Remember to Forget Page 20

  Maggie’s breath caught. “Was he . . . drunk?”

  “No.” Trevor gave a humorless laugh and wagged his head. “No, that’s the ironic thing. Jack never drank—not even that teenage rebellion thing in high school. He was stone sober the day of the accident.”

  “Oh, Trevor.” She tried to fathom how much this must have cost him. “How can you ever forgive something like that?”

  Trevor stared at her. “No, Meg. I forgave Jack. The day it happened. I truly did.”

  Maggie shook her head. She didn’t understand how anyone could possibly forgive such an incredible mistake.

  “It could easily have been you or me, Meg. We’ve all done it. You’re in a hurry, you think you checked traffic, but you’re distracted . . .”

  “So . . . his drinking . . . ?”

  “Guilt over what happened drove him to the bottle. He can’t seem to get over it.”

  She stared at him for a minute, unable to comprehend the kindness she saw in him. “But you forgave him.”

  He nodded, the dim light eclipsing his expression. “I think I understand how he feels. If the tables had been turned, I might have struggled with a similar temptation.” He hung his head, then looked up at her, sorrow clouding his eyes. “I’ve done everything I know to help release him from the guilt. But he can’t seem to forget. It’s out of my hands now. Until he can forgive himself, there’s nothing I can say or do.”

  He panned the dusky sky and nodded toward the pickup. “It’ll be dark soon. We should probably go.” He led the way around to her side and opened the door for her.

  When they were back in the truck, Trevor put his hand on the keys, then hesitated. “Would you mind if we just sat here for a while?”

  Maggie wanted to tell him she would’ve sat there with him all night. Instead she managed a nod.

  He rolled down his window, and she did likewise, letting a breeze move through the stuffy cab. They sat in silence, her mind reeling with everything she’d learned. She thought again of Trevor’s claim that he’d forgiven his friend. She ran a finger along the edge of the window, trying to muster the courage to ask the question burning inside her. “Please . . . don’t take this the wrong way, but . . . I don’t see how you could possibly forgive what he did.”

  He smiled softly. “I love Jack, Meg. He’s my friend.”

  “But what if he had been drunk when he hit Amy’s car? Could you still have forgiven him?”

  Trevor bit the corner of his lower lip and bent over the steering wheel for a moment. But when he straightened and met her eyes, his own were clear. “Even then I hope I would have chosen to forgive. But Meg, it’s not by my own will. I couldn’t do it without His help.” He gestured heavenward, then looked pointedly back at her. “None of us can do it without Him.”

  She averted her eyes, wanting to change the subject. “It must be so hard. This whole thing with your friend, on top of losing your family.”

  He gripped the wheel, a rueful smile curving his lips. “It pretty much stinks. But what are you going to do?”

  “I’m so sorry, Trevor.” Why could she never think of the words that might hold true comfort?

  He shifted in his seat. “The worst of it is what it’s done to Wren.”

  “I don’t understand why he distanced himself from Wren.”

  “I’m not sure I understand it either. But then liquor doesn’t do much to put sense into a man’s head.”

  She nodded slowly. She understood more than Trevor could possibly know.

  “I think Wren saw Jack throwing his life away and tried to intervene. That didn’t sit well with Twila, and somehow it got all messed up, and Wren became a place Jack could unleash his anger.”

  “Poor Wren.”

  “So now maybe you can understand why Wren”—he reached across the seat to pat her hand—“and me, too—are uncomfortable with you working for Jack. The gallery was thriving a few years ago. Jack had so much promise. He’s a very talented man. But I don’t know if he’s even finished a painting since that day. Or sold much of anything.” He shook his head. “In case you hadn’t noticed, Clayburn isn’t exactly a cultural mecca with people lining up to collect original art.”

  She smiled at his sarcasm.

  His gaze moved out to where the crosses poked up through the grasses in the ditch. “Maybe he does need help at the gallery. It’s not my business—or Wren’s, for that matter—what you do. We just don’t want to see you get hurt. And most of the time, Jack has a full-time job just trying to stand up straight.”

