She handed Miss Gina a wet pie pan and shoved her hands back into the water for another. “I’m sorry,” she said without preamble.
Miss Gina kept drying dishes as she spoke. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Everything. You hire me and look what happened. I’ve closed the doors of the inn, interrupted your income—”
“Stop. Just shut the hell up right now. You didn’t bring any of this on yourself.”
“Doesn’t stop me from feeling guilty about how this has affected everyone around me.”
Miss Gina slammed the cupboard after placing the dish inside. “And what is that guilt doing for you? Is it solving anything? Making you sleep better at night?”
“No.”
“Then let it go. I want you and Hope here. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Miss Gina shook off her anger and placed a hand on Melanie’s shoulder. “I never wanted kids because I’ve always felt I had several. You’re like a daughter to me. Don’t ever forget it.”
Her heart leapt in her throat, and she hugged Miss Gina, soapy wet hands and all. “Does this mean Hope can call you Grandma?”
“Hell no! I’m much too young to be a grandmother.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Melanie turned off lights and double-checked the doors to make sure they were locked as she passed through the downstairs of the inn. She reached the top of the stairs to find Wyatt’s door open and voices coming from inside.
When Hope started to giggle, Melanie paused.
“You can’t be Snow White,” Wyatt was telling her daughter.
“Why not?” she asked.
“First, you have the wrong hair color.”
Hope giggled.
“Second, your mom would never let you live with seven tiny men.”
“You don’t have a very good imagination,” Hope told him. “The seven dwarfs are all my mom’s friends. Like Auntie Jo is Doc . . . in charge and a little bossy. Luke is Happy. Actually, Mr. Miller is Happy, too. Auntie Zoe is . . .” Hope lowered her voice. “Grumpy. She yells when she’s cooking.”
Wyatt laughed. “Who is the queen?”
When the conversation paused, Melanie snuck a peek behind the door to find Hope snuggled up to Wyatt on his bed, their heads buried in a book. “That guy who says he’s my dad.”
Wyatt stared at Hope. He opened his mouth as if he were going to say something a couple of times before anything came out. “What makes you say that?”
Hope shrugged and turned the page. “I’m a kid, but I have ears. I know he wants to take me away from here.” The sadness in her voice sliced through Melanie as she listened to their conversation.
“He might just want to get to know you.”
“Then he should come for dinner or something . . . like normal people.”
Her daughter was so smart.
Wyatt messed up Hope’s hair and pointed to the book. “Who is the huntsman?”
Hope tried to hide a yawn. “That’s your dad.”
Melanie closed her eyes and thought about her daughter’s cast of characters.
“What about the prince? The one who saves Snow White?”
“There is no prince.” Hope was adamant.
“No prince?”
“Nope . . . that’s where all these stories are messed up. Princes don’t save anyone. It’s the knight that comes to the rescue. And he doesn’t do it by kissing.” Hope made an animated face as if kissing was like eating mud. “The knight sweeps in and keeps Snow White from eating the apple and pushes the queen off the cliff before she can push Snow White.”
Melanie found herself holding her breath. That went very dark, very quickly.
“If my knight was here, he would have kept Mr. Lewis from pushing me.”
Melanie must have moved. Wyatt’s eyes snapped to her once Hope’s words sank in. She’d never once said aloud that Mr. Lewis had pushed her.
“How did Mr. Lewis push you, sweetie?”
She turned the page, unfazed by the question. “He pushed my butt with his hands.” She sighed. “Maybe Mr. Lewis is the queen, too.”
Hope snapped the book shut, gathered it with her unbroken arm, and kissed Wyatt’s cheek. “Thanks for reading me a story.”
“You did most of the reading.”
Hope smiled as she slid from the bed. “Good night.”
“Night, sweetheart.”
Melanie took a step back before Hope made it to the door. “Going to bed?” she asked Hope.
“I’m tired. Uncle Wyatt already read me a story.”
Melanie smiled at Wyatt through the door before walking her daughter to her room.
“Did you brush your teeth?” Melanie asked while she turned down the bed.
“I forgot.”
She waved her daughter toward her bathroom and went about tiding up the room. She placed the book on the shelf beside the others while the sound of water running kept her company. She knew Patrick Lewis, or whatever the hell his name was, pushed her daughter. The doctors had said she might remember . . . or she might not. Somehow, Melanie had wished Hope wouldn’t recall that moment when her trust had been broken.
As much as she wanted to shelter her daughter from all the evil in the world, it was obvious she couldn’t.
The water turned off, and Hope walked past her and jumped into bed.
Melanie painted on a smile, one she didn’t really feel, and tucked her daughter in.
“I’m glad Uncle Wyatt is here.”
“I am, too.”
Hope placed her arm on a pillow. “Mommy?”