Before We Were Strangers

by Brenda Novak

“I’ll give you the recipe.”

  Paige led her inside to a living room/dining room area that had a kitchen off to one side. Sloane poked her head into it to see white subway tile, gray granite countertops and white Shaker cupboards. “Your home is lovely.”

  “Thank you. I’m happy that it’s close to Trevor’s school and the ballpark. Makes it possible for him to walk both places.”

  “You like baseball?” Sloane asked Trevor.

  “Yeah. I’m a pitcher.”

  “Do you also play Pop Warner Football? Or does that start when you get a bit older?”

  “Some of the guys play now, but my mom won’t let me.”

  Paige motioned for her to have a seat at a glass-topped table set on a wooden trestle surrounded by chairs with white cloth seats—a brave choice for someone with a kid. “He’d like to play football, but we’ll focus on baseball. Fewer head injuries,” she added ruefully.

  “I’d probably make the same choice if he were my son,” Sloane said. But football was such an important part of life in Millcreek. She guessed Trevor would feel left out when, in a few short years, all of his friends tried out for the high school team and began making that the center of their lives. She wondered how Micah felt about having his son not play, since he’d led their team to state. “Does Micah agree with that decision?”

  “Not entirely,” Paige replied.

  “My dad says it should be up to me,” Trevor volunteered. “I think so, too.”

  “Except you’re not old enough to make an informed decision,” Paige said.

  He groaned. “Mom, everyone plays football!”

  “Not everyone gets out of the game without serious injury.”

  “Dad did!”

  “Your dad was lucky.”

  “I’m not going to get hurt!”

  “You could.”

  Sloane hid a smile as Paige gave him a quelling look for mouthing off.

  “Parenting can be as challenging as it is fun,” Paige grumbled as an aside.

  “Is he close to his grandparents?” Sloane asked.

  “He is. He’s lucky. Both sets still live in the area, so they attend his games, school plays, birthday parties, et cetera. He has it pretty good.”

  Except for the divorce. Trevor couldn’t have been happy to have his parents split up, but Paige didn’t address that. The longer Paige went without mentioning Micah, the more Sloane began to relax, especially once dinner started. The margaritas they drank helped, too.

  After they did the dishes, they watched Trevor play a few video games in the living room. Then Paige sent him off to do his homework. At nine, he went to bed and they moved out onto the patio, where they talked above the cicadas that serenaded them from all sides.

  In those moments, Sloane was glad she’d come. Despite the loss of her mother and the questions that constantly filtered through her mind about that night—not to mention how overbearing and controlling her father had been, especially of her because she was a girl—she’d had a decent childhood in Millcreek. She loved the town, and Paige had always been a good friend, even if they wound up loving the same boy in the end.

  They discussed only the pleasant memories and steered clear of their senior year as much as possible. Sloane learned that Paige’s father still owned the brewery that’d been his livelihood when they were kids, her mother was now on the school board and Yolanda, Paige’s older sister and only sibling, had divorced her husband after her last child left for college and was living in Millcreek again. Apparently, Paige and Yolanda were finally developing a relationship. They’d never had a chance when Paige was younger. Since Yolanda had been born fourteen years before Paige, she’d left for school, married and then moved to California with her husband when Paige was four.

  It wasn’t until Sloane put down her glass, stretched and said she’d better get to bed that Paige brought up Micah. No doubt the alcohol had loosened her lips.

  “He’s going to be surprised you’re back, you know,” she said, staring off into the darkness at the edge of the patio.

  Paige could’ve meant Sloane’s father or brother, but Sloane could tell by the gravity in her voice that she wasn’t talking about Ed or Randy. Suddenly eager for that last drop of margarita, she reclaimed her drink. “You didn’t tell him I was coming?”

  “No. You asked me not to tell anyone.” Paige pulled the tie from her hair and used her fingers to comb it into a fresh ponytail. “And to be honest, I was afraid I’d see a little too much excitement in his face—the look he used to get whenever you came into the room.”

  Suddenly, Sloane felt she couldn’t breathe. She’d been doing her best to avoid thinking about Micah, but the scent and feel of home made that impossible. Since she’d driven into Millcreek, the levee holding back those memories seemed to be cracking. At first, only the most poignant snatches of conversation or images slipped through—the softness of his mouth on hers, his voice whispering that he loved her, the tangy taste of his sweat when she kissed him after football practice. Soon, however, there was much more. And now Paige was taking a bulldozer to what little of that levee remained. “It’s been ten years, Paige. He won’t be excited to see me. After what I did, he probably hates me.”

  “He does hate you, in a way. Or maybe it’s not hate exactly. He resents you for hurting him. No one else has ever treated him that way.”

  Although Sloane couldn’t help flinching at this bald assessment, she tried not to show how much that comment stung.

  “He was devastated when you left,” Paige added. “You can’t bug out on people and expect them not to be angry, not to feel any pain.”

