When You Knew (The Cabots Book 3)

by Jamie Beck

  “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to.” She stood and grabbed his hands, squeezing them. “But I hate to see you spend the rest of your life chasing a ghost instead of following your own dreams.”

  “This is my dream, and I’m happy with it.”

  “You rarely look happy.” Her eyes flickered with sympathy.

  “It’s called reserve.” He pulled free from her grip.

  “Oh, McJ, now you’re being touchy.” She sank back to the floor to pump Colt’s little legs. “I’m only trying to help.”

  Help? How did probing questions and unflattering conclusions help?

  “I have a request,” she said, undaunted by his increasingly dark mood. “If someone in my family can watch Colt this afternoon, can I come with you today?”

  “Why?” He’d become a mouse circled by a hawk.

  “I told you before. I want to make some fun memories before you leave. Plus, I want to get in on this good feeling from helping others. Let me come. I promise I’ll be good, and I won’t ask any more personal questions.”

  He doubted she’d find it much fun, but if it would get her to stop questioning him about Haiti, his father, and his personal life, it would be worth it.

  “You know it’s raining.” He pointed at the gray clouds and huge windows dotted with water drops. “We’ll probably get wet.”

  A bright grin stretched across her face. “We’ll make like Gene Kelly, then.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Revelation

  According to Merriam-Webster: a pleasant often enlightening surprise

  According to me: a spontaneous side of Ian

  Gentry popped her bubble gum and hummed along to the radio during the drive to the church, unaware of the battle raging in Ian’s head. He hadn’t fully processed her thoughts about his dad. Hell, he still couldn’t believe what he’d shared with her, or understand why he’d blabbered.

  “Cool building.” Gentry peered up at the funky church spire, then smirked. “Watch it burst into flames when I walk through the doors.”

  He couldn’t help himself. He chuckled.

  She exited the car, dashing through the raindrops and through the back door that led to the basement. Ian caught up to her right before they entered the reception room, where a dozen volunteers were beginning to separate the donated items into piles.

  His mother looked up and froze. He didn’t understand the apprehension on her face until he saw Farrah standing beside her.

  Dressed exactly like one might expect of a first-grade teacher during the summer, she wore chino shorts and a navy crewneck T-shirt and had braided her blonde hair. She’d always been petite, but she’d lost weight in the weeks since he’d moved out. He remembered the mixture of sorrow and determination she’d shown that day. The disappointment and tears she’d tried to hide. He surveyed her skinny legs and let the guilt take him under. While he’d been lusting after Gentry, Farrah hadn’t been eating. It’d been Farrah’s choice to end it, but what kind of man moves on without looking back at all? One who shouldn’t have been engaged, for starters.

  “Ian,” Farrah said, her eyes roving from him to Gentry and back again.

  If he’d had trepidation about introducing Gentry to his mom’s circle of friends, it just doubled. “Hey, Farrah. How are you?”

  Farrah’s eyes darted to Gentry again before she softly said, “Been better.”

  Ian held his breath, unsure of an appropriate reply; then Gentry stuck her hand out to Farrah. “Hi, I’m Gentry.”

  Farrah reluctantly shook Gentry’s hand. He noticed Farrah’s face go pale and her chin wobble. He hesitated, unable to promise it wasn’t what she thought yet unable to put any clear label on his relationship to Gentry, either. Luckily, his mother stepped in.

  “Gentry hired Ian to take care of her baby until he heads back to Haiti. She couldn’t put the child in day care because he was sick.”

  “Oh, that’s nice.” Some color returned to Farrah’s cheeks, along with a relieved smile. “Congratulations . . . on the baby, I mean. I hope he’s okay.”

  “Thanks,” Gentry said. “He’s much better now.”

  His mom then asked Gentry, “Is Ty okay after the little incident?”

  Ian winced at the reminder he suspected Gentry didn’t appreciate.

  “Fully recovered.” Gentry pasted a polite smile on her face. “Apparently, cupcakes are the antidote to nightmares.” She ended that conversation with a sharp nod of her head. “So what’s the deal here? How can I help?”

