“Courtship? There wasn’t one. I knew my parents would object so we eloped before they had the chance.”

“How have I never heard this story before?”

“I don’t think your own father’s heard this story.”

“Well, let’s have it then. I’ll be gutted if you hold out now.”

We walk and Nan talks. Tells me all about having met my grandfather when she was a sheltered eighteen and he was a handsome rogue in his mid-twenties. She was madly in love with him but knew her parents would not approve of the match, so she convinced him to elope.

“You convinced him?” I question.

“I was quite convincing in my youth, yes.”

I grin and let her continue, sure that I want to press for added details on that.

She tells me that upon their return her mother was distraught that she’d missed her only child’s wedding, so her father insisted they pretend to be engaged, not married. Promised he’d give his new son-in-law a position at the travel company he’d just founded. Set them up with a good start for their married lives if they’d play along.

“And did you? Play along?”

“We did,” she says with a sigh. “It seemed the sensible thing.”

“Well done then. A happy ending for all.”

“Eventually yes. But they made me live at home for four months while we sorted the faux wedding. Your grandfather was obviously not welcome to stay, not in those days. I had a handsome new husband and we had to sneak around for the first four months of our marriage.”

I cough a laugh into my fist as I hold the door for her at the Reading Terminal. It’s a chaotic market of some kind. Indoors with booths one after another. Food, flowers, coffee, sweets—and that’s just what I can see from the entrance.

“This is where you wanted to lunch?” I double-check. Perhaps the place has changed in the forty years since she’s last been.

But Nan is beaming and looks like she’s no intention of turning around now. So we find an empty wooden table—no small feat. Nan holds the table while I grab two Philly cheesesteaks and as many napkins as I can carry. Then we eat messy cheesesteaks with our hands and it makes Nan so happy that I don’t even mind not having proper utensils. Or a plate.

When we’re done eating we walk around the market. Nan stops to buy a trinket or two while I run the information from Rhys’ email over and over in my mind, comparing it to everything I know—thought I knew—about Daisy.

It doesn’t make any sense.

It’s like two different people.

Maybe she’s mentally disturbed? Off her meds or something? I rub my thumb across my bottom lip as I think. She doesn’t come across as a nutter though. No more so than most.

I check the time on my mobile as we exit the market onto 12th Street, wondering if I’ll have time to talk to Daisy before this blasted group dinner this evening. I have so many questions for her. Why I think I’ll get honest answers I’ve no idea.

“How far to the hotel do you think, Jennings?” Nan is glancing up and down 12th, trying to place our present location in relation to the hotel.

“Let me take a look,” I respond as I open the map app on my mobile. “Are you ready to admit you’re tired? Shall I sort a ride back?”

I’ve got my head down, tapping the hotel information into my mobile as I speak, so I hear the tires screeching before I see the car. I look up in time to catch the impact but it’s already too late.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Violet

Where the hell are they? The entire group—minus Jennings and his nan—are on the bus. We’re about to leave for the final group dinner and they’re late. I walk into the lobby and take another look around, casting a hopeful glance as the elevator doors open.

It’s not them.

We were supposed to leave five minutes ago. I’ve been stalling, waiting on Jennings, but he’s not here. They’ve not been late for anything this week, so they must not be coming.

Maybe I misunderstood something? Maybe he was taking his nan out for a special dinner tonight? I know Jennings hates the group dinners. That must be it. He said we’d have dessert after—which honestly could have meant sugar or sex, I’m not sure. But he did mention it, so maybe he meant he wouldn’t see me at dinner?

That must be it.

Must be.

So why do I feel a sense of unease?

I make a final visual sweep as I exit the lobby. George is standing next to the open bus doors and he smiles at me as I approach. He’s been trying to make a move on me all week. Well, on Daisy. I feel like an asshole for rejecting him. I know he’s got to be confused about the cold shoulder I’m giving him when as far as he knew he was on good terms with Daisy. I hate feeling like I’m in the middle—even if it was a casual thing between them. It makes me feel responsible for his confusion when I’m not. Or maybe I am, since I’m the one delivering the rejection. Daisy said it was just sex between them, but he did switch tours with someone else to be here—to see her.