  Obviously, Paige had been hurt, too. Hearing the sharp edge of bitterness in those words, Sloane considered explaining why she’d left, but she doubted Paige would understand. Paige would say things like, “You could’ve at least stayed in touch with us. We would’ve been supportive.” But there was no way Sloane could’ve remained in touch without wanting, desperately, to return. And if she’d returned too soon, before she was strong enough to hold her own and before they could move on without her, she knew she’d get caught here in Millcreek indefinitely. “I’m sorry that I hurt you both.”

  Paige gave her ponytail a final, tightening tug. “That’s all you’re going to say?”

  “That’s all I can say.” Surely there had to be a part of Paige that’d been glad she’d left. Sloane’s leaving was what had given her a chance with Micah.

  Paige’s laugh sounded sad. “I guess you’re just a hard person to forget.”

  “I didn’t forget you, either,” Sloane said. “I had to leave for my own peace of mind. I had to figure out who I was without my father and my brother, without you and Micah, and without this place.” She gestured around them with her drink.

  “And did you find out who you are?”

  “In ways.” Again, she was tempted to tell Paige the real reason she’d come back, but the less people knew, the less chance there’d be that she’d have an ugly confrontation with her father before she was ready. She and Paige had only recently resumed their friendship; she had no idea how much Paige might’ve changed, or who she was close to these days.

  “I’m glad. I hope it was worth it, because it was damn hard to compete with your ghost.”

  Sloane put down her drink. “What do you mean by that?”

  Paige stood. “Nothing. I think it’s time we turned in, don’t you?”

  As Paige gathered the dessert plates they’d brought out with them, Sloane studied her carefully. There was a deep reservoir of feeling beneath Paige’s last statement, something turbulent and passionate enough to make Sloane wonder if Paige liked her even half as much as she pretended. It was almost as if Paige blamed her for the divorce.

  But when Paige looked at Sloane again, all of that animosity was gone. She was even smiling. “Come on,” she said. “I’ll sh
ow you to the guest room.”

  * * *

  Micah had owned this house at some point, Sloane thought, as she stared up at the ceiling above her bed. He’d lived here with Paige, as her husband. He’d made love to Paige in the master bedroom—maybe even in this bedroom. He’d showered here, eaten here, helped raise his son here. He’d probably even walked around in his underwear occasionally, or come home tired from work to relax on the couch and watch TV. Sloane didn’t want to imagine him moving through this house, living in this place; she couldn’t help it. She’d shoved him from her thoughts so many times over the years it’d become habit, but she couldn’t seem to deny him tonight. He seemed so present in this space, even though he was no longer in this space.

  What was Micah like now?

  It wasn’t easy to imagine him in a police uniform. She could only picture him as the boy he once was—tall with overly large hands and feet, no beard growth and the same blue eyes he’d passed on to his son. She thought about the country song “I Got the Boy” by Jana Kramer and felt a familiar pang. She could identify with those lyrics, even though they didn’t fit her situation exactly.

  Was Micah seeing anyone these days? Had he met someone else? Is that why his marriage to Paige had ended?

  And...if Sloane bumped into him, would he even speak to her?

  She wouldn’t blame him if he gave her a dirty look and turned away.

  With a sigh, she rolled over. She’d been lying there, wide-awake, for two hours. The glowing digits on the alarm clock beside the lamp mocked her struggle to get to sleep by marching relentlessly on. She had so much to do before she was ready to confront her father and brother, needed to rent a place of her own and get moved in soon. After tonight, she feared the overtures of renewed friendship Paige had made in the past year via Instagram and Facebook weren’t as sincere as she’d assumed. That they’d fallen in love with the same man made it difficult for both of them, but Sloane got the sneaking suspicion Paige blamed her for more than leaving. She couldn’t be responsible for the divorce, though. She hadn’t spoken to Micah since she’d slipped out of the RV where they’d made love for the first and last time on graduation night.

  Although Sloane had had sex with a handful of other men since Micah, he’d been her first, and she’d never experienced that same powerful connection—ironic since neither of them had known what they were doing. It wasn’t the best sexual encounter by many standards, and yet she’d never forget how hard her heart had pounded—or how his hand had trembled—when he first touched her.

  The toilet flushed. Someone was up. It had to be Trevor; Paige would’ve used the bathroom off the master.

  Sloane waited for Trevor to go back to bed, but when the water kept running, she began to worry that he’d neglected to turn it off.

  She got up to do it herself only to find him standing at the sink, letting the water cascade over his fingers as he stared at himself in the mirror. He hadn’t bothered to close the door, but why would he? He was used to having only his mother in the house, and it was the middle of the night. Obviously, he hadn’t expected to run into anyone.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  He seemed startled by her voice, hadn’t heard her approach over the sound of the faucet. “Um, yeah.” He turned off the water and pivoted to dry his hands on the towels hanging behind him.

  Sloane had caught a glimpse of the sad expression on his face when he was gazing into the mirror, so she was fairly certain he wasn’t as okay as he’d just indicated. “Are you having trouble sleeping?”

  His hair was mussed, making him look younger than he had before. “Not really,” he mumbled.

  “Okay. I won’t pry.” She offered him a smile and started to walk away, but he stopped her.

  “Sloane?”

  She turned back. “Yes?”

  “Can I call you that? Sloane? Or do I need to say Ms. McBride?”

