He groaned and bent an arm over his eyes.
He’d dreamed of Kayden because kissing Gen had stirred up all his old issues. His guilt and regret.
When she’d told him yesterday that she was still trying to pay God back for saving her, it had wrecked him.
After God showed up for you miraculously, he understood why a person would want to pay God back. Yet how could anyone pay God back for a miracle? Gen was only human. She didn’t have the power to perform miracles.
Which hadn’t stopped her from almost killing herself trying.
He was like a dam whose base had been ripped away. He no longer had the ability to hold himself back. His willpower could resist every harmful thing he’d once indulged in. But it could not resist Gen.
Their kiss last night had affected him like a collision with a locomotive. Afterward, his hands had tremored and blood had pounded in his ears. His thoughts had been in opposition to each other. Pleasure versus fear. Greediness versus humility. Satisfaction over what he’d done versus self-blame over what he’d done.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
He hit the off button on his alarm and began going through his morning routine.
What was he going to do about Gen? Part of him whispered that he must donothingmore. He’d already allowed too much.But that part of him was growing weaker by the hour, drowned by the much stronger part of him that could think of nothing other than how soon he could see her again.
The woman who’d slept in his guesthouse like Goldilocks had frightening power over him. She could turn his body to fire and his hardened heart to soft soil.
Natasha liked for things to make sense. If something made no sense to her, she couldn’t let it go. She’d fixate on it until she understood it. While in the fixation phase, she had a habit of gnawing on crunchy foods the way a beaver gnaws a log.
Genevieve sat next to her sister at the desk in Natasha’s front room. A few celery sticks lay jumbled on a paper towel. Natasha slathered peanut butter along one celery stick’s trough, then rested the knife back on the open jar. “Sure you don’t want one?” Natasha offered the snack to Genevieve.
“I’m sure.”
Genevieve had called her sister this morning, the morning after her fateful grocery store run with Sam, to tell her about the navy recruitment ad. Natasha had been on an outing with her kids at the time. Genevieve had needed to work. They’d decided they’d meet later in the day to squeeze in a micro-investigation. Now here they were, but they had little time. It was 4:05 on Halloween afternoon, and Genevieve could feel the expectant excitement building like a coming storm within Natasha’s household. The kids were currently playing in the backyard with Wyatt, but soon they’d all need to get dressed for this evening’s festivities.
“We have a theory that Dad may have known either Russell or Mom before his trip to Camden,” Natasha said. “If that’s the case, then Dad most likely got to know one or both of them during his senior year and Russell and Mom’s freshman year at Mercer.”
“Agreed.”
“We need evidence.” Natasha drummed her fingertips against the top of her desk. “How can we find evidence that proves they knew each other before 1983?”
“Mutual friends? If Dad knew Russell or Mom in college then someone else knows that he did.”
“Do you remember the name of any of Dad’s college friends?” Natasha asked.
Genevieve had met a few of them many years before, but those interactions had been brief. “No. You?”
“No. I wish we could ask Nanny and Pop about Dad’s Mercer friends.”
Unfortunately, Pop had passed away a decade ago, and Nanny had dementia. “I’ll go visit Nanny soon,” Genevieve said. “It’s time for me to check in on her anyway, and it could be that something about Dad will shake loose from her memory.” She tipped the hook of her earring forward and back thoughtfully. “Dad’s siblings might know who his college friends were.”
“None of them went to Mercer, but you’re right. They still might remember his friends from that time. Problem is, as soon as I call Aunt Connie, Aunt Jolene, or Uncle Colby, they’ll tell Dad and then Dad will know we’re researching him behind his back.” Natasha loaded another celery stick with peanut butter and munched it loudly.
Genevieve stole a surreptitious peek at her phone for the three thousandth time that day.
Status: Sam still hadn’t texted or called.
She’d determined that she would not obsess over what Sam was thinking or what might come next between them. That’s what her head had decided, very firmly. Her hands, however, wouldn’t stop reaching for her phone and checking it compulsively.
“A photograph would provide evidence,” Natasha mused.
“What sort of photograph?”
“Of Dad with his college buddies that ... I don’t know, ran in the school newspaper?”
