She thumbed toward Sarah. “Aunt Sarah told me when we walked around town.”
“Oh.” The short-lived joy that crashed into despair left him dizzy.
“We should go inside. Dinner’s ready.” Mom filled in the sudden silence with a false brightness.
Chase hurried up the steps and opened the front door, allowing them to walk in ahead of him.
Michelle paused at the end of the line, hesitating with one foot in the house and one on the porch. Her head swung back, and for one brief moment, they stood eye to eye. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” The lack of recognition still stung, but when he looked deep into her brown eyes, he realized his hurt didn’t matter.
Michelle’s entire life had been ripped away from her, and he wanted to pout and complain because of something that happened fifteen years ago? He had no right to hold it against her when she didn’t remember.
“I’m sorry.” He blurted out the apology when she started to turn away. “If there’s anything I can do to help, let me know.”
For the first time since he arrived, a tiny, genuine smile appeared. It reminded him of time spent together down by the pond, years and years of memories that tangled and begged for attention. Had she missed him? Before she lost her memory, did she look back on those years with fondness or was it nothing more than a blip of time she’d suffered through until she finally escaped? Not knowing turned his stomach.
Knowing he couldn’t ask attempted to bring back the annoyance. He pushed it down, way out of the way where it belonged, and followed Michelle into the house.
Mom and Sarah bustled around the kitchen, their chatting and laughter filling the house with warmth. He missed the comfort of Mom’s laughter, the joy she found in having company.
Michelle stopped in the middle of the living room. Her hands opened and closed like her joints ached. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.” He made sure his tone remained polite and friendly, all while praying she wouldn’t ask how they knew each other.
Michelle swallowed twice and rubbed her throat. Her gaze locked onto the two women setting the table. “Why did Aunt Sarah move into an assisted living facility? She seems fine.”
His breath whooshed out. He’d almost rather she’d asked about their past, even though he knew she didn’t have a clue they’d once been so close he’d proposed marriage. “She puts on a good front, especially with you here.” He’d not meant the words to come out short and sharp, and when Michelle flinched back slightly, he dropped his head. “I didn’t mean to sound accusing. It was a recent decision. Upkeep on the house was too much for her to handle alone, and then she found out she has Parkinsons. It’s not advanced, but she noticed some shaking that made her uncomfortable driving and living alone.”
Michelle listened with the same kind of calm interest that had drawn him to her as a kid. She never rushed into a decision. Which meant that her decision to leave wasn’t an accident.
Her head swiveled toward him, then back to the kitchen. The color drained from her face, and she twisted her hands tighter. “Did I know?” A quick head shake, followed by, “If I did, I was told more than six months ago.”
Coming to grips with what she’d lost jolted her, and he stepped forward with his hands outstretched in case she went down. It wouldn’t be the first time. The memory of her falling into his arms burned as brightly now as it had 15 years ago.
“Dinner time.” Mom called out in a sing-song voice. She peeked around the edge of the open door, her smile firmly in place. “Come on and grab a seat.”
Michelle scrunched her hands into fists and marched forward with all the enthusiasm of a woman headed to the gallows.
Sarah had already taken a seat on the far side of the table, with Mom sliding in beside her, leaving two chairs open.
He raised an eyebrow at Mom in a silent question, asking why he was being forced to sit beside Michelle.
Mom ignored him and dropped her napkin into her lap. “Chase, will you say grace?”
Michelle’s chair screeched away from the table. Her head snapped up, the look in her eyes full of something he didn’t understand.
“Sure.” He took the chair from Michelle and held it out, scooting it beneath her as she lowered into it. Her hair brushed over his knuckles when she leaned back, and he yanked his hands away. Too late. The feel of the silky strands wove through him, stitching together years of heartbreak. He dropped into his chair and folded his hands together in his lap.
Mom cleared her throat and held out a hand.
He gritted his teeth and glared daggers at her, finally relenting when she raised an eyebrow to challenge him. Why did it matter whether he held Michelle’s hand if he was over her?
Mom took his hand in her right one and Sarah’s in her left.
Michelle’s eyes widened when he held out his hand toward her. So much context in such a small movement. Her hands fluttered in her lap before she raised one and set her palm against his.
Getting struck by lightning might be easier than holding her hand and holding back the way it made his hair stand on end as every nerve came alive.
