I'll Be Your Blue Sky (Love Walked In #3)(48)

Six months in, John found her out.

When she thought about it afterward, after Alice and her children were gone, after John came back and stood on her porch for the second time in two days, as close to truly angry as she’d ever seen him, and said, “I hope to God you know what you’re doing, Edith,” she realized he had been bound to find out sooner or later. Because if John Blanchard were good at anything, and he was good at many things, it was paying attention. Also, and perhaps more significantly, he loved her. How far that love went, whether it crossed over from simple friendship into the territory of being in love, she wasn’t sure, and he never let on, but she knew this: John Blanchard was her best friend and he loved her. He loved her and looked out for her and, moreover, seemed instinctively to understand when she was sad or worried or hungry for conversation or for the matchless, soul-nourishing camaraderie of laughing with another person. So when she began keeping a secret from him, it made sense that he would know this, too.

The June night that Alice and her two children, a one-year-old girl and a five-year-old boy, were to arrive at Blue Sky House, Edith was more nervous than usual. She’d gotten word the night before that because of some kind of safety concern that forced them to leave the place they were coming from, wherever that was, they would be arriving earlier than was usual for downstairs guests, as Edith had come to think of them, at around ten o’clock, instead of after midnight or just before dawn. Fortunately, there were no upstairs guests booked for that night, but ten seemed so early. Some houses along her street, as sedate as the street was, would no doubt still have lights on; people might even be out, walking dogs or coming home after a late dinner in a restaurant. To distract herself from worrying, Edith kept busy, tidying up the already pin-neat downstairs bedroom, getting the chicken out of the oven and carving it. By now she knew that the women who came either had no appetite or were ravenous, and, if they didn’t fall asleep immediately, the children would almost always eat. By 9:45, though, Edith was so jittery that all she could do was sit in a kitchen chair and watch the clock.

At 9:55, a knock at her door—the front door, not the back—scared her so much that she jumped out of her chair. Alice must have gotten her instructions wrong. Heart drumming, hands shaking, Edith opened the door, ready to hustle the three of them in as quickly as she could. But it was John. He wore street clothes rather than his uniform, and in his hand was a book about birds he’d borrowed the week before. His smile vanished as soon as he saw her, and she knew he’d noticed, as of course he would, her flustered state.

“Hey,” he said, taking a step toward her, concern in his eyes. “Are you all right?”

Edith brushed her hand over her hair and forced out a laugh. “Oh, my! I guess I was lost in thought when you knocked, and it startled me nearly out of my skin. How ridiculous I am!”

She stepped out onto the porch, trying to keep outwardly calm, while inwardly, she sifted frantically through her options, the best of which seemed to be getting rid of John as quickly as possible.

“Are you sure that’s all?” he asked.

“Well, the truth is I feel a bit feverish. I think I’m getting a cold, and I would hate to give it to you. There’s nothing so crummy as a summer cold, is there?”

“I’m sorry you’re not well. Want me to run out for anything? Orange juice? Tea? Cold medicine?”

“You’re so kind, but no. I’m all stocked up on, well, just about everything! Now, you should go before I infect you.”

But John stood his ground, and just then, Edith heard a faint knocking on the back door. John heard it, too. He craned his neck, trying to look past her, through the house.

“Was that knocking?” he said.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” she said, glancing over her shoulder.

The knocking came again, this time louder.

John’s eyes met hers. “There’s someone at your door, Edith. Are you expecting someone?”

“Well, I—” She paused, her mind racing. “You know, some guests were supposed to arrive this evening, but they never did. I bet that’s them.”

“At your back door? I didn’t see a car drive up.”

“Oh, it happens that way sometimes. You know how people can be,” she said, airily. “I should really go and let them in. I’ll see you soon, John.”

She turned to go, but John’s hand stopped the door from shutting behind her.

“I don’t feel good about this,” he said. “I think you should let me go see who it is.”

He stepped into the house, just as the back door opened and a tentative voice called, “Hello? Is anyone here?” and then, sharply, “Johnny! Come back here!” Footsteps, and then a small boy with dark hair and a toy truck in his hand appeared, running toward them through the house. When he saw them, he skidded to a stop at the edge of the kitchen and stared, open-mouthed.

“Hello,” said John. He smiled and crouched so that he was eye level with the boy. “I see you’ve got a truck there.”

Mutely, the boy nodded uncertainly, but then a second later, he held the truck out for John’s inspection. “It’s a dump truck,” he said. “You can put stones in it. Or dirt.”

“Johnny, darling.” A woman with a baby cradled in one arm stepped out of the shadowed living room and into the light. John stood up when he saw her, and at the sight of him, she froze, her eyes darkening and darting from John’s face to Edith’s. She touched a hand, a long, beautiful hand, to her lip, which was swollen and crusted over with blood, and then moved it to her bruised cheek. When Johnny ran to her and threw his arms around her legs, she winced with pain.