Page 24 of Meant for Me (Magnolia Bay #3)

thirteen

L inc should be on his boat right now, leading a tour. Or checking his equipment, or researching mainland festivals and markets for next season’s haul, or talking to Anthony about ways to expand their business further until spring.

Instead, he was at the end of a three-hour drive north to Lafayette, Zoey riding shotgun with Amelia perched in the middle of the backseat of his truck, making good on the favor he’d promised her yesterday.

Marshland rolled past his window, rock music blaring from the speakers. That part prevented much conversation, which was exactly as he’d hoped. Hard enough keeping his mind on the winding ribbon of asphalt and not on the scent of Zoey’s perfume next to him without adding further distraction.

“Turn here.” Amelia tapped his shoulder, despite his GPS giving him the same direction, and pointed to the right as he approached a four-way stop.

He obliged, taking the opportunity to sneak a peek at Zoey’s profile as he made the turn.

Hadn’t gotten much sleep, as last night’s kitchen dance replayed every time he shut his eyes, but he was realizing today it replayed even when his eyes were open.

He’d felt bad for her last night, for what she’d given up for him—for them —and figured he’d owed her a simple dance.

But the second her hand landed on his bare skin, her head tucked against his chest, any sense of obligation had cut and run. He’d become acutely aware of her scent, her softness, her warmth…and two very opposing facts.

She was his wife .

And she was Zoey .

Had that moment gotten to her too? He’d never know. Today, she was back to all sunshine, playing hangman and other note-passing car games with Amelia.

The only thing that had changed was the glint of gold on her ring finger.

He frowned. She deserved a diamond. Not that he could really afford it right now, but one day.

Assuming she had reason to stick around that long.

“Now left.” Amelia tapped again.

“Got it.” They meandered through a low-income neighborhood that had probably seen better days.

Overgrown weeds poked through cracks in the street.

Trash littered the sides of the road. An abandoned car, stripped of its tires, had become completely taken over by vines a block from the apartment complex the GPS directed him to.

He pulled into the parking lot, killed the engine.

Zoey edged forward on her seat, frowning as she peered up at the sagging gutter in front of the office door, the chipped paint. “You said you called ahead?”

“Yeah, the lease is up this weekend.” Linc opened his door. “Manager said she’d let her in.”

Amelia hopped eagerly from the backseat, practically jogging to the front door with the box of trash bags they’d brought tucked under her arm. “Come on!”

Linc grabbed a tub from the bed of his truck, braced it against his side. Zoey fell into step beside him. “Guess Kirsten didn’t have a great job.”

Or…“Guess she spent her money on what she wanted.”

Zoey winced. “I wasn’t going to say it.”

“You’re not going to offend me.” He shot Zoey a look. “She is what she is.”

Her voice softened. “This is a nice thing you’re doing for Amelia, letting her get her stuff.”

Linc shrugged. “She asked. And with school starting Monday, well—I figured it was the least I could do.”

She slowed her pace. “Well yeah, I’m sure she’ll feel more comfortable with some of her own belongings, but it’s a lot more than the least, Linc.” She looked up at him. “It’s a good dad move.”

The words washed over him, warming something deep inside, and he gripped the tub a little tighter. Zoey’s approval had always carried a bit more weight than the average person—which wasn’t hard, seeing how that amount was typically none—but this…

This was different.

Amelia hurried inside the office, where a potted plant fought to live, the air thick with the lingering aroma of cigarette smoke. A middle-aged woman with frizzy bleached hair sat behind the front desk. “Hey, Tara. Remember me?”

“Hey, doll.” Tara’s smoker’s voice was as thick as the air. She set down the romance novel she’d been reading and fished in the desk drawer. “13B, right?”

“Right.”

Tara handed over the key without a single word to Linc or Zoey, picked her novel back up, and waved them off.

Zoey and Linc exchanged a look.

Within minutes, Amelia had led them up rusty stairs to a nearby unit with cracked trim. The door across from Amelia’s contained a flowered wreath and a worn welcome mat—clearly an effort to cheer up the place.

But Amelia’s door was bare, save for the splattered stain of some kind of dark liquid. She burst inside, a rush of stale air mixed with rotting food drifting out the door in her wake. Zoey discreetly coughed.

