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

Macey shook her head. “Yeah, well, you were right to point out that he wasn’t forthcoming. Just because his story is tragic, doesn’t mean he couldn’t share it with you. He’s just as guilty.”

Maeve bit her lip. “I’m going by tomorrow to pack up some things.”

“Want me to go with you?”

“Would you?” Maeve asked hopefully.

“Absolutely,” Macey said. “And you can stay here as long as you need to. Even when he does come around, which I’m sure he will, I wouldn’t go running back. He needs to realize all he’s losing.”

“I know,” Maeve said, nodding. “He’s gonna miss Harper the most,” she said, laughing.

Macey laughed, too. “That’s for sure . . . and at least you’re smiling.” She yawned. “Well, I need to get back to bed. You gonna be okay?”

Maeve nodded. “Yeah. Thanks for being there. I never thought I’d need a place to stay.”

“Hey, that’s what sisters are for,” she said, kissing the top of Maeve’s head.

Just then, a black nose pushed open the door and Keeper peered in, wagging his tail.

“Well, look who’s here,” Macey said softly. “Are you checking on our guest?” she asked, and the big golden retriever wagged his tail as he wiggled in. A moment later, Big Mac sauntered in, too, and hopped up on the bed. “They’re not used to someone staying in this room.”

“They’re welcome to stay,” Maeve said hopefully. And, as if on cue, Keeper curled up on his old bed, while Big Mac curled into the fleecy cover at the end of the bed.

“There you go,” Macey said, watching her two rescues get comfortable. She gave her little sister a hug. “Can’t believe you’re a mom, Maeve! Now, I know why you pushed so hard on us adopting.”

“There are a lot of good kids out in the world who need homes. Just look at Harper . . . and Mason,” Maeve said, smiling.

39

GAGE SLID HIS HAND OVER TO MAEVE’S SIDE OF THE BED, FELT THE COOLNESS of the sheets, and opened his eyes, as the events of the previous night washed over him like a crushing wave and filled his aching head.

“Damn,” he whispered, rubbing his temples. He heard a thumping sound, looked over, and saw Gus resting his chin on the edge of the bed, his tail hitting the bureau, happy to find evidence of life. “I’m getting up, buddy,” he assured him. “Just give me a minute.”

Ten minutes later, Gage pulled on his jeans, shuffled to the bathroom, and purposely avoided looking in the mirror. Meanwhile, Gus waited patiently, and when Gage finally let him out, the big Lab lifted his leg for a full minute. “Sorry to make you wait so long,” Gage said. “I didn’t know it was urgent.” He filled Gus’s bowl with kibble, freshened his water bowl, and while the adult-size puppy wolfed down his breakfast, made a pot of coffee. He swallowed Tylenol with a full glass of water, poured a mug of steaming coffee, and went out on the porch. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and he looked up at the slate-gray Savannah sky and realized he hadn’t seen a forecast in days, but in the humid South—especially along the coast—summer storms were common. Gage set his mug on the table between the chairs and walked across the yard to the fenced-in area around the henhouse in which—for safety reasons—the chickens were still spending their nights. He opened the gate. “Mornin’, ladies and gent,” he said, tossing feed on the ground. “How’s it goin’, missy?” he asked, kneeling down next to one of his new hens. Both Amelia Egghart and Mother Clucker had grown out of their fluffy chick stage and moved into the coop, and the two remaining hens, Eggith and Eggel, along with their fearless protector, Pilgrim, had welcomed them into the flock with open wings.

Gage left the gate open so they could free-range and walked back to the porch. He folded himself into the same chair he’d sat in the night before and took a sip of his coffee.

“Obviously, coffee should be the only thing I drink,” he muttered, and Gus—hearing him—looked up and thumped his tail in seeming agreement, making Gage wonder if animals sensed a difference in their owners’ demeanor when they were drinking. “Sorry if I behaved badly last night and made you worry.” The dog thumped his tail again and Gage was certain his faithful companion—whose love was notoriously unconditional—had already forgiven him.

Unfortunately, the same wasn’t true for humans. Gage looked out over the lilies, bee balm, and black-eyed Susans, and rubbed his temples, but his head wasn’t the only part of him that ached. He replayed everything that had happened. He pictured the tall, slender boy talking to Maeve, and although he realized she must’ve been shocked to be confronted—out of the blue—by the child she’d given birth to eighteen years earlier, he still couldn’t for the life of him understand why she’d never told him.

“Why, Maeve?” he whispered. He’d been stunned when he’d witnessed from the porch the scene playing out before him . . . but had he overreacted when he’d left without explanation? Had it been an overreaction to not answer his phone because he was hurt, angry, disappointed? It had definitely been an overreaction to drink as much as he had—because not only was he paying the price today, but also the alcohol had allowed his emotions to get the best of him. Then again, maybe his reaction had been triggered by all the loss and pain he’d felt when he was younger—the intense grief of losing his brother, the heartbreaking betrayal by the one girl with whom he’d fallen in love . . . and his estranged relationship with his dad. He’d needed time to think . . . time to wrap his mind around the realization that the person he’d grown to love and trust most in the world had purposely not shared an experience that must have played a huge role in shaping her life . . . in shaping who she’d become as an adult.

“What the heck, Maeve?”