Right Back Where We Started

by Fiona West

  Martina kept her face impassive, but she pulled out her phone.

  Martina: Your mom is telling everyone here you moved home because you're broke.

  Carter: Then tell them it's not true!

  Martina: For all I know, it could be. I don't think I should.

  Martina: I'll need to see some bank statements first.

  Carter: Listen, if I'm living at home at 27, it would only be for the family's sake. I'd rather live in a cardboard box, truth be told.

  Martina: I saw Mr. Fisher getting rid of one this morning. We could put it out back for you.

  Carter: Great. I'll put it in front of the back door so Mom can kick me as she goes by at midnight.

  Martina: Don't even joke. I don't want to be called out for a patient-hunt at that time of night.

  Carter: Is she having fun?

  Martina: Yes. They both are. But he was surprised to see me.

  Carter: I told him I hired a nurse. He doesn't pay attention.

  Martina: No, he knew she had a nurse, just not that *I* was the nurse . . .

  Carter: Well, I'm sure I mentioned it.

  Martina: Uh-huh.

  She put her phone away, since she was being rude, ignoring the two of them.

  “Martina,” Chase was saying, “we're going to go horseback riding. Do you want to come along?” I should definitely not have zoned out on that conversation . . .

  “Oh. You know, I'm not sure that's going to work, because Alzheimer's patients don't have great muscle tone, and it requires a strong core to stay on a horse. Also, if she were to get confused, it'd be hard for me to get to her in order to help. But I think feeding or grooming the horses is a wonderful idea.”

  “Young lady.” Willow had her ornery voice on. “I've been riding horses for years.”

  “I'm sure that's true, but today, we're just going to look at them.”

  “I'm sorry,” Chase said to Martina, his eyebrows pulled together. “I didn't realize she wouldn't be able to . . .”

  “I can! I grew up riding horses!” Willow protested. “I know how to ride a horse.”

  Chase looked chagrined. “I don't want you to get hurt, Mom. Let's just walk them around.”

  “Or maybe,” Martina said, touching Willow's arm, “you could let me lead you around? So I'd be close by?” She'd offer to get up there with her, but she was crap with horses.

  “I know how to ride a horse,” she muttered, still clearly perturbed.

  “I know you do,” Martina said, giving her shoulders a squeeze. “Come on, let's go pick your mighty steed.”

  Willow rolled her eyes. “Fine.”

  “I'm sorry,” Chase mouthed, but Martina waved away his apology. How could he have known? She was glad she'd worn her cowgirl boots rather than her regular tennis shoes; it was a little muddy in the corral.

  “So, are you single?” That was the Chase she remembered. His name had been a double entendre ever since he knew what girls were.

  Martina grinned. “Why, you gonna drive to Timber Falls to see me on weekends?”

  “You've never heard of an LDR?”

  “I have, but I'm not a fan of long-distance relationships, sorry. Also, I'm seeing one of the doctors at Santiam. But even if I wasn't, you're not my type, handsome.”

  “Shame. I always envied Crash a little. I wouldn't have tried to steal you, of course, but still.”

  “Well, if that's not genuine brotherly affection, I don't know what is.”

  “Ha.”

  Martina looked at Chase, trying to figure out what was so different about him. He looked a bit scruffier than usual; his blond hair wasn't styled particularly, and he needed a shave. It wasn't even his T-shirt and jeans lazy Saturday type attire. No, there was something deeper to the man that was fundamentally changed.

  “Sure you're not into me? You're kinda staring.”

  “Sorry.” She actually blushed a little. “You just seem really . . .”

  “Different.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I am different.” He dusted off his hands. “So when I get back, I expect you to introduce me to your friends.”

  “Ha,” she said, echoing his earlier response. But her nature got the better of her . . . she liked playing fairy godmother. “Like who?”

  “I don't know. Got any freckled, red-haired friends who're single?”

  “Just one,” she said, “but she—” Martina paused. Willow was standing dangerously close to that horse's rump, and she did know enough about them to know that they didn't like having people behind them.