Linc frowned, his bulk nearly filling the entryway of the small space.

A nearly empty living room with a futon and a TV tray as a table sat next to a dirty window.

Stains covered the threadbare carpet. The kitchen was to his left, clearly the source of the rancid smell.

A short hallway led to the back, where he assumed the bedrooms and bathroom were.

A bug skittered across the floor and vanished under the cabinet trim.

He was half afraid to set the tub down.

“Where’s your room, Amelia?” Zoey ventured farther inside, then lowered her voice for Linc’s ears only. “We should probably make this quick.”

“Agreed.” He risked setting the tub down, peeled off the lid.

Amelia set the box of trash bags on the counter separating the kitchen from the living area. “Down the hall, to the left. Mom let me have the bigger one.” She cast a quick look at Linc, like he was supposed to be impressed. Like maybe that was proof Kirsten wasn’t a horrible parent after all.

Zoey’s hand on his arm kept his mouth shut. He cleared his throat. “Go on, then. Grab what you want.”

Felt weird walking farther into Kirsten’s personal space, so he let Zoey take the tub and go with Amelia around the corner.

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, giving the room a slow once-over.

No art on the wall, no framed photos sitting out.

No motherly efforts toward making the space homey.

Just an ancient television, a stack of magazines beside the futon, a yoga mat rolled up in the corner. How in the world had they lived here?

How had Amelia lived here alone as long as she had? Had she even remembered to lock the door at night?

Linc turned to study the weak deadbolt. He could kick that in, easy, which meant someone else determined to could have as well. His stomach boiled with anger. Could Kirsten get any more foolish, any more selfish?

His chest clenched. How had he been so blind to who Kirsten really was all those years ago? He should have seen signs, had some indication. But he’d been duped. Blinded by love, or some hopeful teenage version of it.

Just a guy looking to find someone to stay.

They returned from down the hall, Zoey toting the tub half-full of what looked like some rolled-up posters, makeup, and a few boxes tucked inside. Amelia’s arms were draped with clothes.

She stopped short, face washing pale as she stared into the kitchen.

“What is it?” Linc started toward her. “Another bug?”

She shook her head, stack of clothes going limp in her arms. Wire hangers clacked together. “It’s just…those dishes weren’t in the sink when I left.”

Linc met Zoey’s eyes, which looked as startled as he felt.

Amelia visibly swallowed. “Mom’s been here.”

* * *

Half an hour later, after drive-thru tacos, they were once again on the road.

Zoey cast a look in her side mirror at Amelia, asleep in the backseat next to her meager belongings.

She hugged a stuffed unicorn she told them was named Frederick on her lap.

Linc had raised his eyebrows but wisely kept his mouth shut.

No doubt he was remembering her angry dismissal of unicorn sheets when she first arrived.

From the driver’s seat, Linc talked in quiet tones with Ms. Bridges, his expression drawn. Zoey alternated between trying to eavesdrop and trying to pray. Was Amelia right? Had Kirsten really been there that recently?

Linc finally disconnected the call, his face grim. The radio played low. “She hasn’t heard from her.”

Wow. Zoey fought to wrap her mind around that. “Well…I guess we don’t know for sure it was Kirsten who made the mess.”

Linc dropped his phone in the cup holder. “Amelia said she could tell. It was her mom’s favorite coffee mug.”

“Maybe someone broke in.”

“And made sure to put their dishes in the sink after cooking?” He tilted his head, voice infused with doubt.

“Yeah, that was a dumb suggestion. I’m just trying to think who else it could be. The manager?”

“I doubt it. She’d have said something when she gave us the key. Besides, it’s not like their apartment was a nice place to hang out.”

All good points. Zoey’s heart thudded, and she cast a glance over her shoulder to confirm Amelia wasn’t listening.

“So you’re saying Kirsten went home at some point over the last few days, realized her daughter wasn’t there, and just left again—without calling the police or social services or anything? ”

“It’s a different lifestyle, Zoey.” His grip tightened on the steering wheel. A muscle jumped in his jaw. “It won’t make sense to you.”

