It's Never too Late - By Tara Taylor Quinn Page 0,19
she wasn’t of the faith she’d raised her son to be, and her son had left the church to marry Ann.
Gran had refused to attend the wedding and disowned them both. They’d died before she had the chance to make things right.
It was Gran’s biggest regret. And the reason she’d spent every second of the remainder of her days dedicated to Addy’s life and happiness.
“Was anyone else hurt?”
The constriction was back in her chest. And her throat. She stared at Mark wide-eyed, as though, if she tried hard enough—filled her vision with enough of him—she could block out the memories choking her.
“Who was hurt?”
She shook her head.
“Where were you?”
Here. In Shelter Valley. “Home.”
“Your house caught on fire?”
She nodded.
“Were you in bed?”
Another nod.
“Being five, you wouldn’t have been left home alone.”
She didn’t say anything.
And then his entire being softened. It was as though he reached out, wrapped his arms around her and cushioned her from life’s blows.
As if anyone could do that.
“Were there any other survivors?”
Addy shook her head.
CHAPTER SEVEN
IT WAS LATE. He had to be out of bed at six the next morning so he could prepare breakfast and pretend he wasn’t paying attention to Nonnie’s morning routine as she got herself up and around. Afterward, he’d get ready to leave for class.
But right now, Mark wasn’t about to leave Adele Kennedy. Even though her blank expression told him she didn’t want to talk about what happened on the night of the fire anymore.
He had more questions for her, but they’d have to wait.
“Do you have a DVD player?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you have any movies?”
“I have Netflix.”
He had an account for Nonnie, too. She watched it through the secondhand PlayStation he’d picked up from a guy at the plant the previous Christmas.
“You ever watch Andy Griffith?”
Her smile was mostly dead, but it was there. “Who doesn’t?”
“The town I grew up in is a lot like Mayberry, even now. We have one sheriff and he’s got a couple of deputies and they pretty much keep everyone in line.”
“I have a feeling this town is pretty much the same way.”
“Maybe. How about you? Where’d you grow up?”
“Colorado.”
“What part?”
“A suburb of Denver.”
“That’s where your grandmother lived?” She’d told him, the first time they’d met, that she, like him, had lived with her grandmother.
Now he knew why.
She nodded.
“You want to watch an episode of The Andy Griffith Show?”
She blinked and looked at him as though he’d suggested they eat chocolate for breakfast. And then she smiled a real smile. “Yeah. That sounds good.”
Opening the drawer next to her, she pulled out a couple of remote controls and within minutes they were engrossed in a world where good always won out over evil, kids were safe and you just knew that everything was going to be okay.
* * *
MARK HEBER WASN’T the only person who knew about the fire. He was just the only person in her adult life whom she’d told.
It didn’t really mean anything. He understood fire. And he only knew that a house had gone up in flames. Not where the house had been.
He had no knowledge of the circumstances....
She wasn’t even sure Will Parsons knew the whole story. Sheriff Richards could find out the official version—if he had a mind to. Maybe he already had.
But from what little Gran had told her, and the things she’d overheard, she knew the official version had been adjusted.
Okay, fudged. Mostly for her sake.
If a man committed murder and then suicide, insurance wouldn’t pay. If he simply died in a fire with the rest of his family, it would.
And if the man was a firefighter, one of their own, if he’d risked his life over and over for the good of the town, if he’d only made one mistake in his life, then the powers that be—which in this case meant the firefighter’s best friend, who also happened to be the fire marshal—could fudge a report.... Which meant, in turn, that the man could get away with murder.
Her father’s best friend had stopped in to visit Gran several years later...to ease his conscience and make sure his lies had done good—not harm. He’d come to check on Addy.
And she’d overheard more than she should have.
She’d been twelve at the time.
Gran had been right to cut her off from Shelter Valley so completely. She’d been back for a week and she was already falling apart.
Or she would be if she allowed herself to dwell on the past. If she gave in to the self-pity that Gran had taught