***
Henry slowed his pace out of his gate, his feet unhurried. He didn’t want to be too obvious, but at this point he was sure Elizabeth knew his intentions: that he planned his morning walks to coincide with hers. Perhaps he should back off, especially after the heat between them yesterday afternoon in his gardens. Things were getting too personal, his logic kept reminding him. In the back of his mind, he scolded himself for it, reminded himself that if he kept foolishly giving into his feelings, she would find out too much about him.
But the infatuation…it elated him above rational thoughts.
The morning air was dense with fog, the atmosphere gray and moist, and when Elizabeth appeared through it, at the end of her walkway, his heart jolted inside his chest. He still wasn’t used to the sensation, and it froze him in place. Her hair was up again, in a twist at the back of her neck, and she smiled. He returned it, unable to help himself. She was tired, he could see, but she appeared happy. Happier than he’d ever seen her, in fact. She glowed from the inside out, joy oozing from her eyes and exquisite smile. Could it be due to their late night again last night? Was it possible she received as much enjoyment out of their midnight walks as he did? She’d been waiting for him at her porch again when the sun had fallen and her smile had been just as exuberant then as it was now. He didn’t understand it.
“I’m beginning to think you’re waiting for me, Mr. Clayton.”
He cleared his throat, looking away from her eyes and back at the polished toes of his shoes as he began to walk again. She fell into step beside him.
“Oh, that’s right,” she added, “you don’t wait for anyone.”
He threw her a sidelong glance and her smile teased. He rubbed the back of his neck. “So, your pipe…” he began. “How’s it holding up?”
“Unfortunately, it’s holding up great so far.”
“Unfortunately?”
“I can’t exactly ask for your tools again if everything is in top shape, can I?” She wouldn’t meet his eyes but the corner of her mouth teased a potential smile.
“I…see,” he said, and he heard the smile in his own voice. “Perhaps I undercharged you for the house if everything is in top shape.”
“Perhaps, but I don’t think it’s in your nature to overcharge.”
He studied her as they turned onto Clayton Road, his brow taut with challenge. “And what do you think you know of my nature?”
She looked down, adjusting her purse. “I know it’s not what you portray it to be.”
Huffing, he picked up his pace.
“The Life on Wheels Foundation…”
He paused, merely from the sickness in his stomach, and stared at her. She hesitated, fearful.
“Well, it is you, isn’t it—the one who founded it?”
A feverish heat beat at his skin. Suddenly, his collar was too tight and he loosened his tie. “How do you know about that?” His voice came out harsher than it should have.
“Mr. Clayton, please. Frankly, I’m surprised others don’t. I read that same article in the paper last week, the one you were reading so intently on the morning we met. The one about Shane O’Donnell and his afterschool program for wheelchair-bound teens, funded by him and an unknown source.”
“And just because I read intently means I’m the unknown source?” His hand found his hip, resting on the leather of his belt.
“I know who Shane is, Mr. Clayton,” she said with reverence.
Air: he couldn’t find it.
“The teens who died in the accident ten years ago, on Mt. Hood Highway? One of them survived…didn’t he?”
Henry exhaled through his nose and trudged forward. “I suggest you stop snooping—”
“I wasn’t snooping,” she said, trying to keep up. “Not into you anyway. I was curious about the accident. It didn’t take long before I found Shane’s name and the link to the Life on Wheels Foundation.”
He turned on her abruptly, lifting his hands. The exposure, and the way she was so close to the truth, made his skin crawl. “You caught me.”
“Mr. Clayton.” With another step toward him, she lowered his hands. Hers were warm and soft. Just like her eyes. “I won’t tell anyone.”
He didn’t breathe during the following short seconds. Not until she released his hands and the sudden emptiness reminded him not to be foolish. With a sigh, he looked to the asphalt.
“Why?” she asked. “Why get involved?”
He couldn’t tell her it was because of guilt. Just like he’d never been able to tell Shane what he was and how it was all because of him he would never walk again. “I…It was my responsibility, Ms. Ashton. It’s my town, our beast that did it.”
Instead of defending the monster like he expected, she said, “Did starting the foundation take away the guilt?”
He recoiled. “Nothing can.”
“Is that what you do in Portland? Are you…involved?”
With a wipe down his face, he looked to the side. She brimmed with questions, and it was clear to him now that the only way to move past them was to answer. So that’s what he would do. This morning, he would answer what questions he safely could, until she stopped asking all together. And from that point on, he would never give into his infatuation again. He had to distance himself. She seemed to pick up on everything, and again he reminded himself it was foolish to think he could go on at this rate without her finding out what he was. After this moment, she would be nothing more than a new resident of Hemlock Veils, and he would be the same Mr. Clayton he’d trained himself to be. Only this time, he would have emptiness and heartache go with it.
“I went to see him in the hospital a few weeks after it happened,” he finally explained. He released another breath, his body strangely relaxed at the secret’s revelation. He met her eyes and they invited him to elaborate. “I guess I went in there hoping I would know what to say, that I could apologize…on the town’s behalf. But when I saw him like that, all beat up, no words felt appropriate. So…I just sat beside him, for at least an hour, neither of us saying a word.
“But eventually he asked who I was and why I was wasting my time there. I…told him I was a friend, someone who wanted to help. And I don’t know how it happened, but we spent nearly every day for weeks that way. I started bringing him things, like the books and music we’d talked about. I helped him with physical therapy, spent most hours of the week with him, actually. But I never told him who I was.”
“Why not?”
“Ms. Ashton,” he sighed. “It’s…complicated.”
“Who you are, Mr. Clayton, or why you didn’t tell him?”
“Both,” he said abrasively, stepping closer. “I started the foundation a year after we met and kept everything on my end purely anonymous. But he knew anyway. It was just last week he told me, actually.”
“It upsets you, people knowing your secrets.”
“Not him. After ten years, he deserved to know. We are very close.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “As opposed to me, you mean, who’s been here ten days”
He didn’t answer, knowing he didn’t need to.
“So,” she said, “how do you have time for it, running a business and a foundation?”
“I resigned as CEO of my father’s company years ago. I still own shares in Admiralty Bay, and stay involved in business decisions, but most days Arne and I are with Shane and the kids.”
“In a suit, no less,” she teased, folding her arms.
He folded his, too. “If you must know, most days I change in the car on the way there. When I’m not driving, that is. Arne actually hates driving, after doing it so many years.”
With a laugh, she shook her head. She didn’t seem to believe it, and he couldn’t blame her. It seemed she was trying to picture it.
“Is that hard to believe?” he asked through the cover of his own amusement.
“Very. Whose idea was it?”
“For me to drive?”
She chuckled. “The foundation.”