Page 90 of The Summer of Us

I smiled at her flushed cheeks. “What’s got you all excited, Sunny-girl?”

“Linc, did you know your mother used to paint watercolors?”

I scratched my head. “No.”

“Mrs. Miller was telling me as we looked through the books. She said your mother always loved to paint, even back in school. She says there’s one of her paintings in the library.”

“Wow. I’ll have to go see it.” A fragment of a memory floated in my head. “I recall an easel, I think. In the back sun-room. I remember a pencil behind her ear a lot. At least, I always thought it was a pencil. Maybe…it could have been a paintbrush.” I indicated the pile of items in her arms. “What are those?”

She laid the pile in front of me. “Your mother’s paintings, Linc.”

I gaped at her. “What?”

“They were in a box, upstairs in one of the closets.”

I picked one up, studying it. Pretty, light, and feminine, it was a good painting. The use of light was wonderful, and I could see how talented she had been. And priceless to me because of who painted it. “Are we sure these are my mother’s?” I asked.

“Yes. Look at the bottom. She always signed her pictures the same way. With simply a W. Mrs. Miller said she always used her initial.”

I spread out the collection, looking at them. There were six in all. All similar in composition, all signed with a W.

I gripped Sunny’s hand. “I remember these. In the hallway. There used to be one over the mantle in the den, but then it was gone. They all disappeared.”

“That’s the one in the library, Linc. Your mother gave it to them. Mrs. Miller said you could have it back if you wanted.”

I gazed at the paintings. Pieces of my mother I didn’t even know existed. Small treasures. I swallowed the lump in my throat. “These would have gone when the house did,” I murmured. “I never would have known.” Another memory hit me. “I remember a pile of canvases. They were piled by the door and then gone the next day. He must have gotten rid of them. But he must have forgotten about these.”

“We could try to find them. Advertise. Check out secondhand shops in the local area. Abby is searching the entire house in case we find any more, but she wanted me to come to show you these right away.”

I stared at the canvases. “No. I would like to think someone else is enjoying her work.” I turned to Sunny, pulling her close. “What a gift you’ve given me. Even if we don’t find any others, these are such amazing things to be able to have.” I dropped a kiss to her head. “Thank you.”

She beamed up at me. “You’re welcome.”

“I love you, Sunny-girl.”

She wrinkled her nose with a smile. “I know.”

24

Linc

The next two weeks proved two things to me.

One—the fact that I thought I couldn’t love Sunny more was wrong. The more I got to know this Sunny—the calm, sweet, vibrant woman she had become—the harder I fell. Gone were the days of hiding and of fear. I could touch her, kiss her anytime I wanted. Show her my affection. Accept hers. I loved her independent streak, the way she handled herself with her business, and all the people that involved. I was proud to stand beside her on the weekends, making coffee, stealing cookies, gorging on biscuits. I wasn’t too proud to clear tables, help take out the trash, or do anything that made her life a little easier.

And I was well rewarded for it.

Which led to my second discovery. Leaving her behind was simply not an option. We had a brief discussion about me returning to Toronto, coming back on weekends. It sounded like a good idea until we decided on our future. I kissed her in the early morning dawn and headed into Toronto, comforted by the fact that I would see her in a few days.

But by three a.m. on the third night of not being able to sleep, I knew I was fucked. Without Sunny beside me, I couldn’t rest. And even with Abby in the office, I couldn’t concentrate, and neither could Abby. I didn’t even wait, driving back in the middle of the night. I left Abby a message, and by the morning, we were both back in Mission Cove, and neither of us planned on leaving for any great length of time.

The apartment over Sunny’s was now Abby’s. I’d planned to rent a hotel room for the sake of appearance, but Sunny had laughed and called me old-fashioned. She was right. No one cared, and I was happier with her. Abby felt safe in Mission Cove. Carl was back in jail and her mother had disappeared, but knowing Abby was among friends who would watch out for her when I wasn’t around gave me a sense of comfort I never thought I would get from the town of Mission Cove. Abby and Michael were growing closer, and we hoped they were able to help each other heal.

Another odd thing happened. As more people discovered who I was, there was no censure, no looks of dislike or distancing. I was surprised at the number of hugs I received, the welcome from people still living here that I used to know. Even odder, not a single person offered condolences on my father’s passing. Many of them spoke of my mother, and I was grateful to hear so many wonderful stories. It felt good to know her memory would live on here while my father’s terrible legacy died off, a mere whisper of the past. When they discovered the house was being taken down, there was a lot of excitement and curiosity about what would replace it. I kept my mouth shut, waiting for the final drawings to take to the town council on both matters. I wasn’t shocked when the mayor dropped in and told me he expected there to be no problem with my proposals. I had sat with him and his wife and laid out my plans, then left, allowing them to talk in private.

They were both smart enough to know what my ideas meant for their little town. The economic implications were staggering. I expected zero pushback. It was a good feeling though, to be able to go forward without using anything but my ideas and plans. I didn’t have to drop any veiled threats or use the past. My future was in my hands, and I was in control—nobody else. It felt right.

I sat in the sun out back of the bakery. Sunny had shown me the wide cement wall that ran along the edge of the property. She had a ladder propped against it and often sat with her back against the even higher wall beside it while she did work on her computer and enjoyed the sun, she explained. I had taken advantage of it a few times, using the privacy to make calls and arrangements I didn’t want her to know about. It also provided me with an unobstructed view of the house on the hill. I watched as people went in and out. Trucks pulled up, filled, and left. The final purge of my father’s things. Luckily, thanks to Sunny, I now had everything of my mother’s. It was she who pointed out the heavy copper pots in the back of the cupboards in the kitchen. The delicate china gathering dust in the bottom of the dining room hutch. The crystal I never remembered being used.