The little girl looked a bit puzzled, but her mom gently pulled her over.
"Hey, don''t go calling people old, honey."
"But Uncle Rupert isn''t old! And his wife probably isn''t old either," the girl replied innocently.
Sylvia''s cheeks flushed. She quickly pulled her hand free from Rupert''s and managed an awkward smile.
The girl''s mom gave Sylvia a knowing look-she clearly understood, but didn''t say a word. Instead, she chuckled. "My husband and I run a little diner over by the university. You shoulde by sometime if you''re free."
"Thanks, I''d love to," Sylvia replied, feeling a warmth in her chest. She had been right about them—they really were easy to get along with.
As the family of three walked away, Sylvia pressed her lips together, feeling like something important had settled, but notpletely. There were still so many questions from her past life—if so much had gone on behind her back, who was she really supposed to me for what happened to Ste and herself?
She turned to Rupert. "Uncle Rupert, what about Bridget and Caleb?"
"They''re at the hospital," Rupert said tly. "Bridget''s face was badly injured, and her leg''s broken. Caleb''s in aa. He also got fired for forging signatures and overprescribing meds to patients'' families."
Sylvia''s eyes widened. "Forging? Did he ever forge your signature?"
Rupert''s eyes narrowed, suspicious. "How''d you know that?"
She forced a calm expression, though her hands twisted nervously behind her back. "Just a guess. He used to imitate Chris, and Chris was your personal doctor."
Rupert''s voice went cold. "Found two notebooks in his drawer full of my signature -looked like he was practicing. Never actually used them, though. Maybe he was nning something. He did say he wanted me to raise his kid for him."
Sylvia froze. So she''d been right. In her past life, Caleb was the one who signed off on those surgery and death forms.
But if that was true, how did Ste end up in their hands?
She was lost in thought when a shadow fell over her. Dry autumn leaves rustled in the breeze, and before she could look up, she noticed Rupert''s scarf-a familiar one, with a little hole in it.
Her heart skipped. In her past life, Rupert had never worn that scarf again. Was he afraid it would remind her of painful memories?
A mess of feelings tangled inside her. She tried to keep calm, but her hand reached out before she could stop herself. She poked at the hole, mumbling, "It''s all frayed."
Rupert grabbed her wrist. "What''s that supposed to mean?"
Sylvia, startled, realized how
intimate the gesture had been. Flustered, she blurted, "Uncle Rupert, your gearf''s got a hole. I could knit you buy you a new one, if you want."
She emphasized "buy," but Rupert only heard what he wanted.
He looked down at her. "You know how to knit?"
"No."
"Have you ever knitted for anyone?"
Sylvia red at him, but his gaze was sharp, as if he already knew the answer.
"You knitted one for me once, didn''t you? Why didn''t I ever get it?"
Sylvia looked away, feeling guilty. Sometimes, being around someone this sharp was exhausting.
He''d guessed it right. Back in
college, knitting scarves had been all
the rage. She''d tried her hand at it fumbling her way through a scarf she''d nned to give Rupert. But the day she was going to, Rupert announced he was dating Bridget. Sylvia ended up shoving the scarf at Naomi instead.
Now, here they were...
Just then, Edwin walked up, rubbing his together in the cold.
Sylvia, what are you del.ne
here in this weather?"
As he spoke, Edwin adjusted the scarf around his neck-the one Sylvia had knitted.
Rupert stared at Edwin''s scarf, recognizing it instantly. That was supposed to be his.
Oblivious, Edwin patted the scarf. "Nothing beats homemade. The stuff in stores just doesn''tpare."
Rupert''s expression darkened.
Sylvia forced augh. Edwin still believed Naomi had knitted that scarf, and she''d never corrected him.
She was about to change the subject when suddenly, a maid rushed out, blood staining her uniform.
"Mr. Edwin! Mr. Rupert! Mrs. Fiona, she''s coughing up blood-lots of it!"