The Stolen Canvas(53)
“It was your grandmother who died in the crash, Tara,” Carla moaned. “All these years, I’ve been haunted by what happened. Your grandmother might be alive today if I had told the truth that day. Oh, Tara, I—I am so sorry. Please, don’t ever let fear keep you from doing the right thing … like I did.”
The mother she’d neglected had come alive to her in those few moments. She imagined her as a teenager, lonely and afraid … as she had been. Longing for love, as she had been, and looking in all the wrong places. Claire’s mother had died because of a childish indiscretion on a summer day. But she had never revealed the truth about Carla. That had taken loyalty and love. If only Tara could tell her mother now how much she loved her—how she’d always loved her.
But it was all too late. Her mother was beyond her reach. She fought to understand her emotions. She didn’t hate Carla. Carla and Claire had been young and adventurous; they had done something wrong, and their folly had resulted in unforeseen tragedy. Neither had told the truth. Perhaps if they had, their lives would have been very different. Each lived with their guilt, just as Tara was doing now.
“Don’t let fear keep you from doing the right thing,” Carla had said. But Tara was afraid. She hadn’t told the truth from the minute she’d come to Stony Point. She should have admitted why she and Jem had come to Grey Gables. She should have asked for forgiveness—as Carla had. If only she could find the strength. … She had run from Carla, fast and hard without stopping, leaving her alone at the window, supporting her injured arm.
Now as she walked with these revelations crowding her mind, Tara saw Grey Gables just ahead, its facade tinted gold in the late afternoon light. How good its hostess had been to her. How trusting. Indeed, everyone in Stony Point had shown her kindness. They too must subscribe to Annie’s creed: A person can stay strong through trouble by doing what’s right and by opening your heart to others.
Tara paused on the same hill she had climbed that first night where she’d been given shelter in Annie’s house. She hid behind a tree, the ache in her heart weighing her down. She was a fraud! What a mess she had made of things with all her lies.
She would speak to Annie now and tell her the whole truth. She was about to step away from her hiding place when Annie came out onto the porch, her blue dress twirling as she closed the screen door. The lowering sun turned her hair golden. She was beautiful—beautiful and good. Or was she beautiful because she was good?
Tara watched a car pull up the drive. It was Ian Butler, the handsome mayor she had met and liked immediately. But his piercing eyes had put her on guard, and she had been glad to stay in the kitchen while he and Annie talked on the porch. Now they were going somewhere together, perhaps to dinner. There would be no time to speak to Annie now. She would have to carry the burden of her deception a while longer.
When she saw them disappear into the distance, she stepped out from behind the tree and walked to the house—the lovely Victorian house that had been her brief but blessed refuge. Her eyes burned with tears when she saw the note on the kitchen table:
Missed you, Tara. Hope you enjoyed your day. I fed Blackie. Ham and potato salad are in the fridge for you. See you tonight.
She stared at the note a long time as Boots twined around her ankles. She could hear an insistent mewling coming from above. Blackie was waiting for her. She started up the stairs to her room, but heard something at the back door, a scraping or stamping of feet. Had Annie forgotten something? Tara retraced her steps to the kitchen. She opened the back door, weary from the day’s climb and the heaviness of her thoughts.
Her heart leapt to her throat as Jem pushed his way into the kitchen. She hadn’t seen him since that day in the woods, the same day she’d found Carla sick and disoriented. She thought he had left her for good this time. And she’d begun to be glad.
He closed the door behind him and leaned against it. He looked worn and disheveled, as though he’d been up a long time; dark circles ringed his eyes and stubble shadowed his jaw. Her heart melted; she wanted to throw her arms around him. Instead she sprang away. “You’ve got to go! Annie will be back any minute.”
“No she won’t. She just left.” He stared at her with an expression she couldn’t read. “She probably won’t be back for hours.” A smile played briefly over his lips and disappeared. “It’s just you and me.” He took a step toward her. “Didn’t you miss me, honey?”
“What are you doing here?” she demanded.
“I came back for you,” he said in that same urgent way. “I could never leave you. You know that.” His eyes strayed from her face, roaming around the kitchen. “Nice place,” he said dreamily, “but it’s time to go. It shouldn’t take you long to pack your stuff—” He broke off, and then moved past her into the kitchen.