Much Ado About You(39)
“Phil adores her. He’s a great guy and has been a wonderful stepfather, but he seems to have this unending reserve of patience and support for her.”
“And you?”
“I’m tired.” I smiled sadly through the tears that slipped quietly down my cheeks. “I’m tired of disappointment. For years it’s been a cycle of picking her up off the kitchen floor and putting her to bed, or getting a call from some stranger in a supermarket because my mom is so far gone, she can’t even remember how she got there. And then her remorse, her determination to get sober.
“And . . . it’s the hope, Roane. No matter how many times she disappoints me, that stupid, fucking useless hope won’t go away. It won’t listen to reason. Because she’s not a bad person. She’s a really good person, funny and sweet, with a big heart. She just has this huge weakness . . . and I don’t know how much more my heart can take.”
He pulled me back into his embrace, his lips against my temple, and I clung to him. I’d met him just a little over four weeks ago, and yet I felt like I’d known him my whole life. Like he’d been waiting here for me my whole life.
“What do I do?” I whispered, clinging to this human life raft he offered. “I don’t know what to do. Do I walk away for good or do I try again?”
“I wish I could give you an answer.” His voice sounded husky, as if abraded by a wound. Like he was hurting for me. The thought made my heart ache even more. “But only you can decide that, Evie. The good thing is, you’re here. You’re not there. And you have time to make that decision. You don’t have to make it right now. Just be here, Evie, with me. Your mum, Chicago, all of that . . . for once it can wait. Until you’re ready. Just be here with me,” he repeated in a whisper.
I held on tighter, inhaling Roane’s now familiar scent, feeling his hard strength wrapped around me.
The ache in my chest settled, dissipated.
“I can do that,” I whispered in return.
His embrace tightened.
Eleven
As if the weather gods knew today was a big day for Caro, the sun was out, the sea breeze was held in check by the buildings surrounding us, and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.
It was Market Day.
For the past few weeks, Roane had been dropping off leaflets at shops and with acquaintances, advertising Market Day. The hope was that they’d spread the news.
Apparently, they had.
The streets were lined with cars before we’d even finished setting up our stalls. The residents had agreed for us to block off Main Street for our market, so they knew if they wanted to drive out of the village today, they’d need to take the back road through the woodlands.
My stall with books and tourist trinkets was situated right next to Caro’s stall so I could be on hand if she needed me. Her hands shook as she set everything up. After scouring the internet, Caro had found clear cabinets to display her baked goods all the while keeping them fresh. Mini chalkboards were placed in front of each row detailing what they were and how much they cost. The kitchen at my apartment looked like a hurricane had passed through it because her aunt Helena, furious about the market, wouldn’t let her use the kitchen at home to bake. Caro had used mine through the night so that her food would still be fresh for sale.
I was keeping a careful eye on her, worried that she hadn’t slept. Even more worried at the sight of those shaking hands.
“Can I help?” I asked, approaching her cautiously.
Her lovely red hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail, mostly because she’d had little time to get dressed this morning, and it softened her. Wisps of hair curled around her face, so different from the severe bun she usually wore.
She’d only brought a sweater with her to wear with her long skirt, and I’d somehow managed to convince her she’d be too hot. I’d given her a plain white crew-neck T-shirt of mine. It was too big, so I’d pulled it tight and knotted it at the base of her spine. The knot-tied shirt worked nicely with the loose, flowing skirt and showed off Caro’s teeny-tiny waist. For once she looked effortlessly stylish and her age. When she’d seen her appearance, her mouth opened in obvious protest but quickly clamped shut as she narrowed her gaze on her reflection.
After a quick perusal, she’d tilted her head in thought and smoothed her hands down her skirt. In that moment, I knew she’d made the decision to be brave and wear something her aunt would disapprove of. We’d left the apartment to load up carts, or trolleys as they called them here, with our stuff without another word.
Roane had been in the square with a few other villagers, setting up the stalls we’d rented. He’d left to park the rental van that had transported the stalls at his farm, and we hadn’t seen him since.
“I’m quite all right,” Caro replied softly, her eyebrows pinched together in a frown as her gaze darted toward the crowd that was waiting for us to announce the market was open. Annie Foster and her wife, Liz, had their stall of Liz’s artwork set up nearest to the crowd. Every now and then when someone would take a step toward the market, Annie would cough, look deliberately at her watch, and then glare at them.
I smirked as she did it again.
My smile fell, however, when I saw her wife shoot concerned looks somewhere over my shoulder. I didn’t need to turn to know the concern was because Maggie Foster had set up a stall with the artwork and jewelry she sold beside me. No one had told Maggie that her daughter and daughter-in-law would be there, if the pale shock on Maggie’s face was any evidence.