the subject.
I watched him reach for a slice of cheese and shook my head.
âNo. I told the women at the knitting group my momâs name, but it didnât seem to ring a bell with anybody.â
âItâll probably just take time for somebody to remember her. This is very important to you, isnât it? Finding out why she came here?â
âIt is. Even if I find some answers it wonât change anything. I mean, my mother came here, stayed the summer, went back to Salem, and life went on. But I just feel, in here,â I said, tapping my chest, âthat I need to know her story. Itâs like something has been missing all of my life in my relationship with my mother, and maybe by knowing why she left . . . itâll help me to understand better.â
Saxton nodded. âI see what youâre saying. And I applaud you for having the strength to do this.â
âStrength?â I said with surprise. âWhy would you think it required strength to try and find some answers?â
He took a sip of wine and then let out a deep sigh. âWell, many times the answers arenât pleasant. But you accept this and still, youâre willing to forge ahead. That requires strength on your part.â
Okay, so this man had now redeemed himself. He might feel that Iâm rigid, but he also complimented me by saying that I had a strength I wasnât at all sure I possessed.
âThank you,â was all I said as I stood up. âThat casseroleâs ready to come out of the oven. Give me five minutes and weâll be all set to eat.â
Â
Saxton took the last sip of wine in his glass and then smiled. âThat was a delicious dinner, Berkley. Thank you. I really enjoyed all of it, and youâre quite the chef.â
I laughed as I stood to remove the dishes from the table. âNot really. Just basic home cooking. Let me get these dishes washed and then we can have dessert and coffee.â
Saxton stood to help and followed me to the sink. âIâll dry,â he said. âWhereâs your dish towels?â
A man willing to help in the kitchen? He had definitely redeemed himself.
âOh, right there,â I said, pointing to the closet. âThird shelf on the left.â I heard him chuckle and turned around. âSomething wrong?â
âNo. Not at all.â He had opened the closet door and stood staring inside.
My sight took in what he was seeing. Each shelf perfectly arranged with dishcloths, dish towels, tablecloths, linen napkinsâeach item perfectly folded, lined up, according to color and size.
I joined his chuckling. âHmm, you mean to tell me that your linen closet doesnât look like that?â
In answer he came toward me, pulled me into his arms, and kissed me. âYouâre special,â he said. âVery, very special.â
âAnd you,â I whispered, âare a very good kisser. Very, very good.â
Following the kitchen cleanup and a slice of my almond cake, we were sitting next to each other on the sofa enjoying our coffee.
âThis was nice,â Saxton said. âNot just the dinnerâbut being with you. I enjoy your company.â
I smiled and shifted to better see his face. âThank you, and I like being with you too.â
âIâve been thinking,â he said as I saw his expression grow serious. âIâve been giving some thought to maybe contacting my daughter.â
I remained silent to allow him time to continue.
He took a sip of coffee. âResa probably doesnât even want to bother with me. Why would she? Itâs been thirty years, and not only did I make no attempt to contact her, I willingly allowed her to be adopted by Murielâs husband.â
âYou thought you were doing the best thing,â I said softly.
He nodded. âTrue. But many times a child doesnât see it that way. She easily also could have considered it a
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