Page 102 of The Right Wrong Promise

“No, I suppose not. Leo loved to keep this place pure for you kids, I think. And he wasn’t the kind to hold grudges. I’m sorry you had to hear it from me.”

Margot’s nostrils flare.

“No, don’t be,” she says quietly.

“It hit Leo hard, that fire. The gazebo was always your grandma’s favorite place when she was around, right next to those beautiful gardens. The perennials would come back year after year before the fire.” Edith’s gaze is distant, and she smiles shyly. “Seems like just yesterday… I’d stop by to pick up a few flowers or bring her a bottle of wine. Sweet woman. You’d findMay Blackthorn painting out there almost every day in the warm months.”

“Oh, wow. I found a painting she did in the attic.” Margot bites her lip.

“She was prolific! And Leonidas was usually there with her, doting over her shoulder. But he never came around much after her passing, especially after the fire. Just a few times a year when he’d bring you and Ethan around.” She heaves a sigh. “Poor man. I’m not sure he ever got over the heartache of losing her last special place.”

Margot steps back like she’s been punched.

I put my hand on the small of her back, holding her steady.

She gives me a grateful glance, leaning into my hand, and I slide my arm around her hip, pulling her closer.

Her face looks so pale it worries me.

“I had no idea about any of this,” she says.

Edith nods seriously.

“It’s time you found out about the Babins and your granddad’s past. He’d have wanted you to know, especially with them sniffing around.”

Margot’s brows draw together.

Although she nods back gratefully, she doesn’t look convinced.

I wonder if Edith’s right.

Maybe the old man never wanted her to know about this stuff at all.

He never told her, after all, and there were plenty of opportunities. He could’ve left her a note in his will too, instead of sending her on a wild damn goose chase for whatever’s buried in the house.

I hate seeing her like this.

She’s not crying—I don’t think she lets herself cry often—but there’s a frailness in her face, her posture.

I hold her closer, and she gives me another grateful glance, her blue eyes dark.

“Whoa, Dad, look!” Dan yells from behind us.

We both turn, and I’m expecting something shocking.

But he’s just pointing at an ice cream truck on the other side of the park.

“Can we?” he asks, having missed everything that’s just gone down. “Pretty please with sprinkles?”

I turn back to Edith, and she smiles indulgently.

Margot stays silent, still reeling from the latest news.

“Thanks for the soaps, Edith. I should probably get these two terrors some dessert before they go to pieces.”

“Go!” She waves us both away with an urgent flap of her hands. “Enjoy yourselves while you’re here. And please take care of yourself, Margot, you hear me?”

“Sure will,” Margot murmurs quietly.