The problem with the library was that it might possibly hold the key to the twenty-or-so years of her past she didn’t remember.
She walked inside, relishing the blast of cold air-conditioning. After almost four months of living here, she was still getting used to South Carolina heat.
There was Miss Vi, the head librarian, showing a flyer about a kids’ chess club to a tall, thin man. It took a minute to recognize him, but she finally realized it was Josiah, Yasmin Tanner’s troubled brother who’d recently moved to Safe Haven. Yasmin had become a friend since Rita had started to volunteer at the women’s center, and so Rita had been privy to some of Yasmin’s concerns about Josiah and his challenges.
Working at the women’s center kicked up Rita’s issues just a little. Which was what she wanted, she reminded herself firmly as she trudged toward the microfilm area in the back of the library. It was basically a reading room, with comfortable chairs in the middle. Books lined three walls, but the fourth held several shelves of white boxes with typed labels.
She inhaled the pleasantly musty scent of old books and approached the shelf of microfilm boxes. Lots of libraries kept old newspapers in digital form these days, but Safe Haven didn’t have the budget to convert, according to Miss Vi.
She stood in front of the boxes and studied the labels, her stomach tightening. Her memories and records of her life started in Maine, in August of 1998. But when her husband had died last year, she’d learned that he’d found her just outside of Safe Haven, South Carolina. She had some kind of history here.
Which meant she needed to find out what had happened in this little town, in July of that year.
She selected three boxes and carried them over to an old-fashioned machine. Following the instructions taped to the monitor, she located the power button and turned it on, then slid out the glass plate on the reader. Opened the box and pulled out the roll of microfilm.
She placed it on the left-hand spindle and stopped, her stomach tight, mouth dry. Her hands shook too much to continue. What if it all came back to her in a rush? What if what came back was something awful?
Drawing in slow, deep breaths, she focused on the murmur of other patrons talking behind her, a child’s high, excited voice, quickly hushed by a woman who was probably his mother.
His mother.
She’d had a child, but she had no memory of it.
“Do you need help?” came a flat-sounding voice.
Rita looked up, surprised to see Josiah. “Hey there. You’re Yasmin’s brother, aren’t you?”
He nodded, his face expressionless. “I work here.”
“Do you know how to operate this thing?” Please say no, so I can go home.
“I think so.” He leaned over to study the machine.
She scooted her chair out of the way. “Do you want to sit?”
“No.” He threaded the film under a glass plate and onto the right film spool. He clicked something on the plate, and newspaper pages appeared on the screen in front of her.
“Forward,” he said, demonstrating how to scroll rapidly through the pages. “Back. And, let’s see...” He leaned in closer. “Focus here, zoom here.” He demonstrated and then looked at her. His eyes seemed to twinkle, just a little. “Old-fashioned technology, but it works.”
“Thank you.” What could she say to keep this kind guy here? “How do you like your job?” she asked.
“It’s good.” He didn’t smile, but his eyes were warm. “Do you need anything else?”
For you to distract me from this thing I don’t want to do. “No, I’m fine. I’ve got it.”
He nodded and walked away.
She scrolled through the paper quickly. It was small, only about twenty pages long. She looked at the dates on the front. Oh, right. It was only published twice a week, then and now.
A full-page ad for grocery specials caught her attention. Pop-Tarts cereal for $1.99... Oreos for 99 cents. Those were the days.
She sucked in air as she realized that she remembered those prices. Was it because she’d bought those items?
And why would you buy Pop-Tarts cereal, of all things, and Oreo cookies unless you’d done it for your kids?
She scrolled quickly away and focused on a letter to the editor about a billboard outside of town, considered an eyesore by the writer. Another deriding Bill Clinton.
Did she remember the whole of Bill Clinton’s presidency, or just portrayals of it on the History channel?
She let her face sink down into her hands. This was a lot harder than she’d expected, and she wasn’t even seeing anything personal.
Don’t be a baby. She scrolled past an ad for a fitness center that was expanding, noting that the clunky exercise bike and the model’s loose running shorts and white crew socks were not alien to her.
You have to do this.
Where was the local news? She kept scrolling until she came to the crime blotter. Heart pounding rapidly, she read the short entries. A stray dog had been found on Market Street. Three women, ages twenty-five, thirty-four and forty-one, had been arrested following a theft.
Could have been me.
A suspicious vehicle had been seen in the two-hundred-block area of Peachtree Road.
Nothing sounded familiar, but she ought to look for items about Magnolia Street, where the women’s center was located. Every time she went there, she got a weird, creepy feeling, like she’d been there before.
“Josiah, did you get those books shelved?” Miss Vi’s voice was stern, a little accusing. Rita liked the woman, but she couldn’t be an easy boss. She glanced back to see Josiah shoving a book back into the reference section. Then he rose and walked over to a cart of books.
Miss Vi followed him, obviously scolding, although in correctly low library tones.
Focus. Rita removed the spool of microfilm and threaded in the next. Inhaling slow, careful breaths, she got the film lined up and started scrolling through the pages.
“Do you need any help?” Miss Vi asked from behind her.
