The Bookstore on the Beach - Brenda Novak Page 0,128

baby isn’t the end of the world.”

“It seems like the end of mine,” she grumbled.

“You’ll get through it. I’m glad it’s out in the open.”

“So am I. I just thought you should know that it’s not a secret anymore, in case Mom hasn’t already told you about it.”

He turned down the radio that had come on when he started the car. “Actually, she did tell me, Taylor. This morning on the phone. And I admitted to her that I already knew.”

“You did?” she asked, her eyes round.

“I did. I kept my word to you, but I didn’t want to lie to her. Pretending not to know felt too dishonest.”

She tucked a few stray wisps of hair behind her ears. “How’d she react?”

“Not so well.”

She wrinkled her nose. “She got mad?”

“I haven’t heard from her all day, so... I don’t know what to think.”

“I haven’t been at the house. I’ve been with Sierra, so I don’t know how she’s been feeling. I’m sorry if it’s my fault.”

“I’m not placing any blame,” he said. “Just...wanted to be up-front with both of you.”

She nibbled on her bottom lip while he finished navigating the last few blocks to Mary Langford’s beach house. “You really care about my mom, don’t you?” she said once he pulled into the driveway.

He gazed up at the window over the garage. “I’m in love with her,” he said, and in that moment, he realized it was true. He didn’t care if they’d been dating only a short time. He’d fallen hard.

Taylor’s smile was sympathetic. “Don’t worry. My mom’s not the type to stay mad for long.”

He grinned. “Glad to hear it. Put in a good word for me,” he joked, and she surprised him by squeezing his arm before climbing out.

“I will.”

30

Autumn paced the narrow aisles of the bookstore, too filled with anxiety to stand in one place. She would’ve made herself stop and get some work done while she was waiting, but there wasn’t much to do. With three of them manning the store these days, they’d been able to keep up. She’d only come here because she was looking for some privacy. The conversation she was hoping to have with her mother couldn’t be had at the house or even in the apartment over the garage, not without the risk of her children interrupting or overhearing. And she wasn’t ready to include Caden and Taylor. There were too many things she needed to learn first.

Maybe she’d never tell them about the Skinners. Maybe her mother wouldn’t want them to know. If that was the case, Autumn could certainly understand. It was hard for rape survivors to open up and talk about what they’d been through. She could only imagine what it must be like for her mother—to be that one in a million who’d been held hostage and victimized for years.

Not only had Mary been victimized, she’d also been impregnated by her abuser. At last, Autumn had the answers she’d been looking for where her father was concerned, but they weren’t anything she could be happy about. That was why her mother hadn’t told her. Jeff Skinner was a psychopath without empathy or regard for others, who was currently in prison. He couldn’t add anything to her life or anyone else’s.

Everything made sense now. Why her father had never tried to track her down. Why Mary had been so vague about him. Why Mary often had trouble sleeping, refused to venture farther than a couple of hours from Sable Beach and never married or even dated.

Mary had been a twelve-year-old girl lured into a car by a young mother—Nora Skinner—who had taken her prize home to her handsome, wealthy husband. Autumn could understand why a child would feel safe approaching a vehicle with a woman in it who was asking for directions, especially a woman like Nora Skinner. Nora hadn’t been disheveled and unkempt, strung out on drugs or driving a rattletrap car. She’d been young, well-dressed and behind the wheel of a BMW with her own daughter in the backseat. Who wouldn’t trust that?

Unbelievable. She’d spent the past several hours reading everything she could find on her mother’s case. She’d also spent some time thinking about the various people named in those articles, and featured in the accompanying pictures, and how they fit in with what she knew—or had been told. Mary’s mother, for instance, couldn’t be Nana. Several of the articles named someone else. And yet, Laurie was most certainly connected to Nana. They looked