Wren laughs. “My mom has some choice words about you disappearing to the city and never calling or coming to visit.”
“Ugh,” I groan, letting my head fall back so I can look at the ceiling. “I know.” Elora Sterling had always been there for me, and Wren’s right; she’s going to want to know what happened, not just with the wedding, but with me.
“She’sinsistingyou come to the next family dinner at the lodge.”
Wren beams and I sigh, resigned, because I owe it to Elora—I owe it to all of them.
I just need to take care of a few things first.
8
PEN
The air is cold but the sun is shining as I step out of the truck I borrowed with Wren’s help, my feet crunching on the thin layer of snow as I make my way up the driveway to the porch of the modest cabin I’d called home.
Oma opens the door before I’ve even climbed the steps, her smile wide and her arms stretched out for me.
“Oh, my sweet girl, how are you?”
I can’t hold back my sob, instead falling into her arms as she leads me back inside. The woodstove crackles as we sit on the couch, the room warm and smelling like cinnamon, and I feel like it’s been years since I felt this at home.
“I don’t know what I’m gonna do,” I whisper. Her face is sympathetic but her grip on my hand is firm, like she’s anchoring me to her, her strength seeping into me as I continue. “I thought I could marry him. I thought Iwantedto marry him, but I just…I couldn’t and I haven’t even talked to Carter.”
“I never liked him,” she says simply.
Unapologetically.
And I gape at her. “What?”
“That boy has always had a stick shoved so far up his ass it’s amazing he can even sit down.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“You can guide your children, Pen, but you’re not supposed to dictate their lives. You were happy and then you weren’t butyoudidn’t see that. Wouldn’t have made a difference if I said something or not.” She shrugs. “You thought it was what you wanted.”
I swallow hard. “It was but then it didn’t feel like me but”—I pause—“there were more opportunities and I just wanted to make sure you’d always be taken care of.”
“I’m old, but I’m not dying, Penelope.”
“I know, but what if something had happened? I was away for so long and?—”
“And nothing,” she huffs, waving me off. “Your granddaddy left me with plenty, and hand to God if you stayed with Carter because you thought I needed looking after, Penelope Stewart…”
“I need coffee,” I blurt out, rubbing the spot between my eyebrows, the beginning of a headache coming on.
“I’ll make you coffee, but I think I’ll stick with bourbon for this conversation.”
My lips twitch as I follow her into the kitchen, a plate of cookies cooling on the rack.
Thumbprint with raspberry jam.
Lake’s favorite.
“You made cookies.”
“Mm-hmm,” she says, turning on the coffee pot before pulling down a mug and a glass. “Lake won’t take any money so I try and feed him instead.” When I don’t say anything, she snorts. “He brings in the firewood for me and makes sure there’s enough on the back porch when we have a storm if he can’t get here. Plows the driveway and picks up my groceries when I’m not up to going into town.”
The man I was going to marry had used my grandmother like a bargaining chip, tugging at my heartstrings and draining the fight from my system every time. On the other hand, the man I’d only ever considered a friend has been stacking her firewood and bringing her groceries.
