Page 68 of Tattered Edges

She was being modest, or at least trying, and I let her have that.

“Is your husband French?”

“Antoine, yes. We met very young, while we were in school, back when I thought I wanted to be a designer. Turns out, I wasn’t as good at it as I hoped I’d be,” she said teasingly. “But I fell in love in Paris, so I wasn’t too terribly disappointed.”

Earlier, back at the bookstore, I noticed the poise of the woman who sat across from me. I was beginning to understand where it came from. I didn’t know what sort of hardships she’d faced in life, and I was sure she had her own version of trouble, but she had a history infused with love and support. She’d gone after the life she wanted, and she got it. That sort of contentment bred its own sort of confidence.

Our server came back to the table to pour our wine. The interruption served as a turning point in our conversation. Alone again, Iris asked, “What about you? I’d love to hear what made you decide to take over Tattered Edges. I’m sure it was a bit of a shock to learn of the place.

“I must admit, I knew you were out there prior to my brother’s passing—your father, if you don’t mind me calling him that, given the circumstances. I was surprised he’d left you the shop. Though, I probably shouldn’t have been.”

“Wait, what?” I stammered, furrowing my brow in confusion. “He told you about me?”

She took a breath and let it out slowly before she answered, “Yes. Sawyer and I were very close, you see, even with the distance that spanned between us. After he readAll the Shades of Summer, he called me straight away. He was convinced it wasn’t all fiction, and the daughter in the novel was Maeve’s. If it were true, he knew that same daughter had to have been his.

“I won’t claim to know much about their whirlwind romance, but I know it was real, and it broke his heart when it ended. At first, I thought his hypothesis was a bit of a stretch—but then he looked you up. Your age fit the timeline, and your eyes…”

She paused and stared at me a moment, like she had earlier. Then she shook away her daze and continued, “Having read the novel myself, I think it’s fair to say your mother was heartbroken, too; but she was also hyper self-aware. She couldn’t love Sawyer enough to make him stay, and so she claimed you as the embodiment of the closest she would ever get to true love.

“But, of course, you read the novel. I’m not telling you anything you couldn’t interpret yourself.”

My chest tightened as my mind whirled. Even while sitting, I felt a little off balance after everything she’d said.

“I—I haven’t. I haven’t read it. I—I didn’t have the best relationship with my mother.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. I just assumed…”

Her voice trailed off, her sentence abandoned, but I hardly noticed. I didn’t even know where to begin. The thought of Maeve Nielsen in love was borderline unfathomable.

“Do you know how they met?”

“Of course. It was the summer before Sawyer turned twenty-two. He wanted to spend the season abroad, and the best way he could convince our father to let him go was to find himself an internship. He worked for a publishing company in New York City. He met Maeve at a small event—I believe it was the launch of her first novel. They hit it off straight away, and they were mad about each other for weeks.

“But when her first book didn’t sell as well as she’d hoped, she became obsessed with writing the next one, and what they had fell apart, as young love tends to do.”

I sat back in my chair, trying to absorb what I’d just heard.

Our first course was served, but I ignored it as I asked, “Did you two talk about why he never reached out to me? After he found out?”

Iris’s mouth curved in a sad smile as she spread her cloth napkin across her lap. “He was convinced it wasn’t what Maeve would have wanted. And you had a life—one he didn’t want to disrupt.”

“But leaving me an entire bookstore in another country isn’t the least bit disruptive.”

I was surprised and a little embarrassed by the petulance in my voice, but I couldn’t help it. The warning sting of tears could be felt at the back of my nose, and I didn’t want to cry.

“I know it’s a sorry excuse,” said Iris tenderly. “I blame Juliet. Not entirely, because a man is responsible for his own actions, but I think his marriage would have been intolerable if he sought after you. She’s an impossibly possessive woman. Even the idea that he’d loved someone before her would have set her off.

“You mentioned you didn’t receive the warmest welcome from the Blackstones, and while I am sorry about that, I’m not the least bit surprised.”

I finally reached for my napkin, spreading it across my lap to occupy my hands more than anything else.

“He knew all of this, and yet he left me the bookstore anyway. He knew if I took it—or even if I didn’t—I’d have to face his family all on my own.”

It struck me howthiswas the firstrealconversation about the man I’d had. Everyone else who’d told me about him did so telling me only the best parts of him; the parts they wanted to remember in the wake of loss.

While I’d entertained thoughts of his lack of bravery, it hit anew sitting across from the only person left alive who’d known him most of his life.

“Oh, my dear, I know this must be hard to hear,” Iris murmured, leaning closer to me with an expression which mirrored her tone. “I hate how it all turned out. All of us strangers until now. But if you’ll allow me the chance to paint your father in a more tolerable light?”

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