Sunday Kind of Love (16 page)

At that moment, Gwen thought only of herself, of Hank, and especially of the passionate kiss they were sharing, one she didn't want to end.

And that was just fine with her.

Walking down the sidewalk toward her parents' home, Gwen felt like she was floating on air. As familiar as her surroundings were, everything seemed different. The moon looked brighter. The calls of the swallows as they swooped through the dusk, filling their bellies with bugs, sounded louder. The smell of Jane Oliver's flowers, neatly arranged in their beds, was stronger than Gwen remembered. Nothing was the same. Not after what had happened.

Not after that kiss…

Hank had dropped her off a couple of blocks away, not wanting Warren or Meredith to see them together. Sitting in the cab, they'd shared one last kiss. It had been less passionate than the first, only a soft, tender touch of their lips, but still more than enough to cause Gwen's head to spin. She didn't regret what she'd done, not in the least, but it raised far more questions than it answered.

Am I falling for Hank Ellis?

If she was, what sort of future could there be between them, especially given how everyone in town, including her family, felt about him?

Have I been unfaithful to Kent?

But even as Gwen bounded up the steps to home, she knew that none of these issues would be easily resolved. It would take time. Maybe after dinner, she'd enjoy a long soak in the bathtub and turn things over in her head. It couldn't hurt. Maybe she could call Sandy and confide what had happened, just like she'd done when they were younger. Opening the front door, she hoped that she could soon find a—

“What the hell were you thinkin'?”

Gwen recoiled, nearly stepping back out the door. Her father had been waiting for her in the foyer and was irate. His face was an angry shade of red, sweat dotted his forehead and cheeks, and his hands were clenched at his sides. Her mother stood behind him at the foot of the staircase, frowning.

“Dad…what…what are you talking about?” she stammered.

“Don't act like you don't know,” Warren snapped. “Let me guess: if I asked, you spent the day walkin' 'round town, sightseein' and talkin' with old friends.”

Gwen heard her father's sarcasm and understood that something had happened to make him doubt her earlier story. Thinking quickly, she decided to opt for an abridged version of the truth, omitting her afternoon with Hank. “I went to see Sid Keaton down at the
Bulletin
,” she explained, hoping that her accomplishment might defuse the tense situation. “You won't believe it, but he's going to—”

“Don't lie to me!” her father shouted. He wasn't in the mood to listen. “You were out with that bastard Hank Ellis! Maggie Cavanaugh saw you in his truck with her own two eyes, so there ain't no use denyin' it!”

Gwen's stomach dropped. It was like Hank had told her: whenever he went to town, someone was watching. In this case, that someone had seen them together and thought that the only responsible thing to do was tell her father. She'd even considered this possibility herself, just after calling Hank, but had dismissed it. Now it had come back to bite her.

She was caught.

“You're right. I spent the afternoon with him,” she admitted, her tone defiant; she wanted it to be clear that she felt no guilt.

“Oh, Gwendolyn,” Meredith said, finally finding her voice. “Didn't I tell you to stay away from him? Why didn't you listen?”

Before Gwen could answer, her father interjected. “Use your head, Gwennie,” Warren told her. “You keep messin' around, you're gonna ruin things between you and Kent. I can guarantee you he ain't gonna be happy 'bout his bride-to-be goin' out with some other fella.”

“We only want what's best for you, sweetheart,” her mother added. “That's why we sent you to Worthington. That's why we were overjoyed when you met a successful young man like Kent. You're better than Buckton now. Don't allow some meaningless dalliance to ruin all you've worked for.”

“The last thing you need is to be spendin' time with a piece of trash!” her father declared, folding his arms across his chest, acting as if he'd settled the matter.

Anger flared inside Gwen. At that moment, she wanted to defend both herself and Hank, to tell her parents that they didn't know the first thing about him, to argue that they had completely misjudged him. But deep down, Gwen knew that it was pointless. Her parents had already made up their minds. To them, Hank could never redeem himself. He would always be to blame for what happened to Pete, and not even saving their daughter's life could change that. There was no use in saying another word.

