“That man is your father. For the first time ever, I’m seeing Lincoln Thomas in front of me. And the loss of the man I thought you were is going to wreck me for the rest of my life. You’re forgetting the one common factor here—Mrs. Tremont is a person. A fellow human being. You don’t know her story. You are threatening to hurt a person. Think about it. Think hard.”
Her parting words hit me in the chest, rendering me mute.
She shut the door behind her, the silence screaming in ferociousness.
21
Linc
I trolled the house for hours, unable to stay still. I walked through rooms I hadn’t been in for years, staring at walls, pictures, opening closets. I wondered if any of the items I saw were picked by my mother, or if my father had destroyed everything she touched and replaced them. It was an endless loop, and eventually I was able to discern a few items I could recall her touching fondly or watching her hang. I picked them up and found a box, then transferred them to the trunk of my car.
Most of the rooms on the upper floors were empty, my father long having cleared them out after he sent me away. The attic was a vast cavern of dust and emptiness. The basement produced an unexpected find of a case of rare scotch. My father never stinted when it came to his own pleasure. Business associates received a simple glass of decent scotch, while my father’s cut crystal glass held the finest of spirits. God forbid Franklin Thomas sip something from a liquor store shelf.
I dusted off the bottles, staring at the label. A memory stirred from the far recesses of my mind. My mother, holding out a glass of scotch to my father, a playful look on her face, refusing to give it to him until she got a kiss. His face, which I could usually see in my mind with a permanent scowl, had softened, and he kissed her with a gentleness I never associated with him. Then he snatched the glass and walked away, laughing.
I blinked as the memory took hold. It was the one time I had ever heard my father laugh. Or seen real intimacy between my parents. I would have been two or three at the time, and every other memory I had was of my mother. The ones including my father were filled with coldness on his part, sadness on my mother’s. Sunny’s words came back to me.
“Maybe that was how your father started. There must have been some good in him at some point. Your mother loved him enough to marry him.”
She was right. My mother must have loved him at some point. When had things changed for them?
I carried the scotch upstairs, planning on giving it to Ned. He was a scotch man, whereas I preferred whiskey. I paused as I wondered if that was because I associated the liquor with my father.
I drove the car down into town, parking it behind the darkened bakery. I knew I wouldn’t sleep—the war inside my head was too loud for that to happen, so once again, I walked. I covered miles as the town slept. I went around the center of town, pausing as memories stirred. Older, forgotten memories surfaced of my parents. My life before my mother died. There were a few good ones, but mostly sad. My mother’s face, pale and forlorn as she stared out the window. Picked at her dinner, looking over at the empty chair my father usually sat in. I recalled raised voices, my mother’s pleadings, and so often, my father walking out of the house, the door slamming behind him.
I ended up at The Sunny Place, sitting on the swings, gazing at the spot where we used to hide out in my car. I walked down to the bluff, staring at the water, the breeze stinging my eyes. I didn’t light a fire or stay too long—my restless feet wouldn’t allow that. I circled everything old but familiar, all that was new and helping the town. I grunted in grim satisfaction that at least I had done that right.
I stood across from the bakery, staring at the simple sign and the large plate glass windows. The health inspection certificate stating the premises was “under inspection” made me furious, knowing why it was there and the damage it could do to Sunny’s business, especially given the time of year.
I fisted my hands, my determination growing once again. I crossed the street, using the back door, and went upstairs. I slipped into the apartment, finding Abby asleep on the sofa, no doubt waiting for me to return. I had shut off my phone, wanting to be alone. She stirred as I walked in, sitting up, rubbing her eyes.
“Where have you been?”
“Walking.”
She peered at the clock. “It’s three in the morning.”
“A lot of walking,” I added.
“Have you come to your senses?”
Obviously, Sunny had told Abby what had occurred between us. I didn’t want to fight with her too. I ran a hand through my hair, feeling weary.
“If you mean, am I going to do everything I can to protect Sunny, then yes, my senses are perfectly clear.”
She stood, gathering the blanket around her. “Linc—”
I held up my hand. “I don’t want to hear it.”
“You are going to regret this.”
I leaned against the counter, resting on my hands. I took in a long breath, letting it out slowly. “I will always regret losing Sunny. But once I fix this and leave, her life will be better. She’s right. Our past is always going to get in the way. At least I’ll live knowing she’s been taken care of. I’ll deed the building to her so she’s set financially, and we’ll carry on without each other.”
“You don’t mean that.”
I pushed off the counter, suddenly angry. “Sadly, this is real life, Abby, not a romance novel. I can’t make it better and have the girl. Bottom line is once we got over finding each other again, we would probably discover we had grown too far apart. It’s for the best.”
I ignored the voice screaming in my head that I was wrong. I had to be strong right now.
Abby shook her head, but I didn’t want to listen to her.
“I’m leaving today. You can stay here—it’s fine. I’m going to take some time and do some rearranging of the business. Anything I need, I’ll contact you. At least here, you’re safe.”
She crossed her arms. “So, that’s it, then. You’re going to blow off the best thing in your life and turn your back on me as well.”
“I’m sorry you see it that way.”
She tilted her head, narrowing her eyes as she studied me. “I have never been ashamed of you before, but I am now,” she huffed, then turned and stormed off to her room, shutting the door firmly behind her.
I didn’t react.
There were no emotions left to react to.
Except my anger. And that was burning hot and bright.
I showered, dressed in a suit, then threw the last few things in my bag that had reappeared in the apartment. No doubt, Sunny had given it to Abby. I paused before heading out the door, laying the key on the table. My fingers brushed the metal, the dull ache in my chest I had been feeling for hours becoming more toxic. With a low curse, I picked up the bag and headed down the staircase. My steps faltered as I reached the bottom, the sound of Sunny’s voice reaching me. I listened as she gave instructions to her staff, her tone calm, steady, yet authoritative.
“We’re taking the list one item at a time. Once it’s done, we’ll move on to the next. I’ve closed the bakery for the day so we can concentrate. Together, we’ll get it right.”