The Road She Left Behind

by Nolfi, Christine

  The boy’s face fell. Samson looked equally disappointed.

  “Has Emerson shown you his building set?” Latrice gave Samson a friendly smile. “The rods are magnetic—coolest thing you’ll ever see.”

  At the suggestion, Emerson trudged to the closet. Dragging out a large box, he glanced at Samson. “Do you like to build stuff? We can make a skyscraper.”

  “Sure.”

  They were digging handfuls of multicolored rods from the box as Darcy followed Latrice from the room. Chuckling softly, Latrice started down the hallway.

  Darcy gave her a quizzical look. “What’s so funny?”

  “Samson, acting like a boy your nephew’s age.”

  “I worry about his immaturity. A lamb set loose in a world full of wolves. I wasn’t a sophisticate at eighteen, but I don’t recall being that innocent.”

  “You weren’t. By eighteen, you had enough common sense to know how to protect yourself. Samson is a lamb.” The housekeeper paused before the first guest bedroom. The sweet-scented linens she carried perfumed the air. “A child raised in foster care doesn’t receive much in the way of guidance. I’ll wager Samson lived in a dozen foster homes before he graduated from high school.”

  “He did, from what I’ve gathered. He’s aged out of the system, which is how he ended up on a road trip with me. He’s been feeling adrift and hinting about leaving Charleston with me for weeks now. At first, the idea didn’t seem like a good one. But I changed my mind.” She grinned. “I’m glad for the chance to help him out. Samson is a great kid. He’s the only real friend I’ve made since leaving Ohio.”

  “You’re doing the right thing. If you didn’t lend a hand, when would he get the chance to learn the lessons we all need to become adults? Being dumped out of foster care must be frightening. No wonder he’s clingy with you.”

  Darcy winced. They were close, but she wouldn’t characterize his behavior as clingy. The word implied an unhealthy level of dependency. In fact, the possibility gave her pause. True, Samson was attached to her. Before they left Charleston, his visits to her apartment were a daily affair. When they weren’t hanging out or working together at Big Bud’s, he rang her more often than a robocall.

  At her puzzlement, Latrice scowled. “Darcy, wake up. Samson views you as part mother, part big sister. I doubt he’s experienced much closeness with anyone else. He’s learning how to become an adult by emulating you.”

  “Shouldn’t you save the psychological analysis until you’re better acquainted with him? You only had a few phone chats while we drove here. You’ve really just met him this morning.”

  “I have eyes. I know what I see.”

  Troubled by the observation, she followed Latrice into the guest bedroom. The prospect of the dreamy youth viewing her as a role model didn’t appeal. The abundant mistakes she’d made disqualified her for the job.

  “I’ll tell you something else about kids who grow up in foster homes,” Latrice said. “Many have special needs of one sort or another. Tax dollars rarely trickle down to the neediest children.”

  “Since when do you know so much about the subject?”

  “I know more than you think. When you were in sixth grade and Elizabeth was in fifth, I started looking into adopting a special-needs child. Not a baby—they usually find a home quickly. I was considering a toddler or a child close to school age.”

  The disclosure startled Darcy. “Why didn’t you go through with the plan?”

  “Water under the bridge.”

  “I really want to know.”

  Marching to the bed, Latrice snapped out the sheet. “Are you going to stand there, or help?”

  Scrambling to the opposite side, Darcy grabbed the sheet’s fluttering hem. “You would’ve been a great mother. The best.”

  “I was a great mother.”

  “You still are. Look at how you insisted on our yearly Christmas phone calls. It always made me feel better during the loneliest time of the year. And when I was a kid, I never would’ve survived my hypercritical mother and absentee father without your butterscotch candies and ‘chin up’ speeches. You’re great. The best.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “Tell me why you didn’t go through with the adoption. I can understand why you skipped marriage—guys can be a major PITA. But any kid lucky enough to have been adopted by you would’ve hit the jackpot.”

  “Stop buttering me up. I don’t want to talk about it.”

  A blanket lay on the dresser, neatly folded. Darcy hurried to fetch it.

