Return to Paradise

by Laina Villeneuve

  “Why am I not surprised to see you here again?” I tried to sound annoyed, but his standing there made me think of Madison. What had I said unnecessary at dinner? Something about how believing in fate means accepting that some power out of your control dictates your life. I had no control over this horse, and here he was dictating my thoughts, preventing me from writing off his owner.

  He set his wide forehead on my hip and started rubbing.

  “I’m sure Madison would be happy to serve as your scratching post. You need an oil change? A tire rotation? I’m your gal, but I don’t do horses.” He continued to pump his head up and down as I pulled out my phone and scrolled through my calls to find Madison’s number. She answered out of breath. “Hey Madison. It’s Lacey.”

  “Lacey! I’ve been meaning to call you to say thanks for passing on my number to Della. I caught the home game. It was great!”

  “Glad that worked out,” I said. I was sure Della would be very receptive to Madison’s ideas about Fate. “Question: you hard at work?”

  “Dragging the last of the carpet out, yeah. Why?”

  “Because I’d be hard at work, too, if your horse pal would leave me alone.”

  “Houdini?”

  The way she said it, I could tell she expected him to show up at her side. Resting my hand on his neck, I waited for her to realize he wasn’t with her.

  “He was just here.”

  “And then, poof, he’s all the way over here in East Quincy? He’s not even breathing hard or sweaty.” I examined the horse. The way he’d flown over the field when he took off from Brenna and me, I thought he was a young horse, but on closer inspection, he looked ancient. How long would it have taken him to cross the six or so miles between my place and Madison’s?

  “He’s probably in the barn,” Madison said.

  I waited for her to find that he wasn’t.

  “He isn’t.” She sounded suitably befuddled.

  “So you’ll come get him, right?” I prompted.

  “With what? I don’t have a horse trailer.”

  “And yet you have a horse.”

  “He came with the property. I’m not ready to have stock yet.”

  “Well what am I supposed to do with him? Teach him how to fix a timing belt?” I briefly thought about offering to call Gabe, but he’d never believe me.

  “Okay.” She sounded distracted. “I’ll…I’ll be over as soon as I can.”

  I slipped the phone back into my pocket and turned to the horse. “Might as well get some work done, don’t you think? C’mon. I’ll catch you up to where we are.” Again deep in engine, narrating my progress, I heard tires on the drive. “There’s your mom,” I said, emerging to an empty shop. I blinked several times trying to make him reappear. Madison strode into the shop dressed as she always was in work pants, heavy boots and coat. If I hadn’t been expecting her, her ball cap might have made me guess I was dealing with a teenaged boy. She looked around expectantly.

  I held up my hands guiltily.

  “Did you tie him up out back?” she asked, skipping pleasantries.

  “He’s gone,” I admitted.

  “Gone,” she said, incredulous.

  “We were working on the timing belt. He was chewing on my pocket.” I held it up for her to see, but there were no teeth marks, no wetness to back up my claim.

  “You didn’t think to put something on him?”

  “Like what?” I asked, exasperated. “The old timing belt? Maybe you should leave something on him instead of letting him wander around naked.”

  “I’m not letting him wander around naked. Like I told you, he’s not wandering around.”

  “Then how do you explain the horse that was in my shop? How do you explain how he held up traffic on Highway 89 yesterday?”

  “My horse wasn’t on the road.”

  “Call the police department if you don’t believe me. That horse gets around.”

  “Clearly.” Madison waved her arms about to indicate the empty garage. “My horse is not around here.” As she scanned the garage, the door-less Nova stopped her cold. “What are you doing with Shawneen’s car?” She pressed her fingertips to her forehead like she was trying to calm down some kind of chaos in her head.

  “Do you know Shawneen?” She’d had a similar reaction when I mentioned her at the restaurant, and the way she said her name suggested a connection between them.

