“She didn’t like him earning less than her?”
“She used to give him crap about it constantly! She didn’t respect him for it, hated that he liked his job as a groundskeeper and was happy with what he earned. She wanted him to strive for more, to be ambitious like her. She pushed him to go for the student services job even though he loved working on the grounds, and when he got it, she still wasn’t satisfied. She always looked down on him for not being better educated. I honestly thought it would be the breaking of them, that she’d divorce him and find someone more suited, but she never did.And somewhere along the line, I guess she made peace with her demons.”
I’m stunned. I had no idea about any of this.
“They never would have stayed together if it wasn’t for me,” Bailey adds.
That’s what happened, I realize. Sheryl fell pregnant with Bailey by accident.
Would a woman as proud as Sheryl have admitted that having an affair with a groundskeeper was a mistake from the get-go? Wouldn’t she be determined to show everyone that Dad was the love of her life so she could justify breaking up a marriage? I could imagine her putting her mind to making the relationship work, even if, behind closed doors, she wasn’t happy.
But theyhavemade it work. I genuinely don’t get the impression that they’re putting on any sort of act. Not now, not for me.
Sheryl is in her mid-sixties now. Retired. And she’s so much more chilled out than she used to be. I feel as though she’s made her peace with both the life she’s left behind and the one that’s laid out before her.
I’m glad of it.
Maybe when I was younger, I hoped that their relationship would collapse, that Bailey would be forced to go through what I’d had to go through and that Dad would regret ever leaving Mum and me. I was young and I was hurting. I was resentful and jealous. But I never should have wished what I went through on anyone. In fact, it hurts to think of Bailey having anything less than the truly happy childhood I’d always imagined she was having.
23
It’s Monday afternoon and I’m on my way into town on a mission to buy limes. Bailey and Casey are coming for dinner later and I’m cooking Mexican food, but I belatedly realized we had nowhere near enough juice for margaritas. I could have taken Dad’s car to go to the grocery store, but I felt like stretching my legs, so I opted to walk. It was a decision I regretted within about five minutes.
It’s a searing hot day with twenty-four-mile-per-hour winds that make it seem as though I’m walking inside a giant hair dryer. Dust is hitting my face, striking my sunglasses and clinging to my lips, and my hair is whipping my cheeks. By the time I reach the grocery store in town, I’m hot, sweaty, dirty, and parched.
Propping my sunglasses on top of my head, I approach the electronic doors, all too ready to welcome the air-conditioning inside. But they open before I get there and a harassed-looking woman emerges, clutching the hand of a curly-haired child who could bring down the sky with the force of his screams.
“Oh, hi!” I say when I realize it’s Heather.
Her curly-haired toddler is trying to pull her back into theshop, roaring, “I WANT IT! I WANT IT!” with a bright red, tear-stricken face. It’s as though his life depends on having whatever it is he’s set his sights on.
Heather’s expression is murderous, but now she also looks confused.
“Sorry, I’m Wren,” I say quickly, having to raise my voice to make myself heard. “My dad and stepmother own Wetherill Farm.”
She shakes her head at me impatiently. “And?”
“You were there recently? With your family? Picking peaches? I was just saying hi.”
She is staring at me with disbelief that I’d apprehend her under these—or possibly any—circumstances.
“Never mind. I’ll let you go,” I mumble.
She mutters something under her breath as she drags her child to a car, and I’m blushing as I walk into the grocery store.
The women at the checkout counter are sniggering conspiratorially and I have a feeling they’re talking about Heather, but they straighten their faces at the sight of me and one of them calls out a welcome.
“Let us know if you need help with anything!”
“Thanks, I will.”
It’s a lovely store, selling not only fresh produce, but handmade local gifts like soap, perfume, cards, toys, and jewelry. I find limes quickly, but take my time wandering, sipping from the ice-cold bottle of water I’ve pulled from a drinks fridge and letting the cool air chill my heated blood as I sniff the scented soaps and sample the perfume.
By the time I’ve paid and left, my insides have cooled to a more bearable temperature.
Unfortunately, within five minutes of walking, I’m all hotand bothered again. I’m heading over the bridge when I spy the Gator driving along the grassy verge in the distance. It’s almost level with me as I come out onto the road and my face breaks into a grin at the sight of Anders at the wheel.
“You want a lift?” he shouts, pulling to a stop.