  “Yes, you do,” she said, determined to wear the housekeeper down. Latrice had a long history of giving in with enough sugar-coated prodding. “C’mon, tell me. I want to hear.”

  When she handed off the blanket, Latrice stalked around the side of the bed. With swift strokes, she smoothed it down.

  “After the falling-out between your mother and Nella, I couldn’t bring myself to go through with the adoption,” she said.

  “Why would my mother’s sudden hatred of Nella stop you from adopting a child?”

  Pity competed with the affection brimming in the housekeeper’s eyes. “You were twelve years old when your mother broke your heart. After she decided you couldn’t remain friends with Michael, you sobbed for days. Puberty is hard enough for a child. You’d been through too much, and you needed me. So I dropped the idea.”

  “You didn’t have a child of your own . . . because of me?”

  “Oh, Darcy. You were crushed when your mother cut Michael out of your life. You’d been thick as thieves since you were in first grade and he was in second. Closer, at times, than you were with Elizabeth. Not that she wasn’t also devastated.”

  “It’s true. Elizabeth loved Michael as much as I did. He taught her to play Monopoly and ride a bike.”

  “He was like a big brother. Your best friend, and the brother she’d always wanted.”

  “I know.”

  Leaving Darcy adrift in the center of the room, Latrice went to the closet. She produced a comforter as sweet-smelling as the linens.

  She rolled the comforter out across the bed. “I couldn’t begin to understand why Rosalind suddenly despised Nella,” she said, lost in the reverie. “It made no sense. They’d been close since you and Michael were babies. Then she came up with that rule out of the blue. Since she was done with Nella, you couldn’t have Michael. My heart broke for him too. He’d lost his father, and racing around in the forest with you was the best medicine for his grieving heart.”

  “Mr. Varano was a nice man. He already had gray hair when we were kids, but his age never stopped him from playing with us. Michael loved his dad.”

  “Yes, he did. I doubt he ever thought twice about the age difference between his parents until that awful heart attack. Of course, Mr. Varano was a lot older than Nella. He’d been having heart trouble since Michael was a baby. Sad, those May-December romances. Rosalind should’ve been lending Nella a shoulder to lean on, not treating her like a pariah. She certainly shouldn’t have taken her wrath out on you and Michael.”

  “No, she shouldn’t have,” Darcy agreed. “Michael’s grandmother was still living in Little Italy at the time—I remember he was staying with Tippi for the weekend when my mother handed down the edict. He left for Little Italy on a Friday, and my mother told me on Saturday that I couldn’t play with him anymore.”

  A bright flash of anger sparked in Latrice’s eyes. “You weren’t allowed to see him when he came home on Sunday? Just one last time?”

  “That’s right.” At the housekeeper’s dismay over forgetting the details, Darcy added, “You didn’t always work weekends then. You weren’t here when my mother told me.”

  “You’re sure?”

  The reason for Latrice’s faulty memory was obvious. “The Friday Michael left with Tippi for Little Italy, you only worked until lunchtime,” Darcy reminded her. “The root canal, remember? You came back on Monday with a tender jaw—and more trouble in the Goodridge household than you need
ed.”

  “I’d forgotten about my root canal. Not something I’d ever like to repeat.” She shook her head, the lines on her brow deepening. “Poor Tippi—I’m sure she was just as upset as Michael when she brought him home and heard about Rosalind’s decision. She had begun taking Michael some weekends to give Nella time alone to grieve. You didn’t like it, and neither did he. You used to play together from dawn to dusk.”

  They were silent for a moment. Then Darcy said, “I hated my mother for taking Michael away from me.”

  “For all the good it did. You found each other again, didn’t you? All grown up, and smart enough to keep Rosalind in the dark.”

  “Our timing wasn’t great.”

  “No, it wasn’t. Elizabeth had just become a new mother, and your parents didn’t handle the change well. Between their arguments and your sister learning how to care for Emerson, this house wasn’t the happiest place.” With fierce energy, Latrice plumped up the pillows. “But I was glad when Michael came back into your life. I’ve always wondered if you would’ve fallen in love if there’d been enough time.”