  Dani’s huge rig saved her from answering. She pulled up right to the open bay door and rolled down the window, country music pouring out. “One sec?” I asked.

  “I’ve got Joy with me, and we’re happy with the song on the radio,” she replied.

  I turned back to Madison. “I’ve got to grab a book inside. I’ll be right back.” I still wanted the answer to my question, and she certainly didn’t look like she was going anywhere. She hadn’t acknowledged the truck behind her and stood with her arms hugged around her shoulders, still staring at the car. I almost reached out to touch her but knew Dani was reading me, and the more I gave her, the deeper the inquisition would be the next time I saw her.

  In no time at all, I returned with the book I’d promised her at our last book club. “Like I said, the protagonist isn’t gay, but she’s from Texas, and I couldn’t help thinking about you the whole time I read it.”

  “Nowhere But Home,” she read the book’s title and flipped it over to skim the back.

  “And I bet Hope will love the cooking she does. That was my favorite part.”

  “Thanks.” She set the book down on the passenger seat. “Is that the woman you and Della were talking about?”

  “It is.” I kept my answers short to give Dani less to work with. The woman missed nothing.

  “Hmmm. What’d she do to Shawneen’s car?”

  I’d been wondering where Madison had gone. Sure enough, she was sitting in the driver’s seat of Shawneen’s Nova. “Shawneen did that to the door herself,” I said, hoping she wouldn’t ask me to elaborate then and there.

  “I think you’d better come to supper soon to fill us in.”

  “Name the night.”

  With a thumbs-up, Dani backed out of the drive and waved as she headed out. I took a deep breath, itching to find out what Madison’s deal was but also disappointed. I’ve read enough romances to recognize the character pining for an old flame. In my eyes Shawneen was a little old for her, but there had clearly been something between them. Maybe that was why she had such an investment in fated things working out. I eased into the passenger seat and carefully shut the door. Madison held the wheel with faraway look on her face that tempered any interest I might have otherwise explored.

  “What happened to the door?” Madison asked.

  “Shawneen about tore it off trying to back up with the door open. It got stuck in a berm. If I had it my way, Dennis would be the one making a trip down the hill to find a new door, but…”

  “Dennis?”

  “Shawneen’s boyfriend.”

  “Her boyfriend,” she repeated. “Do they…do they have any kids?”

  Oh, man did I want out of that car. How many more ways could Shawneen make my life difficult? Why was I stuck feeding information about her personal life to…I didn’t even know who. Wanting to clear that up, I asked how she knew Shawneen.

  “She’s…” Madison finally looked at me, those chocolate-brown eyes taking me in, measuring me, weighing how much to trust me. Her eyes welled. “She’s my mother. I don’t know her. My father…” She took her time searching for the right words. “My father…”

  “Raised you?” I asked. I hated seeing her struggle and felt terrible for the assumptions I’d had about her, that she was a dopey pothead or someone who would get lost in the fantasy of an old unattainable love.

  “No,” she answered, surprising me again. “He moved me away when I was little. Moved me away from this house.”

  We sat there together, my mind reeling and her thoughts who knew where. Though I barely knew her, I reached ou
t and lay my hand on her shoulder. With just a handful of words, I had a picture of a very broken soul. What did it mean that her father had moved her away but not raised her? Who did?

  My mind continued spinning on her strange family dynamic. Her father. Something clicked, and I jumped from the car and reached for the treasure box stowed on my workbench shelf.

  I knew what was inside. Did she? I knew where the little treasures fit in my childhood, but not in hers. Sensing they belonged to her, I carried the box back to the car and slid it across the vinyl bench seat.

  She placed her hand on the lid, tracing the pattern barely visible on the old tin box. Her thumbs moved to push the lid open, but she hesitated, looking my way for permission.

  “Go ahead,” I said softly. “I think it was yours.”

  Carefully, she rocked the lid off the box. She lifted out the picture first, wonder on her face.

