by Laura Wright
As they whizzed down the freeway toward San Francisco that afternoon and toward a troubling meeting with someone Grant hadn’t seen in decades, Norah Jones milked out a lovely torch song on the radio, while above them, the pale sun was getting lost amongst large, increasingly gray clouds.
Out of the corner of her eye, Anna watched Grant. He hadn’t slept much last night, and he looked bone-weary. His fingers gripped the steering wheel, turning his knuckles white. He sat pole straight, very stiff, and the lines that etched his handsome face wreaked of anxiety and dire contemplation. She wished she could do something to comfort him, so she reached for his hand, and laced her fingers through his. Grant didn’t look at her, but his back did relax against the seat and he exhaled a breath he seemed to have been holding on to for some time.
She couldn’t imagine what he was feeling right now. The months that he’d been in Napa had surely been the strangest and most testing of his life. Finding out that his father was alive, being rejected by him once again, taking in the shock and the reality of Spencer’s murder—then being arrested for that murder.
And now he was making his way to a jailhouse, to a cell that had once held him and now housed his sister.
As Norah belted out her final thread, Anna squeezed Grant’s hand.
The walls closed in around him the moment he walked into the dimly lit jail.
Anna was beside him, her smile strong and encouraging. But for Grant, it wouldn’t have mattered if he’d had his mother, grandparents and children there as well to lend their support. He felt completely alone, and very immature. His gut churned with memories of his sister, of his long, black nights in an eight-by-eight-foot cell, and the ongoing fear that he would never be released.
Surrounded by suspicious-looking cops and the smell of that sickly strong ammonia cleaning solution he remembered, Grant felt incarcerated all over again, and he desperately wanted to turn around and get the hell out of there.
But he couldn’t.
Today was the last day he was ever setting foot inside this place, but while he was here he had something to finish, something and someone to finally let go of.
Wearing the same mask of impassivity he’d sported that morning, Detective Ryland met them at the front desk. But Grant could tell the man had his mind completely wrapped around this case, and the importance of its resolution. His suit looked a little disheveled and there was a rather massive coffee stain on his tie.
“You can wait in here, Miss Sheridan,” Ryland said, gesturing for Anna to have a seat in the waiting room.
Anna ignored him and fixed her gaze on Grant. “Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you?”
Before Grant could answer, Ryland muttered, “I don’t recommend it.”
“Why’s that?” Grant asked him tightly.
“Your sister’s pretty agitated as it is,” Ryland informed him. “I don’t know if you’ll get the answers you’re looking for with company.”
“Answers I’m looking for?”
Ryland shrugged. “Personal questions, personal answers.”
“Right.”
“Look, we only allow one visitor in at a time anyway, but—” the detective fiddled with the paperwork in his hand “—I’d be willing to overlook the rules if you want Miss Sheridan with you.”
Only a whisper of shock moved through Grant, but he stared hard and long at the man anyway. Ryland had lost his hard edge—at least where Grant was concerned. Clearly he now believed that Grant had nothing to do with Spencer’s murder and was, in his own under-the-radar way, offering him a favor as another turn at an apology.
Grant looked at Anna and reached for her head, which he kissed gently. “Thank you.”
“For what?” she asked.
“Being here.”
“Thanks for asking me to come with you.”
He nodded, a pushed smile tugging at his mouth. “I’ve got to do this alone, okay?”
Tears pricked her eyes and she swiped them away. “Of course.”
“I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
She gave him a little wave and a smile. “Take as long as you need.” Then went to sit in the waiting area.
Grant followed Ryland through doors and down hallways and through several checkpoints. His chest was as tight as the rest of him as he went. He could shrug off the hushed threats by the inmates he passed—their stupid comments had never gotten to him. But the cold, unflinching slam of a cell door had his muscles contracting.
