by Melissa Tagg
Raegan’s feet flattened on the porch floor. The swing stilled. “You implied. I inferred.”
“We just want you to be happy.” Logan again. “We couldn’t care less if you have a degree. I only mentioned college because I thought you might want to take some art classes.”
Kate jumped in again. “And there’s nothing wrong with living at Dad’s. But you’ve never had a chance to experience life outside Maple Valley. We want to make sure there’s nothing holding you back. If it’s Dad’s health you’re worried about—”
Raegan jerked to her feet, yanked off both gardening gloves. “Has it ever occurred to you guys that maybe I like living in Maple Valley? That big cities and big careers have never held the allure for me they do you all?” She chucked one glove at Kate, then the other at Beckett. “If I had a third it’d be hitting the computer screen right now, Logan.”
His chuckle only added to her exasperation. This wasn’t funny. It was an ambush.
Couldn’t they see she was doing just fine? She enjoyed her life. She cycled through jobs often enough to give her variety, and she had plenty of friends and outside activities to keep her busy.
And then there was the apartment. The one where she stored her secrets. A treasured hideaway right in the midst of a town where most people knew most things about most everyone. Her own private joy.
Maybe she should just tell Logan and Kate and Beck about the apartment, the makeshift art studio she’d set up there. But then she’d have to tell them whose apartment it really was and that’d set off a whole new round of uncomfortable indictments. But it might be worth it if it convinced them she wasn’t just wasting away here at Dad’s, that she was . . . happy.
She was, wasn’t she?
I am. Of course I am.
As long as she didn’t think too long about Mom. Or too hard about Bear.
She shoved past her siblings before either image—the mother she’d lost or the man she missed—could take root in her mind. She marched down the porch steps, squinting in the bright sun. She heard Kate say her name, then Beckett’s resolute, “Let me.”
By the time Beckett caught up to her, she’d already rounded the house to where she’d balanced her ladder earlier. Made sense that he’d be the one to follow her. They were the closest in age and, most of the time, in temperament. They understood each other.
At least, she’d thought they did. But someone who understood her wouldn’t bombard her like this. She stared at her shadow against the rustic wood exterior of Dad’s house. Did Dad agree with his three oldest offspring? Did he wonder when or if she’d ever move out?
She’d ask him if he wasn’t on his way to Chicago right now to see Logan and his family. He’d left right after church. It was his first solo trip since the brain tumor last year, the subsequent surgery and long recovery over the winter.
“Can you at least appreciate that I brought Twizzlers?”
Raegan whirled. “A bribe’s not going to work, Beck.”
She expected a smirk but received instead a consoling chuckle. “Not a bribe. A peace offering.”
Hard to believe, sometimes, that this settled, bearded man in the plaid flannel shirt and grass-stained jeans had still been a corporate lawyer back in Boston this time last year. He looked thoroughly the part of the orchard co-manager he’d become.
“Hasn’t Kit tired of all that hair on your face yet?” She grabbed the bag of licorice from his hands and tore it open.
“She likes the beard. She says I look like a lumberjack.”
“She’s blinded by love.”
Beckett practically beamed. One of these days he’d up and marry Kit Danby, his childhood best friend turned girlfriend, and then it’d be just Raegan and Dad once again, living in this house with too many empty bedrooms.
Which was why she hadn’t been able to use Beckett as an excuse when her siblings brought up her own living situation. He might be sleeping in his old bedroom just like her, but they all knew he wouldn’t be there long. He already spent more time at Kit’s orchard than he did here.
In other words, Beckett had direction. Plans. A trajectory for his life.
All the things it seemed a person was supposed to have if they wished to avoid interventions from well-meaning but pushy siblings. She’d known she was slower than the others at figuring out what came next after young adulthood. She just hadn’t realized there was a deadline.
“You know what my first thought was when Kate and I pulled into Dad’s driveway and saw you up on this ladder?”
She chomped on a Twizzler. “That this was a horrible idea and you should let your little sister live her life the way she wants?”