  “That’s your father, isn’t it? It’s got to be, and you were driving that truck the day you told me you’d bought property here.”

  “That’s me,” she said, her fingers touching the baby in the photograph.” She slowly examined the rest of the contents, the animal figurines, the rocks. “How in the world do you have this?”

  “It was in the wall. I found it when I was a kid. You must have squirreled it away.”

  “I don’t remember doing that.”

  “I was about eight when I found it. My bed had always covered up the door to the bathroom plumbing—probably on purpose. I wanted to rearrange my room, and I found the door. I found this.”

  “I was only four when we left.”

  “Perfect place for a four-year-old to stow her most important things.” I picked up the penguin. “Sorry they’re so worn. I might have played with them a little.”

  “They were my friends.”

  The way she said it felt like they’d been her only ones. “They were good ones.” The way she pursed her lips and drew her eyebrows together, I wondered if she was holding in tears. “They should have gone with you.”

  “Yeah.”

  I hardly heard her and could imagine all she was reliving. Imagining her thoughts pushed me back to my childhood. “The swan used to pull the little girl in this tin boat,” I remembered out loud.

  “How?”

  “My mom gave me thread. She used to take pictures of the little worlds I created. I loved all the little rocks. Do you remember where you got them?”

  She frowned at the polished stones in her hand. “Someone must have given them to me.”

  “Unless you stole ’em.” The minute the words left my mouth, I worried I’d overstepped, but her face lit up.

  “What makes you think I stole them!”

  “It’s the quiet ones you have to watch out for.”

  We sat there side by side in her mother’s car, in what had been her old home. In her bedroom. In mine. We could have been two young girls sitting Indian-style on the carpeted bedroom floor telling secrets and laying the foundation for a first crush. I’d scoped her out, written her off as an airhead but only then began to discover who she was.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Madison

  Lacey let me keep the box. I picked up the phone to call Ruth and set it down without dialing. A thought went through my head to call Charlie and ask him if he knew about the contents. Would he even know about the box, would Shawneen? Or had it been my secret?

  Covered in a fine layer of sawdust after hours of crawling on my knees along baseboards I’d had to reposition after pulling out carpet, I was no closer to an answer about the box, mostly because I was still thinking about Lacey. I turned the memory of sitting next to her in the front seat of my mom’s car over and over in my mind as I had spun a smooth flat rock from the box around in my palm. I smiled again at the image of us on opposite sides of the car like two teenagers on a first date afraid to touch. Was she seeing anyone? Did local teens have a place for parking? Would she accept if I asked her on a date? I longed to hear more about what she thought about me.

  Could I really have stolen some of these things? I tried to imagine where Shawneen would have taken me. A friend’s house? A garden store? Would I have been the kid who pocketed little treasures? I remembered how Lacey’s eyes had sparkled when I’d asked her why she thought I had thieving potential. I liked being able to push a little and have her push back. That was the dance I missed from working at Steve’s guest ranch. I read people well, and took great satisfaction in pegging the guests who needed a little nudge toward adventure. Just by herself, Lacey made me feel giddy, and I realized that I had no idea where that feeling was leading me.

  Needing some fresh air, I dusted off as best I could and went out to the back porch to stretch and appreciate how warm midday was with the season changing. Spring was setting up house, unwrapping everything she’d put away last year and polishing it up for all to admire.

  I closed my eyes remembering the way Lacey’s laugh and touch had warmed me. At my feigned hurt about her suggestion of thievery, she’d rested her hand on my arm to reassure me. That simple gesture awakened me. I can’t think of any other way to say it. When I looked up at her and met her gaze, I saw her for the first time. She was still homecoming-queen beautiful, but she wasn’t a superior member of the upper class making me feel like a peasant. The way she’d listened to me made me think of her as the loyal friend she must have been in high school. She’d be the person people voted for because she was genuine. Her beauty would have stemmed from her willingness to state her own mind even if it didn’t match popular opinion.