When Ryland finally stopped at the beginning of a short hallway, he greeted a female guard standing sentry there, then turned to Grant and pointed to a single chair facing the bars of a cell down at the other end. It was like a scene out of Silence of the Lambs, but Grant refused to visit that sadistic place in his mind and memory. He turned to Ryland. “I thought I’d be talking to her on a phone in the visiting room.”
The detective shrugged again. “I thought you’d want some privacy. There are no other inmates on this block, so you can say what needs to be said, ask what you have to ask, without interruption.”
Grant eyed the man. “I appreciate that, Detective.”
“Don’t mention it.” He pointed to the chair. “Have a seat. And when you’re done, Officer Gerard here will take you back.”
“Thanks, Detective.”
“Good luck, Grant.”
The ten or so feet to the brown folding chair seemed like a mile. Grant’s feet felt weighted and unsteady, like walking through one of his thick muddy fields after a bad rainstorm. But just like home, he pushed onward until his fingers touched the metal back of the chair.
The first thing he noticed was Grace. On one side of the small cell, a woman in a navy-blue jumpsuit sat on the two-by-four mattress they called a bed, her back against one worn yellow wall. Her eyes were closed and she had a pair of headphones to her ears, listening to music Grant couldn’t hear.
His gaze moved over her. Her appearance startled him. She’d grown very thin and she looked as though she hadn’t seen daylight in years, though the brassy blond streaks threading her brown hair tried desperately and without much success to suggest differently.
For just a moment, Grant remembered the little girl, the young Grace back in Nebraska. She’d been tan and healthy, working outdoors and eating good food. Now, she was barely recognizable to him.
Grant sat down and waited for her to open her eyes and take notice of him. She knew he was coming, he was sure of that, so it didn’t take long. After about a minute, she looked up, frowned, then peeled off her headphones and sighed heavily.
“Well,” she said with all the sweetness of a snake. “What do we have here?”
Her voice was scratchy and worn and Grant couldn’t help but wonder if she’d ventured into more than just smoking cigarettes.
His soul dipped low. “Hello, Grace.”
“Hello, brother dear.”
“How are they treating you?”
“Do you really care?”
His jaw tightened. Yes, dammit. Foolishly he did care.
She pushed herself off the bed and wandered over to him, grasped a thick metal bar with one hand and eyed him speculatively. “What do you want?”
The question stopped him. He had too many thoughts racing around in his brain, too many questions. It took him a moment to sort through them and pick just one. “I want to know how long you’ve known about Spencer?”
She touched a finger to her thin lips. “Hmm. I’ve known that he abandoned us to go looking for a woman with money for about eleven years now.”
“No.” Through gritted teeth, Grant clarified, “How long have you known he was alive?”
Her broad smile held no warmth. “A little over ten years.”
“And how did you find out?”
She sighed. “The television. He was on the news for something or other, some business deal—in the background mostly—but I knew it was him.” Her eyes narrowed. “I remembered that face from the picture Mother had on her bedside
table.”
Grant knew the photograph well. That was exactly how he’d recognized Spencer. “I saw him on TV, too.”
“And you came rushing out here, right?”
“I had to face him, to get him to answer my questions.”
“And did he?” she asked as if she already knew the answer.
Grant took a deep breath, raised his brow. “God, we really are twins.”
“What?”
“We have the same beginnings, but our ends couldn’t be more different.”
“Maybe so, but you missed out on a lot of fun doing it your way, brother.”
“Did I? I’m not the one behind bars, Grace.”
A slow and particularly evil grin split her features. “But you were, weren’t you?”
A chill, inky-black silence surrounded Grant, then he uttered, “You knew.”
She shot him a look of mock sympathy. “Shame they pinned Spencer’s murder on you.”
“Oh my God, Grace. You knew I’d been arrested? And you did—”
“Nothing.” She shrugged casually. “That’s right.”
