by Sherry Lewis
The lights from the parking lot began to swim, and the chill night air suddenly felt too warm. Her senses pulsed with her heartbeat so that the music was alternately loud, then soft, and Whit’s face was close one moment and distant the next. “What do you mean, my dad changed?”
“You don’t remember that, either?”
“I don’t remember anything. How did my dad change? Why?”
“I don’t know why. I always wondered, though. He was scout leader when I was about eleven, and we all liked him. And then just a few months before your mom died, he changed. I don’t know how to describe it. He was different. Moody. I mean, one day he’s everybody’s friend, and the next he’s the guy you avoid when you see him pumping gas or eating a burger, y’know? How’s he doing now, anyway? Better, I hope.”
Molly answered automatically. Apparently there were a few things the grapevine had missed. “He passed away in March.”
“Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
She smiled, but her lips felt cold and stiff. “Thanks. I’ll get used to having him gone one of these days, I guess.” She put a hand on Whit’s sleeve. “Is there anything else you remember about what happened? Anything at all?”
Whit shook his head. “I never did know what happened to change him. That’s the weird thing about small towns. Just when you start to think there are no secrets at all, you find out that’s just a fallacy. If someone wants a secret kept badly enough, it’ll be kept.”
The magic she’d felt earlier evaporated and she let out a tight laugh. “I’m beginning to find that out. But what secret? That’s what I can’t figure out. And why doesn’t anyone else know about it?” But even as she asked the question, she knew the answer. People did know. But after all this time, someone still had a reason for wanting the truth to stay buried.
But who? And why? And what did it have to do with her? She couldn’t put it off any longer. She had to talk with Clay Julander and find out what he knew. But she had a feeling deep down in her bones that she wasn’t going to like what he had to say.
CHAPTER TWELVE
MOLLY MIGHT HAVE been determined to learn the truth, but with Beau back at work, it was Wednesday evening before they could coordinate schedules and work out a meeting with his uncle. It gave her too much time to think, far too much time to fret and wonder and imagine what Clay Julander would tell her.
She was practically jumping out of her skin by the time they left the kids with Beau’s mother. A thousand things raced through her mind as Beau drove along the quiet neighborhood streets, but she couldn’t seem to get any of them into words.
Beau must have sensed her need for quiet because he didn’t say much until he pulled into the driveway of a small, well-kept split-entry house with an extended driveway that held an RV and a sailboat that looked as if it had cost more than the house.
He turned off the engine and shifted in the seat to look at her. “This is it. You sure you’re ready?”
Nervousness made Molly’s stomach churn, but she nodded and opened the car door. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
She started to get out, but Beau put a hand on her arm to stop her. “You don’t have to do this. Knowing what happened back then isn’t going to change who you are.”
His touch threatened to weaken her resolve, so she pulled away. “You’re wrong. It’s already taken away what I thought I knew. My parents’ relationship was the one constant in my life, but now even that’s gone. If I don’t find out what happened to them, I’ll always have a hole I can’t fill.”
“You aren’t your parents, Molly. You aren’t their decisions.”
“Of course I am. And so are you and everyone else.” She smiled, but she could feel her lips quivering and she knew she looked more frightened than brave. “If I don’t find out the whole story, I think I’ll go crazy.”
Beau climbed out of the Cherokee and came around to stand beside her. “At least let me talk to Clay first.”
“Why? So you can decide what to tell me and what to leave out?” She rubbed her arms for warmth and smiled up at him. “I know you’re just trying to be nice, but if my dad hadn’t censored everything he told me after the accident, I wouldn’t be here. I need to hear the truth for myself—all of it.”
Beau put an arm around her shoulders and squeezed gently. “I just don’t want you to be hurt by what you find out.”
It would have been so easy to let herself believe that he felt something for her, but nothing could have been more dangerous to her heart. Still, she allowed herself to lean on him for a minute and draw on his strength. “Maybe I won’t be hurt,” she said. “Maybe everyone else is wrong.”
The look in Beau’s eyes told her he didn’t believe that any more than she did. He kept his arm around her as they walked to the front door. Too soon, she heard the sound of approaching footsteps and she stiffened in anticipation.
“Don’t worry,” Beau said softly. “Everything will be okay. I’ll make sure of that.”
Molly would have given almost anything right then to believe him, but this was just another illusion, and she knew how quickly it could disappear. The only thing she could count on—the only thing she’d ever been able to count on—was herself.
The door to Clay Julander’s house swung open and he stood before them, every bit as imposing a figure as Beau himself. Molly tensed at the sight of him, but she wasn’t sure if she remembered him or if she was just nervous.
At well over six feet, with broad shoulders and a thick head of dark hair streaked with gray, Clay looked years younger than the fifty-plus he must have been. He grinned and pushed open the screen door so they could enter, but once he’d closed the door behind them, he got right down to business. “So you’re Molly Lane. It’s been a while since I saw you.”
“It’s been a while since I was in town.” She shook the hand he extended and followed him through the living room into a large kitchen at the back of the house. Beau trailed behind her, solid, steady and sober, and her heart filled with gratitude.