  Sincerity softened his expression. Maggie saw in his face how much Trevor cared for his friend. And for Wren.

  “What happened to Jack wasn’t fair.” Trevor’s voice was far away for a minute. He stared out the front windshield into the encroaching darkness, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I don’t have to tell you how much I hate it that it was my friend driving that car that terrible day.”

  Maggie watched him, feeling strangely privileged to be here with him right now. She shook her head. “It seems like a cruel joke—if there is a God—to play tricks like that.”

  Trevor’s gaze bored a hole through her soul. “I’ve never doubted God’s providence, His care for a minute, Meg. Even after that awful Saturday. I think His heart broke over Amy and Trev, and I think it’s broken for Jack. I don’t claim to understand why any of it happened the way it did, but I know God didn’t stop being God the day Amy died.”

  Maggie wanted to argue with him, tried even, to find the words that would dispute his claim. But the truth was, she envied him, longed to believe in something—Someone—the way he did. She fingered the frayed edge of her seat belt. “I’m so sorry for everything you’ve been through. It makes my life seem like a piece of cake.” She wanted to snatch back the words the minute they left her mouth. What she’d said was true, but with one sentence, she’d given him an open invitation to inquire into her life.

  And from the look on his face, and being the gentleman he was, he was graciously taking the bait. He stretched his arm over the back of the truck’s bench seat and touched her shoulder briefly. “So tell me about Meg. What are you looking for?”

  The question startled her. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “What do you hope to find here in Clayburn?”

  She tipped her head, thinking, intensely aware of his eyes on her. What was she looking for? Interestingly enough, she felt as if she were on the verge of finding whatever it was, yet she didn’t know how to answer Trevor’s simple question. He didn’t push, he didn’t make her feel uncomfortable. He simply waited.

  “I’m not sure what I’m searching for. But I know I’ve needed to get away for a long time. I wish I could tell you that I finally found the courage to leave—Kevin.” She cast a quick look at him, then away again. “His name was Kevin. But that’s not what happened.” She shook her head slowly and a scornful laugh bubbled from her throat. “I got carjacked.”

  Trevor’s eyes grew round, his brows rising in unison. “Seriously?”

  She told him what had happened that morning. “It’s not that unusual in . . . where I’m from—where I used to live. When I finally got away from the guy, I was a long way from the apartment where we lived.”

  “You lived with him?”

  She looked at her lap and nodded. No hint of accusation hardened Trevor’s tone, yet she felt one inside her. A week ago she’d never given her and Kevin’s living arrangements much thought. It hadn’t been a big deal in New York. Most people she knew got married when they were ready to start a family—if then. Before that, they tried on the shoes before they bought them, as Kevin liked to put it. But something about the people of this small town made her rethink so many of her decisions. Made her feel embarrassed even.

  She risked a glance at Trevor’s face, expecting to see traces of judgment there. Instead genuine concern was written in his kind eyes. And something else. Something she couldn’t quite define.

  She contemplated how much to say
, and finally spoke, slowly, hopping from one phrase to another, as if she were navigating steppingstones across a pond. “That day, when that guy took my car, I was sitting there with a gun pointed at me, and it struck me that I was more terrified to go home to Kevin than I was to stay in that car.” She hung her head, finding pain in remembering.

  Trevor’s brief, tender touch on her shoulder acted as a balm, and her throat tightened.

  “It sounds to me like what you did took a great deal of courage. More than you realize maybe.” His voice was soft in the graying evening light.

  She’d never thought about it that way. Maybe it was true. Maybe she was stronger than she knew. Maybe she wasn’t doomed to repeat her mother’s history. Maybe she really could start all over again, here in this quiet little town. Trevor Ashlock made her want, with everything in her being, for that to be true.

  A breeze threaded through the windows. She heard the doves call to one another again.

  “Meg, you need to understand that I love Jack like a brother, but I don’t think working for him is the best thing you could do right now. For anybody—Jack included. I hope it doesn’t seem like I’m being disloyal to my friend.”