She didn’t ask what Rita was looking for. Rita wondered whether that was some code of librarian confidentiality, like you got at the doctor’s office, or whether Miss Vi knew something about her and her search.
Should she ask her?
As quickly as that thought emerged, Rita squelched it. Miss Vi was busy. Look how upset she’d gotten when Josiah was distracted from his duty. “I’m fine. He was very helpful with this machine.” She waved a hand toward Josiah, hoping to get her friend’s brother out of trouble.
Miss Vi gave her a skeptical nod and moved on. Obviously, nothing Rita said would compare to what Miss Vi had observed herself.
Rita looked at the clock: 10:30. She’d planned to stay all morning, but she was feeling hungry and her eyes felt dry and hot from squinting at the screen.
She’d come back another time.
No, you won’t.
She pictured her friend Norma’s face—Norma, who was always nudging and pushing her to figure out the truth about her past. Norma, who was planning to move down here from Maine and who would never, no way, let Rita slack off on pursuing the truth.
And in many ways, Rita wanted the truth. The truth would allow her to get on with her life.
Maybe to get on with a decent relationship.
Right along with that thought, she pictured Jimmy’s face. She definitely liked that man, even if he was her boss at the diner. She wanted to take him up on his invitation for a real date.
If you didn’t know your own history, though, you could hardly get into a relationship. What if she uncovered something awful about herself? Something that would let her know she didn’t deserve a relationship, not now, not ever?
Her fingers shaky again, she removed the second roll of film from the machine and coiled it neatly into its box. Stood up quickly, shelved the boxes a
nd hurried out of the library.
The day’s heat hit her like a steamy embrace, but she plunged into it eagerly. Just as long as she could get far, far away from those old newspapers that might reveal something about her past that she didn’t want to know.
She walked rapidly, dripping sweat, needing distance from the library.
She was a coward.
She’d run smack into her own resistance and failed to beat it.
* * *
LATER THAT DAY, Liam got Rio into a sit-stay on Yasmin’s porch and then knocked on her front door.
After the uproar of the letter from Rocky’s mother—a letter Yasmin hadn’t let him see, again citing client confidentiality—he’d gone back to his apartment to start looking online for a new place to live. There were places available, not a lot, but some.
Not a one of them allowed large dogs, though.
Yasmin opened the door, an oven mitt on her hand, looking harassed. “Just a second, Josiah,” she called over her shoulder, then turned back to face him. “What’s going on?” she asked, her voice cool.
Her pink cheeks and the rapid breath going through her slightly parted lips told a different story, one Liam liked better.
He wanted to help her; his arms practically ached to reach out, rub her back, squeeze her shoulders. “I have a proposal for you,” he said instead.
Her eyes widened and her blush deepened. “Really, Liam, I can’t deal with joking right now. I’m in the middle of trying to make pizza for two picky eaters and figure out what to do with Rocky, and I have a ton of paperwork to do for the center...”
“You can get pizza delivered, rather than make it from scratch,” he suggested. “Most people do.”
“True.” She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. “But Rocky needs a real home-cooked meal, and he says pizza is his favorite. And organic ingredients help Joe with... They help Joe.” She pressed her lips together as if she didn’t want to reveal anything more about her brother. Then she shrugged and stretched her neck like she was trying to change the subject in her own mind. “Picky eaters, you know? Or maybe not. You never were one.”
“Couldn’t afford to be.” Liam wanted to reach out and touch her, because he loved how hard she tried to do the right thing. But she wouldn’t welcome that type of attention from him, not anymore. “You have too much on your hands,” he said, “and I have an idea of how to help.”
Twenty minutes later, he was arguing with her at her kitchen table while she dished up pizza and told him he was out of his mind.
“I’m not out of my mind. This will work.” He took a big bite of pizza and closed his eyes. Homemade crust, spicy sausage, thick cheese...yeah, this was way better than pizza that came in a box.
Rocky and Josiah were making appreciative noises, too, while Yasmin fussed around pouring sweet tea and tossing salad.
“You don’t need my garage apartment,” she said. “You already have a place that’s nicer.”
“Not for much longer. Rio and I are getting kicked out because of how big he’s growing.” He glanced down at the dog, who sat attentively beside Rocky, his head moving every time Rocky’s hand did, following the path of the pizza. “Speaking of the dog, are you sure you don’t mind Rio being in here?”
“How can I, when he already cleaned up my floor for me?” She reached down and rubbed the dog’s head, sneaked him a piece of sausage, and then went over to the sink to wash her hands. “Look, Liam, I feel like you’re doing this to try to help me, but I can handle everything myself.”
Maybe she could, but Liam wasn’t about to relax. There was something wrong when a teenager from an abusive home showed up walking around a strange town by himself.
But you didn’t convince Yasmin of things by direct force. “So the letter reassured you?” he asked.
She glanced over to the counter. There was the envelope from Rocky’s mom.
Yasmin hesitated, then nodded. “I guess I can tell you this. She—Rocky’s mom—she asked if I could help Rocky through the next few weeks while she straightens a few things out. We’d actually talked a little about this possibility before.”
