Free A Silver Lining by Beth D. Carter

of the computer."
    "Restless? The ranch too quiet for you?"
    Heather shot her a suspicious look. “You working against me too, Mabel?"
    "Don't really know you well enough to be for you or against you, Heather Hart."
    "But you don't really care for me, do you?"
    "I care about Lincoln, and he cares about you. Is that answer enough?"
    "Does he? Care about me?"
    Mabel stopped sweeping and leaned against the end of the broom. Her appraisal made Heather feel as if she were on an auction block. Whatever Mabel saw must have been all right, because she gave a nod and gestured toward the house. “Go upstairs. Last door on the right."
    "What's in there?"
    "See for yourself."
    Heather shoved her cigarettes and lighter in her back pocket, then tentatively walked back into the house, the darkness of the stormy day deepening the shadows that seemed to fester in the corners. The decor was stuck somewhere between the seventies and the eighties, with a plastic cover on the crushed velour couch. The television, one of those that weighed about a thousand pounds and sat housed in a wooden frame, only added to the decrepit air.
    The stairs emptied to a landing that circled around, giving access to the four bedrooms. The last bedroom, she remembered, had belonged to her Uncle Avery. She marched up to it and opened the door.
    The room was dark because of the drapes completely covering the window. The air was slightly musky, with a hint of leather. She flipped the light switch and froze at the sight before her.
    It wasn't that the room had been turned into a shrine. No, her grandfather had been too manly for such sentimentality. Instead, the room had been filled with a little bit of everything. All the furniture remained from Avery's room, plus a few extra pieces that Heather remembered belonging to her grandmother, Gloria. Boxes were stacked everywhere, and a saddle peeked out from under the bed. As she looked over the room, a bit of mirror on a vanity caught her attention.
    Her jaw dropped a fraction, and she moved through the cramped room toward it. Her heart started to pound as she came to recognize the vanity that had been in her room when she had last visited. She heaved boxes off the top of it until the mirror was fully exposed.
    The glass had a sky with big, white fluffy clouds lined in silver painted on and the words “Every Cloud Has A Silver Lining” right above them.
    "You found the memory closet,” Tristan said from the door.
    Heather turned her head toward him, all feelings of anger temporarily forgotten. “Memory closet?"
    "When Avery died, your grandfather packed everything of value here and shut the door."
    "This vanity isn't worth anything,” she whispered.
    Tristan shrugged and followed her path toward her side. He put his hands in his pockets and looked around. “To your grandfather it is."
    "I painted it,” she admitted, clearing her throat. “I did that when I was last here."
    Tristan looked at the small mural. “It's pretty good."
    "I used to love to paint.” She could feel his gaze on her, but she couldn't look away from the mirror. “I used to love to do a lot of stuff."
    A wealth of bitterness clawed from her heart, threatening to choke her.
    "You don't anymore?"
    "A lot of things changed after that summer,” she replied, turning away from the vanity mirror. He watched her like a hawk eyeing his prey, and a shiver ran down her spine.
    "What happened to you? Was it your parents splitting up? Oh yes, I know,” he said at her surprised look. “After my leg healed, Avery hired me full time. I ate dinner every night in that kitchen, and Lincoln would talk."
    A surge of panic shot through her heart, making it stutter at the unexpected surge of adrenaline. “What else did he tell you?"
    Tristan cocked his head, studying her. “Your father abandoned you and your mom, making her ask Lincoln for money to survive. She died not too long after that."
    "Breast cancer at forty-three. My dad couldn't even be bothered to