Remember to Forget (36 page)

“I wish you would, honey.” Wren dried her hands and came around the counter to the dining area. She slid out a chair at one of the tables and patted the chair beside her.

“Oh, Wren.” Maggie melted into tears and slumped against Wren’s softness. “I’m so sorry.”

Wren put her arms around her, the way she had the day she’d come back from the bus station, and let her cry. “There, there.” She cooed as if Maggie were a little girl again. “There’s nothing so bad you can’t tell me about it.”

“I’m a big fake! A big fat fake.”

Wren chuckled in a way that made Maggie feel loved rather than chastised. “Fat is one thing you’re not. Now what is it, Meg? What are you running from?”

She collected herself and sniffed, not even knowing where to begin. “My whole life here in Clayburn has been a lie, Wren.” The words trickled out at first, one confession at a time, as she told Wren about the carjacking and her escape from Kevin Bryson. “This sweet old woman gave me money . . . a lot of money. And I took it. It’s how I paid for my first night here. I don’t even know how to find her to pay her back.”

“Maybe we can find her,” Wren said softly.

“You don’t understand. It’s not just her. I lied my way across the country. I told people whatever I thought would get me a ride, or a meal. I didn’t mean to lie, Wren. It sort of
happened,
then I couldn’t
stop. I’ve lied to you! And Bart . . . Trevor . . .
everybody
! About so many things. Everything, really.” She dissolved in tears again.

She told Wren about fleeing the convenience store, running out on the Blakelys, and spending the night on the playground in Kansas City, terrified the police were after her, but more terrified that Kevin might find her.

The trickle of her confession became a torrent and, one by one, her lies were exposed and washed away. When all Maggie’s tears had dried, Wren knew everything.
Everything
. Taking in a deep breath, Maggie prepared to pull away, ready to face a verdict she knew she deserved.

But Wren wouldn’t let her go. Her arms only tightened around Maggie. And in that moment, Maggie understood the old adage about the truth setting a person free.

She doubted he would ever want to see her again after she told him what a lie she’d been living.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

O
n the Saturday after the Fourth of July, four weeks after Maggie had arrived in Kansas, a hot wind whipped through Clayburn’s Main Street. Maggie watched through the lobby windows as the digital thermometer atop the Clayburn State Bank ticked off degrees like minutes.
92 . . . 93 . . . 94 . . .
By noon the mercury was supposed to hit a sizzling 101 degrees. The air conditioner had run almost constantly all morning, and she was still swabbing the perspiration from her face every five minutes.

She’d forgotten to set her alarm, and it was almost eight o’clock before she crawled out of bed. Trevor had promised to come by this morning and help her distribute a new set of posters for Operation Wren’s Nest. After she and Trevor had printed that first sample poster, she’d come up
with a clever idea for an all-out ad campaign.

“A real blitz, huh?” Trevor teased when she told him her idea.

But it seemed to be working. The first week’s posters had gotten people talking, wondering about this event coming to Wren’s Nest. The second week, she’d switched out the posters for one that revealed a few more details. Today’s posters were a carefully guarded secret that would spell out the whole Operation Wren’s Nest event.

Wren had already gotten reservations for five rooms the weekend of the open house and many inquiries. The little town had been buzzing with questions about the mysterious event. Wren was ecstatic, and even Bart was pleased.

Now, at nine o’clock, Maggie was rushing around the inn like a cyclone. They’d had guests last night—the tail end of the wheat-harvest crews—and Bart was checking out the last group at the front desk. Wren’s Nest had taken reservations for another two rooms tonight—a vacationing family of six. That meant lots of laundry and beds to be made.

Maggie went looking for Wren to see what she could help with before she left to hang the posters.
Please, please, Trevor, don’t get here early.

She gathered dirty coffee cups as she went through the lobby and carried them to the kitchen. Wren was on her knees in front of the sink, working to replace the old knobs on all the drawers and cupboards. “Hey, those look nice, Wren. Can I finish up for you? I’m sorry I overslept.”

Wren looked up, screwdriver in hand, her face beet red with her efforts. “I think I’m just about to wrap it up. Some of these old handles are practically rusted through.” She gave the cupboard she was working on a good
thump
with the flat of her hand.

“Well, please don’t make yourself sick working too hard. You look tired.”

Wren laughed and waved Maggie off. “I
am
tired. But I’ve been tired before and survived to tell the tale.”

“Trevor and I should be done by noon or so. I’ll make up the beds when
I get back. How about if I run by the café and bring home some salads for lunch? My treat.”

Wren had handed her a fifty-dollar bill yesterday morning—payment for her work on Operation Wren’s Nest—and Maggie was feeling a little guilty. She had protested that room and board was more than enough for what she’d done, but she hadn’t pushed the argument too far. It felt good to have a little money in her pocket again—money she’d earned by the sweat of her brow.