  Even now, contemplating the secret romance that had ended on the night of the accident was painful. The “what if” questions were difficult to face.

  “We didn’t date long enough for the relationship to deepen.” There was much that had happened during those months that she’d never shared with Latrice. During their brief yearly phone calls, the topic had never come up. Which made her add, “I’m sure Michael has never forgiven me. I left right after the funeral.”

  “Didn’t you say goodbye?”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Oh, Darcy. I assumed you’d at least . . .” Latrice rubbed her lips together. Quickly, she composed her face. With an air of resignation, she reached for the pillowcases. “Let’s put Samson in this room,” she said in a businesslike tone, sparing Darcy further torment. “You’re planning on a nice long visit, aren’t you? Emerson could use the companionship.”

  “We’ll stay for a week or two.” She caught the pillowcase Latrice tossed over. Then she glanced around the bedroom. “Is this a good idea? Staying at the house instead of booking hotel rooms? My mother was in the process of throwing me out when Emerson made his grand entrance.”

  “For your information, your mother asked me to make up the guest rooms. She even instructed me on which linens to use. The good ones, in case you’re curious.”

  No doubt as a gesture to Samson’s comfort, Darcy mused. Mother is nothing if not a gracious hostess.

  “Where is she now?”

  “In her room, showering. She just got off the phone with the police department. After sounding the all clear, she informed me not to expect her home until dinnertime.”

  “She’s leaving right after her grandson has relinquished his life on the run? Where is she going?”

  Latrice heaved out a sigh. “How should I know? I’m in charge of everything inside these walls. When I spread to outside, I’ll alert you.”

  “Question.” Darcy tossed the last pillow to the top of the bed, her mouth suddenly dry. “A few questions, actually.”

  “Fire away.”

  “When did my mother retire? She always planned to stay on the bench until she was too deaf to hear cases.”

  “She came to a decision a few days ago. She was on a leave of absence before then.” Latrice settled her hands on her hips. “I can’t tell you why she quit. Every time I nudge her for details, she bares her teeth like a rabid dog.”

  “It’s bizarre. She wouldn’t quit without a good reason.” One Latrice clearly wasn’t privy to. Later, a Google search was in order. Setting the mystery aside for the moment, Darcy forced herself on. “When Tippi brought Emerson home, I saw Michael in the driveway.” She swallowed. “He saw me too.”

  “The poor man. I should’ve given him some warning.”

  “You should’ve given me some warning. Last I heard, Michael was in Chicago, happily married, and moving his way up the ladder in banking.”

  “I don’t know about the ‘happily’ part. Less than a year after he moved to Chicago, he married a woman just like himself. Career-driven, practical. Who wants to marry their clone?”

  Michael, obviously.

  That he’d married less than a year after her departure from Ohio struck Darcy as a rebound move—one she knew she was in no position to judge.

  “How long is he here? Did he bring his wife?”

  “He’s not just visiting. After the divorce, he moved back into his mother’s place.”

  “Wait. What?”

  Waving off the question, Latrice said, “He has a new business. Custom cabinetry. He’s set up shop in Nella’s barn. There are so many orders coming in, he needs to begin hiring employees. I’ll say one thing for Michael Varano: everything he touches turns to gold.”

  The news was overwhelming. Michael was divorced? And he’d given up a career in banking to build cabinetry? Perhaps that made sense. His late father, an architect, had taught him the basics of carpentry long ago. His keen financial acumen aside, Michael had always liked working with his hands.

  “Why am I only hearing about all of this now?” she asked.

  Latrice withered her with a look. “If you’re going to roam the earth like the prodigal daughter, there are details you’ll miss.”

  Chapter 10

  A cacophony of electric saws and pneumatic nail guns punctuated the air. More than a dozen men, setting in stud walls and framing in windows, filled the expanse like bees.

