One Snowy Night (Sweet Home, Alaska #1) - Patience Griffin Page 0,42
telling you, but we weren’t friends anymore, and besides, I was in denial. I was sure I’d missed my period because of the stress. I had heard somewhere that could happen.”
“You could’ve taken a pregnancy test to find out for certain,” Donovan accused.
“Yeah. Sure. Like I could’ve walked into the Hungry Bear to get one without half the town hearing about it. Or even worse, I could’ve gone to the clinic.” She looked in the direction of town and could see in her mind’s eye the clinic with its now boarded-up windows. “I know what I did to you and Ella is reprehensible, keeping you two apart. I’m sorry. It’s all my fault.”
Donovan just stared at her, as if he agreed one hundred percent. Couldn’t he see that her heart was breaking all over again, just being around him?
“Can I ask a question?” she said. Just this one thing. “Do you want to be a father to Ella?” Or is it too late? He didn’t answer immediately and something snapped inside Hope. “Do you already have children? Forget it. Sorry I asked! None of my business. You’re leaving soon!”
Anger flashed in Donovan’s eyes and she knew she never should’ve come back here tonight.
“Hell, no!” he said.
Hope didn’t know which of her questions he was referring to. She opened her mouth to ask, but Donovan was halfway through the door.
Come back, she wanted to cry out. But he was gone.
She’d gotten what she deserved. She’d left Donovan hanging for so many years and now it was his turn to do the same to her.
She sat there for at least five minutes, trying to be patient, telling herself—no, fooling herself—that he’d come back. That he’d be sorry for leaving her—now and then. But he didn’t. Finally, Hope rose and snuck out through the door in the garage, unable to face any of them.
She drove back to town, wanting desperately to get Ella and take her home with her. She didn’t want to be alone tonight. But Ella wouldn’t want to be with her either. Ella would probably want to live at Lacy’s trailer forever.
Hope parked her car and saw that next door, Bill’s light was still on. For no reason, she started walking to his cottage. But she hadn’t made two footfalls when the lights went out. Feeling paranoid, she wondered if the news had spread of how she’d treated Ella and Donovan, keeping them away from each other.
She turned around to head back to her place, except a moose had wandered near her minuscule porch, nibbling the branches she should’ve trimmed in early fall.
“Come on!” she said to the moose. “Give me a break!”
But he just stood there, taunting her, glancing over at her every now and then, as if to say, I’ve never given you a break before. Why should I start now?
It felt as if everything was coming to one defining point. Donovan back in town, Ella finding out that he was her father, and now the moose. Just as she was ready to sit down in the snow and cry, the moose wandered back into the woods behind her house.
She scrambled for her door, slung it open, then shut herself inside.
She was too tired to wash up the few dishes in the sink, though to her credit at least she thought about it. Instead, she went into her room and dressed for bed. She was miserable. This evening couldn’t have gone worse.
She stopped in the middle of pulling on her nighttime kuspuk. Yes, tonight could’ve gone worse. She eased the nightshirt the rest of the way.
She didn’t do it often, but now she got to her knees, leaned her elbows on her bed, and then properly thanked God for watching over Ella tonight, keeping her safe. Now, if only the Big Guy Upstairs would make her daughter see the light and forgive Hope for what she’d done. And make Donovan forgive her, too. While she was at it, she asked if He could help Ella stop drinking this very instant to keep from killing off more brain cells than she’d already done. But those were only pipe dreams. Tonight, she’d settle for Ella being okay.
Hope shut off the light and climbed into bed. But sleep wouldn’t come. Her brain buzzed with anxiety.
Losing Izzie had set a certain standard for Hope’s life. Hope was constantly telling herself that her troubles were nothing compared to Izzie dying. It could always be worse had become her mantra.