Page 35 of First Street (Harbor View Cozy Fantasy #1)

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Skye

I was my mother’s daughter. It was impossible not to feel a measure of prejudice against Madeline Hart, even though I had no proof she’d had any hand in what happened to Clare.

Still, I couldn’t ignore how early she’d appeared at Arthur’s across the street, considering how busy she supposedly was, according to Catherine Lowe, her lawyer.

So I took my time. A shower. Coffee. A very nice dress shirt and skirt. I didn’t know how this conversation would unfold, but I knew one thing. I wanted to look my best, feel my best, and do my best—in my mother’s memory.

I left a note on the kitchen counter for Ocean, letting her know I’d be across the street, then locked the door behind me. My daughter was precious to me.

The bookstore was still closed, but Arthur had texted that Madeline was upstairs in his apartment. Hurry up , he wrote, before she drinks me out of house and home...and coffee.

Climbing the steps to Arthur’s, the picture I carried of Madeline Hart was the one plastered all over the Internet—polished, ageless, campaign-ready.

But the moment I stepped inside and stole a quick glance at her, I realized those images had lied.

As Clare used to say, some public figures never looked any older than their college photos.

The woman who sat at Arthur’s kitchen table was nothing like the polished figure I’d braced myself for.

Madeline Hart looked every bit her sixty-plus years, maybe more.

Gray threaded through her hair in uneven streaks, like she’d given up trying to keep it hidden.

Her face carried the kind of weariness makeup can’t erase.

And instead of the crisp suit or sleek dress I’d half expected, she was in gym clothes.

Leggings that had seen better days, a stretched-out sweatshirt, and old sneakers with worn soles.

Not a power broker, not a politician with a campaign smile.

Just a woman who looked like she’d been running from something, or maybe just run down by life.

Some of the fight went out of me the instant we were face to face and Arthur made the introductions. All my ready arguments, the sharp edges I’d been honing on the walk over, seemed to dull a degree.

“I’m sorry to inconvenience you so early. And thank you for giving me the time to talk to you.”

I bit back any reply and decided to just listen.

“Your mother and I…we started off on the wrong foot with each other,” Madeline began. “We’re both stubborn women. My campaign rhetoric got under her skin, and her outspokenness got under mine. Before long, we weren’t hearing each other at all. And yes, we both did our best to discredit the other.”

Discrediting her. That expression stung. Did she mean just bruising reputations or eliminating Clare altogether? I stayed silent, filing away my questions for later.

“As a politician, especially a female politician, you learn quickly to say what the public wants to hear. If you want to stay in office, you become a voice for the majority, whether you agree with them or not. Every word, every gesture is weighed for how it plays with that audience. Publicly, at least, you compromise, you bend, and you tell yourself it’s for the greater good.

Because at the end of the day, it’s about getting votes.

Without votes, you don’t get the power, and without the power, you can’t change a thing. ”

“I don’t need a lesson in how politics work,” I cut in sharply. “That’s not why we’re here. Is it?”

“You’re right. Absolutely right,” she said, moving to Arthur’s counter and helping herself to another cup of coffee. Her hand wasn’t entirely steady. “My trouble, my lies, my...well, hypocrisy as your mother referred to it, started long before I ever thought of running for office.”

When Arthur motioned toward the coffee pot, offering to pour me a cup, I shook my head. My attention stayed fixed on Madeline.

“I was twenty-two, an aide in Hartford, and stupidly in love with a man who would never leave his wife. When I found out I was pregnant, he didn’t even blink.

Said it would be handled.” She came and sat across from me.

“My son was born with…with serious challenges. The doctors didn’t soften the blow when they told me.

They said he’d never live a normal life, that the kindest thing I could do was place him in a state institution.

And that man, his father, made it clear it was the only way forward.

So, I signed the necessary papers. I let them take my baby boy.

I told myself I’d visit, that I’d fight to bring him home when I was stronger.

But I didn’t. I buried it. I buried him, in a sense, even though he was still alive. ”

Madeline’s hands clutched her coffee cup so tightly I thought the porcelain might crack.

“A few years later, after I won my first election, an administrator from the institution contacted me. The place was closing. I sent them a check and told her to make the necessary arrangements. I kept sending her money, thinking that was the extent of my responsibilities. Sometime later, she contacted me again. My son was dying. By then, I was already addicted to power. And the lies…they were second nature. So, I paid her to stay silent. To take care of things.”

She stared into her coffee as if she could read the past in its dark surface. Several moments passed before she looked up and met my gaze.

“It wasn’t until early this year that I met your mother. I believe you already know what transpired. Local papers picked up quickly on what she was accusing me of, and how hollow my denial sounded.”

Arthur had already filled me in on some of that.

“While my lawyer, campaign manager, and team scrambled to buy her silence and bury the story, I had other thoughts. I went back to the group home where they had placed him.”

Her voice faltered, her eyes glistening, and for the first time I saw the woman and not the politician.

“Those days I spent reading through the caregivers’ records…

I saw how he never once had a visitor. No one to hold him.

No one to love him. No family ever showing up for him.

” She wiped a tear from her cheek, her voice trembling.

“No election victory, no amount of power can ever rewrite what I’d done.

I gave away a child who needed me. That’s the truth I’ve tried to ignore all these years, Ms. Randall.

That’s the horror of my life, not just the dishonesty about my public persona.

I’m a mother who walked away from a child she should have loved.

Your mother made me see that. She forced me to wake up and face what I had become. ”

Hearing her words, seeing how wounded she was, I still couldn’t let it go. The questions pressed too hard against my chest to remain unspoken.

“Did you hurt her? My mother, I mean.” My voice was steadier than I expected. “Would your people go that far? Would they hurt my mother just to silence her, just to protect you?”

“No. No.” She shook her head firmly. “I know they wouldn’t.

My people believe money and influence can silence any opponent.

That’s their way. But I was already walking a different path.

” She drew a shaky breath. “A reporter followed me when I went back to the training school. And from there to the group home. There are already articles in the works, ready to expose my past. Not because of what your mother uncovered, but because of the steps I myself took in trying to learn the truth about my son and his last days.”

I leaned in until our eyes met.

“Then why are you here? What did you hope to accomplish by coming and talking to me?”

I waited for her to ask for the damning folder.

“I know your mother has passed, and I’m deeply sorry for that,” she said.

“But I needed to tell you this. To say that I am grateful to her. I’m thankful that she forced me to pull back the curtain and truly see my life for what it has been.

She made me grieve. She made me change. And if I can keep walking that path…

maybe, just maybe, it will be enough to save my soul. ”