Page 58 of The Candlemaker

“I’m so sorry, Chandler.” The woman ushered him inside. “I thought talking to you would help.”

My head tipped and swiveled. A stone-crusted reception desk. A massive living room, couches and recliners, a large central fireplace holding a TV stationed on the Hallmark channel, and tables dotted with groups of elderly people.

By the time my gaze searched for Chandler, he was already halfway across the lounge with Cathy. I picked up my pace to catch theirs, smiling at everyone I passed. By the time I reached them, they were halfway up the staircase and knee-deep in a conversation that made Chandler’s shoulders look like a thousand-pound weight rested on them.

“I have to warn you, Chandler, it’s him she’s been asking for…”

Chandler jerked. Not a lot. Maybe hardly noticeably. But it reminded me of those scenes in spy movies when two characters get close and then one stabs the other. That moment when the betrayal registers first before the life-threatening wound. And that was this moment for Chandler. The betrayal that startled him.

Who was Cathy talking about?

Curiosity got the better of me, and, eager to hear his response, my foot caught on the carpet on the last step and sent me tumbling forward.

My small cry fizzled when Chandler’s big hands gripped my shoulders and steadied me. How he’d heard—realized whatwas happening when there was obviously asituationweighing on him—was crazy.

Or it was until my eyes connected with his. He didn’t look like a collected businessman but like a man preparing for battle.

“I’m sorry?—”

“Wait downstairs,” he ordered, his voice vacant. “I’ll be back.”

He’d ordered me to come with him, only to leave me at the staircase?I didn’t have an opportunity to protest before he was gone. His feet fell heavier with each step, and the way his spine stiffened…like he knew this was a battle he was going to lose.

“Come with me, Miss…” A hand touched my shoulder, and I faced the woman who’d welcomed us inside, noting the worried expression she tried to cover up with a warm smile.

“Just Frankie.” I smiled back.

“It’s nice to meet you, Frankie. I’m Miss Cathy. I’m sorry I didn’t introduce myself earlier, it’s just Miss Laura…”

“It’s not a problem,” I assured her with a smile, even as my eyes continued to dart in Chandler’s direction. He stood talking with another woman who worked at the home based on her uniform, his hand resting on the doorknob of the very last door in the hallway, poised to enter.

“I’ll bring you back downstairs.” With gentle pressure, she guided me back down to the main floor. My head craned back until I could no longer see him, and when I looked back at Cathy, she gave me a sad smile and added, “I’m glad you came with him. I always hoped Chandler had someone other than Mr. Tom for support.”

My well-honed skill in pretending came in handy. I pretended like I knew what was going on. I pretended like I knew more about Mr. Tom other than the familiar name of Chandler’s business partner and the warm way Chandler hadspoken of him. And I pretended like I was really… what she thought I was.His support.

“I’m glad, too.” And because I couldn’t help myself either, I asked, “Is she all right?”

“I haven’t seen her get upset like this before.” The woman’s face fell. “There are days she doesn’t remember who I am, but never like this.” She shook her head and then seemed to recollect herself. “I’m sorry. I’m sure Chandler will make it okay.”

I didn’t have a response. Not to the revelation she’d left me with. It was a miracle I managed to keep a straight face.

I took another look around the room. The soft decor. The discreet-looking nurses. The small table of brochures by the desk.

The Edgewood Estate. Long-term care for those struggling with dementia and Alzheimer’s.

“Would you like some water while you wait?

“No, thank you.” My throat constricted. “I’m fine.”

“You let me know if there’s anything you need,” she said, and then left me to return to her post.

I stared at the brochures and then looked back to the staircase.Wait downstairswere my instructions, and I should obey them. God knew this was well outside the bounds of anything that was my business, and I shouldn’t get involved. But…he’d brought me here. Some part of him wanted me here—wanted me to know the truth. And it was the part of me that had confessed the real history behind my candle business.

I couldn’t wait here.

Maybe if I were someone else—someone wholly different from the person who injected herself in situations whether she was asked or not, welcome or not, and with her whole heart. I wore my best intentions like my finest dress even if it was a little too bold and a little too flashy for some. I couldn’tnottry to help.

My mom loved the candle.

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