Chapter Eight
Donovan took a deep breath and then knocked on the front door that he’d knocked on so many times in the past. Growing up, this house had been like a second home to him. Now, though, he didn’t know what he was going to find behind this door once it opened. Or what kind of reception he was going to get.
Still, he had to do this. If Ella’s mom had gotten so afraid in the last five years that she couldn’t even leave the house now, and Ella had been handling that entirely on her own…well, he couldn’t let that stand. He had to assess the situation, determine a course of action. His training, and his nature, dictated that just standing idly by and doing nothing was not a fucking option.
The doorknob turned and the door swung inward. There stood Ella’s mother, as perfectly put together as he’d ever seen her, a broad smile on her face. “Donovan Valentine, could that really be you? Come in, come in!”
He stepped over the threshold and she folded him up in a hug. His throat tightened a little as he surrendered himself to the embrace. He hadn’t had a mom-type hug in five solid years, and now he’d had two in one day. It was a little overwhelming.
She pulled back, then, and put one palm flat against each of his cheeks. “Let me look at you,” she ordered before breaking out in a grin again. “Well, you seem to be the picture of health. I’m surprised. Come on along to the kitchen. I’ll make us some tea.”
He couldn’t help but smile a little as he followed Mrs. Fletcher through the archway that separated the living room and kitchen. As far back as he’d known her, she’d suffered from nerves every time she’d made herself step outside the front door, but that had never affected how much of a force of nature she was within these walls. Apparently that hadn’t changed.
“Why are you surprised that I seem healthy?”
“Oh, well, I had just assumed you’d been afflicted with some mysterious illness that kept you from getting on a plane. Or picking up a telephone.”
He chuckled. “Fine. I deserve that.”
She gestured to the row of counter stools and he sat down on one as she crossed the kitchen and put the kettle on. While the water heated, she came over and perched on one of the empty stools, then smacked her palm firmly against the countertop. “Well, Donovan Valentine. How are you? Really? Don’t sugarcoat it. I’m a mom. I can spot a lie at fifteen paces.”
He had no doubt that was true. “It’s strange being back here. It’s the first time since…you know.”
Dammit, he couldn’t even say it out loud. He swallowed past the lump in his throat.
Ella’s mom patted his hand. “You poor boy. You must be seeing them around every corner.”
He nodded, looking intently at the counter. He didn’t want her to see the drawn and tortured look on his face. He couldn’t help but feel that it was weakness, being this vulnerable.
God, what was wrong with him? He’d come here so that he could make sure she was all right, not the other way around!
He was saved by the kettle whistling, which provided a natural break to the tension.
She bustled across the kitchen and poured hot water into their mugs, and he was able to lift his face and watch her, knowing that she’d be facing away from him.
She apparently also gained courage from not being face to face, because she said, her voice forced into lightness, “So, Donovan. Have you been to see my Ella yet?”
He nodded, his throat still tight, but then realized that she couldn’t see him while facing the other way, so he forced himself to speak. The result was a hoarse and strangled, “Yes.”
She froze for a moment, her movements still and her frame full of tension. Then she picked up the mugs and brought them over to the counter, her bright smile firmly back in place.
“So, did she know you were coming, or did you employ the stealth bomb technique with her, as well?”
He grimaced. “No. I just stopped by the shop.”
She let out a short laugh. “Stealth bomb, indeed.”
He nodded. “We talked a little. We went to Main Street Eats.” He thought it would be prudent to leave out the extraneous details. If Ella wanted to fill her mother in on those, that was her business.
Mrs. Fletcher chuckled, her laugh as high and clear as a bell. “Oh, well. You needn’t have stopped by to let me know you’re back, then. If Grace saw you, then everyone in town will be informed by sundown.”
He couldn’t hide his smile. It felt so good, so comforting and familiar, to be in a place he knew so well, surrounded by people who knew all the same things he did. Like every person in town was all in on the same big inside joke.
That was it, he realized. The key word. Inside. Being a part of Valentine Bay was like being welcomed into an inside circle, full of love and trust, memories and shared history. Damn, he’d been on the outside for far too long.
Ella’s mom sipped her tea, studying him. He straightened his shoulders, reminding himself of his mission. “So, Mrs. Fletcher, how are you?”
Her eyes twinkled as the edges of her mouth curled up. “Oh, I’m just fine, dear. And how are you? Really, I mean. Remember, I said no sugarcoating. And you still haven’t answered.”
Donovan wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that. It felt like a loaded question. Like a test. He knew the question itself had layers of meaning. Chances are his answer would be dissected and examined for those layers, too.
Well, fuck it, he figured. You can’t go too wrong with the plain truth.
“I’m not sure, actually,” he said, and then let out a bleak laugh. “I’m not sure about much anymore.”
“I understand that feeling.”
He nodded. It felt good talking to Ella’s mom, even if there was a lot he couldn’t talk to her about. It felt familiar, safe, and comfortable. He took a sip of the warm, rich tea and let the warmth of the liquid fill him.
Mrs. Fletcher leaned against the stool’s back and gave him an appraising look. There was a glint of amusement in her eyes that made him think that, even though he hadn’t said much, she understood the whole story. Maybe even more than he himself did.
“So, what are you planning on doing about her?”
About her. Ella’s mom hadn’t said about it, or about that. She’d said about her.
So, yeah, apparently she did understand.
“I don’t know,” he answered truthfully.
Mrs. Fletcher patted his hand again. “I don’t know what to tell you, Donovan. I’m biased. I don’t want you to hurt my baby girl.”
“Believe me, I don’t want to.”
She nodded and they sat in silence for a moment. She was the first to break it. She picked up her mug and lifted it to her lips. “How about we just drink tea?” she said, and then took a sip.
He nodded, grateful. He wasn’t ready to think about what, if anything, the future might hold with Ella, even within his own mind. He certainly wasn’t ready to explain his “intentions” to her mother. But sitting in companionable silence and drinking tea? That he could do. That was pretty damn awesome, as a matter of fact.
After they’d finished the cups and Mrs. Fletcher was rinsing them off in the sink, Donovan said, “I came over her to check up on you. You ended up taking care of me.”
She laughed and shot him a quick smile over her shoulder. “Oh, hon. You aren’t the first, and you won’t be the last. Sometimes a person just needs a cup of tea and a sympathetic ear, even if they don’t want to talk.”
He nodded as he stood to leave. “I did. Thank you.”
She gave him a hug before he walked out the door and said, “Anytime, Donovan. Really. I want you to know that.”
As Donovan walked back toward the street and his rental car, he shook his head to clear the pressure building in it, and the tightness in his throat. He didn’t understand why such a simple act of motherly kindness had affected him so much.
Of course you do, he berated himself. And you just said it. Motherly. That’s the key. She reminds you of being a kid. She reminds you of Mom.