  Here I thought Quincy was a place I’d find myself. Instead I found myself in the position to afford the vision I’d had of enjoying the sunset with someone. Too much had happened to edge me toward Lacey to ignore the possibility of sharing with someone. I was tempted to tell Lacey that the flat tire and the box she’d found were perfect examples of why I thought my path was predetermined but tucked it away not wanting to disturb what was taking hold between us.

  In private, I reexamined what it felt like to be with her, excitement shivering up my spine and through my thighs. My body wanted her hands on my skin. Not used to such distracting thoughts, I surrendered to getting no more work done and let my mind wander over what it would be like to call Lacey simply because I wanted to see her again.

  Houdini approached the porch, materializing from the forest as he sometimes did. I’d tried to keep him in one of the barn’s box stalls when I first moved to the property, but I never found him there in the morning, so I’d taken to tossing a flake of alfalfa into a feeder in the pasture. It disappeared, and most days, the horse checked in on me like he was doing now.

  “Have you really been hanging out in her shop?” I asked, rubbing his broad forehead, searching for a legitimate reason to call Lacey. Nothing was wrong with my truck, and I had no need for any more local information. “I can’t just call her and say ‘Let’s hang out.’” Houdini shook his head and neck and surveyed the property as he often did. He turned away from me and started walking.

  I followed him, hoping our destination took us to a sunny patch. In the shade of the evergreens that lined my drive, I wrapped my arms around myself for warmth and imagined a stranded motorist who would require a good mechanic. Instead of heading for the road, though, Houdini veered off our drive beyond the trees and stood by the wire fence. “What?” I asked throwing up my arms. “Lacey doesn’t fix fences, and that one looks fine to me.”

  He butted the fence with his muzzle, and I reluctantly left the firmer ground of the drive to pick my way through the slush of melting snow. The fence, I realized up close, had a simple gate held by loops of wire at the top and bottom.

  “So? I don’t want to go tromping around a soggy field.” He refused to budge, so I opened the gate for him, happy to watch him gallop out across the open space. The snow had melted to reveal patches of brown vegetation. The brown wasn’t random though. Watching Houdini’s hooves on the ground, I recognized clear rows. Had some
one plowed the field?

  Houdini trotted back to me. “Someone planted this field?” I asked, stroking his face. He rewarded me by stretching his neck toward the sky. He gave the ridiculous horse smile, his upper lip tweaked up from his long yellowed teeth.

  “But I don’t think I have a tractor.” I headed back up to the barn thinking that I must’ve missed something on the walk-through with the realtor. Halfway up the drive, I stopped dead in my tracks. “A tractor!” A huge smile burst across my face as I pulled my cell from my pocket and found Lacey’s number.

  “Madison,” she said. I swore I heard a smile behind her greeting. “Everything okay?” she added when I couldn’t immediately find my words.

  “Yes. Sorry. I called to see what you know about tractors.”

  “Tractors?”

  “Well, tractor. Singular. I’m going to need one to plow a field I have here, but I really have no idea what I need or where to start looking.”

  “How big of a field are you talking?”

  “Not big. It’s a small pasture down by the road. Although I’m sure it would be handy to have a tractor to clean up the corrals. It’s got to be old though.”

  “Authentic,” she said, following my train of thought with ease.

  “Exactly.” I couldn’t help but smile.

  “There might be some listed in the recycler. They might need a bit of love to get them back in business, but I might know a good technician who could help with that.”

  “You might?” I asked. Was she flirting with me?

  “It would help if I saw how big of an area we’re talking about.”

  I scanned my property from Lacey’s perspective. It wasn’t near ready for opening, and I worried about whether it would look good to her. Houdini still stood by the pasture. As if he’d been listening in on the conversation and was again frustrated with my slowness, he stamped his foot. Here was the opportunity to spend time with Lacey that I’d wanted. “Let me give you the address.”