  “She what?” He nudged her with his shoulder.

  “She seems pretty busy. She doesn't come out with us much.” Deputy Lizzie Painter mostly kept to herself, Martina thought. Maybe she thought it undermined her authority in town for them to see her drinking at Annie's. Either way, she'd never gotten to know her as well as she would've liked to. She seemed like a sweet gal. Unless you were a criminal. Then you should run. Deputy Painter did not tolerate that in her town.

  “Hmm.” He seemed strangely pleased with this news for reasons she couldn't quite piece together, but she lost her train of thought as Willow continued to wander closer to the horse's backside.

  “Hey, let's go inside, shall we? It's cold out here, and I bet there's coffee inside.”

  “But you don't like coffee,” Willow said, in an almost scolding tone of voice, and Martina felt a little flicker of pleasure. Too soon, Willow wouldn't even remember her name, let alone her drink preferences. But today she did.

  “Thanks for remembering that. But I know you like it, so I was thinking of you.”

  Willow smiled and took Martina's arm through her own. “This one takes good care of me,” she informed Chase.

  He nodded as he led Apple Blossom back to her stall. “Glad to hear it. I wasn't sure how you'd take to her, given their messy break-up.”

  “Break-up?” Willow gave him a thousand-yard stare, her eyebrows twitching, like she was trying to coax her brain into cooperation. And Martina hoped for the first time that Willow wouldn't be successful.

  “Let's go get that coffee,” she said gently, moving them back toward the house. “Where did you get that hat, Willow? It's so lovely, I'm kind of jealous of it.”

  She touched her colorful intarsia knit hat. “I got it at the Christmas Bazaar . . . can't remember when. I think Rhea Devereaux knitted it.”

  “Mmm. I didn't know Rhea was a knitter.”

  “Oh yes, she's an accomplished knitter. I believe she sells her goods on that craft site . . . what's that called?”

  “Etsy?”

  “Yes, I think she has a store on Etsy. Beautiful hand knits—in local wool, too. She gets her wool from Mr. Powell. She did a scarf for me, too, in the same pattern. I couldn't find it this morning.” Man, her memory was good today. Too bad she was feeling so ornery.

  “Next time, ask me. I'll help you. You can always ask me.”

  Willow patted her hand affectionately, but said nothing.

  “I know her son Sawyer; he’s Ainsley’s cousin, and he hangs around the library a lot.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard rumors about him. He spends all his time working on motorcycles on that property of his, renting the big house, living in the cabin. Hardly ever comes into town. Strange for a young man who had so much promise.”

  “Hmm.” Martina didn’t know much about what Sawyer had done after college; he was older than her. “He’s not much of a talker at the library, unless he’s talking to a certain reference librarian . . .”

  “Oh, really?”

  Chase was giving them both a strange look as they continued their gossip as they all walked back inside. Mother and son sat and chatted in the library, and Martina wandered away under the auspices of getting a cup of tea. She leaned against the wall in the entryway, listening to them. Chase's questions were polite, but probing: he was clearly trying to figure out how extensive her memory loss was. She chided herself for not sending him and Christopher the same res
ources she'd given Carter. She'd just assumed he'd pass them on . . . but this family was not the same one she'd known nine years ago. They'd been close, at least the brothers had. Or maybe she'd gotten it wrong. She reflected, not for the first or last time, that it was a shame she couldn't separate memory from perception . . . she'd like to be able to look back on her life and know if she was really seeing things the way they were. Bored, she pulled out her phone.

  Martina: Hey.

  Dad: Hey is for horses.

  She rolled her eyes. Someone had taught him that joke years ago, and he still thought it was the funniest thing.

  Martina: Actually, I just pet some, and all they said was 'neigh.'

  He switched to Spanish.

  Dad: Is this my daughter or an imposter? My daughter doesn't care for large animals.

  She switched to Spanish, too.

