Remember to Forget (35 page)

T
revor flipped the light switch in his office and fired up his computer. “You want something to drink?”

Meg stood by the door, arms folded around her sketchbook, hugging it to her as if it were a security blanket.

“Maybe later.” She gave a nervous laugh. “Knowing me, I’d probably spill it on the keyboard.”

“Oh, no.” He grinned. “That’s Mason’s job.”

“Mason?”

“The college kid who works for me. He’s a klutz with a capital K. No machine is safe if Mason Brunner is within fifty feet of it.” He pulled out his desk chair and patted the seat. “Here, have a seat. I’ll get you started.”

She slipped into the chair while he grabbed a stool and brought it over to perch beside her. He leaned across her and
clicked to open the Photoshop program and set up a new document. “You’ve worked with this program before, right?”

She looked up at him over her shoulder with a little cringe. “It’s been a while.”

“It’ll come back to you.”

She spread her sketchbook out on the desk to her left and tentatively copied the first lines of information onto the computer file. “Let’s see . . . I choose fonts here?” Her finger hovered over the mouse.

He peered over her shoulder so he could see the screen. “Yep. And if you want to change the size, go here.” He pointed.

“Oh, yes. I remember.” She typed, glancing from her notes to the screen. After a few minutes, she glanced up at him, beaming, wonderment in her voice. “You’re right. It
is
all coming back.”

“All right if I go take care of a couple of things in the pressroom?”

“I think so.”

“Holler if you get stuck.”

She gave a distracted nod, and sat with head hunched over the keyboard, clicking, repositioning the cursor.

When he came back ten minutes later, he stared at the impressive graphic design on the computer screen. She’d somehow created a whimsical, geometrical likeness of Wren’s Nest, artfully arranging the lettering around it. Her choice of fonts was perfect, and the result was eye-catching and colorful. “Hey, that looks great!”

She rolled her chair back and squinted at her work. “It turned out pretty nice, didn’t it? I haven’t forgotten as much as I feared. It’s kind of like riding a bicycle.” She giggled. “Well, I guess it is. I haven’t done that for a long time either. This is kind of fun though.”

“Well, let me know when you have something ready to go to the printer. We’ll run a couple of tests on the printer in here before we fire up the big dog.”

“I’m just about finished. Let me tweak a couple of things, then would
you take a look and see if I missed anything? Or if you want to change any of the colors?”

He held up both hands, palms out. “No way. You’re the artist. I’m just the grease monkey here.”

Forty-five minutes later, she slid back from the desk and moved aside so he could see the results of her labor.

“Incredible. Let’s print out a copy and see what we’ve got.”

She moved aside to let him into the desk chair. Once he was seated, she slid onto the stool beside him, watching him work. Her closeness disturbed him—in a very pleasant way. She smelled of paint, and Wren’s, and something wonderfully flowery and feminine. Her shampoo? He was struggling to resist the urge to get close enough to breathe in a whiff, when the printer clunked on and chugged through its warmup.

She followed him to the printer in the corner, and they hovered above the machine, waiting to see the first poster roll out.

They stood, not speaking for several minutes. The printer churned and whirred, but the paper moved through at a frustratingly slow pace. “It takes awhile to print color,” he explained, moving away from the printer. “Hey, do you want to use the Internet? Check your e-mail or anything?”

Her face lit. “I can get online here?”

“Sure. I’ll show you.” He studied her for a moment. “Have you . . . heard back from your sister?”

Meg shook her head, the light dimming in her eyes.

He was instantly sorry he’d said anything. “Well, maybe there’ll be something there tonight?” He prayed he wasn’t offering her false hope.

He connected to the Internet and opened a browser, then offered Meg his chair. She sat down and typed something. He walked back to the printer to give her some privacy.

After a minute, he saw her eyebrows lift. She sucked in a short breath and a soft smile illumined her face.

“Did you get something?”

Her smile widened as she looked his way. “Yes. It’s from Jenn.”

“Great.”

He watched the expressions on her face change like a sunset—from expectant, rosy glow, to dim uncertainty, to something he couldn’t quite interpret. “Is everything okay?”

She looked up as though she’d forgotten he was in the room. “I-I think so.”

She didn’t offer more. He pointed toward the front of the shop. “I’m going to the other office for a minute. I’ll be right back.”

He left his office door slightly ajar and let himself in the front of the shop. With the front office darkened, he could see Meg’s silhouette through the glass that separated the spaces. The blinds were down, but canted at an angle that made the interior of his office visible. He noticed that Meg’s shoulders had slumped a bit. She must have heard from the sister she obviously loved. Had the e-mail held bad news?

With a start, Trevor realized that whatever news Meg had received might be the thing that took her away from Clayburn. Away from him.

He inhaled the scents of the office—ink, paper, dust. They usually invigorated him.

He’d only known Meg for a few weeks, but somehow she’d come to feel like a lifelong friend. That, in spite of the fact she had yet to share her deepest thoughts with him. In truth, their relationship had been rather lopsided, with him doing most of the talking and her, well, keeping secrets from him. He knew that, yet was confident she would reveal the truth to him in due time.

Oddly, spending time with Meg these last few weeks, he’d thought a lot about Amy. He didn’t dare tell Meg that, of course. Not exactly the way to a girl’s heart. And he could probably never make Meg understand that it had been a good thing—his thinking about Amy.

