Hearts Divided (Cedar Cove #5.5)(65)

“But I’ve made her unhappy. I wish you’d come to the party at the Orchard Inn.”

“I was behind on the remodel for Pete and Celia.”

“Ha!”

“Ha?”

“You were afraid I’d have a glass of champagne or two, and start reminiscing about Elizabeth’s Christmastime adventure and say this is the boy who saved her. This is Elizabeth’s hero.”

Clara had made the pronouncement with fondness twenty-seven years ago. There was more fondness now.

“I was behind on the remodel,” Nick repeated, smiling. “I’m not afraid of your introducing me as that boy. I just don’t want you to.”

“I know, Nick. And I won’t. I do wish you’d been at the party, though.”

“I don’t know Elizabeth, Clara. There’s no way I would’ve been able to tell if she and Matthew were right for each other.”

“You’d have been able to tell. You’d have been able to see…” Clara sighed again.

“See what?”

“That Matthew’s not in love with my granddaughter. There,” she continued without a pause. “I’ve said what I could never say to Elizabeth. But it’s what I believe, Nick. And it scares me for her.”

Nick hadn’t had a chance to reflect upon, much less dispute, Clara’s assertion that he’d be able to see—or even sense—the presence or absence of love. But he heard himself say something astonishing. “It scares me for her, too.”

Four

In what should have been the final hour of Elizabeth’s seven-and-a-half-hour journey to Sarah’s Orchard, the drive became treacherous. The two-lane road from Medford was somewhat perilous in broad daylight when the pavement was dry. But in darkness, when rain fell…

Eight hours and forty-five minutes after she’d pulled away from the curb in San Francisco, Elizabeth reached the crest of a driveway down which—or so she’d been told—she’d scampered on a long-ago winter night.

It was almost ten. Would Gram be awake?

The glowing house lights told her yes.

The lights were blurry. The rain was drenching. The downpour was not, however, the only reason for the watery blur.

Since her glimpse into Matthew’s bedroom, Elizabeth had kept her emotions as tightly sequestered as a deliberating jury in a high-profile trial. But as she neared the safe haven of her grandmother’s home, those emotions escaped in a flood of tears.

“Now who could that be?” Clara wondered when the doorbell rang.

“No one you want to see,” Nick replied. “Not at this hour.”

Nick had personally installed the farmhouse’s burglar alarm. It was state-of-the-art—every window, all the doors, panic buttons at various locations throughout the home. He had an uneasy feeling that Clara hadn’t turned it on since Charles’s death.

Now, at 10:00 p.m., she had no qualms about opening the door to whoever happened by on what had become a soggy night.

“You’ve come over this late.”

“Not without a warning call.”

“This is Sarah’s Orchard, Nick.” She stood up from the kitchen table and gave Nick, who was washing dishes, a gentle pat. “I’ll scream if it’s anyone sinister.”

Nick wiped his soapy hands and followed. He stopped short of the door and off to the side, invisible to the visitor, but a step away from intervening if Clara needed him.

“Elizabeth!”

“Hi, Gram.”

“Come in, darling girl.” The hand that had patted Nick’s arm went to her granddaughter’s cheek. “Tears.”

“And rain.” Elizabeth lifted the rain-spattered box she’d taken from the trunk before dashing to the covered porch. “Lots of rain. Not that it matters if these get soaked.”

“What are they?” Clara asked as Elizabeth walked inside.

“My wedding invitations. I thought we could build a fire with them.”

“The design didn’t work out as well as you’d hoped?”

“The design’s fine. It’s the wedding that’s not so good.”

“Oh, Elizabeth.”

“How did you know, Gram? About Matthew?”

“What happened?”

“He was supposed to be in New York, on the business trip he told you about last weekend. I went to his house, to leave one of the invitations for him. He wasn’t in New York. And he wasn’t alone. He was with the woman he’d been involved with before he and I got together.”

“Is he still alive?” Nick stepped into her line of sight as he spoke.

“Oh!” You. Whoever you are.

She’d seen him twice, briefly—but memorably. The first time had been eighteen months ago, in the neurology ward at the Keeling Clinic, the day Granddad was admitted with his stroke. He’d been standing at the periphery of the crowded waiting room of friends who’d remained at the medical center until Clara’s family arrived. He’d disappeared shortly thereafter. But in the few moments before he’d vanished, and even though her focus had been on rushing to Gram’s side, she’d been acutely aware of him.

It felt as if he, too, was at Clara’s side. Despite how far away he stood. At Gram’s side, protecting her—and Granddad. Guarding them with his life.