Page 21 of Dear Henry, Love Edith
“I know this woman isn’t Angela. When I stopped by the bakery for a scone, Julie said she overheard Angela talking about some wedding gig and has been out of town ever since.”
“Well done, Sherlock.”
“Just how many girlfriends do you have, Henry?”
“Okay. This has gone on long enough.” Peg stood. “Nick, I know what you’re thinking, but—”
“Peg—” Nick lifted a hand to cut her off—“I don’t mean you any disrespect, but the truth is you’ve always turned a blind eye when it comes to my little brother. So while I’m sure you mean well, I don’t want to hear it.”
“B-but you should,” Peg sputtered.
“Nope.” Henry dumped his full mug down the sink. Let his brother think what he wanted. “You heard the man. He doesn’t want to hear it. And honestly, neither do I.”
Henry didn’t bother with grabbing an umbrella or rain jacket. Just headed straight for the door. “Have a safe trip back. Tell Marybeth I said hi. And, Peg, if anybody calls, tell them I’ll be out of the office the rest of the day making dumb idiot mistakes and living a life filled with my usual fornication.”
He slammed the door shut and jogged down the steps as fast as his knee would let him, which wasn’t too fast. Therain had plenty of time to pound over his head. Soak into his shirt. Seep into his bones.
Maybe if it rained hard enough, it would wash away the sickening feeling that his brother’s words contained an element of truth. No, he wasn’t shacking up with anybody at the house. But why hadn’t he given his brother an honest answer about Angela?
Because maybe Nick was right. Maybe Henry hadn’t changed at all.
Edith hunched her shoulders and tucked her head. The initial downpour had been a welcome relief, something to cool her off. The current bolts of lightning flashing over her head, on the other hand...
Her breaths puffed in and out as she dodged a puddle. Not that it mattered since her running shoes and socks had already sopped up every drop of precipitation. Another crash of thunder sounded above her. Edith’s footsteps faltered. Next thing she knew, the pavement was an inch from her face. Muddy rainwater splashed in her eyes, coating her knees and palms.
“Perfect,” she mumbled, climbing back to her feet and wringing out the hem of her waterlogged shirt. So much for a nice, peaceful afternoon jog.
She hadn’t planned to wind up in the cemetery when she started her run, but when she passed the open gates and saw the paved path weaving in and out of gravestones, it looked like the ideal place. No traffic. No people. Smooth roads.
And thankfully plenty of trees. Edith sought shelter beneath a row of large maples. Mud squished beneath her as she shook out her arms.
Before she could lift her foot, a quick flash of lightning followed several seconds later by a blast of thunder had her more concerned with hugging the tree than stretching her thighs. It wasn’t that she was scared of storms, exactly. She just had a healthy respect for them. And she wished now she’d chosen to respect them from inside the shelter of Henry’s house.
Although if she had, she wouldn’t have caught a glimpse of Henry earlier.
Edith wrung out her ponytail. Too bad that’s all it was. A glimpse. Part of her couldn’t believe they’d been living under the same roof for the better part of two weeks and had yet to meet in person. Which was why she’d made a point of asking around to find out where Henry worked so she could stop by to see him this afternoon during her run.
But by the time she got to his office trailer, the storm had already rolled in. She had just rounded the corner when she caught sight of him marching down the steps and straight to his car. He drove away before she could get a real good look at him. Tall with thinning gray hair maybe? He moved quicker than she would have expected from a man who required physical therapy.
An older woman had flagged him down to hand him a jacket through his window before he drove away. Edith caught her just as she was stepping inside the office and asked if that was Henry who had driven away.
“What’s that, dear?” the woman shouted over the rain.
“I was asking about Henry,” Edith shouted back.
“Henry?” The woman held her arm over her head, trying to shield her hair from the weather. “Sorry, honey. He’s not here. Is there something I can help you with? Why don’t you come inside?”
“Oh. No. I’m good.” Edith didn’t want to keep the woman out in the rain any longer, so she waved. “I’ll try another time.”
Maybe tomorrow. They were bound to meet eventually. This town was only so big. Shoot, the house was only so big.
The rain softened. The next rumble of thunder sounded farther away. Storm must be moving on. Edith could probably finish her run. Wasn’t like she could get any wetter. She squished her way across the grass to the pavement, breaking into a jog.
At the end of the path she rounded a curve past a large monument. A lone figure stood over a grave. His head shot up and his eyes connected with hers.
Paul?
Her steps faltered. One of these days she should probably learn his real name. But that might give the impression she was interested in him. Which she was. And she didn’t want to be.
