Page 21 of The Scars I Bare
Oops.
“Oh, hi. Sorry, deep in thought,” I said.
“Right,” he replied, clearly unconvinced. Turning back toward the kitchen for a brief moment, he asked, “You haven’t been standing here long, have you?”
Giving the best innocent blank face I could, I shook my head. “Nope. Why?”
“Oh, no reason. You headed out back?”
“Yeah, I was going to check on Lizzie. My daughter,” I said, clarifying.
“I remember her name,” he said as those green irises met mine.
“Oh, okay,” I replied, feeling little flutters of something I hardly recognized anymore buried deep in my belly.
“After you.” He motions to the parlor where the backdoors have been opened wide to the expansive patio. It’s an impressive view but I can’t help but stare at the man in front of me.
Feeling all sorts of flustered, I marched on ahead of him as I chastised myself for acting like a besotted teenager when I had more important things to focus on. Like finding a house and suitable daycare because, as nice as Molly was, she wasn’t going to be okay with watching Lizzie indefinitely.
If it wouldn’t embarrass me further, I would have put my head in my hands with the enormity of it all.
I hadn’t expected it to be this hard—starting over.
I honestly hadn’t thought about it at all.
My only thought when leaving Virginia was to put some much-needed distance between us and our old life. I’d tried a separate life close to Blake, I did. An entire year of it. But I couldn’t move on when the Ashcroft influence was all around me, squeezing me like a vise.
So, I left it all behind.
It hadn’t been easy, but it was worth it. I’d told myself I’d figure everything out when I got here.
The rest was just details.
“I know that look,” Molly said, walking up to stand next to me.
Being ever the gracious host, she handed me a glass of wine, not bothering to even ask if I was interested. I looked down at it, contemplating its future for a moment before eventually giving in.
“What look?” I asked, taking a tentative sip. I was immediately in love with the fruity taste of the wine, taking another straightaway.
Molly, looking pleased with herself over the choice, joined me, holding a glass to her lips as well.
“The look that says you’re about to tell everyone you’re fine when, in fact, you’re the opposite.”
I nearly choked on the rosé, biting my lip in the process. “What?” I said, stumbling over the single word like a damn roadblock. “I’m—”
“Fine?” She grinned. “I’ve found, in my many years of caretaking, hosting, and dealing with my own bag of crap, that particular word rarely means what people try to pass it off as.”
I took a moment to locate Lizzie in the small crowd. Molly had really outdone herself tonight, inviting the entire houseful of guests to an impromptu dinner—something she apparently did on a regular basis, which, according to Mr. Lovell, was one of the many reasons she was the best innkeeper around.
“I guess you’re right,” I acknowledged, smiling to myself as I watched Lizzie twirl around the lazy shoreline of the bay.
“So how are you really?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” I laughed. “I thought if we could just get somewhere else, away from our old life, then I’d eventually sort through everything—myself included.”
Someone had given her a streamer, one that reminded me of my friend Margie, who always twirled a bright green one in the high school marching band. This one, however, was bright purple, and Lizzie seemed perfectly content with running up and down the watery edge as it blew in the breeze behind her.
“I never thought past her,” I said, surprising myself by the candor in my voice. “I rarely do, you know. As soon as you become a mother, this nagging voice takes over with this constant prevailing question that never seems to be answered.How do I make a better life for her?”