He’d done some letting go over the past few days that he should have
done a long time ago. Even though Amy had been gone for two years, he hadn’t said good-bye until now. Not really.

Funny. As much as he anguished over losing his son, he’d finally allowed room in his heart for the possibility of another child—another little boy or girl—to love someday. He’d opened his heart to the kids at the day-care center.

But until Meg, he hadn’t been able to clear a space in his heart for another woman. How Meg Anders had managed to do just that, he wasn’t sure. It scared him a little because he couldn’t say for certain that she would still be in his life a year from now—or even a week from now. It wasn’t easy to wait. To be patient while God worked in Meg’s life.

But he had a certain feeling . . . a good one.

He’d forgotten what this peace felt like. This overwhelming sense of well-being. He prayed that someday soon he could share it with the woman sitting in his office chair. He wanted her to know how wonderful it felt.

Maggie prepared to pull away, ready to face the verdict she knew she deserved.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

M
eg?” Maggie heard Wren’s voice through the door of her room and hurried to open it. Wren stood there with a funny look on her face.

“Wren? What’s the matter?”

“There’s someone on the phone asking for a Maggie Anderson. You wouldn’t . . . know anything about that, would you?”

Maggie’s breath caught and heat seared her cheeks. She avoided Wren’s eyes. “Who is it?”

Wren shook her head. “She wouldn’t say.”

Maggie followed Wren to the lobby and picked up the receiver from where Wren had laid it on the desk.

“I’ll be in the kitchen,” Wren mouthed, pointing through the archway.

Maggie put the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

“Maggie!”

“Jenn! Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine. But why did that woman call you Meg? She almost hung up on me.”

Maggie sighed. She’d never told Jenn that she was living under an assumed name. It was only the other night at Trevor’s office that she e-mailed Jenn the address of the inn so she could write to her and, hopefully, send her replacement identification. Jenn must have looked up the inn’s phone number.

Oh, what must Wren be thinking right now? Maggie had some serious explaining to do when she got off the phone.

Turning her back to the dining room, she lowered her voice. “Why are you calling, Jenn? You’re sure everything is okay? Oh, it’s so good to hear your voice.”

“You too. What’s going on, Maggie? What are you doing there? You said you were safe. But why are you—”

“I
am
safe, Jenn.” Maggie could tell her sister was near tears, and she was afraid she might break down too. She twisted the phone cord around her wrist. “It’s too much to explain right now. But I’m fine. I really am. Bart and Wren are wonderful. But they don’t know . . .” Where did she begin to untangle her lies? “I haven’t told them everything yet. I’m sort of . . . going by a different name now.”

“Why?” Jenn’s voice rose an octave, and Maggie held the phone away from her ear for a second.

“I was scared. I just wanted to start over.” She moved as far away as the phone’s cord would allow. “I was afraid Kevin would find me and—”

“I think he’s trying, Maggie.”

Her blood went cold. “What? What makes you think that?”

“Mark went to try and pick up your stuff.”

Maggie gasped. “He did? Oh, Jenn, you should both stay away from him. It’s too dangerous. What happened?” She held her breath, waiting for Jenn’s response.

“Mark said Kevin tried to trick him into telling him where you were.”

“He didn’t say anything, did he?” She held her breath.

“No. Of course not. He doesn’t have a clue. But he practically threw Mark out of the apartment. Said he got rid of your stuff. Mark didn’t believe him, but he didn’t want to push it.”

Maggie let herself exhale. “Stay away from him, Jenn. I mean it. There’s nothing there I can’t live without.”

“What about your ID? Aren’t you going to need your license and birth certificate and all that for your job?”

“I’ll worry about it when I have to. The only thing Kevin has that I even care about is Buttons. And it’s not worth—”

Jenn squealed. “I
have
Buttons, Maggie! He’s here!”

“You do? But how?” She didn’t dare to believe it was true.

Jenn gave a little laugh. “Kevin followed Mark to the car and tossed Buttons in the backseat.”

“No!”

“Yes. And you know how much Mark loves cats. You’re lucky he didn’t dump him on the freeway on the way home.”

Maggie smiled at the sarcasm in her sister’s voice, then beamed as the realization came over her.
Buttons is safe
. She wanted to hug someone. “Oh, Jenn, thank you! And tell Mark I owe him big time.”

“Oh, believe me, he knows. To tell you the truth, I think the little guy is kind of growing on him.” Jenn’s giggle was contagious.

They talked for a few minutes until Maggie heard Wren in the kitchen. “I really have to go now, Jenn. But I’m glad you called. It’s good to hear your voice.”

“You too. Stay safe.” Silence stretched across the miles of wire connecting them. “I love you, Mag.”

Maggie touched a hand to her heart. “I love you, too, Jenn.”

She placed the receiver in its cradle and squeezed her eyes shut against the tears. She and Jenn had never spoken those words to each other
before—not as adults anyway. She’d written it in letters and had always known Jenn loved her . . . and assumed her sister knew she returned her love. But it felt good to say it.

Maggie took a deep breath. Now. To deal with Wren.

She went to the dining room and stood under the archway, wondering if Wren would even want to talk to her. “Wren?”

Wren turned from the sink where she was up to her elbows in suds. Was that disappointment in her eyes?

Maggie hung her head. “Can I talk to you?”