Clay motioned them toward the table and opened the refrigerator door. “Can I get you two anything? A soft drink? I’ve got some chips, but nothing to go with them. Your aunt Shannon’s at work or I’d have her whip up some of that crab dip she makes.”
Molly had trouble treating this like a social visit, but she wasn’t about to say so. She shook her head, but Beau asked for two sodas and she didn’t argue. Holding one would give her something to do with her hands.
Clay carried three cans to the table, set one in front of Molly and lowered his long frame into a chair. He slid another can toward Beau and popped the top on the third for himself. “So you’re here to find out about your mom, are you?”
Molly clutched her cold drink nervously in both hands. “April Dilello suggested that I talk to you. She said you might be able to help me.”
“I might. What do you want to know?”
“I was just seventeen when my mother died, and I don’t remember much about the accident.” She flicked a glance at Beau and went on quickly, “Actually, I don’t remember the six months before or nearly that long afterward. That whole year is a big, empty blank in my mind. I came back to Serenity to find answers. Unfortunately it seems that nobody wants to talk about the night Mom died, and I’m hoping you can tell me why.”
There was silence for a long moment while Clay took a drink. When at last he set the soda aside, he nodded. “I remember your mother well. Nice lady. Pretty.” He tilted his head and regarded Molly for a long moment. “You look like her.”
“So people keep telling me,” Molly said with a weak smile. “But that’s about all they’ll tell me—except that she made jewelry.”
“That’s right. She did. Made some awfully pretty things in that studio of hers. You remember, don’t you, Beau?”
Beau shook his head. “I was just a kid obsessed with football and girls. I didn’t pay attention to things like that.”
His uncle laughed. “Man, those days seem li
ke just yesterday in some ways. I gave a couple of rings to Shannon one Christmas, and a set of earrings for Mother’s Day. Must have been fourteen, fifteen years ago.”
“Fifteen,” Molly said automatically. “Why does April Dilello think you can help me? What do you know that she didn’t want to tell me?”
With a shrug, Clay took another swallow of his drink and set the can down. “I guess it’s no secret that I spent a few evenings over at your place before your mother died—in a professional capacity of course. I didn’t really know them to socialize with.”
Molly’s breath caught and she thought for a moment that she might be sick. She hadn’t realized until that moment how much she’d hoped that April had been mistaken. But if what she and Clay said was true, why couldn’t she remember? She rubbed one temple with the tips of her fingers. “Why were you there?”
“We were called there. Several times. Neighbors worried about the fighting—wanted us to do something.” Clay studied her face for a long moment, assessing her reaction. He must have decided she was strong enough to hear more, because he settled more comfortably in his chair and went on, “Your parents were having trouble, Molly. Lots of arguments. Loud ones. Had to haul your dad down to the jail a couple of times just to separate ’em for the night.”
The words cut like cold steel through Molly. “Are you saying that my father… That he…” She couldn’t get the words out, but she felt Beau’s hand close over hers, and that gave her courage to keep going. “Was there abuse?”
Clay shook his head quickly. “Not physical, no. Never saw any evidence of it, anyway. But verbal, a whole lot. On both sides.” His gaze met hers again, and she saw the same kindness she’d always seen in Beau’s. “They were angry with each other, and they didn’t mince words.”
Her head swam and she felt the last remaining bit of solid ground beneath her feet begin to crumble. Her father’s love for her mother was the one thing she’d always counted on. Now it appeared that it had been just a figment of her imagination.
She could feel her mind recoiling, shutting down the way it always did when she got too close to the truth. But this time she wasn’t going to let it happen. “Do you have any idea what she was doing on the road to Beaver Creek the night she died?”
“She had several suitcases in the car with her. We figured she was leaving him.”
Molly let out a shaky breath and held on to Beau’s hand for dear life. It was nothing more than she’d imagined since her conversation with April, but hearing it aloud made it so much worse—and real. Her mother had run away and left her. The same way Heather had left her children. The realization tore through her, burning itself in her mind and her heart. Was that why she’d blocked out the memories? Because her mother had walked out on her? Because she couldn’t bear to remember that her mother hadn’t loved her enough to stay?
Freeing her hand from Beau’s, she thrust her fingers into her hair and cradled her head in her hands. She’d been so sure Whit was mistaken. “I don’t understand. My dad hated divorce. You should have seen the way he reacted when I told him that my marriage to Ethan was over. He didn’t care what was wrong between us and insisted I should stay and make it work. And now you’re telling me that he and my mother were on the verge of divorce when she died?”
“I don’t know what happened to your dad after he left here, Molly. I don’t know what he came to believe, or why he felt the way he did. But I do know what happened here. There was a petition for divorce filed with the court just two days before your mother died.”
She sank back in her chair and tried desperately to process what she’d just learned. But the biggest question of all was still unanswered, and she knew she couldn’t put it all together until she heard the words for herself. “When my mother died,” she said, lifting her gaze to meet Clay’s again, “was she leaving him? Or both of us?”
“She was leaving him.”
That was so different from what she’d been expecting, Molly narrowed her eyes and looked at him hard. “Are you sure? Or are you just saying that to make me feel better?”