So instead, she turned and headed out the door.

“Where do you think you're goin'?” her father asked incredulously.

Gwen turned and stared first at him, then at her mother. It was already too late to go back.

“Anywhere but here.” Then she left.

O
UT ON THE SIDEWALK,
Gwen stopped. The sun had sunk beneath the treetops, speeding toward the horizon. She heard the sound of kids laughing as they enjoyed their last play of the day before it was off to supper, a bath, and finally to bed. Ahead, an approaching car turned on its headlights, staving off the approaching dark. Everything was just as it should be.

But for Gwen, all was in turmoil.

She wondered what was happening back at the house. Likely her mother wanted to come after her, to try to talk some sense into her daughter, to make things right. But Gwen was just as certain that her father wouldn't allow it. Warren would insist on making a point. He would want his stubborn child to realize she was wrong and come home with her tail between her legs. The more Gwen thought about it, the more he resembled Kent, always convinced that he was right.

So where was she going to go?

Her first instinct was to call Hank. The thought of being with him again, especially after what they'd just shared, was enticing. Yet deep down, Gwen knew that it was the wrong decision. Like it or not, many of her newfound problems revolved around Hank. If she was going to sort out her feelings for him, he couldn't be around.

Next, Gwen considered Sandy. The two of them had always been there for each other, through thick and thin. Gwen had no doubt that Sandy would listen. Her friend would be honest, and based on what she had said the last time they'd talked, she was willing to give Hank a fair shake. But then Gwen thought about her friend's pregnancy. She couldn't barge in on Sandy and her husband now. They had more important things to deal with.

But if I can't go to Hank or Sandy, then who else is left?

Gwen looked back up the sidewalk in the direction she'd come. Darkness was falling fast. She had to make a decision.

I can't go home! I just can't!

That's when the solution struck her. There
was
somewhere else to go. Somewhere she wouldn't be turned away. Somewhere there would be a sympathetic ear. Somewhere she might even find an answer or two.

Gwen walked quickly.

The sooner she got there, the better.

By the time Gwen neared her destination, it was almost dark. While the sun continued to shine from beneath the horizon, leaving only a faint smudge of color in the western sky, the streetlights had already come on, illuminating the sidewalks under her feet. Finally, rounding one last corner, she was there.

Her aunt Samantha's house was built in a newer, bungalow style. In almost every way, it resembled her neighbors', just another in a row, as if they'd all been made with a cookie cutter. But Samantha wasn't the type of person who liked to conform. She stood out, and so did her house.

For one thing, it was lit up like a Christmas tree. Colorful strings of lights had been wrapped around each porch column and most of the windows. From where Gwen stood, it looked as if every inside bulb was on, too. Plastic animals were arranged around the yard, and a flock of pink flamingos gathered at the base of the walk. There was an antique record player up on the porch, so old that it had a hand crank; Samantha liked to lounge in a chair, listening to music. She did this loudly, causing no small number of complaints to the police. When she was a girl, every visit Gwen had made to her aunt's had been an adventure. No two had seemed the same. Samantha had always been the most confident, strongest woman her niece had ever known.

If there was ever a time I needed her advice, this would be it…

Before Gwen had finished knocking, the front door was whipped open and her aunt stood there, smiling. Oddly enough, Samantha was wearing an elaborate black dress. She had chosen to accessorize it with a floppy yellow summer hat and a necklace of fake red pearls. She was also barefoot.

“Just who I was expecting,” Samantha announced.

Gwen was taken aback. “You were?”

“Of course! What kind of aunt would I be if I didn't know when my favorite—if only—niece was about to drop by for a visit?” With a sheepish grin, Samantha added, “Or maybe I knew you were coming because your father called and asked if I'd seen you lately.”

“He called you?” Gwen asked, her eyes wide. “What did he say?”

Her aunt shrugged. “Not much, really. But I didn't spend all those years as his little sister without learning how to read him like a book. I'd have had to be deaf not to understand he was angry with you.”

