He followed the sound of her voice to the kitchen, which Owen had recently renovated. The appliances were brand-new, and the enormous cedar work island in the center of the room was a nice addition. Della Bishop stood by the counter, kneading dough between her strong fingers, and her face lit up when she spotted her eldest standing in the doorway. With her dark blonde hair and light brown eyes, she looked nothing like her sons—all the Bishop boys had their father’s dark hair and gray eyes, except for Austin, who’d inherited the dark hair but a pair of forest-green eyes that Della blamed on some obscure maternal great-grandmother.
“Cookies?” Nate asked, glancing at the baking supplies littering the island.
“Rice has a cold, so I figured I’d bake him something to boost his spirits.”
At the mention of his Uncle Rice, Nate grinned. Since his uncle went to work at the paper mill even when he had bronchitis, he doubted a little cold would keep the man down, but his mom loved to pamper the men in her life, always had.
Too bad Nate’s father had never appreciated it.
“Tell him I hope he feels better,” Nate said as he hopped onto one of the tall wooden stools. He propped his elbows on the counter and said, “How are you doing, Mom?”
“Me?” She looked flattered that he would ask. “I’m doing great. Getting ready for the big craft sale next month—I knitted three sweaters this week. And I’m organizing a bake sale for the high school to raise money for new cheerleader uniforms.”
“Sounds fun,” he lied.
His mother grinned. “Says the boy who goes out of his way to not participate in community activities.”
He wanted to ask her why she bothered, but held his tongue. Despite the fact that the townsfolk still whispered behind her back and trash-talked his dead father, Della continued to make an effort to be pleasant to everyone in Paradise, even those who didn’t deserve it.
“So…” She wiped her hands on her red-checkered apron and studied him. “I hear Charlotte is back.”
“She got in yesterday.”
“Did you speak to her at the reunion?”
He nodded. “It was good to see her.”
“If you talk to her, tell her to stop by and see me,” his mother said. “Gosh, she was the sweetest girl. We used to have her over for dinner all the time, remember?”
Oh, he remembered. That first time Charlotte showed up on the Bishop porch during dinnertime, claiming she was “in the neighborhood”, Nate had seen right through the lie. Tiff Hill had never cooked a single meal for her daughter, and though Charlotte usually managed on her own and bought groceries using the money she earned working at Betty’s diner, the money eventually ran out. Nate had felt terrible about it. His father might have been a drunken carouser, but Della always made sure her boys were fed.
“I’m sure she’d love to come by and say hello,” he answered.
“Make sure she does.” His mother paused then hurled an unusually blunt inquiry his way. “Did you apologize to that poor girl for lying to her?”
Nate faltered. “How do you know I lied to her?”
“Honey, do you really think I believed your story about losing interest in the relationship? You loved that girl to death. I could see it plain as day.”
“But you never said anything. You acted like you believed me.”
“It was obvious you weren’t ready to talk about it.”
“Dad made his opinion known,” Nate grumbled, fighting a wave of bitterness as he remembered his father’s undisguised happiness when Charlotte left. “For some reason, he never wanted her around.”
“That’s because he was sleeping with her mother,” Della said in a clipped tone.
Nate’s jaw dropped to the floor. “What?”
“It’s true. Tiff was one of his women on the side.”
For the life of him, Nate couldn’t figure out why his mother sounded so calm about this. It was definitely news to him, the part about Tiff Hill, not the sleeping around. His dad had been infamous for cheating on his wife, and Nate had always wondered why his mother didn’t just up and leave him. He’d asked her once, when he was in his early twenties, and she’d just shrugged. Now that she’d dropped this bomb, he felt compelled to ask her again.
“Why the fuck did you stay with him?” he blurted out.
Della frowned. “Watch your language, Nathan.” She paused. “And to answer the question, I didn’t leave him because I couldn’t.”
“Sure you could. You could’ve just packed your bags and left.”
“He threatened to take my boys.” Distress filled her honey-brown eyes. “And besides, I couldn’t have supported myself. I’m a housewife, honey. All I know how to do is bake and clean and mend. I couldn’t have supported you boys, even if your father had let me take you with me.”
Nate was utterly dumbfounded. His father had threatened to take her kids from her? Why was he only hearing about this for the first time now?
“And now the subject is closed,” his mom said firmly. “Your father is gone, the past is buried, and I have cookies to bake.”
He blinked a few times, still trying to sift through all the information she’d given him. Finally he quit trying to make sense of it and asked the question he’d come here to ask in the first place.
“Have you heard from Austin?”
Della’s hands froze on the dough. “No. Have you?”
“No. That’s why I came by today.” He raked a hand through his hair in frustration. “Owen hasn’t spoken to him either, and we’re getting worried.”