It continued to amaze her how she’d managed to live for almost a month with barely any cash. With her cozy room here at Wren’s, her meals paid for, and small-town life providing all the entertainment she could have hoped for, she had everything she needed.

She’d picked up another outfit and a pair of sandals at a secondhand store in Salina last week and had even splurged on a set of cheap watercolors the last time she and Wren were in Salina for groceries. She felt wealthy. “What do you think . . . salads? And will Bart be here for lunch?”

“No, he’s eating with his buddies at the senior center today. And you save your money, Meg. There’s leftovers in the fridge from last night. If you don’t mind, we can just eat that chicken cold. Won’t even have to turn on the oven. There’s plenty, so tell Trevor to stay if he wants.”

Maggie smiled. “We’ll see. Now why don’t you take a break and let me finish that?”

Wren clutched the edge of the counter and hauled herself up. “Why don’t we both take a break? When’s Trevor coming by?”

Maggie glanced at the clock. “Any time now.”

“Then sit.” Wren pointed to the table.

They plopped into chairs at the small breakfast table and sat in silence for a few minutes, truly resting. Maggie let her gaze wander around the room, enjoying its charm, remembering how she and Trevor had gotten to know each other as they painted these walls. She was amazed at the transformation the space had undergone in the weeks she’d been living at
the inn. It somehow made her feel at home here, to have been a part of the process.

Her gaze came to rest on Wren, and she smiled across the table, remembering the other night when she’d spilled all her secrets. “I love this room.” Somehow she couldn’t quite say the words yet, but what she really meant was that she loved
Wren
. And Bart. And her new life here in Clayburn. What a burden had been lifted from her that night she’d confessed everything to Wren.

Now if only she could get up the courage to come clean with Trevor. Wren had assured her that he would understand. That he would forgive her.

Maggie thought he probably
would
forgive her. But she also doubted he would ever want to see her again after she told him what a lie she’d been living. That was a possibility she simply couldn’t face right now. She’d used the open house as an excuse, promising herself she’d tell him afterward. Things were too hectic now. Especially with guests in the inn.

As she did every week, Wren invited Maggie to church the next day. Wren never pressured her or made her feel guilty when she declined the invitation, but now that she’d confessed to Wren, she felt even guiltier—or maybe
convicted
was a better word. She really should go, out of respect for Bart and Wren. But she couldn’t seem to muster the courage. She didn’t think God struck people with lightning for sins like she’d committed, but she didn’t exactly want to put Him to the test either.

She frowned and rubbed her temples as another twinge of fear nipped at her subconscious.
Jenn.
She and Jenn had exchanged several e-mails since the day her sister had called Wren’s. Jenn seemed genuinely happy for her, and the two of them had even started dreaming about Jenn and Mark making the trip to see her in Clayburn. She dared to dream that she might be able to get Buttons to Kansas after all.

But it had been five days now since she’d heard from Jenn. She checked her e-mail every day—either at the library or at Trevor’s office, and there hadn’t
been anything but junk in her in-box. But Jenn had mentioned in her last e-mail that they were having some problems with the computers in the office where she worked and were having to revamp their security systems. That was probably why she hadn’t heard anything.

Movement outside the dining-room window shook her from her reverie. Trevor’s pickup pulled into a parking space on Main Street. His athletic form climbed down from the cab.

Wren flashed a smile. “I’d say by the look in your eyes that Trevor Ashlock just drove up.”

Maggie returned her smile.

Wren patted Maggie’s hand. “Have fun, sweetie.”

“Thanks, Wren. Be back in a couple of hours.”

H
and me that tape, will you?” Trevor pinned a poster to the window with his forearm and reached behind him, hand outstretched.

Instead of handing him the tape, Maggie gave him five, then laughed at the goofy look he threw her over his shoulder. She ripped off a piece of the clear tape and handed it to him.

He secured the upper corners of the poster to the glass. “Does that look straight to you?”

She took a few steps back and squinted. It was hard to tell with half a dozen other posters hung all helter-skelter and vying for space in the café’s front window, but she gave Trevor a thumbs-up.

He smoothed the paper and taped the last corner in place before turning toward her with a weary sigh. “Okay . . . where to next?”

“What’s the matter?” She put her hands on her hips and winked, doing her best “hayseed” imitation. “Are you plumb tuckered out again?”

He flashed a grin and rubbed his fist over the top of her head as if he were polishing it.

“Hey, you! Cut it out.” She ducked out from under his hand and fished her list out of her pocket, laughing. This was turning out to be a fun job.

They’d driven out to the businesses on the highway that had allowed them to post the ads, and now this side of the street was finished. She checked off the names on her list and pointed up the street, feeling like a guide on an African safari.

They crossed Main and walked past the inn. Seeing Wren inside, Trevor tapped on the window as they went by. Wren waved from the dining room.