Page 57 of Timber Ridge
I settle in, listening as May starts the tragic tale of a college girl who fell in love with the wrong man—my father.
“He was charismatic,” May begins, her voice trembling slightly. “Your mother met him during her first year away at college. He swept her off her feet, promising her the world. When she brought him back here, he had all these grand ideas for the town. Said he could bring power and running water, modernize everything. People believed him. He was so convincing.”
I lean forward, hanging on her every word, the pieces of my past slowly coming together. There's a flutter of joy in my chest at learning about my father, something I’ve always wondered about.
“But it was all a lie,” May continues, her face hardening. “He took everyone’s money and vanished. Left the town in ruins, and your mother ... she was devastated. The shame of it all was too much for her. She couldn’t bear to stay.”
My breath catches. Joy is replaced by a sinking sensation in my stomach. “And no one ever saw him again?”
May shakes her head. “No. Once he found out Sarah was pregnant, he disappeared without a trace. Your mother tried to find him, but it was as if he never existed. She was left to pick up the pieces on her own.”
Tears well up in my eyes. “Why didn’t she come back to you?”
May hangs her head. “She didn’t come back because she knew everyone would see her differently, see her as the person who brought the man who stole everything from them. She didn’t want you to have to live with that legacy either. She thought it was the only way to protect you.”
Kane’s hand on my shoulder grounds me, a reassurance that I'm not alone in this. He squeezes gently, and then his voice breaks the silence. “I’ve heard the stories,” he says. “I never knew if they were true or not.”
May nods. “Oh, they were true. It’s funny how one man’s actions altered so many lives. I lost my daughter. Many of the townsfolk lost their life savings. It changed everything.”
“Who is my father?” My voice shakes as I ask.
“His name is Erik Anders.”
“So, my father was a crook?” As if seeing my mind whirl around, she takes my hand and squeezes it.
“I see you thinking about how that might influence who you are. You are your mother’s child. You have her heart.”
“That’s about all I have. She was slim and dark-haired, and I’m sturdy and blonde. Her eyes were like yours, nearly black, and her hair was long and soft as silk.” As I see the pain in her expression, I realize I’m not the only one affected. May now knows the daughter she loved is gone. “I’m sorry she never came back. I don’t understand that.”
May's eyes glisten with unshed tears. “She did what she thought was best.” She rises. “Let me get a pot of coffee and you can tell me everything I missed.” She looks down at Hailey, who’s stopped drawing and has fallen asleep on the napkins. “This one is plain tuckered out.”
Kane nods. “I don’t know how she crashed. I’ve found the entire conversation riveting.”
While I love that he’s been here to support me, it’s time he takes Hailey home. “I’ll be all right. You should get her home.”
He looks as if he may argue, but as he sees May coming back with a pot of coffee and two cups, he nods, as if he understands we need time alone.
Kane picks up a sleeping Hailey and says, “Call me, and I’ll come and get you.” He kisses me before he leaves. It isn’t a passionate kiss, but one that says, I’m here if and when you need me.
Over a cup of coffee, I catch May up on the years she didn’t spend with my mother, and she reveals more about the past.
“I wish my mom would have come back.”
“People here have long memories. It appears so did your mom.”
Her words resonate with me. I’ve heard of grudges held for generations. “Kane once told me about an outsider who caused a lot of pain in the community. It was a long time ago, but the resentment still lingers.”
“That’s the story. It’s become a legend told from generation to generation.”
“What if I’m just a reminder of those bad times? Eventually, people will know who I am and maybe resent me.”
“Timber, you are not responsible for the past. You are here to create your own story, not relive Sarah’s.”
The comfort in her words gives me a break from my worries. Curiosity tugs at me, drawing me back to the lighter details. “Why do you think she chose the name Aspen Moore?”
May smiles. “It makes sense,” she says. “Aspens were her favorite tree. She always said they stood together, strong and resilient. And she always wanted more than what Alaska could offer her.”
That image of aspen trees, standing tall and interconnected, resonates with me, and I experience a connection to the mother I never really knew. Then another thought strikes me. “What about my name—Timber?”