That meeting in the attorney’s office threw all of us off stride. I wanted to trust these two. In a way, I had to. At least up to apoint. But Hanna birthing a Tanner didn’t mean we needed to rally. Hanna was perfectly capable of fixing her own mess without dragging us down with her... Or at least that’s what I tried to trick my brain into believing.
Tough talk or not, I was here, as ordered, striding across the lawn toward Stella when I’d rather be home, sitting in a quiet room, not talking to anyone as I recovered from a long day of kid wrangling.
She stood at the back of the house, maybe twenty feet from the edge of the circular driveway that curled in from the left without breaking the distinct line of the front of the property. An array of crinkled yellow and orange leaves littered the ground around her feet. Many still clung to the branches, bathing the wooded outline of the property in a fiery glow.
Sneaking around seemed unnecessary. Coming right from work, I wasn’t exactly dressed for covert activities, so I dove right in, skipping the usual small talk. “Why are you outside?”
“I’m watching Hanna.” Stella kept doing it. “She doesn’t know I’m here yet.”
Uh-huh. “Is there a reason we don’t go over to say hello?”
“She’s sitting on the bench next to the fountain, reading something.”
“Yeah, that thing.” Victoria once described the fountain as an architecturally significant piece of porn. An overstatement, sure, but the sculpture did have a certain vibe. A couple, carved in bronze and entwined, half clothed, looming at the center of spurting water. A fountain that spilled into the long, heated saltwater pool but faced the garden beyond.
Over-the-top. Theatrical. Striking. Just like the Tanner family.
“Is she okay?” I asked even though I could see the paleness of Hanna’s cheeks from this far away. Okay, maybe Stella did care. Maybe she heard or saw something that caused worry.
“Would you be?”
I could barely hold down crackers thanks to the ball of anxiety that had taken up permanent residence in my stomach. For a second, I debated asking Stella about medication options but showing weakness in front of her wasn’t a great idea. I knew that from experience.
“I wouldn’t be okay if I’d slept with Xavier Tanner.” No, I’d committed other sins when it came to the Tanner family. Bigger sins. Those could remain hidden for now.
Stella nodded. “Understandable.”
Hanna dropped whatever she was reading on her lap and glanced up. She shaded her eyes against the late afternoon sun. She didn’t smile or wave us over, but still silently granted permission to approach.
I ignored the voice in my head. That tiny squeak-filled one that told me to run. To change my name. To never slink into Sleepy Hollow again.
Avoiding even an ounce of self-preservation, I didn’t race to my car like I had that day years ago. Instead, we walked toward Hanna at the pace and with all the enthusiasm of a death march. The wet grass and soft ground grabbed my sensible block heels, but I pushed on.
We stopped right in front of Hanna. She looked worn and beaten down. Her shoulders slumped. Her eyes didn’t have their usualmay I help yousparkle she turned on with customers. Life, any sense of lightness, had vanished, leaving dark circles underher eyes. Her disheveled look matched the mood. Dread hung in the air.
I felt a punch of sympathy.
I ignored a second shot of adrenaline, telling me to run.
“You look like hell.” To be fair, I should have been nicer. She didn’t need another kick, but damn. That usual Tanner magic had sucked the life right out of her.
Hanna’s fingers tightened on the paperwork in her hands. “Always good to see you, too.”
“How’s Jeremy?” Stella asked, sounding genuinely concerned.
Hanna winced at the mention of her son’s name. “He’s cleaning up the café.”
“At least he didn’t run back to school today.” If Stella hoped to sound positive she failed.
“Not yet. I didn’t go into great detail, but I mentioned a trust and this house. After that he wouldn’t listen or let me explain.” Hanna hesitated for a second before focusing on me. “Stella told you? About me and Xavier.”
There wasn’t a reason to lie or hide the conversation. “Yes.”
I’d always assumed Hanna and Patrick had a thing. That she’d been lured in by Patrick’s considerable charm for a fleeting relationship that fizzled out long before the Tanners vanished.
Patrick, not Xavier. Patrick, the brilliant writer who could pen a library full of tomes rich in eloquent prose about the Civil War. He knew about every battle. Every general. Every argument made and strategy undertaken. He wrote nonfiction and historical fiction. He’d won awards.
The way he spoke, his lecturing style, alive and vibrating with energy, could hook an audience filled with skeptics and reel it in.His enthusiasm and deep, calming voice had the power to make a room catch fire. He wove a spell until people stopped focusing on his words and focused on him.