Beckett’s lone dimple appeared. “No. I thought, ‘Man, she looks like Mom.’”
Raegan swallowed, tension easing just the slightest, just enough to let in a wistful longing. “I was wearing her hat.”
“Wasn’t just that. You look like her. Always have. The blue eyes, the blond hair, especially now that it’s grown out a little.”
She was the only one of her siblings to have inherited their mom’s lighter coloring. The rest all had Dad’s chestnut eyes and dark hair. She’d felt so much more like she fit in back when Mom was alive.
Ten years, and sometimes it still hurt as if it were yesterday.
“Of course, Mom never had pink streaks in hers,” Beckett added.
The pale pink strands threading through Raegan’s hair were a far cry from the bold blues and purples she’d experimented with in the past. But she liked the softer look. It felt somehow fitting for the relatively subdued feel of this year so far. She welcomed the change, the calm. Last year had been hard—Dad’s illness, Bear’s leaving.
Maybe, too, watching her siblings settle so fully into lives that suited them so wholly. Both Kate and Beckett had moved back to Maple Valley, entering new stages in their careers—or in Beckett’s case, finding a new career altogether. Logan had discovered a fresh joy after the pain of his first wife’s death. And in the past couple of years, all three had fallen deeply in love. She was happy for each of them, she really was. But it was hard not to feel . . . behind. No matter how much she said otherwise.
“We didn’t mean to offend you, you know. If you tell me you’re perfectly content with life as it is, living here and working as a librarian and lifeguard and dogwalker—”
She rolled her eyes and shoved the licorice bag at Beckett. “I haven’t walked a dog in two years.”
“Well, I forget what gigs you’ve got going at the moment.”
She stepped onto the ladder’s first rung. “Library, community center pool, and I’m helping Dad at the depot.” Although after going stir-crazy all winter, Dad was taking on more and more hours at their town’s little tourist stop—the Maple Valley Scenic Railway and Museum. He probably wouldn’t need her help much longer.
“Okay. You tell me that your life looks the way you want it to look, and I won’t say another word.”
She twisted to face Beckett. “You’ll call off the others, too?”
“Yes. As long as you can honestly say you’re happy just as you are, that you aren’t hiding any hurt or regret, that I’m just imagining the fact that you might still be pining—”
“Don’t even say it, Beck. You’re so far off base.”
“Am I?”
“I’ll prove it.” She hopped off the ladder, her purple canvas shoes thudding in the grass. She reached into the pocket of her overalls and produced the paper she’d been meaning to give back to Beckett for weeks. Months, really. She kept carrying it around with her, waiting for the perfect time.
A swift glance was enough to make Beckett’s jaw tighten. “The airline voucher. Rae, I gave you this for a reason.”
Oh, she knew why he’d given it to her. He’d presented it to her the day of Kate’s wedding, way back in December. He’d expected her to go running down to South America, chase stupid Bear McKinley across the equator.
Bear McKinley with the handsome face and
the mesmerizing eyes and the noble need to go play missionary thousands of miles away. He might’ve spent five years living in Maple Valley, but he’d always been clear about his eventual move—a move that had finally happened last summer. And Beckett had been around to witness the aftermath. He called it pining. She called it adjusting.
“I just don’t want my little sister hurting over a situation that could change—change for the better—if she was only brave enough to do something about it.”
That was what he’d said when he’d given her the airline voucher. They were the words of a brother who cared.
But one who simply had no idea what he’d asked of her. Travel down to Brazil? It was impossible . . . for reasons that had nothing to do with Bear.
“It was never going to work, Beck. We were only ever friends.” Though she was pretty sure she’d worn her hopeless crush on her sleeve since the day she’d met him. Embarrassing, really, but this was Bear they were talking about. Who could blame her?
