Page 78 of His Secret Obsession
And I’m tired of crying. Each day I wake up thinking that maybe today is the day the tears will stop coming. And each day, I’m wrong.
“Don’t you think this garden statue sort of looks like a cock? What’s it supposed to be?” The crass, yet familiar, voice jerks me out of my heavy thoughts and my head snaps up. I’ve only met the elderly woman once, but she’s not an easy person to forget.
“Mary, what are you doing here…?”
She glances around before giving me a pointed look. “Well, I’m not shopping for cock statues.” She waves it in front of me, andmy cheeks flush. Jesus, it does look a little vulgar. “Seriously, what is it?”
I tilt my head. “I think it’s a frog.”
She shrugs. “I’ll take it. It’ll give the homeowner’s association a shock.”
With a derisive snort, I ring it up and carefully wrap the fragile statue in bubble wrap.
Mary clears her throat. “Your parents…they were Grace and John Raddix, weren’t they?”
My fingers slip and I fumble to catch the garden statue before it falls to the floor and shatters. My pulse kicks up a notch. “Uh…yes, they were. How did you know?”
“I knew them, dear. They did several custom ordered furniture pieces for me.” Looking around the store again, she grimaces. “Since they’ve been gone, this is the closest furniture store we have to Cedarwood Valley, unfortunately.”
I suck in a deep breath. “I’m sorry if we met before and I didn’t remember you.”
She waves a dismissive hand, her eyes roaming over my face like she’s remembering something. “We didn’t. I prefer to do my shopping in the mornings, so you would have been in school. I had lunch with them once, too.”
My eyebrows shoot up. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Mary is a bit of a social butterfly, after all. “Here’s your receipt,” I mumble, handing it over along with the bag I put her purchase in. I wonder if she knows about Jax and me, and if she pities me now. I hate the thought.
She takes the bag but makes no move to leave. “They were going to leave their business to you,” she says softly.
“What?” My heart does a funny little flip before settling back into its regular rhythm.
“They said you had a natural talent for it, and when they talked about you, it was clear they were really proud.” She clears her throat, a suspiciously light sheen in her eyes.
I stare at her, my head spinning. They were going to leave the business to me…before everything went to hell. Before they wrecked their car and left me all alone, with only my cold aunt for guidance. I wouldn’t have been ready to run a business that young, but the information still makes my stomach burn. My aunt sold off every piece of their livelihood, never uttering a word to me. I had been so young, not enough life experience to realize I could object. And too damn grief stricken to try.
“I never really got over their deaths. Not completely anyway.” The whispered confession tumbles out of my mouth, and I don’t know why. Maybe because her own eyes are full of unshed tears or maybe because of the urge I have to grasp onto any connection to my parents. Or maybe because she seems like the least judgmental person I’ve ever met.
She smiles gently. “They would want you to move on, to get whatever closure you need. The only thing they ever wanted for you was a happy, fulfilling life—whatever that looks like.”
I lick my dry, trembling lips. “How do I do that?”
She releases a long, breathy sigh. “Only you can answer that question, but sometimes we have to revisit the past so we can move onto a better future. Just something to think about, dear.”
I stare at her vacated spot long after she leaves, turning her words over in my mind.
I know what I have to do. I’ve been avoiding it for years now.
Jax
My vision blurs as I stumble toward the idling car, my hands grappling to find the door handle in the darkened parking lot.
“They really need to invest in some lighting,” I mutter.
Maybe this was a bad idea. Hard to think about that right now though, with everything spinning like it is.
“Howdy.” I drop onto the passenger seat, flashing a megawatt grin at my scowling, petulant brother. His hair is mussed, and he has that sleepy-eyed expression that used to look downright adorable when he was a boy.
“Did I wake you up? Oops.” I pop thep.
“Why did you call me? Isn’t there someone else that can pick your drunk ass up?” His hand wraps around the gear shift, throwing it back into drive before guiding it out of the lot. The bar disappears behind us.
