Before heading downtown, Evie drove to her parents’ house. She had to prepare them for what was to come. She found them in the living room. Her mother lay back in her recliner, an afghan draped over her legs. The Dean sat on a footstool while he trimmed her toenails. Light classical music played in the background and she sniffed the perpetual scent of chamomile tea.
The tenderness of the moment hit Evie like a crossbow to the heart. She was about to shatter their peace of mind into a million pieces. Was there any way she could avoid telling them? Allow them to stay in their protected bubble?
No. This was Jupiter Point. No one kept a secret for long. In fact, she probably held the local record for secret-keeping. Thirteen years of never saying a word—that was plenty long enough.
The Dean
