“What are you doing?”
“Well, for starters, cutting his salary by 60 percent. And by becoming an employee of Evergreen Farm and making twice his salary myself. Theo made quite a sacrifice, convincing the rest of the Watkins family of my plan.” She hesitated, then lowered her voice. “For a long time I’ve known that the Watkinses hold on to the tree farm for sentimental purposes. They spend any profit on their employees.”
“So . . . Dad.”
She nodded. “Your father, and the few part-time employees who come in for the harvesting season. So when Theo told me they’d agreed to essentially double our income, well . . .” She shook her head. “I don’t think they agreed. I think he’s paying me independently. He denied it when I pressed, but . . .”
Skye sat back, stunned.
Her mother cleared her throat. “And then, of course, I think hosting the Gamblers Anonymous group in our home once a week is starting to make an impression on your father too.”
“Those are all gambling addicts?” Skye said, her world turned entirely upside down now. She’d seen the group coming to their double-wide every week, the average-looking men and women carrying potluck dishes. Laughing. Doing and looking as normal friends do.
“They’re all people who struggle with gambling addiction,” her mother replied. “Yes.”
“And now you’re working on the farm too?”
At this her mother looked absolutely smug as she lifted her chin. “Maintenance supervisor, at your service,” she replied. “A cute little title Theo and I thought up. I’ve always wanted to be a supervisor.”
“In other words . . .”
“In other words, I do exactly what I’ve always done and nothing more. I keep your father in line.”
Skye stared at her mother, at this woman who was twenty steps ahead of her. “So . . . does Dad know?”
“He’s a proud man, Skye. He wouldn’t ask if he did. He prefers to pretend none of this is happening.” She shrugged. “So I pretend along with him.”
“And you guys have enough money. You don’t have to live here.”
Skye’s mother’s smile softened. “Honey, this is our home. My daughter lives in a beautiful cottage across the road. My husband walks to work. And these walls carry the millions of wonderful memories of where I raised our family. Why would I ever leave?”
With her mother softly turning back toward the old stove, Skye finally felt like she had nothing more to ask or say. So instead she looked. Looked at the breakfast table where she’d talked with her mom and eaten every meal before jumping on the school bus. At the china cabinet in the corner carrying all the knickknacks and centerpieces her mother used around the dining room table every holiday. At the couch and recliner where her dad sat in the evenings with her mother, read the paper, and watched TV.
Her mother wasn’t poor. She wasn’t scraping pennies from her coin purse because she had no other option.
She was just content. And had enough healthy self-awareness to live out her contentment.
And Theo? Theo wasn’t just the man who’d understood her mother, who’d kept her secret, who’d been there for her. He was the one who’d been saving her parents all along.
Chapter 15
Skye
Three weeks later
Skye strolled down the herringbone brick sidewalk of Abingdon, gift bag swinging from her fingertips, the giant blue bow knocking her knees. She took her time, feeling the warm early-May breeze seize her hair and lift it momentarily, leaving a tingle along the back of her neck. Pink pansies in two hanging baskets cheered up the black streetlamp outside Katbird’s Wine & Gourmet Shoppe, and her gaze drifted to the large windows and the display of cheese beside handcrafted Italian pottery. She stopped. Took a step toward the seafoam vase nestled beside crystal glasses. Her mother would love it.
She made a note to pop in on the way back from the shower and give it a closer look.
She walked past the Tavern, admiring the mossy slate roof. Another breeze swept her green silk jumpsuit softly across her skin. She slowed to read a couple lines on the plaque about its construction in 1779.
This was the third time she’d worn the jumpsuit in three weeks—the first with Theo, the second when she went to dinner with Luke and some of the old gang (where, sure enough, Luke had confirmed Theo’s lasagna-making expertise). She could’ve bought or chosen another outfit for his wife’s baby shower. But this was what she wanted to wear, she realized, as she looked through her closet this morning. And she was trying these days to practice doing the things she liked without regard for what anyone else might think. To be a bit more like her mother.
She walked past several more colonial-era buildings, taking in both the ancient architecture and the trees lining Main Street. Traffic went by, some tourists destined for the Barter Theatre with its flapping maroon and yellow flags, some citizens moving through town about their business. Skye lifted the Raven’s coffee cup to her lips, no quicker or slower than before.
The moment was worth lingering over.
Her steps slowed just before a four-way crossing as a sign came into view. A brown sign with bold script written across it: Theodore Watkins III, Financial Adviser.
She stopped. Looked up to the redbrick, colonial-style office building. Considered taking a step toward the door.
But like the rest of the windows, the six glass panes revealing the foyer inside were dark, the office void of life. Just as well. She’d do best apologizing when her schedule was clear.
She knew what she wanted to say, and it could take a while.
Another three blocks and Skye stopped at the Barter. Turned left into the grand entrance to the historic building across from it. Smiled politely to the two teenage valets of the Martha Washington Inn and descended the steps. Garden art and quiet porticos greeted her as she walked along the winding brick path leading to one of the Martha’s many entrances.
As she approached the door, she moved the baby shower gift to her left hand and opened the door with her right. She stepped onto the plush, olive-colored carpet and turned toward the spa, where Tracy, with stomach protruding, was finishing up a cut and color before her party started.
Skye stopped.
The baby rattle inside the gift bag jingled as it dropped to her feet.
Slowly, she took a step toward the first row of gilded paintings, her eyes wide. The waves crashed onto the sand of the Seattle coastline, the marine life beneath a seafoam green sea, the boulder and its crop of trees protruding just off the shore in the midst of the sea. She’d completed and sold this series years ago. Her finger traced her own signature along the bottom edge. The black plaque beside it with gold lettering announced: Display Only.
How?
She looked down the wall, counted. One, two, three, four, five.
At the end of the hall, Tracy turned the corner and grinned when she spotted Skye. “There you are! I just finished up. Ready to go?”
Skye drew up her finger at the largest painting, felt her mouth hanging open like that of a codfish. “How did these get here?”
Tracy raised a brow. “You didn’t know? I assumed you knew. Theo brought them in two weeks ago.”
“Theo?” Skye’s throat was drying fast. “But how? How did he have them—?” She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, finding the questions coming faster than she could process.