Mel leaned toward Erin. “I’m kind of an expert at struggling to move on. It’s not easy and it’s almost never a clear path. But I can tell you this much—I believe it’s necessary to blaze your own trail. And I’m sure Marcie’s safe. I don’t know if Marcie will work it all out, but I don’t recommend getting in the way of a woman trying to settle her life into some kind of order. There are things she wants to understand. We’ll try to look out for her, as well.”
Erin sipped her coffee slowly. “I know there’s a message here, and I appreciate you being so candid, but with Marcie—”
“Yes, Erin—the message is—whatever she feels she has to do to get to that next stage might not make sense, might not work out, might not be practical or wise, but it’s what she thinks she has to do. I know you’re hurting, too—losing your brother-in-law, having Marcie out of reach right now—I’m so sorry. I remember my sister suffering so much when my husband died—she loved him like a brother. But at the end of the day, Marcie has to feel like she did what she had to do. For whatever reason, working something out with Ian seems to be it. Apparently it’s necessary for her. She’s been incredibly determined.”
“That’s true enough,” Erin said.
“I wouldn’t be having this talk with you if I thought there was any chance Marcie was even slightly at risk. Believe me, I serve the women of this town. I look out for them. Marcie hasn’t been real specific, but you and I both know what she’s after. She needs to understand why the man who saved her husband’s life would run away. Abandon him. Abandon her.”
“But what if he’s only going to do that to her again?” Erin asked, a very sad and concerned look crossing her features.
“That’s what she came to find out,” Mel said, and she reached across the bar and squeezed Erin’s hand. “Let her get to the last page on this story, sweetheart. It’s what she’s been needing, or she wouldn’t have gone through so much.”
“But—”
“We don’t have to agree or understand,” Mel said, shaking her head. “We just have to respect her wishes.” Then, very softly she said, “You have to go home. Let her finish what she came to do. You aren’t going to lose her.”
Erin blinked and a fat tear ran down her cheek. Erin never got choked up. “Do you think she knows how much I care about her? Love her?”
“She absolutely knows,” Mel said with a nod. “And you know what? When I see her next, which I’m sure will be soon, I’ll remind her.”
Back at the cabin Ian paced for nearly an hour. He hadn’t been nice to the sister and he regretted that. He could have tried harder with her, reassured her a little so she’d feel okay about Marcie being here. Instead he’d pushed them away. He shouldn’t have let her stay in the first place, Ian thought. He should have told Mel it would be best to take Marcie back to town, to Doc’s. Damned little freckle-faced midget. There were a dozen things he didn’t like being reminded of. Like, he wasn’t a hermit—he was lonely. But he didn’t fit in most places, so he kept it to himself. Still, he hated not singing in church when singing felt so good. He didn’t like sitting alone in a bar, far in the corner, mute and unfriendly, trying to remain unapproachable. And he hadn’t had a good belly laugh in a long, long time. Until Marcie.
For the first time since he hit this county, he wanted things. Like soup bowls instead of mugs and cans to eat soup out of. Things he thought he didn’t need, like a few creature comforts. A radio. She was right—a person who loved music should hear some from time to time.
And he wanted someone to care enough about him to try to find him. He wanted someone to love him. It had been so long since anyone had loved him.
But the worst thing she’d made him realize was that this skinny little redhead had held up through Bobby’s devastating demise better than he had. And she’d had to work through it every day, every damn day, while he’d merely run away from it. I’m the weak one, he thought dismally, and she’s the one with the strength of a thousand soldiers.
He went to his trunk, dug deep, and brought out the stack of letters. He put them on the table under the light. Then he went to the cupboard, reached far into the back and located a bottle of Canadian Mist that had barely been tapped, putting it on the table with the letters. He found a glass, poured himself a shot and threw it back.