For the first time that day—maybe for the first time in his life—Grant saw Grace with fresh, indifferent eyes. She was no longer a prodigal child or a little lost lamb. She was no longer the girl he thought he could’ve saved. She was cold and hard and completely lost to the world. He stared at her, disgusted. “You sound like you have no remorse for what you did.”
“First of all, it was Wayne who pulled the trigger. But you’re right, I’m glad he’s dead.” She leaned in, her face almost peeking through the bars. “And I’m real glad I was there to see his fear, to see him squirm under the barrel of that gun.”
“No, Grace.”
“You’re so self-righteous, Grant!” she shouted. “I know you and that whole bunch of Ashton bastards wanted him dead.”
Grant sat forward in his chair. “No, we wanted him to pay for what he did.”
She slammed her hand against the metal. “He did pay! The ultimate price.”
Grant stood up, muttered gravely. “What you did was wrong.”
A quick pitying laugh tumbled from her mouth and she regarded him with utter contempt. “When did you turn so soft? Oh, that’s right—you always were. That’s part of the reason I wanted you to take care of my kids. I knew you’d be an excellent mother to them.”
Her words left no imprint on him. Absolutely none. Of all the things he’d done in his life, he was most proud to have been both father and mother to Abby and Ford.
“Make no mistake,” he began, his voice dark as the grave. “Ford and Abigail were never your children. They were, and continue to be, mine.”
A sweep of rage crossed over her cold eyes. “Anything else you want, brother? Did you come to try to bail me out again? You were always so good at that.”
“Yes, I was good at that,” Grant said tightly. “But this time I haven’t come to help you save yourself. I’ve come to say goodbye, Grace. I’ve come to say I’m sorry for what you’ve done and I hope you can find peace.”
And without another word, Grant turned and walked away, down the hall and toward the guard.
He heard Grace banging on the bars of her cell as she shouted after him, “I don’t want your apologies, you little prick. And I don’t want your hopes for peace.” The guard nodded at Grant and led him through a doorway. “You can take all that and shove it—”
Grant didn’t hear the rest. He was already out the door and walking down a far brighter hallway, if that was possible. His chest was still tight, but not with anger or grief. He had said goodbye to the past and it made him feel vulnerable, but very much alive.
When he reached the waiting room, he looked for Anna. And when he found her, he sighed. She was sitting on a chair reading a magazine upside down, her eyes glazed as if she were deep in thought. She looked beautiful, still the angel, in her white sweater, and he’d never been so thankful to see anyone in his life.
“Hey,” she said, catching sight of him and jumping to her feet and rushing to his side.
He opened his arms to her and she sunk into his chest. She felt so good against him, so female and comforting. He’d never known what it felt like to be taken care of. With Anna, he wanted to.
“It’s done,” he whispered against her hair.
“You okay?” she asked.
“No. But I will be.”
She lifted her face to him and in the middle of the jailhouse’s dingy waiting room, she kissed him.
“Did I thank you for coming with me?” he uttered against her mouth.
“Yeah. Did I thank you for asking me to come?”
“Yeah.”
“Good, then let’s get out of here.”
He grinned, took her hand and led her out of the waiting room, out the door of the jail and into the fresh November air.
The drive was quiet, but Grant held Anna’s hand the whole way. Even when he shifted gears, he used her palm to do it. He just didn’t want to be separated from her for a minute. And she didn’t deny him that. She also gave him time to think and to grieve, commenting only on the weather and the drive, staying away from questions regarding his visit with his sister.
Damn, she got him. This beautiful woman. She really understood him. She knew he’d talk to her eventually. Knew he just needed time to process what had been said, maybe even call Ford and Abby first, and she was okay with that.
Ford and Abigail.
His mind switched gears.
Yes, he needed to call Ford and Abigail to tell them what had happened, try to explain their mother’s actions and her sad future. He hoped they would turn to each other and their spouses for comfort until he returned.
