her tea and then leaned forward.
“Mom,” she began tentatively, “do you remember the night Faith and I ran away to Toronto, when we were twelve?”
Dana’s expression darkened. “Don’t remind me. You scared me to death, disappearing like that. I never did quite forgive Faith for dragging you along with her. It took your father and me long enough to get over the fact that you’d do something so harebrained as to hitchhike at that age.”
“I know,” Brooke said patiently, “and I’ve apologized a thousand times. You know I only went along because I couldn’t stop Faith from going and I was afraid something would happen to her.”
“Yes, and I grant you she didn’t have an easy time in that house.”
Brooke paused before continuing. She hadn’t told her mother much about that night—only that she and Faith had nowhere to go when they arrived in the city and, frightened and overwhelmed, took the bus to Faith’s aunt’s house in the suburb of Scarborough. Less than compassionate to the girls’ plight, Aunt Rachel had called her brother immediately to pick them up.
Over the years Brooke had asked herself why she hadn’t simply refused to go with him; they had seen his unsteady gait and unfocused gaze, and recognized the slurring of his speech as he reprimanded them. Eager to get to bed, Rachel hadn’t seemed to notice, leaving the girls with few options.
Drawing a deep breath, Brooke let her next words tumble out, revealing to her mother something she’d never dared to before. “Did you know that Mr. Kinley had been drinking before he came to get us?”
Dana shifted in her chair, her brows deeply knitted. “I didn’t, but I can’t say I’m surprised, knowing the problems he had with alcohol. If he’d called your dad and me first to let us know he was going—as he should’ve done in any case, knowing how worried we were—we would’ve insisted on driving there ourselves to get you. Why didn’t you tell me then?”
Brooke lifted one shoulder. “I suppose I was afraid to. I didn’t want to get Faith into more trouble with her dad than she was already in.”
“Well, thank God you arrived home safely.” Reaching across the table, Dana gave her daughter’s shoulder an affectionate squeeze. “It’s a wonder the man didn’t kill anyone all those years he was on the road. Why are you bringing this up now?”
“No reason.” Feeling her stomach twist, Brooke curled both hands around her teacup, absorbing its warmth.
“There has to be a reason, Brooke.”
She shook her head, unwilling to tell any more of what she knew. “I suppose because he just died, it’s on my mind. I guess I feel partially responsible for the fact that he was on the road that night, in his condition.”
Her mother offered an encouraging smile. “Brooke, no matter what you and Faith did, Ross Kinley was a grown man who should have known better. He made that choice all on his own. Anyhow, no one was hurt, so just forget about it, all right?”
* * *
Mid-afternoon, there were few customers wandering the aisles of Roderick’s Food Market. At the back of the store, Ian plucked a carton of cream from the cooler and set it next to the loaf of bread and dozen eggs in his basket. At least breakfast was taken care of; he had no idea what to make for dinner. Too often he grabbed a boxed meal from the frozen food section, years of throwing together dinners for one having left him scrambling for inspiration.
As he turned down the last aisle, in search of sugar, he caught sight of her. She stood on her tiptoes, her chin tilted up so she could scan the top shelf, appraising the scant selection of cake embellishments. His pulse jumped in anticipation. As he approached her, a slow smile curved his mouth; suddenly dinner for two struck him as a delightful prospect.
“More baking?” he asked over her shoulder.
Brooke sank back onto her heels, her hair fanning in a golden-brown arc as her head spun toward him.
“Mom,” she began tentatively, “do you remember the night Faith and I ran away to Toronto, when we were twelve?”
Dana’s expression darkened. “Don’t remind me. You scared me to death, disappearing like that. I never did quite forgive Faith for dragging you along with her. It took your father and me long enough to get over the fact that you’d do something so harebrained as to hitchhike at that age.”
“I know,” Brooke said patiently, “and I’ve apologized a thousand times. You know I only went along because I couldn’t stop Faith from going and I was afraid something would happen to her.”
“Yes, and I grant you she didn’t have an easy time in that house.”
Brooke paused before continuing. She hadn’t told her mother much about that night—only that she and Faith had nowhere to go when they arrived in the city and, frightened and overwhelmed, took the bus to Faith’s aunt’s house in the suburb of Scarborough. Less than compassionate to the girls’ plight, Aunt Rachel had called her brother immediately to pick them up.
Over the years Brooke had asked herself why she hadn’t simply refused to go with him; they had seen his unsteady gait and unfocused gaze, and recognized the slurring of his speech as he reprimanded them. Eager to get to bed, Rachel hadn’t seemed to notice, leaving the girls with few options.
Drawing a deep breath, Brooke let her next words tumble out, revealing to her mother something she’d never dared to before. “Did you know that Mr. Kinley had been drinking before he came to get us?”
Dana shifted in her chair, her brows deeply knitted. “I didn’t, but I can’t say I’m surprised, knowing the problems he had with alcohol. If he’d called your dad and me first to let us know he was going—as he should’ve done in any case, knowing how worried we were—we would’ve insisted on driving there ourselves to get you. Why didn’t you tell me then?”
Brooke lifted one shoulder. “I suppose I was afraid to. I didn’t want to get Faith into more trouble with her dad than she was already in.”
“Well, thank God you arrived home safely.” Reaching across the table, Dana gave her daughter’s shoulder an affectionate squeeze. “It’s a wonder the man didn’t kill anyone all those years he was on the road. Why are you bringing this up now?”
“No reason.” Feeling her stomach twist, Brooke curled both hands around her teacup, absorbing its warmth.
“There has to be a reason, Brooke.”
She shook her head, unwilling to tell any more of what she knew. “I suppose because he just died, it’s on my mind. I guess I feel partially responsible for the fact that he was on the road that night, in his condition.”
Her mother offered an encouraging smile. “Brooke, no matter what you and Faith did, Ross Kinley was a grown man who should have known better. He made that choice all on his own. Anyhow, no one was hurt, so just forget about it, all right?”
* * *
Mid-afternoon, there were few customers wandering the aisles of Roderick’s Food Market. At the back of the store, Ian plucked a carton of cream from the cooler and set it next to the loaf of bread and dozen eggs in his basket. At least breakfast was taken care of; he had no idea what to make for dinner. Too often he grabbed a boxed meal from the frozen food section, years of throwing together dinners for one having left him scrambling for inspiration.
As he turned down the last aisle, in search of sugar, he caught sight of her. She stood on her tiptoes, her chin tilted up so she could scan the top shelf, appraising the scant selection of cake embellishments. His pulse jumped in anticipation. As he approached her, a slow smile curved his mouth; suddenly dinner for two struck him as a delightful prospect.
“More baking?” he asked over her shoulder.
Brooke sank back onto her heels, her hair fanning in a golden-brown arc as her head spun toward him.
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