“He is,” Gwen admitted, remembering the look on her father's face when she'd opened the front door. “Are you going to tell him that I'm here?”

Samantha laughed loudly, as if her niece had told a hilarious joke. “Absolutely not! If he can't keep better track of his only child, that's his problem,” she declared with a wink. “Now, come inside. No need to gossip out on the porch. We can do that from the comfort of the couch.”

The interior of Samantha's house was just as bright and eclectic as the outside. Towers of books were stacked here and there, some of them precariously close to toppling. Shoes spilled out of a closet, some plain while others were outrageously colored, a few with ridiculously high heels. A portrait of an old woman, someone Gwen didn't recognize, hung upside down on the wall. Pushing aside a feathered boa, Gwen made a place for herself on the sofa.

“Do you want something to drink?” her aunt asked.

Gwen shook her head. “No, thank you.”

Samantha shrugged. “Your loss.” After pouring herself a glass of what looked like bourbon, she took a seat opposite her niece, throwing her legs over the chair's arm, and said, “All right, then. Spill it.”

And that's exactly what Gwen did.

She started all the way back at the afternoon she and Kent had arrived in Buckton, touched on her surprise at the announcement of their engagement, and then related every important thing that had happened since, including her and Hank's kiss. Feeling the need to be honest, she left nothing out.

“And now I'm here,” she finished.

The whole time Gwen had talked, her aunt hadn't said a word, steadily drinking from her glass until it was now nearly empty. “Let me get this straight,” Samantha finally said. “You're going to throw away everything you've got going with Kent for some small-town fling?”

Gwen's jaw dropped and her heart sank. She never would've imagined that her aunt could speak to her in such a way. “It's not like that,” she argued, defending herself, a touch of anger in her voice. “Whatever Hank and I have together, it most certainly is more than you're making it out to be.”

Samantha shrugged. “Kent's got plenty of money,” she observed. “Heck, that getup he had on for dinner the other night probably costs more than my whole wardrobe. A fella like that could make a gal's life mighty easy. You're gonna give that up for a guy who makes chairs?”

“I'm not with Kent because of his bank account,” Gwen answered. “All I want is someone I can love and who will love me back. I don't give a damn about clothes, jewelry, or whatever other luxuries people think are important.” Still rattled by the way her aunt had spoken to her, she added, “I thought you knew me better than that.”

Samantha paused, draining the last of her whiskey. “You've been gone so long that I just assumed you were a city girl now,” she said. “After all, how could Buckton hold a candle to Chicago? I figured you'd changed.”

Gwen stared at her aunt, her heart pounding, incredulous. She'd been a fool to think she would find comfort here. Somehow, it was even worse than with her parents. She was going to have to go elsewhere for a solution to her problems, because she definitely wasn't going to find one here.

But when Gwen stood, intending to march out the door, Samantha rose with her. Her aunt smiled sweetly and asked, “What are you doing, kiddo?”

“I'm leaving,” she answered curtly. “I am not going to sit here and listen to you talk to me this way. It's not fair! It's not—”

“I was lying,” Samantha interrupted her.

Flabbergasted, Gwen didn't know how to answer. Her knees felt weak; for a moment she worried she was going to fall back onto the couch. “You were what?”

“I wasn't telling the truth,” her aunt answered. “I suppose I could've found a better way of going about it, but I wanted to know if you were serious about this. About Hank. If I said things I figured you wouldn't want to hear, I thought you might show me your true colors.” Samantha placed her hands on her niece's shoulders and added, “And that you most certainly did. In spades.”

If it had been anybody else, Gwen would have found such behavior inappropriate, even a bit cruel. But her aunt was unconventional, to say the least. She came at problems from directions most people wouldn't ever consider. That wasn't to say that Gwen enjoyed having been manipulated. Far from it. But while she was no longer angry, she was still plenty confused.

“But why did you…oh, this is making my head hurt…”

“Then let me tell you a story,” Samantha said. “Believe it or not, I know
exactly
how you feel about this.”

