The Painful Truth

Cedar Cove, its scenarios and characters are property of Debbie Macomber. This work is not intended as infringement on that copyright, nor on any rights held by the Hallmark network or its parent company. I derive no monetary benefit from this fanfic.

NOTE: This story was written in response to a storyline in the second season of Hallmark's televised version of Cedar Cove, which diverges significantly from the book series on which it is based. Therefore, the characters here are based more closely on the characters on the show than in the books.

CHAPTER 1

June 2014

Late morning sun slanted through the windows, casting long fingers of golden light over polished oak floors. The part of the kitchen where Peggy Beldon cowered, though, was still lightly shadowed. It wasn't half dim enough for the lovely blond woman who stood trembling, pressed tightly into a corner, wishing she could simply melt into the dark wood at her back, safe from the glare of truths too long concealed, secrets so long buried … yet never forgotten.

From her vantage point she could just see through the window to where Moon still stood beside the half-planted perennial bed. She watched him stare up at the house for an endless moment, as though considering what to do. Then he picked up his bicycle, got on and rode away, casting frequent looks over his shoulder as he pedaled down the gravel driveway and turned back toward town.

Only when he was out of sight did Peggy release the breath she'd been holding. It came out as a long, shuddering sigh as a wave of shame rolled over her. What a coward she'd been, bolting for the house as soon as Colin drove away. She heard Moon's anxious call behind her as she ran like a hunted animal, needing to distance herself as much from Moon's concern as from her old enemy. She was grateful to Moon's intervention, but she knew he'd want to talk about what he'd seen, offer her assistance and his trademark advice. He would insist that Bob should know, of course – and Peggy couldn't, couldn't allow that. So she had fled from Moon and the sad look in his eyes that she understood was meant to be compassion, but which she could only see as reproach: I told you so.

The edge of the marble countertop was cool beneath Peggy's grasping fingers she she waited for her racing heart to settle. She had to pull herself together. They were expecting a noon check-in, and Bob would be back any minute. He'd see at once that something was wrong; he was already suspicious, she knew. Regret knifed through her then, as keen as the blade standing in the butcher's block on the center island. That Bob should doubt her for any reason was almost more than she could bear. Yet it was so, and she had no one to blame but herself. She had created this breach of trust 20 years ago, had spent every minute since trying to conceal it, to convince herself it never happened. But deep inside she'd always known this day of reckoning would come. It was not fear for herself that made Peggy's stomach churn and a sob rise in her throat. She would deserve whatever punishment fate had in store for her. It was how Bob would be hurt that haunted her. She would face any torment, perform any penance if only to keep from seeing that pain in her husband's eyes, the betrayal of a foolish decision she would give anything in the world to unmake.

Peggy felt a sudden weakness in her knees. Seeking to steady herself, she turned and flattened her palms on the stone countertop and rested her forehead against the cupboard above it. The dark wood was smooth and slightly warm against her skin. Closing her eyes, Peg pictured Bob's strong, calloused hands patiently rubbing the wood until it felt like satin and seemed almost to glow with its own soft, inner light.

Her mind's eye shifted to a memory of Bob, his grin still endearingly boyish in his sixth decade, leading her out to the workshop on Christmas morning. She heard again his low chuckle at her scolding chatter ("It's freezing out here, Bob, and we're not even wearing coats!") and recalled his obvious pride when he took her to the back of the workshop and pulled a tarp off his gift for her with a flourish and a gleeful, "Ta da!" Seeing the line of beautifully crafted cabinets he'd been working on all those months when he said he was just "puttering" in the woodshop, Peggy had exclaimed, "Walnut! Oh, Bob, that's so expensive!" She regretted it instantly as she saw a flicker of hurt cross his face. But he immediately straightened his broad shoulders, gently placed his hands around her waist and smiled down at her. "Nothing is too good for my Peggy," he'd said, and the soft look in his eyes had made her feel 17 again.

Such a beautiful, precious memory … yet one of oh, so many such moments over the course of a lifetime together. This strong, good man, who found it hard to express his deepest feelings in words, nevertheless showed her every day how he treasured her. And she had tried to do the same. The past 20 years had been so wonderful. It almost made her forget the pain that had come before. Despite her effort to block it out, Peggy's mind was suddenly flooded with memories of the worst time of her life.