  Ian’s mom cleared her throat. “We’re gathering all the items into piles, and then we’ll stuff all those cinch sacks over there. Once that’s done, we’ll spread out to different areas of the city to deliver them.”

  “Sounds easy enough.” Gentry tugged at Ian’s arm, pointing at an empty rectangular folding table in the far corner. “No one’s started on that pile of boxes. Let’s go over there.”

  “Sure.” He nodded at his mom and Farrah, their blistering gazes like a thousand suns burning his skin. When he and Gentry moved far enough away to speak without being overheard, he expected to be grilled. Instead, Gentry began picking through the items, her face wrinkling with dismay. He scanned the dental products, deodorant, socks, Band-Aids, wet wipes, lip balm, sunscreen, vitamins, tissue packs, plastic combs, mints, water bottles, and cereal bars. “What’s wrong? Not your favorite brands?”

  “It’s hard for me to imagine not having these simple things.” She gazed up at him, clearly disturbed.

  “Few can. Homelessness is a real crisis. They need basics, like food”—he held up a granola bar—“and toiletries. In the winter, we’ll need to find blankets, socks, and coats.”

  “There are kids, aren’t there?”

  “Yes, unfortunately.”

  She stared at the pile and frowned. “Would it be okay to add something else? Something to make them smile?”

  “Smile?”

  “Well, I get that this stuff is most important. But something unexpected can really lift the spirit. Make a person feel hopeful.” She tapped her fingers on her lips while thinking. “There’s a Walmart we passed on our way here. If it’s okay, I’d like to add some things to these bags.”

  He supposed it didn’t hurt anything, so he nodded.

  “Great. I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”

  “Hey!” he called, but she’d run out the door without looking back. He had no idea what to expect when she returned.

  Smiles and hope. Two things Gentry seemed determined to give him, her son . . . almost everyone except her own mother.

  He shook his head, vaguely aware of his mother approaching.

  “Thanks for coming, honey. I didn’t know Farrah would show up.” She looked toward the door Gentry had recently run through. “Or Gentry.”

  “Neither did I.”

  “I suspect Farrah’s here to try to patch things up with you.” His mom spoke quietly while helping him sort.

  He cast a quick glance at Farrah, who kept her head down at the moment. “She didn’t know I’d be here.”

  “Hmph,” his mom clucked. “A good guess, then.”

  “Did Farrah say something to you, or is this wishful thinking on your part? She’s always supported the church.”

  “She has, but I think she’d be open to reconciliation. This could be your chance to patch things up and start a family of your own.”

  “It’s too late for that.”

  His mother’s brows rose, but she kept quiet.

  He could feed her a line about how unfair it would be to marry Farrah and then take off for a year or more in Haiti. Truth was, his infatuation with Gentry proved his feelings for Farrah had dwindled long before she’d ended things.

  Ian blocked all that out, working methodically, grouping items together for bagging. At one point he looked up and caught Farrah staring at him. Eventually, she came over to his table. “Need help here?”

  “I’ve got it covered, thanks.”

  “Where’d your
boss go?” Farrah linked her hands behind her back.

  Ian didn’t want to two-step with Farrah today, but his mother hovered nearby, so he had no escape. “Walmart.”

  “Why?”

  “I try not to predict anything where Gentry’s concerned.” He felt the corners of his mouth lift, then erased his smile as soon as Farrah noticed it.

  “She’s pretty.” Farrah searched his gaze for an answer to the question she wouldn’t dare ask.

  Sweat broke out on his scalp. He wouldn’t say anything that might hurt Farrah more than he already had, so he cast about for neutral territory. “How’s summer school?”

  She shrugged. “I have Jimmy Eldrige in my class again.”

  Jimmy Eldrige, a kid with severe ADHD, terrorized most teachers, but he had a little crush on Farrah. Ian figured Farrah gave him something he didn’t get at home: compassion. Her name in Arabic meant “joy,” and that’s pretty much what she gave her students. He tipped his head and smiled. “Guess he’s thrilled.”

