Remember to Forget (23 page)

Previous picnickers had left broken potato chips littering the table and benches. Trevor brushed them off with his free hand. “I guess I should have brought a blanket to sit on. Sorry. This was kind of a last-minute idea. Maybe it wasn’t a very good one.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine.” Maggie didn’t know whether to be suspicious of his polite sweetness or to just swoon and be done with it. A bolt of guilt surged through her at that thought. She had no right to be thinking romantic thoughts. If Kevin knew she was here—on something strongly resembling a date—he would be livid. Though she realized now that
Kevin had cared little for her, she had been his possession and woe to the man who dared interfere. She shuddered at the thought of what his reaction might be.

“Are you cold?” Trevor eyed her with surprise.

She rubbed away the goose bumps that pebbled her bare arms. “No. I’m just . . . hungry.”

“Well then, let’s get this show on the road.” He opened the cooler and took out a bag of purple grapes and two fat ready-made subs bundled in cellophane. A bag of pretzels and cans of soda completed the feast. “Have a seat.” He threw a leg over the bench seat across from her, straddling it.

She sat down and arranged the things he set in front of her, waiting to see if he’d pray a blessing over them as Bart had at the inn yesterday. Trevor bowed his head. His lips moved slightly, but he didn’t pray out loud.

She waited until he looked up, then busied herself with unwrapping her sandwich. “Mmm . . . this looks good.”

“Well, I hope you don’t mind that I didn’t actually take you out for lunch like I promised.”

She spread an arm to encompass the riverside park. “Hey, this
is
out.”

He laughed. “That it is. At least it’s not so warm this afternoon. They say we’re supposed to get some rain tonight.”

“You say that like it’s a good thing. It wouldn’t be in New Yo—” She caught herself. “It-it does make everything
new
. The rain.”

Had he noticed her clumsy cover-up?

If he did, he didn’t show it. “When you live in farm country, rain is usually a good thing. Well, unless it’s harvest. But look how low the river is.” He ripped off a healthy bite of his sandwich and pointed toward the river’s edge with what was left of it.

She took a sip of her Coke. “You must’ve had the soda in the freezer. It’s still nice and cold.”

“
Soda
?” He grinned. “That must be California-ese.”

Her breath caught. Even her language was giving her away. But she recovered quickly, flashing a smile. “Why? What do you Kansas hayseeds call it?”

He narrowed his eyes and glared at her, as if her hayseed comment had deeply offended, but almost instantly the grin was back. He popped the top on the Coke can, took a swig, and blew out an overlong sigh of satisfaction. “We call this here stuff
pop
,” he drawled.

She laughed. “Pop, huh?”

He winked. “Or if we wanna be real formal-like, we call it sody pop.”

“Ah, that would be
soda
pop. Hence, soda.” As soon as the words were out, she bit her lip. Did Californians call it
soda
? She was weary with having to analyze every word in even the most innocent exchange.

She concentrated on her lunch, and they ate in silence for a few minutes. Yet it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. The birds twittered in the treetops overhead, the leaves whispered in the breeze, and Maggie reveled in this world that was so different from the prison of Kevin’s apartment in New York.

Trevor unwrapped the grapes, tore off a sprig, and handed them to her. He popped two in his mouth. “So, do you want to talk about—” He shrugged. “You know, the whole thing with . . . California.”

Maggie bowed her head, embarrassed and a little bit frightened. She’d never thought about how much of her life was a lie. At the Mannings, where she’d spent most of her growing-up years, she’d been taught that lying was wrong. But with Kevin, she’d learned that it saved a lot of arguments and kept his temper at bay. So it had become a bad habit. Mostly what she told were little white lies.

No, Kevin, nobody called today.

Yes, I’m happy here with you.

Sorry, I forgot to stop by the liquor store.

Her fibs were nothing that really hurt anyone.

But it had escalated, of necessity, when the gift of escape had been handed to her Tuesday morning on the streets of New York. She’d been living a lie since that morning. For almost five days she’d pretended to be someone she wasn’t—inventing her past, making her life up as she went along.

Trouble was, she liked where it had gotten her. Were it not for the lies she’d told, she wouldn’t be sitting here in this idyllic setting—safe with this kind, generous man and the hope of a fresh start in this little town. But when would she crash back to reality?

“Meg? Are you okay?”

His voice nudged her from her reverie. Trevor was leaning across the table, his palm inches from her cheek, as if he wanted to touch her. Or maybe slap her?

But one look into his eyes and she knew it wasn’t the anger she was so accustomed to seeing in a man’s eyes. It was concern—and something more.

“I really don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay. I understand.” He snatched back his hand and held it palm up, as if he were apologizing for even asking. Or was he apologizing for wanting to touch her?

“What about you?” She tried to deflect his question.

“What about me?”

“Wren said you . . . were married.”

His expression—like she was accusing him of having a wife at home while he romanced another woman in the park—made her rush to explain. “She told me your wife died in an accident. And your little boy.”

When the muscles in his jaw tensed, Maggie instantly regretted bringing it up. She’d wanted to get it out in the open. To not have to pretend that she didn’t know when she did. The irony wasn’t lost on her when she was still pretending about so many things.

