Maxine’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, wow. That’s harsh, even for Mr. Griffin.”
“Eleanor thinks Cliff overheard them. She thinks that’s why he left so abruptly.”
“And never showed up to meet you,” Maxine added softly.
She nodded. “Maybe he felt he had to prove himself first. That he wasn’t good enough for me.”
“That would explain a lot.” Maxine moved closer, placing a hand on Beverly’s arm. “How do you feel about this?”
“Confused. Sad.” She sighed. “For thirty years, I’ve believed he just didn’t care enough. That I wasn’t important enough to him.”
“And now?”
“Now I don’t know what to think. If he really left because of what his father said…” She trailed off, the implications too overwhelming to voice.
“But I still can’t get used to you calling her Eleanor.”
A small smile tugged at Beverly’s lips. “I know. But she was… different today. More vulnerable than I’ve ever seen her. It’s hard to keep calling someone Miss Anything when you’ve seen them nearly cry.”
“Well, I’m shocked.” Maxine pretended to fan herself. “You’re on a first-name basis with Eleanor Griffin? The Eleanor Griffin? Town matriarch and keeper of all things proper?”
She laughed, grateful for the moment of lightness. “I know. Who would have thought?”
“Do you think I’ll ever reach that level of familiarity with her? Should I start practicing? ‘Good morning, Eleanor. Lovely weather we’re having, Eleanor.’”
Beverly grinned. “I really don’t know. She might revoke my privileges if she hears I’ve been spreading the news.”
They both laughed, but her smile faded as her thoughts returned to Cliff. All these years, she’d carried around this story of abandonment, letting it shape her decisions and her heart. What if she’d been wrong? What if Cliff had been carrying his own painful narrative all this time?
“So, what are you going to do?” Maxine asked, reading her thoughts as she often did.
“I don’t know that either. I’ve spent so long believing one version of the story. It’s not easy to just… change that.”
“But if what Miss Eleanor said is true?—”
“Even if it is, it doesn’t erase thirty years. It doesn’t change the fact that he never tried to contact me, never explained.”
“Maybe he couldn’t.” Maxine’s voice was gentle. “Maybe he was too hurt or too ashamed.”
She looked up at her friend. “Maybe. But where does that leave us now?”
Chapter 18
Eleanor stood in front of her damaged house as she watched the workers moving at what seemed like a glacial pace. The massive oak that had crashed through her porch had been removed, but the roof repairs were dragging on interminably. She tapped her foot impatiently against the sidewalk.
“Mrs. Griffin, we’re making good progress,” Hank—was that his name?— called from atop his ladder. “Should have the roof sealed up by tomorrow, weather permitting.”
“That’s what you said yesterday,” she replied tartly. “And the day before.”
Hank had the good grace to look sheepish. “Well, ma’am, we found some additional water damage in the joists. Better to do it right than do it twice.”
She sighed. Waiting for repairs to get finished was testing her limits. Three people living in Jonah’s small house made her miss her own space and her own routines. Winston seemed perfectly content at Jonah’s place, but she wasn’t. Though she had to admit she was enjoying Jonah’s company.
“I’m going inside to check on things,” she announced, not waiting for permission. It was her house, after all.
She carefully stepped around piles of construction materials on the porch, noting with approval that the new boards matched the old ones reasonably well. Inside, the house smelled of dampness despite the dehumidifiers running constantly. The main living areas were relatively untouched by the storm, but upstairs was another story entirely.
She walked through the downstairs rooms, running her fingers along surfaces, grimacing at the fine layer of construction dust that had settled everywhere. Sitting idly by was never her strong suit. She couldn’t help with the major repairs, but surely there was something useful she could do.