  Farrah smiled, too. “Ian, it’s good to see you. I was thinking . . . well, wondering if maybe we could grab a coffee before you go?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. My schedule’s pretty full.” Before he could elaborate, Gentry reappeared, like some kind of Sherpa, carrying dozens of shopping bags on her arms and back. When she reached their table, she spun around and let the bags drop.

  “What’s all this?” Ian caught one bag before it fell to the ground.

  “Don’t be mad. I just couldn’t decide, so I picked up a bunch of things that would be useful and a little fun.” Gentry beamed at him and Farrah and then began emptying the bags. An array of things tumbled onto the table: inspirational notecards, paperback novels and magazines, tiny bottles of perfume and toys, and a ton of McDonald’s gift certificates. “There’s not enough of any one item to stuff every bag, but I tried to get a mix of things, especially the toys for kids. The novels will help people pass the time. The perfume is probably stupid, but it might make some feel pretty.”

  “McDonald’s?” Ian flipped through a booklet that contained McDonald’s “money” that could be spent on any menu item.

  “I thought everyone could use a hot meal.” Gentry shrugged, stuffing the receipts in her pocket before anyone could see what she’d spent.

  “It’s very thoughtful, although I wonder if we might’ve been better off getting more socks or other practical items?” Ian’s mom placed her hand on her cheek while reading the back of some romance novel.

  “You’re probably right, but I really wanted to give something unexpected.” Gentry began organizing her loot. “Maybe we use a Sharpie to mark the cinch sacks with toys with a T. Then we can make sure those go to parents with young kids.”

  Ian grinned, appreciative of the beauty in her crazy idea. “Sounds like a plan.”

  “I’ll let you two finish up here,” Farrah said, backing away without forcing an answer to her earlier invitation.

  “Nice to meet you.” Gentry smiled at Farrah but didn’t invite her to stay.

  Farrah hesitated, looking at Ian.

  “Good to see you, Farrah. Take care.” For a second, his heart stopped. He’d hurt her again. He could see it on her face.

  She nodded and retreated. He tucked his chin, closing his eyes to shake off the guilt. Gentry elbowed him, holding out a book with a man’s abs on the cover. “You never told me you were a cover model, Ian.”

  He chuckled, grateful that she’d come along. He’d never had much fun doing these runs, but she made him laugh.

  Forty minutes later, Ian and Gentry loaded her trunk with forty of the blessing bags. Gentry redid her ponytail, sweeping the damp tendrils around her face back into place, then started the engine.

  On the drive up to the Springwater Corridor, she said, “Farrah reminds me of Sara. Blonde, sweet, classy. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

  Farrah had all those qualities, but he recognized a booby trap when he heard one. Knowing Gentry saw herself as the antithesis of those women, he kept his mouth shut.

  “What kinds of things did you two do for fun?” Gentry prodded, signaling left and then slowing down to look for parking.

  If he refused to answer her simple question, she’d read way more into it than necessary. He didn’t want to talk about Farrah, but soon enough the conversation would end because they’d be busy handing out the bags. “Normal couple things. Movies. Meals.”

  Sex, he thought, but didn’t say. It didn’t speak well of him that, when he said it, he’d pictured sex with Gentry instead of Farrah.

  “Do you miss her?”

  Not like he should. “I miss some things.”

  “Sex?”

  Seems they both had that on their minds. Ian crossed his arms. “Farrah’s sweet. A nurturer. She teaches first grade and Sunday school. She’s patient with kids. She’ll be a great mother someday.” For some reason, that comment made Gentry frown. “She likes to bake.”

  “Sounds like a peach.” Gentry’s slightly sour tone smacked of possessive envy, making him grin. “But that’s all generic stuff. What made her special? What made you think she was ‘the one’?”

  He wouldn’t disrespect Farrah by admitting the unflattering truth—he’d never been struck by that certainty. “I guess she reminded me of my mom.”

  “Ew!” Gentry’s nose wrinkled before she laughed. “TMI.”