Memories caused a sick feeling in Liam’s stomach. His own mother had done something similar, collecting school and doctor records for him and his brothers, sealing them into an envelope and giving them to the people at the center, in case she was incapacitated in some way.
And she had been; she’d disappeared. He and his brothers had never seen her again after the day that, according to Sean, their father had forced her into his truck.
Which didn’t mean the same would happen to Rocky’s mom. It didn’t.
But in a strange way he felt like he owed this kid. Helping Rocky would be payback for all the times people had helped him. Rocky reminded him of himself at that age: the surliness, the tamped-down emotion, the hope that rose up occasionally in spite of a bad situation.
He looked over to see how Rocky was handling their discussion and was relieved to know the boy wasn’t even listening. Josiah had drifted out of the room earlier, but Rocky was still there, on the floor beside Rio, playing tug-of-war with a dishcloth.
For the first time since Liam had met the child, he looked happy, carefree, like a thirteen-year-old boy should.
If he rented Yasmin’s apartment, Rocky and Rio could play together. Which would benefit both of them.
“What about Rocky’s father?” he asked Yasmin. “Is he a possible caregiver?”
She shook her head. “No biological father in the picture, and the stepfather would be more of a risk than a help. His mom says in the letter that he moved to California.”
Rocky looked over from his tug of war with Rio. “He did?”
“Hey, kiddo, you’re not supposed to be listening,” Yasmin said easily. “But yeah. Does that upset you?”
Rocky snorted and turned back to the dog. “Good riddance.” He started play-growling at the dog, who amicably play-growled back, tugging hard at the dishcloth.
“It would be a big help to me, and maybe to you, if I rented the apartment,” Liam said quietly to Yasmin, who was watching the boy and dog, a smile on her face. “I can help keep an eye on Rocky. Couldn’t hurt the kid to have another man on the scene. Maybe I can find out something, informally, that’ll help him reunite with his mom. And I’ll pay rent. Whatever’s fair.”
She met his eyes, bit her lip. “Mom’s place in Charleston is expensive, and Josiah...” She glanced toward the kitchen door where Josiah had exited. “There are expenses there, too,” she said. “But—”
“So my renting your apartment would help with money,” he interrupted. “And I’ll also provide a therapy dog, free.” He gestured toward the floor.
Rocky chose that moment to flop down beside Rio, who was lying on his side now, chewing the dishcloth. Rio nuzzled Rocky and then went back to chewing, and Rocky threw an arm around the big dog.
Yasmin’s face softened. “The therapy dog aspect is pretty compelling,” she said. “This kid needs all the comfort he can get. It’s just not...” She broke off, then glanced over at the clock. “Hey, your shift starts in, like, three minutes. Don’t you think you’d better get to work?”
Liam’s face heated. Behind the interesting notion that she knew his work schedule was the embarrassing awareness that he’d pretty much gotten demoted. Everyone in town would know it soon, but telling Yasmin was the worst by far. It seemed to highlight the fact that, at heart, he was still one of those troubled O’Dwyer boys.
“Shift change,” he said. “I’m working days for a while.”
She studied him for a long moment and then lifted an eyebrow. “So if you moved in,” she said, “we’d all be home at the same time?”
She was so pretty that, for a moment, he couldn’t think. He just looked at her slightly challenging eyes, the curve of her lips, the tilt of her head.
/> But after a pause, he got her drift. “You don’t want me around.”
She bit her lip. “It does make sense in a lot of ways, but Liam, I just don’t know. How could we make that work?”
“We can do it.” He stood and reached out to clasp her hand, an instinctive reaction.
She pulled her hand away. “Even if I did rent to you—and I’m not saying I will—nothing’s changed between us.”
“Did I say I wanted it to?” He stepped back.
She looked down at the floor and shook her head.
He wasn’t sure, suddenly, whether this was a great idea. Every time he was with Yasmin, his old feelings got stirred up.
And every time, whether openly or subtly, she rejected him.
The buzz of his phone was a welcome distraction. He saw Ramirez’s name on the lock screen and clicked into the call, shrugging an apology to Yasmin as he headed out to the porch. “What’s up?”
“Jenkins followed up on a sighting of a car underwater near the pier.” Ramirez’s voice was clipped, abrupt, different from his usual easygoing style. “Rather than following protocol, he had a couple of the shrimpers pull it out with their truck.”
Liam bit back a remark about Jenkins’s lack of skill. The chief knew it as well as he did.
Ramirez cleared his throat. “Putting things together, looking at security camera videos, what we could see at least, it appears the car went down on your shift last night. Did you notice anything going on at all, down by the docks?”
Liam stiffened. He hadn’t, but Rocky had been looking for his mom there this morning. He glanced back through the door at the kid, who’d buried his face in Rio’s side.
“I didn’t see anything,” he said truthfully. “What’s the make of the car?” He’d check with Rocky and find out what his mom had been driving. If she’d sent her car into the tidewater, she could be disappearing on purpose.
The very thought of it stabbed him in the gut. His brother Sean sometimes suspected their own mom had disappeared on purpose. Liam didn’t want to believe it.
Low Country Dreams Page 4