“I’m sorry,” Madeline said as the reverberation echoed through the house. “I didn’t see that coming. He hasn’t called me or come by since we broke up.”
“Don’t worry about it. Those things happen.” Now that Kirk was gone, it was even harder not to let his eyes slip down to what her shirt revealed.
He knew she’d caught him when she took a step back and folded her arms over her chest.
“If you’re going to walk around like that, it could be a problem,” he admitted, listening to his heart pound as their eyes met.
She seemed to collect herself. “Let me put on some sweats and I’ll make you breakfast.”
“Sounds good.” Hunter started into the kitchen but, at the last minute, he turned back to watch her climb the stairs.
Did she really think she was too old for him?
Madeline couldn’t stop brooding over Kirk’s visit—but that didn’t surprise her. She always had trouble letting go of people, places, even things. Which was why she’d stayed with him for so long. She’d known from the beginning that they made better friends than lovers. She’d tried to tell him on a number of occasions. But he tended to accept what came easily without bothering to fight for more, so he’d never been willing to acknowledge the lack of intensity in their relationship. Ending it had been entirely her decision, not his.
Anyway, considering her own problems, she couldn’t complain about his lack of decisive action. She had a garage, a basement and two sheds stuffed full of junk. No doubt her penchant for hanging on to everything that came into her life stemmed from losing her mother and father so early. But she had to overcome that compulsion. Hoarding affected too many aspects of her life. How could she be decisive about ending a relationship when she couldn’t even part with simple, almost worthless items that others discarded every day—receipts, advertisements, tin foil, sacks, old yarn. She was careful to avoid the stigma that went along with being a pack rat, and stored it all out of sight, away from the main part of her house. But hiding her problem didn’t solve it.
“You okay?”
Madeline glanced up from her plate to find Hunter watching her. He sat across the table, apparently finished with his meal. “I’m fine,” she said. But the panic she’d managed to hold at bay since she and Kirk had broken up was rising inside her, making her heart pound and her palms sweat. Loss…Nothing frightened her more. And she cared about Kirk, loved him in many ways. They’d known each other most of their lives. What if she regretted her decision later on?
“You’ve only eaten a few bites.”
Madeline put down the fork she’d been using to push her eggs around her plate. “I’m not hungry.”
“Are you upset?”
She was having an anxiety attack. Did that count? In any case, she didn’t want to explain so she shook her head.
“Maybe you should call him,” he said.
“No.” She was cleaning out her emotional closets. She wished Molly could do it for her, the way she’d gotten rid of old furniture and other junk by having a yard sale when she was here last. But this was something Madeline had to do for herself.
She eyed the ring Kirk had given her for her birthday a year ago. It had two small diamonds beside her birthstone. He was a good man. Should she settle for a mediocre relationship? Allow him to settle, as well? So what if he didn’t want kids? Maybe she could live without becoming a mother. She was thirty-six. There wasn’t much more time…
“Will you be able to concentrate on what we need to do?” Hunter asked, drawing her attention again.
His words sounded ominous. “What we need to do?” she repeated.
“It’s time to take a stroll down memory lane.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’d like you to show me your old photo albums, scrapbooks, letters, anything you might have from your parents, Irene, Clay, Grace, Molly—anyone associated with the family.”
“What about the police files?” She’d thought he’d read the files and then interview people, start piecing the puzzle together that way.
“They haven’t led anyone to your father’s killer so far, right? Something must be missing, which might mean they’ve been looking in the wrong place.”
“You don’t even want to see the files?”
“I’ll go through them eventually.”
She wanted a shower. But she had a very expensive private investigator sitting in her kitchen, ready to work, and she couldn’t afford to keep him waiting until she could come to grips with the upset caused by Kirk’s unexpected visit. “What do you think my old photo albums will tell you?” she asked.
“They’ll give me a feel of who you are, who your father was, maybe even a sense of Irene, Clay, Grace and Molly.” He rested his elbows on the table. “You have a few old photo albums, don’t you?”
She had more than he’d ever get through. She was the queen of memorabilia. To someone who prized tin foil, pictures were nearly sacred. “I also have my father’s belongings.”
When Clay had dismantled the office in the barn last summer, he’d said he’d be willing to store everything he’d packed up for her. But Clay hadn’t just cleaned out the place. He’d ripped off the wall paneling, torn out the air conditioner that had filled one side of the window, even removed the carpet. If her father’s personal effects couldn’t be in their rightful place, waiting for him to return, then she wanted them close to her, not sitting on a concrete floor in a room she no longer recognized.
“Here, in the house?” Hunter asked.
“In the basement.” She stood. “I’ll get them.”
“Wait till you’re finished eating.”
“I’m done.” After depositing her plate on the counter, she headed down to the basement. She hadn’t expected Hunter to follow her but he did. She got the impression that he was taking in every detail of what he saw and heard, cataloging everything in his brain.
So what would he make of the fact that she decorated with bright, primary colors? Would he decide she was basically cheerful and loved the sun?
Or that she was terrified of suffering from the kind of depression that had afflicted her mother?
She wasn’t sure, but she was fairly confident that visiting the basement would give away more about her particular neurosis than she wanted. Molly always made a huge fuss about all the clutter; that was why Madeline had never admitted how difficult the yard sale had been for her. Molly probably suspected, since Madeline had ducked out midway, but they hadn’t discussed it.