Stephanie leaned against her father’s shoulder. “For what it’s worth, I’d really like to meet her. Anyone who can bring you back to carving and make you send puppy photos all day is someone I want to know.”
“How did you—” Matt began, then shook his head with a rueful smile. “It was Brenda, wasn’t it?”
“She only mentioned that you’ve been documenting the puppies progress with unusual thoroughness since Dr. Morth left town.”
Matt groaned, realizing he’d been even more transparent than he’d feared. “Is there anyone in this town who isn’t keeping tabs on my personal life?”
“Probably not,” Stephanie replied cheerfully. “That’s the price of being the town’s beloved veterinarian.” Her expression softened. “But seriously, Dad. I’m happy for you. And if Lynda Morth is the reason you’re carving again and smiling more, then I already like her.”
Matt felt a weight lift from his shoulders at his daughter’s words. He’d been so concerned about how Stephanie might react to him developing feelings for someone new that he’d underestimated her capacity for understanding and support.
“Thank you,” he said softly. “That means a lot.”
As they turned their attention back to the children and puppies, Matt counted the days until Lynda’s return. Five more days until she was back in Sapphire Bay. Five days until he could see for himself whether the connection they’d begun to build would continue to grow.
And whether the careful hope he’d been nurturing might blossom into something deeper, something that could last a lifetime.
CHAPTER 19
Lynda carried another stack of photo albums into the living room, adding them to the growing pile on the coffee table.
“I had no idea you had so many albums,” her daughter Amy said, looking up from the box of papers she was sorting through. “Dad was always the one taking pictures, but it seems like you’re the one who organized them all.”
“Someone had to,” Lynda replied, running her hand over the cover of the closest album.Amy: Ages 5-8was carefully written on the spine in her neat handwriting. “Your father was great at capturing moments but terrible at keeping track of the prints.”
Amy smiled, tucking a strand of her auburn hair behind her ear. She was the perfect blend of her parents—Ray’s coloring and Lynda’s determined chin and practical nature. “Dylan keeps asking to see pictures of me when I was his age. He’s convinced I was never a child.”
“Well, these should dispel that notion.” Lynda handed Amy the album. “Especially the photos from your cowgirl phase.”
“Oh no,” Amy groaned, flipping to a page that showed her seven-year-old self in a fringed vest, cowboy boots, and a hat fartoo large for her small head. “I’d successfully blocked this from my memory.”
Lynda laughed, the sound echoing in the house that had seemed too quiet since her return from Sapphire Bay. Having Amy visit for the day was a welcome change from the emptiness she’d felt moving through the spacious rooms alone.
They’d been working for hours, sorting through decades of accumulated papers, photographs, and memorabilia. It was part of Lynda’s plans to prepare the house for its eventual sale. Boxes labeled “Keep,” “Donate,” and “Discard” were gradually filling up, though the “Keep” box remained stubbornly small despite Amy’s attempts to preserve more family heirlooms.
“What about these?” Amy asked, holding up a stack of photo envelopes. “They’re from your thirtieth wedding anniversary trip to Hawaii.”
Lynda hesitated, then reached for the packet. She hadn’t looked at these photos in a long time. She’d deliberately avoided any images from what had turned out to be her final vacation with her husband. Six months later, she’d discovered Ray’s affair.
Her hands were surprisingly steady as she opened the envelope. There they were—her and Ray on the beach, hiking to waterfalls, at a luau with ridiculous flower leis around their necks. She looked genuinely happy in the photos, and Ray had his arm around her in most of them, his smile matching hers.
“You both look really good,” Amy said carefully, watching Lynda’s reaction. “It was a nice trip, wasn’t it?”
“It was,” Lynda agreed, studying the images with a sense of detachment that would have been impossible a few years ago. “I remember feeling so grateful that we’d made it to thirty years, that we still enjoyed each other’s company enough to travel together.”
“Did you have any idea then?” Amy asked softly. “About Melissa?”
Lynda shook her head. “Not a clue. That’s what made it all so surreal when I found out. I kept thinking there must be some mistake, that the person in those text messages couldn’t possibly be the same man who’d held my hand as we walked along a Hawaiian beach six months earlier.”
She set the photos down, surprised to discover that the familiar knot of anger and hurt that usually accompanied memories of Ray had loosened considerably. The betrayal was still there, the facts unchanged, but the sharp edge of the pain had dulled to a distant ache.
“You seem different when you talk about him now,” Amy observed. “Less angry.”
“Do I?” Lynda considered this. “I suppose I am. Ten years is too long to be bitter.”
“It’s more than that,” Amy insisted, studying her mother with the perceptive gaze she’d inherited from Lynda herself. “It’s like you’ve finally let go of it. You used to get this tight look around your eyes whenever Dad’s name came up, but it’s not there anymore.”
Lynda thought about what Amy had said as she returned the photos to their envelope. There was truth in what she’d said. The burning sense of injustice, of having been fooled and discarded after decades of shared life, was her constant companion for years after Ray left. It had fueled her determination to succeed on her own, to prove she didn’t need him or anyone else.
