The Moment of Truth

Michelle’s sister had pointed out the truth to him that first night at the hospital, when they’d been certain Michelle was going to die. She’d been the one to tell him why her sister had tried to drink herself to death at her bachelorette party. Because she was marrying a man she adored, who didn’t even remember if it had been her or her sister that graduated with him. He’d made the wrong guess at the party that night, in front of all of their friends.

And then, to fill the silence, some smart-ass had called out, asking him to name Michelle’s favorite color. It had been her wedding color—filtered through all of the wedding preparations from the invitations to the place settings. He’d seen a purple ribbon and called out purple. There’d been one purple ribbon in contrast to the various shades of yellow everywhere. Her favorite color had been yellow, and he hadn’t known.

Dana’s was green.

“You were always a handsome boy, Joshua,” his mother said. “It wasn’t your fault girls fell all over you. You did nothing to encourage them, not that I ever saw.”

“And Michelle?”

“You asked her to marry you.” Her tone was still soft—not the least bit condemning. “I thought you did it because you were aware of how she felt about you. It wasn’t until after she...got sick...that I realized you were only doing your duty—for your father and the firm. You are your father’s son, Josh. He made certain of that from the day you were born. But you’re my son, too. You’ve got his single-focused drive, but you’ve also got more compassion in your little finger than he has in his whole body.”

Sitting back, Josh stared at the desert landscape on both sides of him, as though expecting to see a waterfall. Or something else that was equally out of place.

“I’ve never heard you speak ill of him.”

“Because he’s my husband and I love him.”

“You mean to say you’ve lived your whole life with a man who doesn’t love you back?”

“No, son. Your father does love me. He loves you, too. He’s a good man. Just not a perfect one.”

And neither was he. Josh caught the implication.

Telling his mother to wait on buying a plane ticket, Josh rang off without confessing to the lie he’d been living since moving to Shelter Valley.

But knowing he wasn’t going to be able to put off his mother for long, and with Sam’s threat looming at his back, he faced the fact that he was probably going to lose the woman his mother thought he loved.

* * *

WITH BOXES FILLED with packing paper lined up by the back door, and others broken down in a pile beside them, Dana faced the last packed box. It was one from Josh’s garage that hadn’t been unpacked back at his last place. He said it had come from his parents’ house, packed by his mother, who’d given it to him the morning he’d left.

The box wasn’t very big. He’d told her he thought it was a set of monogrammed table and kitchen linens. Something about his mother being superstitious. He’d also told her she didn’t need to use the linens, or even unpack the box.

Josh’s mother had wanted him to have them. Of course she was going to use them.

There were a couple of towels on top—thick, soft kitchen towels in ivory with a soft green R embroidered at one end. There were cloth napkins, too, and matching place mats in the most exquisite fabric she’d ever seen. She’d never use that fabric to wipe her mouth.

Pulling out the last items in the box—some quilted pot holders—she noticed a large envelope at the bottom.

Dana looked at the envelope and frowned.

Should she open it?

The envelope wasn’t addressed. Or sealed.

Thinking that it was probably a receipt, maybe from the place that did the monogramming, she picked it up. And pulled out an official-looking piece of paper. Just one sheet, but not a bill of sale.

Not sure what she was looking at yet, not sure if she should put it back without looking, Dana noticed the crest at the top of the document. It was the same marking that was on all of the linens.

The crest was followed by a section that reminded her of the front page in the family Bible at home—the one that listed their family tree.

Daniel had crossed out his name as father on the line that connected Dana to the family.

The one in her hand connected Josh to someone named Montford. His mother’s maiden name was Montford?

Like the university in Shelter Valley where Josh worked?

Dropping down to the floor, she fell back against the cupboard and stared. Surely this was just a coincidence. Josh was not a Montford. He couldn’t be.

And then she remembered that first day she’d met him. He’d been at the veterinary clinic. A man who had never owned so much as a goldfish.