Page 52 of April Flowers

“What were you writing? Why are you reading my mother’s journals?”

Vic sighed and stretched his arms over his head. “Your mother is a fascinating woman, Margot. Maybe you don’t recognize that. You’re too close to the material.”

“Are you writing something about her? Are you using her?” Margot demanded.

Vic tutted. “Nothing like that, darling. I would never humiliate your mother publicly.”

“But you’d do it privately?”

Vic slipped past her and grabbed his coat. “Your mother and I go way, way back,” he said.

“I don’t understand,” Margot said.

“I suppose you wouldn’t,” he said sadly.

Margot searched his face. “I’m going to call the police.”

“Why would you do that? I’ve done nothing wrong. I’m a friend of your mother’s. Nantucketers can attest to the fact that I’ve spent a great deal of time with her over the past few months. Meanwhile, where were you?”

The words stung. Margot pulled her hair. “I don’t trust you.”

“You shouldn’t trust anyone, Margot Earnheart. Least of all the people you know the best,” Vic said. He jangled his keys and headed for the door. “Take care of yourself, won’t you? I’ll pick Lillian up for another round of cards in a few days.”

“You will not,” she said.

“Lillian does better when I’m around,” he said.

Margot flared her nostrils. “She’s a confused woman. She doesn’t know anything.”

Vic chuckled softly. He flicked his keys around. “You know, Margot, you and I have a lot in common. Far more than you know.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Vic winked. “That lady in there ruined both of our lives.”

Margot couldn’t take it. She wanted to storm up to him and bang his chest with her fists, demanding answers. “You need to tell me what’s going on now,” she rasped.

“Maybe I’ll tell you soon. Or maybe the old lady will if she ever catches on.”

With that, Vic stepped out of the foyer and fled. Before Margot reached the front door, he had the car engine on, and he was bucking out into the wild wind and snow. Margot’s tears froze to her cheeks.

What the heck?

Margot hurried back to the study to find the journal Vic had been reading. It was dated 1981—five years before Margot’s birth. Because Vic had pressed hard at the pages with the flat of his hand, it didn’t take Margot long to find the passages that had most interested him.

She read a series of very brief and cryptic entries that were initially difficult to understand.

August 14, 1981

It isn’t that I believed we would always be faithful to each other. I just didn’t imagine this.

August 15, 1981

Frank moved out today. Daniel, Henry, and Melissa helped me bake a batch of cookies, and we sat on the back porch watching the sun burn into the ocean.

I hope I never see him again.

What was this about? Margot’s mind raced. Had her father been unfaithful to her mother? Had her mother kicked her father out—or, worse, had her father left of his own accord?

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