Clay glanced quickly at Beau, then back at her. “I’m sure.”
She dropped her hands and sat up a little straighter. “How can you be sure? How do you know?”
“Because you were in the car with your mother when she died, Molly. I thought you knew that.”
BEAU WATCHED the blood drain from Molly’s face as the bombshell his uncle had just dropped hit her. He wished he’d asked Clay what he knew when he’d talked to him earlier that morning. Maybe he could have helped prepare her.
He met Clay’s worried gaze over the top of Molly’s head. “Why didn’t I know that?” Beau demanded.
“I don’t know, but I was one of the first officers on the scene, and I pulled Molly from the car myself.”
Molly’s hand trembled in his. Fear, shock and disbelief were mirrored in her eyes. “But how…” She broke off uncertainly, then tried again. “Why didn’t my dad ever tell me that?”
Feeling utterly useless, Beau took her hand in his. “We may never understand his reasons, Molly, but I’m sure he did what he thought was best for you.”
“No matter what problems he had with your mom at the end, your dad was a good man,” Clay assured her. “We all knew he adored you.”
She jerked her hand from Beau’s and stood. “He adored me so much he spent the rest of his life lying to me?”
“He probably didn’t want to hurt you,” Beau said. “You’d lost your mother. Life at home hadn’t been happy for quite a while. Maybe he thought you’d been through enough.”
Molly’s eyes grew cold and hard. “Are you defending him?”
“No.” Beau stood to face her. He longed to take her in his arms and offer some comfort, but he could tell she wouldn’t welcome anything from him right now. “I’m not defending him. I’m guessing. I’m trying to put myself in his place.”
“So that’s what you’d do?”
“No! Of course not. Molly, I’m trying to help.”
She turned away. “Well, don’t. He lied to me for fifteen years! He let me think that he couldn’t talk about Mom’s accident because he was so destroyed by losing her. Now I find out that he wouldn’t talk about it because he just didn’t want me to know the truth.”
“You don’t know that, Molly.”
“I don’t?” She glared at him over her shoulder. “He let me grow up thinking that we were the happiest family in the world. He let me believe that he was grieving horribly for my mother. So much that I learned to keep my questions to myself so I wouldn’t hurt him. Tell me, Beau, which part of that was the truth?”
He flinched under the fury in her eyes and shook his head. “I can’t. But I know what it’s like to be a father, and I know that he must have had some reason for what he did—a reason he thought was a good one.”
Holding up both hands as if to ward off the words, she looked around the room and focused on the bag she’d left lying on the floor beside her chair. “Don’t say any more. I can’t hear it right now.” She snagged her bag and headed for the door, but halfway across the room, she turned back to Clay. “Thank you,” she said in a hoarse whisper. “I…I’m sorry.” And with that, she was gone.
Beau stood, frozen, until he heard the front door close. But when he would have gone after her, Clay caught his arm and stopped him.
“Leave her be, Beau.”
“I can’t. She’s too upset.”
“Yeah, she’s upset, but she needs some space. Let her walk a bit. It’ll give her a chance to burn off some of that energy.” He turned toward the fridge again. “Want another soda?”
Beau gaped at him in disbelief, but he realized that Molly would probably turn to Elaine or Jennifer for comfort, and maybe that was who she needed right now. But that didn’t make him feel better. “What I want,” he snarled, “is a few answers. Why didn’t we ever know that Molly was in that accident?”
“I couldn’t say.”
“You’d better say,” Beau warned. “If you know anything else, you’d better come clean. About all of it. Right now.”
“I don’t know anything else,” Clay said evenly. “We transported her to the hospital in Jackson. When they released her, Frank took Molly away. We figured it was so she could be near family, but we never knew for sure.”
“You should have found out.”
“Why? There was no evidence of foul play. We had no reason to question him, and he didn’t want anything to do with any of us after that night.” Clay pulled out two fresh cans and handed one to Beau. “We’re never going to know what happened between those two, Beau. The truth died with Frank, and Molly’s going to have to accept that. He was so protective of her the chief didn’t even tell Hannah down at the paper about Molly being in the car. He thought it was best.”
Beau shoved away from the table and paced in front of the window for a long time, trying to accept the story himself. But he couldn’t swallow it, and he knew Molly never would. He wheeled back to face Clay once more. “What did they argue about?”
“I don’t know.”
“Baloney! You were there. You heard them. Don’t lie to me, Clay. This is too important.”
His uncle took his sweet time popping the top on his can and taking a seat at the kitchen table. Only habit and respect kept Beau from grabbing him by the collar and demanding the truth from him. When he couldn’t stand it any longer, he planted his fists on the table and glared at Clay. “Tell me.”
Clay looked him square in the eye. “Frank and Ruby are both dead, Beau. Let ’em rest in peace.”
“And what about Molly?”
“You really think finding out what tore her parents apart is going to help her?”
“What right do you have to hide the truth from her?”
“Asking questions isn’t going to help her, Beau. Trust me. You think she’s torn up right now, just wait.”
“So you do know.” Beau raked his fingers through his hair, agitated and confused. “Tell me what it is so I can help her.”