  “Sloane is fine.”

  He glanced over his shoulder, as if he was afraid they might already have awakened his mother. Apparently, he didn’t want Paige to hear what he was about to say. That became even clearer when his voice dropped to a whisper. “Are you really the reason my father left my mother?”

  Sloane sucked in her breath. “Is that what your mother told you?”

  “She said we’d still be a family, if not for you.”

  “I didn’t have anything to do with it,” she said.

  He checked the hallway again. “Then will you...will you talk to my dad and see if he’ll come back? I miss him. I want it to be the way it was before.”

  While her mind raced to find an appropriate response, Sloane tucked her hair behind her ears. “When did your parents divorce?”

  “A year ago.”

  Right about the time Paige had reached out to her on Facebook. “So you were in third grade?” He’d told her earlier that he’d just started fourth.

  He nodded.

  “That’s a tough thing to go through, Trevor. Sometimes parents can’t get along well enough to live together. But I have no doubt that both your folks still love you deeply. Your father leaving doesn’t mean that has or will ever change.”

  He stared down at his bare feet. “That’s what he says. But it’s not the same.”

  While her own folks hadn’t divorced, Sloane had been raised by a single parent. Her mother had either run away or...

  She wasn’t convinced it was even fair to consider the alternative. That was the tough part. “I’d fix things for you if I could,” she said. “But I haven’t seen your father in ten years. Haven’t talked to him, either. That’s why it can’t be my fault—the divorce, I mean.”

  His shoulders slumped. Sloane got the impression he’d been hoping otherwise—because then she might also have the power to undo what she’d supposedly done. “My mom wants him to come back, too,” he said. “I’ve heard her crying on the phone to him when she doesn’t think I can hear.”

  Sloane was willing to bet Paige wouldn’t be happy that Trevor had revealed so much, but children his age didn’t understand the concept of saving face. The truth was simply the truth. “The Micah I remember from high school was a great guy. But your mother will eventually get over him and find someone else.”

  “That’s just it,” he said glumly. “I don’t want her to find anyone else. Spaulding has a stepdad, and he’s mean.”

  “It doesn’t have to go that way for you.”

  “It could.”

  Although Sloane wished she could say more to comfort him, he was right. It wouldn’t be wise for her to get involved, regardless, to become emotionally attached to anyone or anything in Millcreek. The problems the people faced here were simply not something she’d be able to fix.

  She wouldn’t be around long enough to even try. And until she left, she’d be lucky to hold herself together.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Someone was in the house.

  Sloane shut off the shower so that she could hear well enough to determine more about what was going on around her.

  Steps sounded in the hallway, so she got out and grabbed a towel. She was supposed to be home alone. Paige had gone to the shop shortly after Trevor left for school. Paige had said that Trevor would be walking home with a friend this afternoon. That she’d be back shortly after five and he’d return then, too.

  But it wasn’t anywhere close to five. It was only ten fifteen when she’d quit searching the internet for rental properties and decided to get showered for the day. So what was going on?

  Surely, Paige wasn’t being robbed...

  Heart pounding, Sloane pulled on her panties and her silky animal-print robe—what she usually wore while getting ready. It was all she had in the bathroom with her.

  Once she tied the belt, she cracked open the door so she could peer out. She couldn’t see anyone, but she heard more noises. She wasn’t alon
e.

  “Paige?” Damn it, she didn’t even have her cell phone handy. She’d left it in the guest room along with her suitcase and purse.

  Hoping she could get to it before she came face-to-face with an intruder, she gazed down the hall. But all the noise was coming from much closer, in Trevor’s room.

  “Hello?” She leaned around the doorway to see what was going on.

  Someone was there, all right. But not Paige. It was Micah. And he’d obviously heard her, because he was striding toward the opening, moving so fast they nearly collided.

  His jaw dropped when he recognized her. “Sloane?”

  Her wet hair had soaked the back of her short robe, but she knew that had nothing to do with the prickle that ran down her spine. “Micah...”

  His gaze ranged over her. “What are you doing here?”

  “I—I’m staying for a few days until...until I can rent a house of my own.”

  “Not in Millcreek.”

  He didn’t sound pleased. She swallowed against a dry throat. She’d known it wouldn’t be easy to see him again, but did she have to run into him when she wasn’t fully dressed? “Yes, in Millcreek. I don’t plan to stay long, though. A year, at the most.”

  “I wish you’d been that up front with me before. A ‘by the way, I’m leaving in the morning’ might’ve come in handy. Maybe it wouldn’t have been such a mindfuck to find you gone if I hadn’t been blindsided right after making love to you for the first time.”

  She tightened her belt. “I’m sorry. I... I had to leave.”

  “Because...” He raked his fingers through his hair. “God, I’ve waited so long to hear your reason. Please tell me you have an answer.”

  He was wearing his uniform and somehow, even though she couldn’t picture it before, the cop look seemed natural to him. “Because of my father.”

  “You’ve always had issues with him. But what about me? I didn’t matter?”

  “Of course you mattered. It’s just...we were eighteen years old! What were we going to do? Get married right out of high school?”