Page 12 of The Promise Of Rain

Back then, the docks were my safe place.This was where Baxter and I used to hang out when we were kids, and this was the only place I could imagine telling him what happened, especially after the debacle at The Loose Moose with Deacon.

So, yesterday morning, huddled on the bench in my old, worn out, winter jacket, I waited for Baxter to show up.The wind bit through my thin layers, and I wished for the hundredth time I hadn’t broken the zipper on my good coat, the one that covered me to my knees.

When Baxter stalked toward me and stopped ten feet away, his wary eyes sliced me deeper than I thought possible after all this time.But I told my story, and the rest of his.

Maggie’s suspicions when she confronted me a few hours later burned hotter.

Crying in her arms was the ending I never saw coming, but it gave me hope that I might live in peace in Moose Lake, free for once from the whispers of wagging tongues and the weight of a sin that was never mine.

It was finally over.

Though my eyes were still puffy this morning, I felt lighter than I ever had.And that lightness lasted all through my breakfast, my shower, and the fifteen minutes it took to drive to St.Michael’s.

Spilling the truth of what really happened that awful night to both Baxter and Maggie snapped the final threads holding all of us to the deceits of the past.

Reliving it anew, witnessing the horror in their eyes as I filled in the missing pieces of the puzzle, validated my suffering.

But it also annihilated the walls I’d built to contain my grief and anger.

And I felt both deeply.

This morning, with Baxter’s father dead and the truth set free, I woke to a brand-new reality, one in which I was no longer the villain.

How long would it take the old biddies in town to catch up on the latest?

The bakery was closed tomorrow, but I figured the news would spread by Tuesday when I opened the doors for the week.

Maybe now, when they came to my bakery to pick up the cinnamon buns they couldn’t resist, they wouldn’t tip their noses up quite so high.

Maybe now I could concentrate on experimenting with new recipes instead of peeking around every corner to ensure I avoided Baxter and Maggie.

Especially with Moose Lake’s winter festival coming just around the corner.

Frostival was my least favourite of Moose Lake’s festivals, but it boasted a killer bonfire on the beach on Saturday night, and it was perfect for field-testing new recipes.

The last time I went to the bonfire was with Deacon.

I gave my head a shake at the raw ache in my chest.

Stirring up the past had shaken up old feelings better left buried.

Pulling on my stupidly short coat and my warm winter boots, I grabbed my purse, stepped out onto the landing, and locked my door.Sunlight bounced off the snow and near blinded me as I carefully made my way down the slippery outside stairs to the ground below.Before going to my car, I rounded the building to check the door and front window of Buns and Biscuits to ensure they were secure and free of insulting artwork.

A habit I’d yet to break since the one and only time I found them illegally decorated.

Buns and Biscuits, the bakery I worked at part-time when I was a teenager, was now mine thanks to the man I was on my way to see with a box of his favourite chocolate brownies.This recipe never made it into the bakery; they were special for Ansel.

And the ladies.

On the odd occasion, I even made them for Miller and Maxine.

I turned my key into the ignition of Ansel’s old car.For once, it started right away.

“Good boy,” I murmured, patting the dashboard with my mittened hand.

Over the past ten years, I’d been busy.Slowly taking over the bakery as Ansel gradually stepped back, along with holding the frayed edges of myself together, took all my time and energy.

With little of either left over for friends and socializing, I hardly missed it.