  Martina: Very true. But I can make exceptions. Willow wanted to see them.

  Dad: They're lucky to have you.

  Martina: I'm lucky to have them, too, Dad. They're paying me very well.

  He was still grumpy about her decision . . . but more than that, she suspected that he was grumpy that he hadn't been consulted first. She was struggling to know how to make him feel included without being patronizing or obligated to take his advice. Especially when there was just so much of it . . .

  Dad: You're coming tomorrow, right?

  Martina: Yes.

  Dad: And you won't leave when all the kids show up?

  She shifted her weight uncomfortably. Of course he would bring this up. Augustina was a good sister and seemed happy in her marriage, but her kids . . . her kids were so badly behaved.

  Martina: I will not leave, but I'm also not going to let her kids smack me. They're old enough to know better.

  Dad: That's fair. Do you want me to talk to Gus?

  Martina: No. But thank you.

  Dad: Your mother said to tell you that Gus and Stephen are taking a parenting class at the church, and she thinks it's helping.

  Martina: Glad to hear it.

  Martina: Love you, Dad.

  She sighed. This family stuff was getting out of hand. They all loved each other; they should be able to work this out without needing a United Nations mediator. She peeked at Willow and Chase again; they were laughing over a game of Scrabble, and Willow leaned over the board to give her middle son a hug. Martina was already dreading the moment she had to take her back to Timber Falls.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CARTER WAS IN A MEETING with one of the more senior actuaries when his phone rang. Harrison Carpenter. His father had sent him a message earlier, saying he wanted to meet this morning, as if Carter didn’t have anything better to do. He sent his father’s call to voicemail, put it on vibrate, and apologized to his co-worker. When it rang again, he didn’t take it out of his pocket. When it rang a third time, Marco paused their discussion.

  “Do you need to get that?”

  “No, it’s just my dad.”

  “Seems like it might be important,” Marco said, leaning back in his chair.

  “He gives that impression constantly,” Carter remarked dryly, and his coworker laughed. To appease the man, he pulled out the phone and looked at it.

  Unknown: Hey, it's me, Martina. We've got a situation here at the house.

  Unknown: Your dad is here, and his presence is really upsetting Willow.

  Unknown: I'm going to take her to see Chase; can you send me the address?

  He debated briefly whether he should go try to intervene, but Martina was a professional. She was good with his mom; he could probably handle her better than he could anyway. He wanted them out of there, as quickly as possible. He didn’t know what his father was up to, but it seemed like nothing good.

  Carter: Yes. Take my car, the black SUV.

  Carter: The keys should be hanging in the garage.

  “Everything okay?” Marco asked, clearly curious.

  “Yeah. Sorry. I’ll call him back later.”

  Later ended up being lunchtime. Carter sat in his car with his tuna sandwich and put his father on speaker.

  “We had a meeting this morning.” His father sounded annoyed. It wasn’t a tenth of the annoyance Carter was feeling, he’d wager.

  “We absolutely did not have a meeting this morning. I’m at work.”

  Harrison chuckled. “Right. Work. I wanted to speak to you about your holiday plans.”

  “I don’t have any.”

  “I’d like to spend Thanksgiving together, including your stepmother.”

  Carter let his head rest against the steering wheel. “Any reason why you wouldn’t plan to include Mom?”

  “She didn’t recognize me when I walked in this morning until I reminded her who I was. I just thought that might make for an uncomfortable family gathering.”

  “I’d be more uncomfortable if we excluded her.”

  “Fine. I’ll invite her sister, too. Christopher may join us as well.”

  “Okay. Anything else?”

  “Yes, I can’t locate your brother, Chase.”

  “He’s in rehab in Bend.”

  Harrison scoffed indignantly. “Again? That’s disappointing.”

  “I’m not sure he’d agree. Anything else?”

