It's Never too Late

“I’m sure it was Nonnie.”

And something occurred to her. “She always said she didn’t fill out the application, but what if there wasn’t one?”

Mark glanced at her again. And said, “There’s no record of a scholarship.”

“Right.”

“Damn!” Mark slammed his hand on the steering wheel. “The old bat probably used her savings for the first semester fees and then sold her house and is using the money to fund the rest of the scholarship. She’d do that—set it up in the form of an all-expenses-paid scholarship that requires me to complete my education or pay it back.”

“We don’t know that.”

“But that’s what you’re thinking, too, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

It all made sense. And it answered the last question she had regarding Montford University.

“We’re here,” Mark said.

Addy glanced around. They were parked on the side of a road, a little ways out of town. There were some small homes around—all set on tiny lots at different angles. They were old. Mark hadn’t parked in front of any of them.

He’d parked in front of an overgrown vacant lot.

Did he plan to buy the lot? To build a home on it? Was that why she was there? “Let’s get out,” he said, opening his door with a sideways glance in her direction. Because it seemed to matter to him, she opened her door. Climbed down from the truck. Walked a couple of feet out into the lot to stand beside him.

Nonnie had sold their home for a fairly large amount. Probably because of land. It had been in the family for long enough to be paid off. Even after the scholarship, they’d have money to invest. Maybe Mark had already bought the place.

She hoped not. It was barren. He could do so much better and in a less run-down neighborhood.

He was watching her.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He looked around, surveying the land, and looked back at her. She had no idea what to say.

“What do you think of it?” he asked. It was like when someone showed up in a hideous dress and asked how they looked and you had to find something kind to say.

“I don’t like it.”

“You don’t?”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Mark. I know I shouldn’t say that, but I can’t lie to you. I hope I never have to tell another lie in my life. It makes me sick. And I don’t like this place. You and Nonnie shouldn’t have to live here.”

She wasn’t being a snob. It wasn’t about money. The neighborhood was filled with trash. Dirty. There was no attempt to make things nice. Nodding, his hands in his pockets, he kept staring at her.

“What?” she asked again, getting more tense by the second. He seemed to need something from her. She had no idea what it was.

“Nonnie says that you don’t believe in love.”

“Of course I do.” She loved him. “I know it exists. I’m the one who told you that.”

He shook his head. “You know it exists—you just don’t believe that you’ll ever find it. That it will last. You don’t trust it.”

Did he blame her? Her own father had murdered the woman he adored. She stared up at him openmouthed.

“I don’t, do I?” she said.

He shrugged. “I don’t know. That’s just what Nonnie says.”