Dylan’s voice rose above the chaos. “Ms. Bancroft has no comment,” he said.
The throng moved as one down the street, past Jim’s Hardware, as reporters shouted questions that were never answered, photographers snapped pictures, and film footage rolled. Above it all, Hope heard Adam’s cries and his pitiful pleas to go away and leave his mother alone. The mob circled Dylan’s truck, and Hope squeezed her way through the shifting wall of reporters. Over the shoulder of one of the photographers, she saw Dylan shove Juliette and Adam into the cab of his truck and shut the door. She pressed forward and broke free of the melee.
“I didn’t do this,” she yelled as she grabbed his forearm.
His jaws were clenched and his eyes burned as he glared at her. “Stay the hell away from me,” he said and shook off her grasp. “And stay away from my son.” He fought his way through the crowd to the driver’s side of his truck. He fired up the engine, and if the reporters hadn’t quickly moved aside, Hope wasn’t so sure he wouldn’t have mowed them down.
As they pulled away from the curb, Hope looked into the cab at Juliette’s pale complexion, bleached so white no amount of makeup could hide her shock. She caught a glimpse of Adam’s face, of the tears rolling down his cheeks, and her heart hurt for him. For herself, too. It was over. She’d lost Dylan. He would never believe her now.
Numb disbelief settled over her as she glanced at the photographers snapping photos of Dylan’s fleeing truck. She held her hands up as if she could stop it all, the cameras clicking, the film rolling, Dylan leaving. Then suddenly it did stop. The crowd dispersed and she was left standing on the sidewalk alone, rooted to the spot where Dylan had told her to stay away from him. Where her life had fallen apart.
She turned to the people standing behind her, in the doorways of shops and spilling from the Cozy Corner. She recognized the faces of those who lived in Gospel, and she also recognized the stunned confusion in their eyes.
Hope didn’t know how long she stood there, staring down the street, nor did she know how long it took her to walk to Timberline Road. Her feet felt leaded, her hands cold, and her heart so battered it hurt her to breathe too deep.
Instead of entering her house, she walked to Shelly’s back door and knocked. She didn’t know what her friend had heard or what she believed, but the second Shelly opened the door, Hope burst into tears.
“What’s wrong?” she asked and herded Hope into the kitchen.
“Have you talked to Dylan?”
“Not since the two of you borrowed my hiking boots.”
Hope threw her sunglasses on Shelly’s counter and wiped her moist cheeks. “He thinks I told the tabloids about him and Adam,” she began. Shelly handed her a Kleenex and Hope told her the whole story, starting with waking up in Dylan’s house and finding Adam staring at her. When she was finished, Shelly didn’t even look surprised.
“Well, I’m glad it’s all out in the open now,” Shelly said as she took two wineglasses from the cupboard. “A little boy shouldn’t have to live with that kind of secret.”
“You’ve always known?”
“Yep.” She opened the refrigerator and poured zinfandel from a box. She held out a glass for Hope. “Dylan is a great father, especially considering he has no help, but sometimes he is so protective of that child that he is bound to hurt him.”
Hope took the glass and looked down into the wine. It wasn’t even noon, but she didn’t care. “I think Dylan hates me now.” She thought of the way he’d looked at her. “No, I know he hates me now. He believes I moved here to report the story for a tabloid.” She looked up. “Do you believe me?”
“Of course I believe you. I know how you feel about Dylan, and besides, I doubt you would have told me you worked for The Weekly News of the Universe if you were here secretly digging up dirt on Adam.”
“Thank you.” Hope took a long drink of her wine.
“Don’t thank me. I’m your friend.”
She looked over the top of her glass at Shelly’s curly red hair and freckles, her “Garth Rules” T-shirt, huge belt buckle, and tight Wranglers. “I’m glad,” she said. It had taken her three years and more than a thousand miles to find not only Dylan, but Shelly, too. Together they moved to the small dining room off the kitchen, and Hope opened up to Shelly about her feelings for Dylan.
“I didn’t mean to fall in love with him,” she said, “but I couldn’t stop it. I knew he would hurt me, and he has.” She told Shelly about her marriage to Blaine and why it had really ended, and when she was through, she thought she should feel better, somehow purged, but she didn’t. She just felt more hurt and broken.
Wally came in for lunch, then took off on his bike for Dylan’s, once Shelly had called to make sure it was okay for him to be there. While Shelly had stood with the phone at her ear, Hope had sat frozen in her chair, her ears straining to hear the sound of his voice coming from the receiver. Her heart had been lodged in her throat, and when she realized what she was doing, she stood and went into the living room.
Over the course of the next few hours, she and Shelly polished off several more glasses of wine and a box of doughnuts.
“I think you’re really tanked,” Shelly told her when she couldn’t stop crying.
“I’m usually a very happy drunk,” Hope sobbed. “But I’m emotionally distraught!”
“I’m impressed you can still say ‘emotionally distraught.’ ”
By the time Hope stumbled home, she was having a hard time putting thoughts together. Everything in her head collided and churned into an undecipherable mush. She managed to crawl to her bedroom, where she found her beer helmet and the boxer shorts Dylan had given her to wear the morning after the first time they’d made love. She put on the helmet and the boxers; then she did herself a favor and passed out. When she woke up her head felt as if someone had hit her with a concrete block.
She sat up, her stomach heaved, and she ran into the bathroom. As she sat on the cool tile floor, wearing Dylan’s boxers and praying at the porcelain altar, she got angry. Angry at herself and angry at Dylan. Sure, she probably shouldn’t have lied to him for so long, but hers hadn’t been a big lie. Not like his. He should have trusted her and believed in her, but he hadn’t, and she never should have fallen in love with him. She felt like she had the day Blaine had served her with divorce papers. Like she’d been kicked in the chest, only this time it was worse. This time it was her fault, because this time she could have prevented it.
From the start, she’d known there was no future with him, and yet she’d let it happen. Well, maybe “let” wasn’t the right word, but she could have prevented it. She could have run the other way and told him no the night of the Fourth of July. She should have protected her heart from his smiles and the sound of his deep voice melting her and calling her honey. She should have backed away from his touch that tingled her skin and made her heart beat faster. She should have avoided his gaze that seemed to reach out and caress her like the touch of his hand. She should have put up some sort of resistance, but she hadn’t. She’d run toward him even as she’d