Promises to Keep, Nan Rossiter [feel good fiction books .txt] 📗

THE distance, Maeve hurried inside to retrieve her pie. Flying through the kitchen and shrugging off queries about the boy she’d been having “an intense conversation with,” she said, “It’s a long story, and I have to go.” She bid them good night and was out the door again. Reaching her car, she set the pie on the passenger floor, pulled her phone out of her pocket, and called Macey.

“Where the heck are you?” her sister asked. “Mom is fretting about everything getting cold.”

“On my way,” Maeve assured. “Something came up.”

“Okay . . . is Gage with you?”

There was silence on the other end, and then Maeve spoke. “He’s not there?”

“Uh, no.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure, Maeve. Don’t you think I’d know if he was here?”

Maeve bit her lip. “Where can he be?” she murmured.

“What?” Macey asked.

“Nothing,” Maeve replied. “I just thought he’d be there. He left before me.”

“Nope.”

“Okay, tell Mom I’m sorry and I’ll be there soon.”

She hung up and tried Gage’s cell phone, but it went straight to his voice mail.

Ten minutes later, she pulled into the driveway of her parents’ New England–style home, scooped up the pie, and hurried inside.

“Here you are!” Ruth Lindstrom exclaimed, giving her a hug and admiring her pie. “Looks like a picture, my dear!”

“Well, looks aren’t everything. We’ll have to see how it tastes.”

Ruth glanced behind her. “Where’s Gage?”

“I don’t know,” she said, setting the pie on the counter. “I thought he’d be here.”

“Maybe he didn’t feel well,” Hal Lindstrom offered, coming into the kitchen.

“Maybe, but it’s kind of odd that he didn’t mention it,” she replied, giving him a hug.

“He didn’t seem sick at work,” Ben said, who was leaning against the counter with a beer in his hand. “In fact, he seemed unusually cheerful.”

Maeve nodded. “He wasn’t sick when he came by Willow Pond, either. In fact, he even challenged one of the residents to a fiddling contest.”

“Wait! Uncle Gage plays the fiddle?!” Harper asked. “Sheesh, I only thought he could draw.”

“Gage is a man of many talents,” Macey said, laughing and taking a sip of her wine.

“I know, right?” Maeve said. “I didn’t know it, either.” Just then, Keeper, hearing her voice, wagged his way in, and when Maeve knelt to say hello, he bowed his head and pressed it into her chest. “Hullo, ole pie,” she said softly, kissing the top of his head.

“Well, let’s eat—everything’s ready,” Ruth said, “and I don’t want it to get cold. If he doesn’t show up, you can bring a plate home.”

Maeve nodded, although she couldn’t shake the feeling that Gage’s absence—and his lack of an explanation for it—was more serious than not feeling well. She didn’t know how much he’d overheard, and she wished she’d just told him everything a long time ago. She’d texted him twice and called him again, but he still hadn’t replied . . . or answered.

“Something to drink?” Hal asked, gesturing to the array of options on the counter.

“I’d love a glass of whatever wine is open,” Maeve said.

“White or red?” Hal pressed.

“White,” Maeve said, scooping some of her sister’s spicy buffalo chicken dip onto a hunk of French bread and taking a bite. “Mmm, this is yummy!”

“I told you.”

“You did.”

Hal handed her a glass of wine, and she took a long sip. “Thanks, Dad.”

“Do you mind buffet style?” Ruth asked, donning her oven mitts and pulling a crock of baked beans from the oven and setting it on one of the trivets on the counter.

“We usually serve dinner that way when the gang’s all here,” Hal said, “so why would they mind?” Ruth ignored her husband’s teasing quip and reached back into the oven for her famous mac and cheese.

Maeve frowned. “Mom, do you need help?”

“No . . . just a couple more things,” she said, pulling a spiral-sliced baked ham out and setting it next to the other dishes. Then she slipped off her oven mitts, opened the fridge, and pulled out a tray of deviled eggs and a bowl of potato salad.

“Gee, Mom,” Macey teased, “I don’t think you made enough.”

Ruth smiled and slid a tray of rolls into the oven. “Hon, can you slice the ham?”

“It’s already sliced,” Hal said.

“Well, put some on a platter, please.”

Hal chuckled, but did as he was asked, and then Ruth gestured to the plates. “Help yourself,” she said cheerily. “The rolls just have to heat up for a minute.”

Ben handed plates to his daughter, wife, and sister-in-law, and hung back, waiting for Ruth to serve her plate. “Dad, you want another beer?” he asked, opening the fridge.

“Sure,” Hal said, setting the platter of ham next to the brown-sugar-and-pineapple-glaze Ruth had just set out.

Ben handed him a beer and smiled. “I think you’re going to be eating leftovers for a while, Dad.”

“Oh, no,” Hal said, laughing. “You kids will be taking some of this home. I like ham, but after a couple nights, it’s time for a change.”

Ben laughed. He knew his father-in-law wasn’t a big fan of leftovers. The two men filled their plates and waited for the women to sit before seating themselves. And then, finally, they bowed their heads and Hal said grace.

When he finished, Maeve took a sip of her wine, gathered her courage, and cleared her throat. “So, I have some news. . . .”

Harper’s face lit up. “Are you and Uncle Gage engaged?!”

Maeve shook her head. “No, but it’s something just as good. . . .”

37

THE CABIN WAS DARK WHEN MAEVE PULLED IN, AND SHE FROWNED, WONDERING where Gage could be, but then she heard an excited bark, and a moment later, Gus emerged from the shadows, wagging his tail. “Hey there, Gussie,” she said, opening her door. The big Lab put his front paws on her lap and sniffed the air. “Yes, I have food,” she said, laughing. She reached over for the plate her mom had piled high with food and covered with foil, all the while—like everyone else in her family—asking questions about, and expressing dismay over, Maeve’s long-kept secret.

She climbed out of her car, balancing the plate and the last