  She tensed slightly, trying to weigh her words. “And I hope it doesn’t make me seem ungrateful to say that I think I can handle it.”

  He held up his palms in surrender. “I’m not telling you what to do. But I’m thinking of Wren here, too. I know you probably don’t plan to stay at the inn forever, but Wren thinks a lot of you, and it would make things uncomfortable for her, too, if you were working for Jack.”

  Maggie wanted to kick herself. Was she so thoughtless that she hadn’t seen that Trevor’s deeper concern was for sweet Wren? He must think she was a first-class jerk. Well, she was. She pressed her lips into a hard line, wishing the floorboards would swallow her up. “I’m sorry, Trevor. I didn’t even think of that. I’m an idiot.”

  That coaxed a smile to his mouth. “No you’re not. You’re a woman who needs to worry about her own life right now. I think I understand.”

  But he couldn’t understand. He didn’t know what kind of person she was, how selfish she’d been, the mistakes she’d made, the good people she’d deceived and taken advantage of in order to get to Clayburn. Not to mention the lies she was still perpetuating in order to stay there. She’d dug herself so deep a trench, she wasn’t sure how she could ever climb out.

  Even if she were safe now, she had a new reason to keep her secrets.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  The telephone poles blurred past again as they drove back into town, and Maggie’s mind played a tug of war with itself. Something in her—some foolish, self-destructive part of her—wanted to tell Trevor everything. Come clean. Get it over with. Be free once and for all from all the secrets she harbored.

  But she couldn’t do that. She knew she couldn’t. Even if she were safe now, if Clayburn really was far enough away from Kevin that she’d never have to worry about him again, now she had a new reason to keep her secrets.

  Trevor. It hadn’t taken her a week to know that Trevor Ashlock was a decent man. A man of honor and integrity. She’d never known anyone like him. But if she told him the truth about herself now—that she wasn’t the woman he thought her to be, that even her very name was a lie—he would be out of her life so fast her head would spin.

  And if he was the kind of man she thought him to be, maybe he would even warn Bart and Wren and Jackson Linder about her. He wouldn’t let his friends be duped by a woman like her. She could never convince him that she’d changed. Not when she still held so many secrets from them. They would all send her packing faster than she could say “Greyhound,” and who could blame them?

  How could it matter so much to her—this little town that she’d never even heard of a week ago? And these people who’d somehow made her care for the first time in ages. She didn’t understand it. She had changed. She was different somehow. She had a hope inside that she’d never before dared to entertain. She even found herself wondering if God had something to do with it all. If maybe He knew who she was and cared what happened to her. It frightened her in a way she couldn’t explain.

  She sensed Trevor’s eyes on her, but she couldn’t face him with these thoughts snarling her brain.

  “Hey.” His voice was low and gentle. “You okay?”

  She kneaded her temples. “I have a lot to think about right now. I’m sorry if I’m not the best company.”

  “Are you worrying about . . . him? About Kevin?”

  She nodded. “I’m scared.” That was true, but it was so much more.

  “I’ll look out for you. If you hear from him, if he gives you any trouble, we’ll go to the authorities. He has no rights to you whatsoever if you don’t want him in your life anymore. He needs to know that.”

  She shook her head. “It’s not that simple.”

  “What is it then? I know you don’t really know me, but I want to help you. You don’t have to be afraid. You’re safe here.”

  Oh, how she wanted to believe that. If only it were true.

  “What can I do to help? If there’s anything I can do, you only have to call me. I want you to believe that.”

  She took a deep breath and took a plunge into trust. “Trevor, I need that job . . . with Jackson. I’ll wait to talk to him for a few days. I promised Wren I’d help get the painting finished at the inn. I’ve got a place to sleep until then, and I can keep looking for other work in the meantime. But I—” She swallowed hard. “If I don’t find anything else, I just can’t run anymore. I’m too tired.”

