He faked a tiny smile and nodded. “Anything else in there?”
Pushing pictures and frames across the bottom of the trunk, I lifted my head and turned toward him. “Not that I can see. I think we should move to some of the boxes and trunks around us.”
“Okay. I’ll check the boxes. Take a look at that trunk near the wall.”
Tristan silently moved toward the floor-to-ceiling stack of boxes nearby still wearing a frown from the news he’d read in his mother’s letters. I could understand. It’s as if he’d lived all his life thinking one thing, and now he had to grapple with the fact that what he’d believed wasn’t true at all.
The image of Tressa Stone’s sad eyes stayed in my mind as I searched through the second trunk. I admired her, even though I’d never met her. Whatever her life had been, she’d stayed for her sons, and to me, that made whatever else she did unimportant. That one son turned out to be a monster wasn’t her fault. The blame for that belonged on her husband, not her. And Tristan was proof that she’d done something right. That thoughtless teenager had grown into a wonderful man. Her influence was obvious, even if he couldn’t see it.
The trunk contained blankets and clothes, but as I pushed my hands through them to see if any papers were hidden there, I realized I was searching through baby things. Holding a newborn onesie up in front of me, I sat amazed at how tiny the little blue outfit was. Had Tristan worn this as a baby?
“You don’t look like you’re doing much searching over there,” he joked from behind me.
Turning around, I displayed the onesie for him. “Was this yours? It’s so cute!”
For the first time in nearly an hour, he looked happy. Reaching over, he took the clothing and held it up to examine it. “No, this must have been Taylor’s. See? His name is sewn into it just under the tag.”
I looked and there was the name Taylor sewn in on a tiny piece of fabric near the collar. “Is that how your mother told your clothes apart?”
Tristan chuckled. “Yeah. And it was more like that’s how the nanny knew whose clothes were whose.”
“A nanny, huh? I want you to know that I don’t plan to have a nanny for our kids. I hope you’re okay with that.”
He threw the onesie back into the trunk and leaned down to place a tiny kiss on the tip of my nose. “Our kids?”
“Yeah. I thought we should have some after we get married. You know, like lots of people often do.”
Twisting a strand of my hair around his finger, he leaned down and kissed me, this time on the lips. Smiling, he said, “Kids it is, but I can’t promise normal.”
I looked up into his face and for a moment thought I saw a trace of fear in his eyes. “No problem. I’ve got perfectly normal and average covered, so our kids will be fine.”
“Do you remember what I said to you that first night in the car?”
I thought back to that night for a moment. “No. What?”
He tucked my hair behind my ear and gave me that look that always made me feel like lava was pooling in my abdomen. “You said you were ordinary, and I told you you’re anything but.”
“Yeah, but you knew nothing about me then.”
“And I still saw it in you. So forget about this average business. You’re anything but, Nina Edwards.”
“Well, Tristan Stone, I’ll have to keep that in mind.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t let you forget.”
I loved seeing him like this. These moments when he was relaxed and playful were so infrequent, but when they happened, they made me realize all over again why I was so crazy about him.
“Did you find anything in those boxes?”
He shook his head and frowned as all the playfulness disappeared. “Not yet. We better get back to it.”
Something in the way his shoulders sagged when he turned back to begin searching the boxes again showed how much this was affecting him. I wanted to take him into my arms and tell him everything was going to be okay, but until we figured out how to stop Karl, nothing was going to be okay.
Except us. We would be okay. I knew that in all my heart.
I focused on a trunk next to the one I’d just finished searching and prayed to God that we’d find something soon. Smaller than the previous two, this one contained what appeared to be old Christmas and birthday cards, some from as far back as before Tristan and his brother were born. Although I knew Tristan wouldn’t mind me reading them, I felt oddly like an intruder on the private notes and cards from his family.
One handmade card of a wreath made out of silver and gold foil sat on the bottom of the trunk, reflecting the little light that reached it. Lifting it out, I ran my fingertip over the edges of the wreath, impressed with how beautiful it still was after years hidden away. The card’s creator had taken care to make folds in each piece of foil to simulate movement in the wreath. Tilting the card up and down, I watched as the light from the window danced over it.
I turned it over but saw no writing or name. Carefully, I pulled the edge of the card and found it opened to reveal a barely legible handwritten Christmas greeting.
May the blessings of the season fill your days with joy.
There was an initial just below that line I couldn’t make out. Smudged, it looked like a K or a D. K would make sense if it was from Karl to Tressa, but something about the card seemed distinctly unlike one a man would give to a woman. Setting it aside, I sifted through anniversary cards and birthday cards belonging to Tristan’s mother. All store bought, unlike the Christmas card, they were from Victor Stone to his wife. None showed much thought on his part, and none even contained the word love. Tristan’s assessment of his parents’ marriage seemed to be correct.
Inside one of the cards were three small, white envelopes addressed to her in what looked like a man’s handwriting. I couldn’t be sure, but it didn’t appear to be either Victor Stone’s writing or Karl Dreger’s. Had there been another affair?
I quietly slipped the letter out of the first envelope, not wanting Tristan to hear the rustle of paper. Not that I disapproved, but I wasn’t sure how he’d handle finding out his mother had cheated on his father with yet another man. Some things didn’t need to be known.
Looking over toward Tristan, I saw he was busy beginning his search of the next box, so I turned my back toward him and began to read Tressa’s letter. I knew from the first sentence I’d been wrong. This was no love letter.