He nodded. “Amy. Her name was Amy . . . and our son, Trev. It was
two years ago.” He took sudden interest in the rough-hewn top of the picnic table. “On a Saturday morning.”

Saturday
. Maggie wondered if he was still counting anniversaries. If so, today was one.

A far-off look paled his blue irises. “They were on their way to Salina. He was only three, but Amy was going to buy him his first bicycle. One of those little ones with training wheels.” He inhaled a deep breath. “Someone . . . a car pulled out in front of them out on Old Highway 40. They never had a chance.”

His hands were palms down on the splintered top of the picnic table . . . like he was ready to push off and escape at a moment’s notice.

Maggie placed her hand over his, for one brief moment, but it was long enough to feel the warmth and strength there. “I’m so sorry, Trevor.”

He worked his jaw. “Thanks.”

She hesitated, nervous about where their conversation might go. But she truly wanted to know. “Tell me about her.”

“Amy?”

She nodded, waiting.

A soft smile curved his mouth. “Amy was sunshine. Always laughing, always being silly. Everybody adored her. She didn’t have a mean bone in her body. And open . . . like a book. You always knew what she was thinking. She was honest to a fault.”

Maggie squirmed on the hard wooden bench, feeling rightly chided, even though she doubted Trevor meant anything by it. If he
was
trying to make her feel guilty, trying to make her come up short by comparison, he was doing a pretty fine job. She put the thought aside and tipped her head, waiting for him to go on.

His eyes misted over. He swallowed hard. Maggie felt his pain as though it were her own.

At that moment the sun slipped from beneath a cumulus cloud, and its rays streamed below the canopy of trees that had shaded them. Trevor
squinted and turned his head, so that Maggie saw him in profile. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat.

Again Maggie wished she hadn’t brought the painful subject up. “I’m so sorry . . . about your wife. It sounds like she was a wonderful person.”

He looked up at her. “Thank you. She
was
a wonderful person. Trev too.”

“He was named after you?”

Trevor nodded. “He would have started school this year.”

“Is that why you read to the kids . . . at the day care?”

A spark of mischief lit his eyes. “Actually, it’s to fulfill my community-service requirement.”

At the arch of her brows, he burst into laughter. It was contagious.

She joined in once she realized he was teasing her again.

But the seriousness returned to his face an instant later. “It’s mostly because of Trev. But my mother loved books, too—still does.”

“Oh? Do your parents live close?”

“They used to. I grew up in Clayburn. I inherited the print shop from my dad. My folks retired to Florida a couple years ago. The cold winters here really messed with Mom’s arthritis. They considered California, but Florida won out over the land of fruits and nuts.”

Maggie tensed.
Please change the subject. Please change the subject.
She chanted it to herself like a mantra. She was too weary to make up any more stories.

Trevor nudged her arm across the table, a tentative grin on his face. “Hey, that was a joke, okay? Just something stupid my dad used to say. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“It’s okay.” She forced a smile, her mind racing. What would she say if she really
were
from California? “It’s just . . . I get that all the time.”

His grin turned sheepish. “Sorry. Bad joke. I won’t bring it up again.” The spark returned to his eyes. “
If
you’ll promise never to call me a hayseed again.”

That made her laugh . . . then wonder if he was serious. But one look at his face told her he was anything but. Teasing seemed to be the way of people here. It took some getting used to. Kevin had never teased her—at least not like this. If he made a joke, it was cruel . . . or vulgar. And she was usually the butt of it.

But Trevor’s good-natured banter made her feel . . .

She shook herself back to the present, afraid to allow the thought to fruition. But then something let loose inside her and she gave it full rein.

Being here like this, with Trevor, made her feel something she’d never felt before. And she didn’t ever want that feeling to end.

How far could she go trying to get into Kevin’s account before she set off a red flag somewhere?

Chapter Twenty-Seven

T
hanks for lunch. I enjoyed
everything.
” Maggie felt suddenly shy. She reached for the door handle.

Trevor wrestled the pickup’s gearshift into park but stayed put behind the wheel. “Do you mind if I don’t walk you to the door?”

“Oh, no. I didn’t expect . . . I’m fine.” Pushing the heavy door open, Maggie climbed down from the high seat and started to close the door behind her.

Trevor reached across the bench seat. “I’ve got it. Maybe I’ll see you this afternoon. I’m coming back to work on the remodel later.”

“Oh. I’m not sure I’ll be here. I thought I’d visit some more stores, fill out some more applications.”

“Uh-oh. You’re not going to find very many places open. Clayburn closes up tighter than a clam after lunch on Saturday.”

“Really? Wren mentioned that, but I thought she was exaggerating. But why on Saturday afternoon? That’s one of the biggest shopping days.”

He shrugged. “I guess I never thought about it. I suppose people are just too busy. Getting ready for church, doing family stuff. A lot of people head to Salina to go shopping or to the movies. A small town like Clayburn can’t supply everything.”

“Oh.” Her shoulders sagged. “I suppose that means nothing’s open on Sunday either?”

“’Fraid not. But bright and early Monday morning things will be hopping. You might as well take advantage of the quiet and relax this weekend.”

She resisted the urge to inform him that she’d have no place to relax if she didn’t get a job soon.

Distracted, she thanked him again and turned to the inn’s front door.