So maybe he likes her more than she knows. Or maybe he just wants to get laid. What do I know?

Maybe Jennings just wanted to get laid?

Jesus, Violet, I silently lecture myself. I’m the one who just wanted to get laid. That’s what started this mess. I wanted a simple no-strings-attached one-night stand. I’m the one who smiled at Jennings and told him I was a sure thing. I’m the one who ran out the door the next morning.

I cannot be upset if he disappears now.

I cannot.

That’s what I wanted in the first place.

Except…

I don’t want that anymore. I gnaw at my bottom lip as I take a seat on the bus. By the time the bus is in drive—less than a minute later—I’m in full-on panic. I did run out that morning—the morning we met. Maybe he’s returning the favor now?

Holy shit, I’m a nutcase.

Nut. Case.

I remind myself that I saw him five hours ago and everything was fine. I remind myself of this all the way to the restaurant. And through dinner. And the return drive to the hotel.

By the time the last of the guests says goodnight and leaves the lobby I’m not so sure that I’m crazy. By the time my hotel room door shuts behind me my heart is officially beating faster than normal.

You know that sick feeling you get when you know someone has let you down? You’ve got no proof of it exactly, but your heart knows.

Then you waste a lot of time waffling. Should you prepare yourself for the inevitable? Or hold out hope until not a moment of hope is left and let the disappointment crush you like a ton of bricks?

My room is quiet. I can hear the noise of the city just outside but the silence inside my room is deafening.

Or perhaps that’s the silence in my head.

Why am I so leaveable? Am I really getting dumped by insinuation—again? We’re not even going to have a conversation? He’s just gone?

The worst part is this hurts more than when Mark did it. I spent two years with Mark and this hurts more.

So much more.

Just once it would be nice to get the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ speech.

No. Stop it, I chastise myself. I’ll see Jennings at breakfast tomorrow. This is a misunderstanding. I did not imagine this week. I did not imagine myself in love with him. I did not.

The knock on the door has me spinning around, relief pouring from me like an open wound. The feeling immediately following relief is remorse—for doubting him. A bit of embarrassment at my runaway thoughts. Of course he came.

Then I open the door.

But it’s not Jennings.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Jennings

The brakes squealed as the car tires skidded across the asphalt. That’s the first sound I noticed, the screams following suit. Odd how memory plays in slow motion when the reality happened so bloody quickly.

The car was slowed by a lamp post, coming to a stop just over the curb. The lamp post, however, couldn’t withstand the impact. It toppled into scaffolding covering the front of the market, which in turn collapsed.

One of the metal scaffolding tubes hit Nan in the head when it fell. The rest is a blur of sirens and lights. Nan was loaded into an ambulance, insisting she was fine as blood seeped through the cloth the paramedics pressed to her head. She passed out briefly en route to the hospital—it was the only time she wasn’t insisting she was fine.

My memento from the incident was eight stitches on my forearm while Nan was getting a CT scan. And now we’re arguing over her staying the night in hospital.

“We’re keeping you overnight,” the doctor states and Nan tsks.

“But we have a flight in the morning,” Nan says as the doctor and I both stare at her, unimpressed with her objections.

“Mrs. Anderson, you’ve had a head bleed and you’re on a prescription blood thinner. You’re staying overnight for observation.”

“You’re definitely staying,” I tell her. She’s a stubborn lady but she’s not winning this one. It took two staples to close the gash on her head, if the doctor thinks she should stay she’s staying. “I’ll extend our stay at the hotel and cancel our flight. I’ll rent a car and drive you to Connecticut when you’re released. Bethany can’t be much more than three hours from here. It’ll be less taxing on you than a flight.”