“Are you in pain?”
“A little.” She closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, she frowned. “Can you get those fireflies out of here?”
“There aren’t any fireflies in here, Gran.”
“Are you sure?” She flicked a hand over her head, as if to bat them away.
“I don’t see anything, Gran.”
She flapped her hand again, then looked at me. My dismay must have shown on my face, because her brow softened. “You must think I’m losing it.”
“I think you had a hard blow to the head, and you’re tired. Let me help you to bed.”
“Everything I’ve told you, dear—I plan to tell Eddie myself. But this next part—well, he’ll be devastated about it. He needs to know the whole story, and I’m not sure what that is. I need your help to find out the truth.”
“I’ll help you in whatever way I can.”
She gave me a soft smile. “I know you will, dear. Mother said I could count on you.” Her hand dropped from her head. “The first thing I need help with is getting to bed.”
I helped her to her feet, wondering—no,hoping—that her misdeed was like the fireflies, alive only in her imagination.
•••
“Do you think she really has a horrible secret?” Kirsten sprinkled cocoa on top of my cappuccino the next afternoon and handed it to me across the counter. I’d wandered down to the Daily Grind and found the place nearly empty, so I’d perched on a barstool atthe counter. Without revealing exactly what Gran had told me, I told Kirsten that my grandmother had been sharing some stories about her past and had hinted she was about to reveal an ominous skeleton in her closet.
“I don’t know. I believe what she’s told me so far.”
“Well, I don’t think you should worry.” Kirsten put the milk pitcher in the sink. “It’s probably something that was considered shocking back then that we don’t bat an eye at today.”
“That’s what I’d think, too, except she’s already told me a lot of shocking-back-then stuff.”
“Really?” Kirsten’s eyes twinkled. “Good for her!”
I laughed.
“Seriously, I can’t imagine that that sweet little old lady ever did anything all that wrong.” Kirsten rinsed the pitcher. “I mean, how bad can it be?”
“I don’t know.” I took another sip, thinking about the stricken look on Gran’s face. “Have you ever done anything you’d be afraid to die without confessing?”
Kirsten looked thoughtful for a moment, then gave a wry smile. “I’m not sure about confessing, but there are a few things I’ll probably take to the grave.”
I laughed. “Oh, yeah? Such as?”
“Oh, I couldn’t possibly say.” Grinning, she wiped down the cappuccino machine. “At least, not without a few mojitos in me.”
“You’re on.”
Kirsten laughed. “Okay, but I’ll only spill the juicy stuff if you talk, too. And one of the first things I want to know is, what’s going on with you and Matt?”
Just the mention of his name made my heart rate kick up. “Nothing.” I looked down at my drink. “I’ve been working on the mural early in the evening with the girls. When he comes home, I duck out as soon as possible.”
“Why?”
Because I had no intention of going through another emotionalwringer just as I was beginning to get over my ex. I was only in Wedding Tree for another six weeks or so, so there was no point in getting anything started. Besides, there were the girls to consider. I’d grown close to them as I painted their room—I gave them little tasks to do, and they loved helping—and it was obvious how much they yearned for a mother. Zoey harbored the hope that Jillian and Matt would marry, but Sophie had begun lobbying for me.
Instead of explaining all that to Kirsten, though, I just lifted my shoulders. “I don’t want to be in the way.”
“That man needs someone in his way.” The bell over the door jangled. “And speak of the devil...”
