Page 55 of Unpacking Secrets
“That’s your grandfather,” he said, pointing to the first. “There are some other old photos of him around the inn. I’ll show you, if you haven’t seen them yet.”
Nan’s husband was a handsome, distinguished man with soft eyes and a gentle smile. I recognized him from one of the pictures on the mantle, but seeing him through Nan’s eyes was different. After studying his features for a moment, I turned the page, revealing an achingly beautiful image of my mother’s face.
“That’s my mom,” I told him. Carefully, so as not to smudge the charcoal, I laid my fingertips over my mother’s cheek. “She looks so sad here, so young.”
Henry squeezed my shoulder gently and pointed to the date at the bottom of the page. “This must have been around the time she left town, right?”
I nodded. “She was just a kid. I never really thought about what it must have been like for her. She left everything she’d ever known to make a new life, not just for herself but for me, too. I always knew being a single mom was difficult at times, but she was barely eighteen when she left Spruce Hill, pregnant and on her own. It must have been so hard.”
My words faded into silence as I flipped to the final page. This picture was of a young man, older than my mother’s portrait but not by much, with a cruel mouth and cold, dark eyes. Something about him seemed almost familiar at first, but at second glance, the sensation was lost. The date was the same as the previous page.
I stared down at it, studying each harsh line, before saying, “She left a note for me to contact the inn. I found it right before the house was sold.”
“Your mom?”
“Yes. She said lives were at stake and I needed to protect myself.”
Henry tensed at my side. “Protect yourself from what?”
“I don’t know. I thought she was just being dramatic. She told me to call the owner of the inn, who would explain things to me.”
“Shit,” he whispered.
“Yeah, that about sums it up.” I tapped the sketch in front of us. “Could this have been her boyfriend? His name was Lewis, I found it in one of the journals.”
“No,” Henry said slowly. “I’m pretty sure that was Lewis Zoratti. There was a framed photo of him and your mom from a school dance in the office at the inn. This is definitely not him.”
An unreasonable twinge of jealousy struck me, then flitted away. It wasn’t Henry’s fault he’d grown up so close to my family history while I’d been a thousand miles away. He must have seen the disquiet written on my face, because he pressed a kiss to my temple.
“It’s all yours, Red. I’ll help you track down every piece of history in every hidden corner of the inn, if that’s what you want. We can even visit Lewis this weekend, if you’d like to talk to him. I’m sure he’d be willing.”
I tore my eyes from the sketchbook and looked at his handsome face, shadowed now by morning stubble. Somehow, the scruff made him even more alluring.
“Thank you,” I said softly, then dropped my eyes back to the page, frowning down at the drawing. “Nan’s journals mentioned another guy, one who fought with my mom and showed up drunk, but she only used the initial T. This could be him. This . . . this could be my father.”
“Then we’ll find out who he is.”
My heart leapt into my throat at the prospect of learning more. I knew well enough that Nan’s view of this man had very likely influenced her portrayal of him, especially if she blamed him for my mother’s abrupt departure from town, but the sketch left me uneasy.
Henry’s strong fingers massaged the back of my neck as another rush of affection swept through me. I'd come to Spruce Hill looking for answers and instead I kept finding so many more questions. Anything he could do to help me in that quest, Henry seemed ready and willing to do it.
I appreciated it more than I could say.
And yet . . . I had a bad feeling, deep in my gut, as I studied the image.
“Maybe he was the reason my mom left town,” I said. “Maybe he was as malicious as he looks here. Maybe that’s the danger she was warning me about.”
The possibility had clearly crossed Henry’s mind as well—I could see it in his eyes, now solemn and worried. Spruce Hill was known for its low crime rates, but I couldn’t quell the thrum of anxiety that took root inside me.
“Maybe,” he agreed, his tone so serious that a chill ran down my spine.
“But you’ll help me find out who he was anyway?” I asked, studying him closely.
He nodded. “Of course I will. You should know by now that I’d do anything you asked.”
I got the feeling there was something he wasn’t saying. Even after the turn our relationship had taken, I was still a little flustered by that willingness to help, but then he cupped my cheek in his hand. His cautious expression was making me nervous.
“Will you do something for me?”