And he had to return. For many reasons—his kids, the farm and the fact that he could no longer stay at the Vines. Caroline and Lucas and Grant’s half brothers and sisters wouldn’t want him to stay when they found out that it was his twin sister who had caused their lives to be turned upside down. He’d seen Caroline’s shocked expression when Ryland had dumped the facts of the murder on the table for all to see.
His gut clenched with melancholy. Damn, he would miss them. The whole lot of them. He’d come to regard them as family in the past few months, and it just killed him to think that they’d all end up distant and nonchalant relations.
“Hungry?” Anna asked him when they pulled into the driveway of the Vines.
“Sure.”
“We could get a pizza or something.”
He shoved the car into neutral and turned off the ignition. “Staying with me tonight?”
“Oh, c’mon, Ashton,” Anna said lightly, opening the car door and stepping out. “You need me tonight, right?”
“I do.” He wasn’t afraid to admit it.
“Well, then, I’m yours,” she said matter-of-factly as they walked up the pathway.
Hand in hand they went, past the house and up the stone path until they got within ten feet of the Carriage House. Once there, Grant stopped and listened.
“What?” Anna asked him, her brows knitted together.
“Did I leave the TV on? I hear voices.”
“I don’t know. I don’t think we had the TV on. Let’s go and see.”
It wasn’t the TV or the radio that was making all the noise inside the carriage house. It was the Ashton clan. And when Grant opened the door, he saw many hopeful, eager and welcoming people smiling up at him from the couch, the floor and all of the chairs.
Eleven
“We didn’t want to intrude,” Mercedes said, her green eyes bright and sincere as she looked at Grant and Anna.
Beside her on the sofa, Jared chuckled. “Well, most of us didn’t, anyway.”
Mercedes socked him in the arm playfully.
“The thing is,” Eli began from his spot next to the fireplace, “we want you to know that we support you and that…well, we…”
“Oh, for goodness sake.” Lara rolled her eyes, patted her husband’s leg. “He’s trying to
say that we all care about you, Grant.”
“That’s right.” Cole sat in the large armchair, a grinning Dixie on his lap. “It’s been one helluva year for all of us, but we can finally put the past behind us and move forward.”
Jillian, minus Seth—who was no doubt taking care of Jack and Rachel—was the closest to Grant. She reached out and gave him a hug. “Basically, we’re here for you whether you want us or not.”
“I appreciate that,” Grant muttered as several of his siblings laughed softly at the embarrassed scowl on his face.
Over by the door, Anna watched Grant’s expression. Clearly he was stunned, self-conscious and maybe even a little bit uneasy. His arms were crossed over his chest and his face looked a little pinched. To Anna, it was ridiculous, but Grant had taken this whole situation on himself, blamed himself for his sister’s actions when he’d done nothing but love children that were thrust on him, protect a friend’s reputation and her son’s life. He was a great man, not a pariah. And yet, he’d actually expected his brothers and sisters to shun him.
Anna smiled at all of them. They had pulled together as a family and were here offering Grant only their care and support.
Recognizing his discomfort, Caroline came over, slipped her arm through his and motioned to the kitchen table. “You must be starving. You, too, Anna, dear. We brought some food and of course some wine.”
“Don’t worry,” Cole said with a grin, helping Dixie to her feet. “Jillian didn’t do any of the cooking.”
“Very funny.” Jillian tossed her brother a wicked glare, but he just laughed.
Anna watched as Grant’s family crowded around him, talking and laughing and creating a mood of solidarity that she felt Grant needed above all else.
Caroline poured Anna a glass of wine, then set to fixing Grant a plate of food. “Now don’t you worry, we’re not going to stay long.”
“Just long enough to give you indigestion,” Mercedes said, eyeing the enormous plate her mother was making for Grant.
Caroline frowned at her daughter, then turned and handed Grant the plate. “We just felt you could use your family right now.”
Grant cleared his throat, but his voice hummed with emotion as he muttered a quiet, “Thank you, Caroline.”