Street organized a free concert in Danvers Park. Catherine usually looked forward to the event, though Wyatt did not. He whined and complained, reminding her, in case sheâd forgotten, that it often rained, that the bands were no good. Yet in the end he always relented. Later, at home, sheâd remind him that he liked to put her through the same exasperating routine every summer. âYou always have a ball in spite of yourself,â sheâd say.
âTo spite you,â heâd correct, laughing, which made her laugh as well.
This summer, because of the intense heat, the event had been postponed, which was fine by Catherine, who had skipped last yearâs. Without Wyattâwell, there had been no going without him. Still, when she saw Henry, whom she ran into slinking back from Antoniaâs as she was fetching the morning paper, the concert was all he could talk about, which she found odd, since there were far more important things to discuss, like the incident at the cafe. When she told him the concert was canceled, Henryâs face reflected his disappointment, and he said, âOh, thatâs a shame. Antonia was looking forward to it.â
âSpeaking of Antonia,â she said. âHow is she?â
âHow should she be?â he asked, the words clipped, as if Catherine had no business caring. âIâm sorry,â he added, softening. âSheâs fine, considering. You were there. You must have seen everything.â
She thought again about the fracas in the cafe, about the stranger with the green eyes. She wondered if he werenât looking for Antonia at this very moment, and her heart expanded at the thought. She had seen the love in the strangerâs face, the fierce sorrow, and the memory vibrated through her. Her skin tingled with the idea that Henry had a rival in the town and that this rival was more handsome and younger than he was. She was thrilled to see Henry on the verge of defeat and only wished she could have been there when Antonia had told him about the man, how much she had loved him, how much she still did. âI never loved you the way I love him, Henry,â Antonia might have said. âYouâve been wonderful, but what we have isnât real. It never was.â
âYes,â Catherine said. âI did. I saw it all.â
âThen I guess you saw him spit at me,â he said. âItâs the second time in my life.â She waited for him to invoke Wyattâs name, but he didnât. âIâd take an angry, embittered writer over an angry, estranged father any day of the week,â he said. âMy God, but Linwood Livelyâs a menace.â
âHer father? I thought . . .â she said, deflating. This news of Henryâs changed the valence of everything. âWhat kind of person makes such a scene?â
âI donât think I need to answer that,â he said. âItâs probably the same kind of person who paints on walls.â He glanced back at the cottage. âI donât know how he found Antonia here, but now that he has, weâll just have be a lot more cautious. You saw what he was capable of last night. Iâm not unconvinced that he didnât do that terrible thing to your cottage.â
âDo you really believe it could have been her father? The world is chock-full of mean people,â she said pointedly. The barbed reference seemed to have missed Henry completely, for he simply rolled his shoulders, shrugging. Yes, the world is full of mean people, Catherine thought, casting her eyes past him to the cottage. Though the words had been washed away, Catherine still saw them whenever she shut her eyes. âWho is she, Henry? Who is Wren? Why would Linwood Lively have written her name on my cottage?â she asked slowly, gauging his face for a reaction.
He simply rolled his shoulders again, his expression blank. âI have no idea,â he said.
She allowed
Laura Locutus
Gertrude Chandler Warner
Donald Harstad
Timothy Williams
Margaret Yorke
Alisa Woods
Jack Ludlow
Deborah Fletcher Mello
Tyler Anne Snell
Anne Swärd