  Striding past, Michael entered the large, empty space that would become Carl and Lizbeth Tinley’s kitchen. The Tinleys, presently living on the east side of Cleveland with their two young children, were looking forward to Geauga County’s slower pace. They’d purchased a run-down duplex within walking distance of Chagrin Falls’s picturesque town center. They’d torn down the old structure and planned to move into their new McMansion before the last apples were plucked from northeast Ohio’s bountiful orchards.

  Michael was still undecided about taking on a job of this magnitude. He was pacing around the generous space when Kyle Mandel, the contractor, shouted over the noise in the living room.

  Despite Kyle’s girth, he easily dodged two carpenters struggling with a sheet of plywood. Entering the framed-in kitchen, he gave Michael a quick nod.

  “Can you do it?” Kyle’s bulbous nose twitched as he waved at the sawdust filtering through the air. “My team will set in all the cabinets. All you need to do is build.”

  “How long?”

  “To finish the cabinetry? I can give you until October first.”

  “Firm deadline?”

  “I’m not missing the bonus, pal. The Tinleys are paying handsomely to move in before the first snowfall.”

  Michael scraped back the curls from his brow. “When do you need a decision?” The job was tempting, if intimidating. From his estimate of the kitchen’s dimensions, the Tinleys were looking at three full walls of cabinetry plus a center island approximately eight feet long. By far his biggest job to date. “May I have until the end of the week to decide?”

  “You have until tomorrow morning. Keep your bid reasonable, and the job is yours. If you’re not on board, I’m talking to a custom outfit in Pittsburgh. I’d rather give the work to a local guy, even if his grandmother takes my uncle Paulie at five-card stud on a weekly basis.”

  “Tell your uncle to stay away from Tippi. Honestly, Kyle—I’m positive she cheats. She’ll steal his last dime.”

  The contractor’s nose twitched again. “Too late.” Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, he caught a blustery sneeze. “She’s already stolen his heart. A major crush in your eighties? Right? But what can I do?”

  “Start by warning him,” Michael joked. “Tippi’s a heartbreaker with a gambling obsession.”

  His smartphone buzzed. He picked up before having the good sense to scan the display panel.

  “Hey, buddy. No, I’m at a job site.” Embarrassed, he
held up a finger, which Kyle regarded with ill-concealed impatience. “Emerson. No. Not until I speak with your grandmother. It’s only been three days. Sure, I miss you too. Listen, we’ll talk later . . .”

  By the time he hung up, the contractor’s impatience had evolved into a mild sense of wonder. “Was that who I think it was?”

  “Geauga County’s favorite runaway? Yeah.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “Kyle, he lives next door to my mother. Not exactly a state secret.”

  “Why does the hanging judge’s grandson have you on speed dial?” When Michael shrugged, in no mood to explain his growing friendship with the boy, the contractor grinned. “Word to the wise, pal. Don’t piss off Judge Goodridge. Some of the officers at the PD are still licking their wounds. Like it’s their fault Emerson keeps running off. Get on Rosalind’s bad side and she’ll take a chain saw to your ego—or your permits.”

  “Thanks for the tip.”

  “Did you hear how she cussed out the PD in two jurisdictions? Chagrin Falls and Hunting Valley.”

  And the ditzy young receptionist in the Falls, Michael recalled. On day two of the Emerson drama, Rosalind had submitted the girl to a ten-minute tirade. After the judge stormed out of the precinct, the receptionist broke out in a case of hives.

  Kyle, hungry for details, licked his lips. “Why is her grandson calling you?” Evidently, he was enjoying the discomfiture crowding in on Michael.

  “I’m teaching him the basics of carpentry. No power tools, although he’s itching to try them.”

  “Hold on. You’re doing craft projects with Emerson? I thought Rosalind doesn’t like your family.”

  “She doesn’t.”

  “Man, this is good.” Kyle landed a good-natured punch on his arm. “What are you building with him?”

  “A bird feeder. For Rosalind. I don’t want Emerson to keep having to sneak over to visit, but she won’t take my calls. Hard to get the situation aboveboard when she keeps hanging up on me.” Michael crossed his arms. He didn’t need to defend his relationship with the child. Whatever had soured between his mother and Rosalind, it shouldn’t affect an eight-year-old boy.