  The weariness in Meg’s eyes, in the hunch of her shoulders, touched Trevor. He’d been there . . . too recently. Not for the same reasons, of course, but he thought he understood. At least in his own sorrow and seeking, he’d been surrounded by people who loved him. Meg was alone. Completely alone. How terrible that must be.

  He remembered she’d mentioned a sister. Maybe that was a way he could help. Surely it would be a comfort to have family here. He turned to her, nervous about broaching the subject. “Meg, have you talked to your sister since you got here?”

  She gave him a wary eye. “I sent her an e-mail. Why?”

  “Could she maybe come and help you find a place to live? Help you get settled in?”

  She opened her mouth, then hesitated. He could almost read her mind as she tried to decide whether to confide in him. Please, let her trust me, Father.

  “My sister—Jenn—doesn’t know where I am. Kevin is . . . not a nice person. I’m afraid of what he might do if he thought Jenn knew where to find me.”

  Trevor whistled under his breath. “I didn’t realize it was like that. But maybe she could come here for a while? Until Kevin . . .” He wasn’t sure how to fill in the blank. Did a man like that give up?

  Meg shook her head. “Jenn’s happy. She had a rough start, but she’s married to a decent man. They struggle. For some reason, Mark has a hard time holding a job. But I think she’s truly happy. After all she’s been through, I wouldn’t dare mess up her life. I’m happy for her, I really am.” Meg’s voice cracked.

  “She knows you’re okay though, right?”

  Meg laughed, but it came out stilted and unconvincing. “Am I okay?”

  Her sad smile tugged at him. At a place so deep he hadn’t dared explore for a long time. Not since Amy.

  “Only you can know that, Meg. I think you’re going to be fine. But can I make a suggestion?”

  She shrugged.

  “Don’t hide who you are. Be honest. People around here will love you for who you really are. That’s one thing you don’t ever need to be afraid of.”

  The tears came then. She tried to gulp them back, but they rolled down her cheeks in torrents. If he hadn’t been driving, he might have been tempted to take her in his arms and try to soothe away her silent sobs.

  Probably best he was driving.

  When they got back to the inn, he hopped out of the pickup and ran ar
ound to open her door. “You gonna be okay?”

  She swiped at a damp cheek, then nodded and gave him a wobbly smile.

  “Why don’t you go to your room and—”

  She giggled. “Are you sending me to my room?”

  It was good to see a little sunshine back in her smile. “I didn’t mean it that way.” He grinned. “Just take a little break. Take a nap or wash your face or whatever. I’ll get started painting later on, and you can help when you’re ready.”

  “Thank you, Trevor. If you don’t mind, I think I’d like to go to the library before they close. I want to e-mail Jenn.”

  He smiled. “Good for you.”

  Maggie hesitated, her finger hovering over the mouse, cursor pointed at the Send button. She was tempted for a split second to erase everything she’d written and crawl back into her cocoon of fear. But she made herself click the button and whispered the closest thing she knew to a prayer as she watched her e-mail disappear and the telling words pop up on the screen. YOUR E-MAIL HAS BEEN SENT.

  She sat in front of the computer at the study carrel for several minutes, wondering if she’d done the right thing. She kept hearing Trevor’s encouraging words. Good for you. Good for you. It seemed like a blessing.

  She hoped so. She’d asked a lot of her sister. Not only did she tell her where she was staying, but she sent Jenn the information she would need to get a copy of her birth certificate and Social Security card. As soon as she had the details taken care of and the papers in her hands, she intended to come clean and start living an honest life. As flawed and confused as she was, it was too hard trying to be somebody else.

  She logged off the e-mail program and pushed her chair back, vaguely aware of whispering behind her. She turned to see a tow-headed boy of about four pointing at her.

  “See, I told you, Mommy.” He stuck out his chin in defiance.

  The woman with him balanced a toddler on her hip and reached to put one hand on the little boy’s head, shushing him. Then her eyes widened. “Oh! It is you!” The woman had a little boy and two small girls close beside her. “You probably don’t remember, but we gave you a ride last week out east of town. I’m Kaye.”