  “Not like that, sicko.” He pinched her arm in jest. “She had a big group of friends and family. She kept herself busy while I was away. Trouble started when her friends got married one by one. Then her closest sister moved to Seattle. Turns out she wasn’t as independent as my mom.” He looked out the window, recalling his young life with his mother, who’d dragged him around to all her organizations.

  “That’s unfair.” Gentry rolled her eyes before cutting him an annoyed glance.

  “How so?”

  “Farrah’s not codependent just because she wants a partner who’s present. That’s called normal. What’s the point of a boyfriend or husband if he isn’t going to be around?” Before he could defend against that blow, she added, “Your mom had you to keep her busy and keep her company. Maybe she played it cool with your dad because she didn’t have a choice if she wanted to keep her family together. You can’t know what she thought or felt—you were a kid. You remember things the way you want them to have been.”

  “That’s not true.” But an unpleasant memory struck. A Thanksgiving when his father hadn’t made it home. Ian had been watching a Seahawks game after dinner. When he’d gone back to the kitchen to get more pumpkin pie, he’d overheard the tail end of his mother complaining to her sister about being tired and lonely. His aunt Sally had made some sarcastic quip about the Crawford way, but his mom slapped her hand to shut her up when she noticed Ian.

  Ian now stared at the road ahead, watching the wipers clear raindrops from the windshield. His head hurt from being bombarded all day with probing questions about his past.

  Gentry found a spot near the wildlife refuge on SE 111th.

  “Too bad we don’t have a wagon,” she mused. “Where should we start?”

  “We’ll head out along the path there.” He helped her string the bags on her arms. “They say there are about two hundred homeless people living in tents between here and Southeast Eighty-Second. We don’t have enough for everyone, so we’ll do what we can, then turn back. Will you be okay with that?”

  “Yes. I’ve actually been here before. My last boyfriend, Jake, had a hot dog cart, which he would set up all over the place.” She began walking toward the trailhead. “One time he came up here to feed a bunch of people for free and brought me along.”

  “Oh.” It struck him as unlikely that Gentry would date a street vendor or feed the homeless, but then again, she thrived on shattering expectations.

  Looking down the pathway, Ian saw a veritable village of homeless people, including a few unfortunate children. Tents, shopping carts with worn belongings, folding cha
irs, old bikes, and assorted items were strewn along the edges of the path, beneath the trees. Shortly after starting along the paved walking trail, they promptly came upon the first hovel.

  Gentry crouched to speak with a middle-aged woman with graying hair and weathered skin. Her clothes were stained; her hair, matted.

  “Hello.” Gentry stayed back several feet, but it seemed to Ian that she did so out of respect for the woman’s personal space rather than fear or disgust. “Sorry to intrude, but I’m wondering if you might like a little gift?”

  The woman’s brows drew together, and she briefly glanced up at Ian, then skeptically answered, “Sure.”

  “Here you go.” Gentry handed her a green-and-black cinch sack.

  The older woman scanned the vicinity as if checking to see if anyone might come steal it from her, before eagerly dumping its contents onto her torn blanket. She promptly opened a cereal bar and took a bite. Then her gaze fell on the book. It had a dashing couple from a bygone era on its cover and a title about some scandalous duke. The woman flashed a surprised smile. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” Gentry stood, motioning to Ian to keep walking.

  Ian fell in beside her as they continued their journey. “You’re efficient.”

  “I won’t patronize anyone. And how can I honestly say ‘Have a nice day’ when the rain’s picking up and she didn’t even have a real tent?”

  If Ian had thought he’d be taking the lead, he’d been wrong. Gentry walked ahead, crouching by another woman. She repeated this abbreviated routine several times.

  He watched her work the corridor, noting the way her red hair turned dark when wet. She’d shucked the designer clothes in favor of jean shorts full of holes, although he’d bet they were still expensive. Gentry offered a compassionate smile to everyone they encountered. She braved the corridor without too much discomfort, except when they came across children. That’s when trouble clouded her eyes, even though she did her best to hide it.

  Thirty minutes later they’d run out of bags. The drizzle had turned into a light rain while they made their way back to the car. Gentry didn’t complain or pull a fuss about her hair or clothes getting wet.