Beckett let out a sigh and reached for the voucher. “I guess, considering how long it’s been, I kinda knew you weren’t going to use it. Suppose I can take Kit somewhere fun before it expires. I just thought—”
“I know what you thought and it was incredibly sweet of you. I only held on to it this long because I hated the thought of disappointing you.” She met her brother’s eyes. “But I’m fine, Beckett.”
His quick blink couldn’t hide his doubt. “You want some help cleaning the rain gutters?”
She shook her head and moved to the ladder once more. “No, but thanks anyway.”
“I’m leaving the Twizzlers.” By the look on Beckett’s face, there was more he wanted to say, but he had the grace to leave it at that. Seconds later, he angled out of sight, and within minutes, she heard his car pulling out of the driveway.
Well, that was that. She could finally get to work. The ladder jostled under her moving hands and feet, each step like a climb to freedom. Freedom from the tension, the strain of her siblings’ visit.
From the lie she might’ve just told Beckett.
I’m fine.
No, not a lie. She was fine. She enjoyed her jobs. She was over Bear. She was delving back into her art.
And it’d been exactly one year, seven months, and thirteen days since her last attack.
At the top of the ladder now, Raegan pulled a crumpled garbage bag from her pocket, shook it free, and then reached into the hunter-green gutters. She wrinkled her nose at the damp mess—soggy leaves, twigs. She should’ve held on to her gardening gloves.
She went to work clearing the gutter as far as she could reach, only pausing when her fingers closed around something hard. A baseball? She pulled it free from a tangle of dead foliage. One of Beckett’s?
She readied to toss the ball over her shoulder at the same instant that an unexpected voice came from behind her. “Ah, Raegan Walker.” She jerked in surprise, lobbing the ball.
And then nearly fell off the ladder at the sound of a thump, followed immediately by a man’s moan. Oh no . . .
She rotated to see the bent-over form—bushy white hair, sweater vest, both hands now covering one eye.
Oh brother. She’d just clocked the mayor.
She scurried down her ladder. “Mayor Milt, I am so, so, soooo sorry.”
He peered at her from his one good eye. “And here I came to offer you the opportunity of a lifetime.” He spoke in his usual dramatic fashion. “But you’d better get me an ice pack first.”
This couldn’t be where Bear’s brother and sister-in-law and their kids lived—this dilapidated apartment complex with the dingy brick and the rows of rusted metal doors.
Then again, why was he surprised? He and Rio had spent the bulk of their childhood only a few blocks away, living in a pit just like this right down to the thrumming bass coming from one of the units, the yelling from another.
“You just had to come back, didn’t you?” His whispered words were carried away on a sticky breeze. That was Atlanta for you—hot and suffocating, even on the brink of twilight.
Who was he speaking to, anyway? The younger brother who’d apparently decided to return to the squalor of his youth?
Or himself?
Well, he wouldn’t be here long. John had insisted it was time for Bear to face his past. But what did that even mean? No, what was done was done. It was time to think about his future—which was what he’d been doing for the past five days as he packed his belongings, booked his plane ticket back to the States, and said his goodbyes.
He’d mistakenly assumed the mission board would simply hand him the community center position. But if that wasn’t to be, fine. He’d pour his efforts into proving himself the best man for the job. Though his paramedic certification had lapsed years ago, he’d re-train as an EMT—that should be useful in running the free clinic. He’d get letters of recommendation from former employers. He’d study Portuguese.
And if he wasn’t invited back to Brazil, he’d find some other nonprofit or church organization or mission group that wanted him. He could dig wells in Africa or build homes or roads in a developing country somewhere.
Because he’d made a promise. And he intended to keep it.
He just had to do this one thing first.
Bear closed the door of the rental car he’d picked up at the airport. He hadn’t slept a wink on the nine-hour flight from Brazil. Instead, he’d spent the entire, wearying ride ping-ponging between pained replays of his last hours in Sao Paulo—the tears in Elizabeth’s eyes, the regret in John’s—and rereads of Rosa’s letter.
Bear,
I’m writing you one more time, but only because I’m desperate. Not because I think you actually care. If you did, you’d have come by now. You’d at least have given me a phone number to call.