  “Tina Gross contacted me to see if you’d be willing to participate in the bachelor auction again this year for that children’s hospital.” His mother had planned the event the last few years . . . Tina must be desperate if she was asking him. It could be awkward for his mom, if she realized. Willow hadn’t asked to go back to those charity meetings lately, so Martina hadn’t pushed her. Carter pulled his phone off the dash to look at his calendar, and his father apparently interpreted his silence as hesitation. “These are the kind of events that will help support your position in the community when you come back to TFPP.”

  “I’m not coming back to TFPP, Dad.” Assuming I don’t lose my job here because I’m so busy trying to handle what’s happening at home.

  “You just didn’t give it enough time, Carter. You would’ve fit in here eventually.”

  Gosh, I hope that’s not true. He’d nearly worked himself to death, and he’d hated every minute of it, everyone kowtowing to him, because he was the boss’s son.

  “Tell Tina that’d be fine. Go ahead and confirm. Anything else?”

  “The nurse you’ve hired.”

  “I’m not discussing this with you. Anything else?”

  His father’s words had an unusual bite to them; Harrison so rarely displayed anger that Carter wasn’t entirely prepared for it.

  “She’s still my wife, isn’t she? What right do you have to hire someone—”

  “I had the right because I was here. Where the hell were you?”

  His usual detachment was back. “TFPP sent me to San Francisco. You know that.”

  “Then why are there credit card charges in New York? And Texas?”

  “I took some side trips through JFK and DFW.”

  “A week ago? And the charges were in Galveston.”

  “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

  “Ditto. Goodbye, Harrison.” Carter hung up.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  MARTINA AND WILLOW ended up staying for lunch and a counseling session with Chase, then it was time to go back to Timber Falls. Just east of Detroit Lake, flashing red and blue lights in her rear view mirror had Martina squinting to see who was pulling her over, an uneasy feeling crawling over her back. She glanced at Willow, who looked nervous, too.

  “Nothing to be worried about,” she said, squeezing her hand and letting them stay joined to keep her calm. “We probably just have a tail light out.” She peeked at the side view mirror to see who was approaching the car. Lizzie Painter was coming to the window, her hand on her service weapon. This should be okay. Everything's going to be fine. She just wants to talk. She tried not to think about a million ways that a routine traffic stop could go wrong for a person of color. Tried and faile
d. Martina let go of Willow’s hand, placing both hands on the steering wheel, like her father had taught her. It didn't hurt to be cautious in situations like this. Lizzie blinked when she recognized her.

  “Hey, Martina.” Her hand fell from her weapon, and Martina's heart decided to go back to beating evenly . . . but her hands stayed where they were.

  “Hey, Lizzie.” Her voice trembled, and Lizzie noticed.

  “I’m sorry to have to stop you. Can I see your license and registration, please? Then I’ll explain why I pulled you over.”

  “Yes, of course. Let me just . . .” Martina scrambled to get into the glove box for the registration, and retrieved her license from her wallet, both of which were easier said than done with her hands shaking. She handed the younger woman the paperwork.

  “You okay? This vehicle was reported stolen a few hours ago.”

  Shock had Martina’s mouth going dry. “Stolen? No, it's not stolen. It's Crash's.”

  Lizzie's eyebrows went sky high. “You guys are back together?”

  “No, no,” she said quickly. “I'm—I work for Carter now. I'm providing medical care for his mother.”

  “Who?”

  “Crash? This is his mom, Willow.”

  Willow waved cheerfully from the front seat, and Lizzie smiled and waved back. She lowered her voice. “And she's not kidnapped?”

  “Kidnapped?” Martina laughed, relieved. “No, I just took her to Bend to see her son.”

  Lizzie went strangely still. “Which son?”

  “Chase.”

  Her face split into a knowing grin. “Oh. That son.”

  “That son?” Martina asked. There was gossip here, she could just taste it . . . she searched her memory for a trace of it. “Ohhh, you arrested Chase, didn't you?”

  “Yes.” She cleared her throat and squared her shoulders, scribbling something down on her pad.

  “And didn’t he write you a letter?”

  Lizzie’s eyes went wide. “Who told you that?”