A Keeper's Truth

A Keeper's Truth Read Free Page B

Book: A Keeper's Truth Read Free
Author: Dee Willson
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pebble
and works a lot. Karen’s his third and most patient wife.
    “Speaking
of jail,” she says, “Katherine and I have been chatting, and we think it’s time
you bust out of that studio of yours. You spend too much time surrounded by
imaginary friends, and it’s time you joined the land of the living.”
    The land
of the living. What an interesting choice of words. I’d sensed an ambush when
Karen insisted I meet her at the spa today, only I hadn’t realized it was a
joint effort. Katherine is Meyer’s grandmother, aka Grams. She’s known Karen
far longer than I have. I only met Karen five years ago, when Meyer introduced
us at a charity art auction. I’d donated a painting and Karen was the organizer
of the charity. She’d also been Meyer’s babysitter growing up, which made for a
fun night of jokes and jabs. Meyer’s cheeks glowed pink whenever Karen described
the various love notes and Valentines Meyer had given her over the years. Poor
Meyer. I hadn’t laughed that hard in ages.
    “I’m
living. I function. I take Abby to school, walk her home. I even bring Abby to
Thomas’s horse farm on McNiven Road to play with
Sofia once in a while, which happens to have all sorts of living things
wandering about.”
    Karen
rolls her eyes. “I know where Thomas lives.”
    Of course
she does. Karen is Carlisle’s queen bee. She probably rang Thomas’s doorbell a
year ago, the minute he and Sofia set roots in town.
    “So, what
is it with you and Thomas then?”
    I stare at
her, dumbfounded. “He’s a nice guy. Good with Abby. That’s it.”
    Summer was
rough with Meyer gone, and Thomas kept Abby busy with playdates, allowing me
much-needed time to grieve without an audience.
    I smile at
Karen. “The guy bakes a killer apple pie.”
    I have a
thing for apples.
    Karen
leans in, over the arm of her chair. “You don’t think Thomas wants more from
you?”
    “No, I
don’t.” Really, I don’t. “His daughter is Abby’s best friend.”
    “Sure,
that’s it.”
    Thomas is
Carlisle’s prime bachelor, or so I gather. Ladies shamelessly fawn over him at
school functions, Karen included. I guess I see why. The guy has that summer
fling look, like he just jumped from a jeep with a volleyball under his arm and
sand on his feet, ready to play. Not my thing. Besides, I’m done with men.
Meyer loved me, and lightning doesn’t strike twice.
    “Let it
go, Karen, there is nothing between Thomas and me.”
    “Why not?
You’re beautiful, young. I see the way men look at you. It’s shitty how it
happened, but you are single, and Thomas is a nice specimen if you ask me.”
    “I
didn’t.”
    I glance
at my feet. Romi’s put her weight into rubbing my
soles with some gritty concoction that stings. Like hearing I’m single. Before
university, I had the usual string of crappy boyfriends and one-night stands.
Usual, that is, for a girl who was willing to tolerate an awful lot of crap for
some much needed attention. Shitheads, for the most part, their pockets full of
DUIs and stolen goods. It wasn’t pretty.
    Karen
rests a hand on mine. “Meyer loved you. I’ve never seen anyone so smitten. But
he wouldn’t want you crying forever, Chickpea. He’d hate to see you like this,
with all the life drained away. He’d want you to be happy, to move on. We all
want what’s best for you.” She squeezes my hand. “No one is saying you need to
jump head first into the dating game, but consider getting out, opening your
mind to a world of possibilities. You’re too young to spend so much time
alone.”
    Tears
hover just below the surface, and I turn the other way, in need of a
distraction. Karen keeps talking, of course, but I can’t bear to hear what she
has to say. I’ve grabbed a Forgotten History Magazine from the Formica
shelving unit beside my lounger, under a shelf of strange looking bottles. The
feature article asks, “How old are we?” and “Where’s the proof?” It’s quite
fascinating really,

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