Once both of them had sat, Samantha looked at her empty glass and frowned. “Maybe I better pour myself another before I get started.”

“Get me one while you're at it.”

Fortunately, her aunt gave her only a third of what she poured for herself. Sipping at it, Gwen winced as the liquor burned its way down her throat. Within seconds, she could feel it in her head.

With everything that's happened today, maybe getting a little drunk wouldn't be such a bad thing.

“Have you ever heard me mention Brent Irving?” Samantha asked.

Gwen shook her head.

Her aunt took a deep swig before she continued. “Brent used to work down at the courthouse. It was an easy enough job for him to get, after all his father had been a sitting judge for years. This was all back in the thirties,” Samantha explained. “I can still remember the first time I met Brent. I swear I saw stars. He was
so
handsome, charming, everything I'd been looking for. It was like something out of a Hollywood fairy tale, all that sappy, lovey-dovey stuff, only this time it was real. We had one of those whirlwind courtships, which was fine with me, since after three weeks it felt like I'd known him all my life. Every morning, I'd get up and think today was going to be the day when he'd get down on one knee and ask me to marry him…” Her voice trailed off. She took another drink.

“What happened?” Gwen prodded.

After a pause, her aunt answered, “For the longest time, I had no idea.”

“I don't understand.”

“One day, Brent and I were like two peas in a pod, up to our eyeballs in love, and the next he wouldn't give me the time of day,” Samantha said, her expression pained. “No phone calls. No letters. He wouldn't even look at me when I showed up at the courthouse and demanded to know what I'd done wrong. It just ended. I cried and cried and cried some more. Months went by and I was still a wreck, moping around the house, feeling sorry for myself. It was the worst time of my life.”

“Did you ever find out why he did it?” Gwen asked.

Samantha nodded. “About a year later, he wrote me a letter. I found it slid under the front door. In it, he told me that his parents had objected to him marrying me. They'd told him I wasn't good enough, that I was someone he shouldn't associate with. He couldn't find the strength to stand up to them, I suppose. And so, because of what others wanted, he threw what we had away and broke my heart.”

For as long as Gwen could remember, her aunt had been searching for a man to share her life. One after another had been proven unworthy. It was shocking to learn that decades ago Samantha had been so close to having what she'd always wanted. It made Gwen see the older woman in an entirely new light.

“Do you understand why I'm telling you this?”

“I think so,” Gwen answered.

“I don't want you to make the same mistake Brent made,” Samantha told her. “Or even me, for that matter.”

“You didn't do anything wrong.”

“Sure, I did,” her aunt disagreed. “What if I'd stood up for myself? What if I had marched across town to his parents' house and pleaded my case, like I was in his father's courtroom? Maybe I could've convinced them that I wasn't the terrible person they imagined me to be. What would've happened if I'd fought for our love instead of lying in bed, crying my eyes out?” At that, a tear ran down Samantha's cheek; she wiped it away with a sad smile, smearing her mascara. “If I hadn't been such a coward, then maybe I wouldn't have to pretend everything's fine when I see Brent and his beautiful, surely upstanding wife walking down the sidewalk.”

Gwen didn't know what to say, struggling to hold back tears of her own.

“If you learn anything from me,” her aunt continued, “it's that when it comes to the things in life that really matter—and that most definitely includes finding someone to love—you have to fight. If you listen to your heart, you have to be deaf to everything else. Who cares if other people are angry or sad or even disappointed?” Samantha looked hard at her niece. “When it comes to Hank Ellis, no one else gets the final say; not your parents, not me, not even Kent. If all of Buckton thinks you're wrong but you believe you're right, then to hell with them. It's your choice to make. Being happy is worth everything. You need to ask yourself, ‘Do I love Hank? Is he the man I want to be with? Is loving him, no matter what other hardships that might cause, worth it?'”

Listening to Samantha, Gwen knew that she'd been wise to come here. While her aunt may not have given her any answers, at least not directly, she had pointed her in the right direction and given her plenty to think about. What mattered now was what Gwen did with her newfound wisdom.