“I know what you’re going through, you know,” Maggie pushed.“And I know how scary it is to take a chance when you’ve been betrayed.”
“Except you weren’t betrayed,” I reminded her.
“True,” she readily admitted, flushing red though she bravely met my gaze.“But I took a chance to be with him when I still thought I was.”
I shook my head.“It’s not the same.”
Maxine’s eyes bounced back and forth between us like she was watching a champion tennis match.
“Of course, it isn’t,” Maggie retorted quietly.“But you and Deacon have a story.And with him coming back and seeking you out, I don’t think it’s finished.”
I blew out a breath.My mind flooding with everything stacked against us, I answered honestly, “I think it’s finished as cleanly as it can be.”
“I guess it comes down to how you want to live,” Maxine mused.
I gave her a look.
She pressed her lips together and smiled tightly.“I want to see you happy.”
My eyebrows flew up.“And you think Deacon will make me happy?You don’t even know him!”
She shrugged.“I have no idea what will make you happy.You live in a cozy little cocoon.Maybe it’s time to come out.”
I did live in a soft, warm, cozy cocoon, one I’d worked tirelessly to provide for myself.
I had no desire to leave it.
The strings of my heart pulled taut in protest.
“It came to a point I had to decide,” Maggie stated quietly.“Do I want to be safe, or do I want to be alive?”
“Why can’t it be both?”I whispered.
Maxine’s hand covered mine.“Who says it can’t?”
5
Five Minutes
Deacon
The snow on either side of the path reached mid thigh, and the winter sun near blinded me as it reflected off its brilliant, icy surface.I checked the time as I took the freshly scraped front steps two at a time.
Two inches of snow covered the arms of the rocking chairs on the porch that never once made it into storage after all these years.
His and hers.
A dream I’d once wanted with Jenny.
An unwelcome and unaccustomed nervous anticipation sizzled in my veins.
An hour.
One hour and then I’d track Jenny down.
I knocked my knuckle against the door and turned the handle.
“Deacon,” my mother exclaimed, bustling toward me with a broad smile, her skirt rippling around her slender legs.“This is your house.You don’t have to knock!”