It’s been three weeks since I’ve seen Rio. This isn’t normal, even for him. There have been threats. You know the world we live in.
I can’t hide this from the kids much longer. I don’t know what to do.
Come home. Please.
Rosa
He’d read it so many times it’d engrained itself in his brain. Come home. Didn’t Rosa realize this city and all it represented to him had stopped being home long ago?
He rubbed his palms on his unshaven cheeks, trying to massage away his exhaustion as he walked the uneven sidewalk toward Building B. Identical buildings rose up on either side against the backdrop of a burning dusk. So familiar, this hemmed-in, caged feeling.
Everything in him had wanted to ignore Rosa’s plea. Send money like every time before and let that be enough. He’d walked away from this world—twice. He had exactly zero desire to return.
And he wouldn’t have except for one thing. Well, two. The nephew he’d seen but once and the niece he’d never met.
Rio and Rosa might’ve chosen to stay in this place—with its unbending family loyalties and crime-as-a-lifestyle ways—but those two kids hadn’t. And thirty-two wasn’t so old an age he didn’t remember what it was like, wishing he’d been born to any other family on any other street.
He’d stay a few days, a week at most. Make sure the refrigerator was full, the kids healthy. He’d play uncle for a bit—maybe take them out for ice cream or catch a ballgame. Maybe that would be enough to convince John he wasn’t hiding.
As for Rio’s alleged disappearance, more than likely his brother was sitting in a jail cell or off on a drug run. He couldn’t help Rosa there. He’d tried that already. It’d cost him—cost Annie—too much.
No. There’d be no playing hero this time. He’d check in on Rosa and the kids, do what little he could to improve their situation. But then he had to find some way to press a restart button on his own life.
Bear climbed clanging metal stairs to reach the second floor, then trekked the walkway until he reached Unit 232. He could feel the beads of sweat on his forehead, his too-long, black hair damp at the tips where it brushed over his ears. He knocked, waited. The smell of rotten f
ruit wafted in from somewhere, probably that overflowing dumpster he’d seen near the bottom of the stairs. Another knock.
The door inched open, its sliding chain lock in place.
“Rosa?”
The shadowed eyes visible in the darkened sliver of space blinked. “Bear?”
“Yeah. You gonna let me in?”
The door swung open, and the next thing he knew, the slight woman was tugging him through the doorway. He tumbled over the threshold and she slammed the door behind him, hastily sliding the chain lock back into place. She whirled. “I thought you’d never come.”
“Nice to see you, too. Why’s it so dark in here?” Only the reddish light of sunset squeezed through the angled blinds, painting garish stripes on the opposite wall. He sidestepped a doll missing an arm to turn on a lamp on an end table. Nothing. No electricity?
He expelled a sigh rife with all the angst and frustration of the past week.
Past week? Try the past decade.
“How long, Rosa?”
“Electricity was turned off yesterday. We’ve still got water.”
His brother’s wife was even shorter than he remembered, barely coming up to his chest. But she seemed to be pulling herself up to her full height now, such as it was, shoulders stiffening under a dress that hung on her gaunt frame. The smell of stale fried food permeated the living room, if it could be called that, with its spare furnishings that even in the dark he could tell were on their last legs.
“I’m doing the best I can. No thanks to you.”
“Rosa—”
“Over and over I wrote to you. I begged you.” Her faint Puerto Rican accent was so similar to his mother’s. Did Mom ever think of him now? Wonder what had become of him? For all he knew, she and his stepdad still lived only a mile or two from here.
“I’m here now. If Rio still isn’t home—”
“He isn’t. He’s in jail. I found out after I’d already sent you my last letter. Good old Atlanta P.D.”
Well, at least it was the safer of the two options Bear had pictured. “All right, then we just need a plan to get your electricity back on and—”
Rosa thumped one finger into his chest. “I have a plan. You will make it easier for me to follow through. Come.” She started down a dim hallway.