Page 26 of Trapped and Tackled

I bite my bottom lip when I ascend the porch steps and turn to give him a little wave before I enter the house. Part of me feels like I’m floating, the time spent with Talon making me giddy.

My parents are already asleep so I get ready for bed. When I climb beneath the covers and check my phone, Craig’s messages appear. For a handful of hours, I nearly forgot about them. About him.

At the reminder, a coldness sweeps through my limbs, replacing the warmth my evening with Talon provided.

Craig: I’m not going to wait forever, Leni.

Craig: You know I’m not a patient man.

Craig: But for you, I’m trying.

Craig: We belong together, Leni. I won’t just let you go.

Shaking my head, I place my phone screen-down and don’t bother replying. Tonight was good and I’m proud of myself for not allowing Craig to ruin in.

Instead, I go to bed feeling more fulfilled, lighter, than I have in ages.

Right before I doze off, I realize I never asked Talon about the top of his bucket list. Or if he has one at all.

“And Mr. Stanson will do the opening remarks,” Marylee shares as the other ladies look down at the their binders, taking notes.

“What about Mr. McIntyre?” Anna Louise asks.

Silence settles over the group. I sit up straighter, my curiosity piqued at the mention of Marlowe’s grandfather.

Marylee glances around the group before lowering her voice. “He’s not attending.”

Sarah Gilbert gasps.

Margaret Jeffries shakes her head, looking disgusted. “Because of the scandal.”

Scandal? I look at Mom. She looks just as bewildered as I feel.

Marlowe didn’t tell me about a scandal…

Mom leans closer and, like a gust of wind, my body follows suit.

“His granddaughter—” Marylee starts.

“Marlowe?” Mom wonders.

“Adeline,” Anna Louise clarifies. Marlowe’s younger sister.

“Caught him putting his hands on Samantha,” Marylee continues.

“That’s his third wife.” Anna Louise glances at Mom and me to catch us up to speed. But of course, I already know that. Marlowe was horrified when her grandfather married Samantha, a woman “only eight years old than me!” Marlowe had cried.

Mom’s body slouches, as if the news is a physical blow. But it is. It always is.

And for me, I feel it right through my chest. My fingers absently reach for the side of my neck, graze along my collarbone.

Craig’s ignored text messages flicker through my mind. Oh, but he must be reeling with anger.

Grandpa McIntyre hit his wife. I shake my head in disbelief, recalling all the dinners I had in his home.

Why didn’t Marlowe tell me?

“Mr. Stanson pushed him out,” Sarah offers, albeit uncertainly.

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