Page 75 of Keeping Secrets

Sappy, soapy ideas. She did her best to squash them.

She wanted to believe what he had said about that girl, that it was just a brother and sister kind of bond. She certainly looked young enough that the thought of anything romantic existing between the two of them made Keely feel queasy.

But she had already been proven to have terrible taste in men. Adam had presented her with a charming façade, and she had fallen for it. She had believed lie after lie.

So as much as she wanted to believe Travis – and she did believe him, deep down – she knew better than to trust herself.

Maybe romance just wasn’t for her. Certainly most people in recovery would tell her that it was too soon, that she had more healing to do before she should put any energy into a romantic relationship. Maybe she would never be ready. Maybe she would just be the quirky aunt devoted to her career with a beautiful life and plenty of friends and no husband ever.

Would that be so bad?

Regardless, she needed to stop thinking about Travis. She needed to focus on the present, not on some man who refused to be fully honest with her. It was a ridiculous way to spend her time and her precious energy.

It was a waste of headspace, that’s what.

She needed to be nurturing new friendships and repairing her relationships with her family, not worrying about what was going on in Travis’s head.

She needed to be building a solid foundation for her life, learning new skills and exploring career paths, not losing sleep over some guy.

She resolved not to give him another thought.

It didn’t work, of course. But her intentions were in the right place.

Finally, when she had frittered away enough time pacing back and forth along the coastline, it was time to walk up to Frances’s house. She arrived a few minutes early and stood admiring the view of Pelican Point for a moment before knocking on the door.

“There you are!” Frances said as she opened it. “I’m nearly ready. Come on in. We can leave in just a minute.”

“There’s no rush,” said Keely as she followed her inside.

“There most certainly is. You know how quickly the best produce disappears. I just can’t find my market bag. It has wheels, you see.”

Through the living room window, Keely could see the white-topped farmers market tents clustered in front of the Pelican Point lighthouse. Frances left the room for a few minutes, then came back with a frustrated look on her face.

“I just can’t find it anywhere.”

“We don’t need it,” Keely said. “I can carry everything.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course.” She pulled off the backpack she wore and showed Frances how big it opened up. It was empty aside from an assortment of other bags inside. She smiled at the nonagenarian and said, “I’m stronger than I look.”

Frances laughed. “You and me both. Okay, let’s go.”

Keely waited patiently as Frances buttoned up her sweater and picked up a fine wooden cane. Simply being in the presence of the older woman eased Keely’s troubled thoughts. She found it easy to be fully present when she was with Frances.

Frances didn’t lean on her cane as they made their way down to the market, but she did use it for stability now and then. Mostly its purpose seemed to be to prevent her from tipping over face first, particularly on her way downhill. The old lady was an enigma, robust and delicate at the same time. Her white hair whipped this way and that in the breeze. Luckily the sun was out, beaming warmth down onto their upturned faces and balancing out the chill of the breeze.

When they reached the market, Frances headed straight for a tent that sold no less than a dozen different varieties of apples.

“I have a hankering for apple pie,” she said to Keely. “What do you think of that?”

“I would love to make an apple pie.”

“That was another staple in our house growing up. We would go inland to the mountains and pick our own. Then we would store the whole lot down in the food cellar for months and months. All winter long, my grandmother would bake an apple pie nearly every day. It wasn’t considered a dessert, in our house. It was our favorite breakfast.”

“I love that.”

“Of course, my grandmother didn’t load them with sugar like some do. Just a touch, to bring out the natural sweetness of the apples. And plenty of spice.”

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