she saw smiling through the glass, holding a paper coffee cup in each hand.
Brooke unlatched the door and pushed it open, letting Faith step inside, her cheeks pink from the brisk autumn air. She handed one of the warm cups to Brooke.
“Thanks, Faith. How did you know this was just what I needed?”
“I remember you always used to crave a shot of caffeine mid-afternoon. You’ve been working so hard in here, I figured a little boost couldn’t hurt. This place looks fantastic.” She gazed around in admiration. “Are you ready to open?”
Brooke took a small sip of the hot coffee, appreciating the comforting warmth sliding down her throat. “Just about. I’m waiting for the new oven to arrive.”
“I can’t believe how quickly you pulled it all together.”
“It was a lot of work, but it kept my mind occupied.”
Faith knew at once what her old friend meant. “You miss Ian?”
With every breath
. Of course it would take some time to get used to his absence from her life, but she supposed the bakery would provide an ideal distraction.
“I’ll survive.” She summoned a wan smile. “Why don’t we sit down?”
As Brooke directed her to the round table closest to the window, Faith slid off her black wool jacket and slung it over the back of one of the chairs. Settling into the chair, she fixed her gaze on Brooke, seated across from her.
“Andrew called me last night,” Faith began tentatively. “We had a long talk, and he finally apologized for his behaviour at the party.”
Brooke nodded in acknowledgement, unsure how to respond. In the aftermath of the party Andrew had stubbornly refused to accept any responsibility for the damage he’d caused. But then he hadn’t exactly been in a lucid state, and had passed out in the guest room soon after. The following morning he flew home without saying much to anyone.
“He didn’t mean to hurt you,” Faith went on, absently twisting the rim of the plastic lid on her cup. “You just got caught in the crossfire. It’s me he’s been resenting all these years, because I was always seen as the responsible one. Only he knew I wasn’t as perfect as everyone thought—he knew Dad and I had this horrible secret between us, but he couldn’t talk about it. I had no idea, all these years, that he was carrying all this around.”
Brooke raised one shoulder in concession. “I’m sure we would’ve done a lot of things differently, had we known how it would all turn out.”
“Especially me.” Faith dropped her gaze to her lap, her brows knitted. “You wanted to tell Ian the truth right away, and I discouraged you. It’s my fault you’re not together anymore.”
“Maybe we wouldn’t have become involved in the first place if I’d told him then,” Brooke suggested, articulating a notion that had crossed her mind many times. “I knew all along Ian and I couldn’t possibly ride off into the sunset together. I knew it, but I didn’t listen to my instincts. I did this to myself.”
Faith offered a small smile of encouragement. “I’m glad you’re staying in Eastport. I’ve missed you so much, Brooke. Now that everything is out in the open, I really hope we can be close again.”
“Me, too.” It wasn’t entirely out in the open, of course; Faith had confessed everything to Ted, but so far word hadn’t spread any farther, as far as they knew. There seemed little point, now that Ross was dead.
“I am a little surprised, though, that’s you’re staying,” Faith went on, “without your relationship with Ian keeping you here. I mean, you always wanted something grander than a small-town life.”
“I know. But I lived in a big city for twelve years, and while I was trying so hard to make something of myself the things I really wanted got lost in the process. In all that time I never made the trip to Italy that I’d been dreaming of. I just didn’t find what I was looking for, until I came back here.” Brooke smiled. “Eastport is my home. And I don’t need to run and hide anymore.”
Faith nodded, her brow again creased in concern. “And if Ian was one of those things you were looking for—won’t it be hard, seeing him around town?”
So far Brooke had seen him only a few times from a distance, but she’d thought about the possibility of running into him—at the gas station, the grocery store, or even at the bakery if he chose to shop there.
“Of course,” she replied, “but not as hard as it was all those years, keeping that awful secret from him. Who knows, maybe he’ll find it in his heart to forgive me someday.”
“Is there anything I can do?” Faith wondered.
“Maybe there is.” Brooke stood and lifted her jacket from the hook rack she’d installed next to the door. Reaching into the side pocket, her fingers curled around a plastic zip-closure bag.
She set the bag on the table and pushed it across the tablecloth to Faith, who stared down in surprise at the silver necklace and bracelet visible through the clear plastic.
“Could you ask Ted to give these to Ian? They belonged to Mary. He should have them back.”
The plastic bag made an inelegant presentation, but Brooke couldn’t bring herself to part with the cherry-wood box Ian had made for her, and didn’t imagine he’d want it back in any case. She’d been meaning to return the jewellery for weeks, but had been putting it off, wavering on whether to do it in person or by some other means. The times she’d seen Ian from afar, she’d lacked the courage to approach him. She figured it was his prerogative to speak to her, whenever he was ready.
“Sure, of course.” Faith picked up the bag tentatively, as though reluctant to involve herself further in the dissolution of the relationship. Rising to her feet, she scooped up her coat. “I have to run. Anyway, I think I see your delivery truck pulling up at the curb. I’ll see you soon, all right?”
“Sure.” Brooke drew her into a quick hug, noting that Faith’s willowy frame had filled out to a shapelier, healthier figure since the beginning of the summer. Brooke smiled over her friend’s shoulder, reassured that in time, she and Faith would both be all right.
* * *
Ian stiffened in his chair when he heard the knock at his office door. He never looked forward to meeting with Paul Harrison, who for years had been tussling with his younger brother in a series of suits and countersuits over ownership of their late father’s farmland. The satisfaction Ian normally derived from helping clients settle disputes seemed a distant hope in this case. As much as he’d tried to negotiate a settlement, the family had become irretrievably fractured over squabbles going so far back that neither side could remember how it had all started. Though he had a stack of folders related to the case at the ready on his desk, he wasn’t in the mood for it today.
Instead of Paul he found Faith standing on his porch. Holding the collar of her jacket close around her neck against the brisk autumn air, she offered a tentative smile, eyeing him carefully to gauge his reaction to her presence.
“What can I do for you, Faith?” he asked evenly. He hadn’t seen her in weeks, and not since learning of her involvement in his mother’s death; though his anger had abated, he wasn’t sure he felt ready to speak to her yet.
“We need to talk.”
“I’m expecting a client.”
“This will only take a minute,” she insisted, stepping onto the threshold to prevent him from closing the door. “Please, Ian.”
He hesitated, his only options being to force her out or relent. “Come in, then.”
As he backed up to let her pass, Faith took a few steps into the office, glancing around warily before she sank into one of the leather chairs facing his desk. Folding her hands primly in her lap, she caught his gaze and held it as she spoke.