“Because she was a single mother herself,” Jonathon finished the sentence for her.
She shot him a surprised look. “How did you…?”
“Your Uncle Hank’s father died in Korea. He was just six months old. She didn’t marry your grandfather for another two years.”
“And you know this…how, exactly?”
He raised his hand. “Fan of Google. Remember?”
“You researched my uncle?”
“Well, your family. There’s a Wikipedia article on the Morgans. You’re sort of a footnote.”
“We live in a weird world.” She just shook her head, wrapping her arms more tightly around her body. “I never thought to Google myself. If I had, I guess I would have known that about Mema and Uncle Hank’s father.”
“You didn’t know?”
“It was only vaguely familiar. I must have heard it years ago and forgotten. I’ve never even heard Mema mention her first husband. And when Papa was alive he treated Uncle Hank and Dad like they were both his children. He set up trusts for all of us grandkids. Just like Hank Jr. and Bitsy were his own.” She felt tears prickling her eyes, and blinked them back.
It had been so long since she’d thought about her Papa. He filtered through her thoughts nearly every day, but she didn’t often take out the memories and dust them off.
“He used to love having the whole family together,” she said, suddenly wanting to share those memories with Jonathon. “He loved the holidays most. When all the grandkids were running around. He’d have adored Peyton.”
For the first time, it occurred to her that maybe the tenets of her trust hadn’t been designed to control and manipulate her. Maybe he’d just wanted all the family to stay together forever. How disappointed he’d be.
Of course, he’d never met Helen. He probably wouldn’t want to be around her either.
Still, the thought of Papa’s disappointment snatched her breath away and she found herself shivering again.
Jonathon must have noticed. He unzipped his windbreaker and pulled her close so her back brushed against his chest. Then he wrapped the edges of the jacket around her, enveloping her in his warmth.
She leaned her head back against his shoulder, looking at the tree he’d planted so long ago, marveling that he’d planted a single acorn and it had actually grown into something. Not something big yet, but with the potential to someday be massive and strong.
“Tell me something, Wendy,” he murmured, his voice close to her ear. “If there was a way for you to keep Peyton without being married to me, without moving back to Texas, would you do it?”
Everything inside of her went dead still at his question.
She squeezed her eyes shut again. This time, not to shut in tears but to block out her dread. She knew every modulation of his voice. The question wasn’t pure speculation. She knew if she could see his face, he’d be wearing his I-solved-the-problem expression. Was he wondering—as she was—if this greater understanding of Mema could be used to convince her that Wendy was a suitable mother, with or without a husband?
“No,” she admitted softly. Barely a whisper. She was not even sure she wanted him to hear it.
But he did hear it. She felt it in the faint stiffening of his muscles.
And a moment later, he stepped back from her and held out his hand. Nodding toward the house, he said, “It’s almost Peyton’s bedtime.”
She let him lead her back across the lawn and into the boisterously cheerful company of his family. Although she smiled brightly as everyone said goodbye and started heading home, she couldn’t dislodge the lump of dread in her throat.
She’d admitted to him that she’d stay married no matter what, but he had—rather obviously—not done the same. And she couldn’t help wondering, did he fully realize what she’d admitted? Did he know that she was already in love with him?
By the time Jonathon followed Wendy back into the house, Marie had noticed how sleepy Peyton looked and was beginning to shuttle people out the door. Wendy stood stiffly to the side, seeing people off. The bright smile on her face didn’t quite reach her eyes. He wasn’t sure what he’d done to upset her, but it was obvious that he’d made a mess of things.
Finally Marie showed Jonathon and Wendy to one of the bedrooms. There were bunk beds along one wall and—just as Jonathon had predicted—a blow-up bed on the floor. Marie had pulled a Pack ’n Play out of the attic and wedged it between the head of the bed and the room’s only dresser. Toys had been piled up on the lower bunk bed to clear space on the floor for the blowup bed, which barely fit as it was. Unless one of them wanted to sleep on the top bunk, they’d be in the same bed tonight.