“No, could you just please give this to him?” I handed her the envelope containing the fax from Ruben Felden’s office. “Tell him Lila brought it by. I also need to meet with the sketch artist.”
“Oh, you’re Lila! Griffiths has been smiling much more since you two got together.” Giving me a sisterly wink, she stood and said, “Follow me.”
I drove out of the parking lot in good spirits, despite revisiting the image of Kirk Mason, thanks to the policewoman’s words and the sun now shining through the clouds. Being on the streets in Dunston felt unaccountably strange, considering it had been a mere six months since I’d left. I felt so settled in Inspiration Valley that it was as if my Dunston life belonged to an entirely different person. My situation was very different now, with Trey out of the house, me in my cozy yellow cottage, and my job as a literary agent. Perhaps Dunston had just been a stepping-stone to the life I was meant to live.
I turned onto a tawny-colored pebbled driveway in front of a pretty white house and parked the truck. This was a lovely treed neighborhood with beautiful houses and well-maintained gardens bursting with blossoms of chrysanthemums, zinnias, ageratum, and roses. Autumn-colored leaves added vibrancy to the green manicured lawns. The large homes had varied fa?ades, some with red brick, others with colored siding; all were affluent. As I stepped out of Althea’s rusty pickup, I felt a little conspicuous.
The path that led to Tilly’s house was pebbled like her driveway, and it ended at steps leading up to a welcoming porch. One end was screened in, with windows half open and white wicker furniture with puffy floral cushions arranged around a small table. I could imagine how delightful it would be to sit there and read. Large windows framed by forest green shutters looked out onto the veranda, and as I glanced in one, I noticed Tilly sitting at a desk typing away on a computer.
Wanting to avoid appearing as if I were eavesdropping, I quickly approached the door and rang the bell.
“Hello!” Tilly exclaimed when she’d opened the door. “Flora told me you’d stop by. Thank you so much for bringing my notebook. I don’t know how I could have left it behind.”
“No problem. I had other errands in Dunston,” I said, handing her the pink-covered book, which she accepted and immediately hugged tightly to her chest.
“Would you like to come in? I was just about to have some hot cocoa, and I baked oatmeal cookies this morning.”
I shook my head. “I don’t want to keep you from your work…”
“Please, I was ready for a break anyway. Besides, the kids will be home from school soon and I try not to write when they’re here.” She held the door open wide and gestured inside.
As I didn’t need to pick Althea up for another half hour, I decided to accept Tilly’s offer. “Well, those cookies do sound tempting,” I said as I stepped across the threshold. Tilly peered anxiously down the street before shutting the door.
Inside, light poured in from the windows, reflecting off glistening wood floors laid with intricately woven rugs. I followed her to the kitchen, where the scent of baked cookies hung in the air. I immediately felt at home. The cream-colored walls were covered in framed children’s artwork, which coordinated very well with the beautifully grained cherry cabinets, stainless steel appliances, and coffee-colored granite countertops. A vase with a brilliant bouquet of gerbera daisies sat in the center of the table.
“How many kids do you have?” I asked, inspecting a vibrant painting of fish in the sea.
“Two. Peter and Emma are twins; they’re nine. They’ve been the joy of my life,” she said as she placed two milk-filled mugs in the microwave. “Would you like some whipped cream on your hot chocolate?”
“Yes, please.” I nodded. “I know what you mean. I have one son who’s almost eighteen, and he has enriched my life in innumerable ways.” I smiled ruefully. “Of course, there were the teenage years…” I let my sentence hang in the air.
Tilly laughed. “Oh, I’m not saying there aren’t challenges. But my kids fulfill me.” Having arranged a tray with two mugs and a plate of cookies, she picked it up and asked, “Shall we sit in the screened porch? It’s warm enough now that the sun’s out. Then we can see the school bus coming.”
I held the door for her, and we nestled into the wicker chairs as we sipped our hot chocolate. I inhaled the fresh air and listened to the sparrows twittering in the tree behind me.
“It’s lovely out here,” I said.
She nodded. “I know. I can’t believe how lucky I am. I have a wonderful husband, two fantastic kids, an amazing home. And now, to top it off, a successful writing career. I don’t know what I did to deserve all this.”