Page 90 of Buried Secrets

“It has a lot of similarities to police work, finding the human story among all of the facts,” Matt added. He and his father shared a look that Kaitlin could not quite decipher. It must have been laden with years of conversations and, perhaps, ongoing tension about Matt’s choice in a non-academic career.

“I remember Dr. Whitaker,” Susan said, her expression troubled as she sat on the arm of Matt’s chair. “Such a charming man, or so he seemed. It’s hard to reconcile that with what we know now. Hard to think he was capable of all of that.”

“People aren’t always what they appear to be,” Matt said, his hand finding Kaitlin’s. “Sometimes that’s a good thing.”

The gesture was small but meaningful, a public claiming that made Kaitlin’s heart flutter. With her adoptive parents, affection was expressed through words rather than touch. The Winters seemed comfortable with casual intimacy.

“Matt tells us you’re staying through Christmas,” Susan said. “Will you be joining Marissa’s Thanksgiving celebration?”

“Yes, I’m looking forward to it. My first American Thanksgiving.” Kaitlin smiled. “Though I’m not sure what to expect.”

“Chaos,” David said cheerfully. “Wonderful, loud, delicious chaos. Marissa puts on quite a spread.”

“You should bring Kaitlin here for dessert,” Susan suggested to Matt. “We always have our traditional apple pie after the main celebration. She can meet your sister and her clan.”

“I’d love that,” Kaitlin said, touched by the inclusion.

The timer in the kitchen chimed, and Susan rose to check on dinner. David immediately launched into questions about Kaitlin’s experience with different archival techniques, and she found herself drawn into an animated discussion about preservation methods and digitization challenges.

“You know,” David said eventually, “we have quite a collection of local historical documents stored in the island’s historical society building. Most of it hasn’t been properly catalogued in decades. If you do get the clerk position, perhaps we could work together to organize it properly.”

“I’d love that,” Kaitlin replied, meaning it. The prospect of diving into more local history, of contributing something lasting to the community, appealed to her immensely.

“Dinner’s ready,” Susan called from the kitchen.

The dining room table was set with blue and white china that looked like it had been in the family for generations. The beef stew was rich and hearty, accompanied by homemade bread.

“This is incredible,” Kaitlin said after her first bite. “You’ll have to give me the recipe.”

“It’s my mother’s recipe,” Susan replied. “I’d be happy to share it, though fair warning—it makes enough to feed an army. Perfect for feeding teenage boys who think they’re always starving.”

“Hey,” Matt protested. “I wasn’t that bad.”

“You ate us out of house and home,” David said with a laugh. “Especially after fishing trips. You’d come home ravenous and eat everything in sight.”

“I was a growing boy.”

“You were a human garbage disposal,” Susan corrected fondly.

Kaitlin thought this was what family dinner should feel like. Comfortable, loving, full of shared memories and easy affection.

“What about you, Kaitlin?” Susan asked. “Do you have family traditions from growing up in London?”

“My parents were wonderful, but we were quite a small family,” Kaitlin replied. “Very quiet Christmases, just the three of us. My father would read Dickens aloud on Christmas Eve, and my mother would make an elaborate Christmas pudding that took her weeks to prepare.”

“That sounds lovely,” Susan said softly. “Different from our chaos, but lovely.”

“It was,” Kaitlin agreed. “But I have to admit, I’m looking forward to experiencing a larger family celebration. All of this is quite new to me.”

“Well, you’re part of our family now,” David said matter-of-factly. “Whether you marry our son or not—though we’re hoping you will—you’re always welcome at this table.”

“Dad,” Matt said, his cheeks flushing.

“What? I’m just being honest.” David winked at Kaitlin. “We like you.”

Kaitlin glanced at Matt, who was studiously focused on his stew, his ears red with embarrassment. She reached over and squeezed his hand under the table.

After dinner, David insisted on showing Kaitlin his study, which turned out to be a book lover’s paradise. Floor-to-ceiling shelves held everything from local maritime histories to thick academic tomes on New England history.