Spoken like a man who knew. Zoey frowned. But that was impossible. “If it won’t make sense, then how do you understand?”

“Because I’ve been in trouble before.” He glanced in the rearview mirror. “Obviously.”

“That’s different. Accidentally getting your girlfriend pregnant isn’t illegal.”

“I’ve been arrested.”

Zoey twisted her lips to the side. “Really?”

“And I’ve done drugs.”

“ Oh .”

“It was a long time ago, when I first started college.”

“I never knew that.” Apparently, she didn’t know Linc as well as she thought. Maybe she knew him better than most people in the Bay, but what was that really saying at this point? What else had he kept from her?

“I straightened myself out before too long, got the scholarship. Made good grades.” He stared straight again. “Mama D would say by the grace of God.”

“She would say that.” Amazing grace, even. The lyrics from their wedding rolled through her head.

“Broken people make mistakes.” He huffed. “Again, obviously.”

She glanced over her shoulder again. “Amelia isn’t a mistake, Linc.”

“No, I didn’t mean her.” He shook his head. “I meant my choosing Kirsten.” The steering wheel creaked under his grip. “I pursued her, stayed with her when it was clear she was running around, getting into stuff. It’s my fault Amelia is in this situation.”

“Maybe partly, on a technicality.” Zoey shifted sideways to look at him, the seatbelt pulling across her chest. “But to that same point, she wouldn’t even exist without your so-called mistakes. God works all these things out for good.”

He cut his eyes to her. “Everything?”

“That’s what the book of Romans says.” Zoey shrugged.

“Even fires?”

She swallowed, images from that fateful night flickering. The drifting ash, the smoke in her throat. The incessant strobe lights, the piercing sirens. “Even fires.”

“You really believe that? Or are you spouting what your missionary parents would say?”

She drew a breath, thinking. “Both.”

He shook his head. “How do you do it? Stay so positive.”

“How do you stay so grumpy?” Zoey smirked.

“That comes easier.”

They rode in silence, save for the soft rock playing from the radio. Yellow wildflowers and green mile markers flashed past the window. Zoey tapped her fingers on the middle console, restless. “Being positive all the time can be hard too.”

“Then why are you?” He picked right back up, like the conversation hadn’t stalled at all.

“People need me to be.”

He frowned. “What about what you need?”

“You sound like Elisa.”

“What?”

“Never mind.” Zoey adjusted the air vent off her face. “It’s just a habit, you know? Keeping people’s spirits up, finding the bright side.”

“Sometimes there’s not one.”

“We’ve had this conversation before. On your boat, remember?” She lowered her voice to imitate his. “ Some people see things that aren’t there .”

He turned down the radio even lower. “But don’t you ever just feel like screaming? Letting out steam?”

Yes. “Sometimes.”

“But you never do.”

Only because last time he appeared with cheesecake and slow dances.

She shrugged. “I didn’t need to be another burden growing up.

My parents were— are —missionaries, working with meager budgets and little appreciation.

They’d come home from trips and be worn out.

” She shrugged. “I guess I felt like since I wasn’t called to missions myself, I could still serve God by making their lives easier, you know? ”

“Noble of you.”

She shifted in her seat. “You think so?”

“ No .” Linc shook his head at her. “You were just stuffing it all down—that’s not helpful. Especially as a kid.”

“Says the guy who bluntly expresses what he thinks about everything .”

“Not everything.” A muscle jumped in his jaw. “You can’t appreciate the sun without a few rain clouds now and then.”

“I guess you must love the sun, then, Mr. Grumpy.”

Another side-eyed look. “I’m just saying it’s okay to have a storm come through.”

“Storms are scary.”

“Rain is necessary.”

She leaned back in her seat, shifted her gaze out the window. He was right. She knew that on a logical level, but emotionally…it felt dangerous to let go. To actually scream, yell, throw something. Say what you thought.

Release the pressure inside.

Storms came with side effects, as the whole town of Magnolia Bay had seen after Hurricane Anastasia. She glanced at Linc, then at Amelia, before focusing back on the road.

It wasn’t worth the risk of widespread damage. They’d made it this far. She couldn’t stop shining now.

Or everyone she cared about would suffer.