by Rula Sinara
The fact was, their parents might have approved of Faye applying herself, but nothing she did had ever been good enough. Any compliment they’d issued had come paired with a criticism and advice on how to do even better—from school projects when she was younger, to steps she’d taken when opening her business. Clara had nothing to be jealous of. She didn’t need to hide what she was going through from Faye of all people. If you couldn’t trust your own twin when your life was falling apart, who could you trust?
Except that you haven’t always been there for her. Have you? No. She hadn’t.
Clara’s message this morning played through her mind again. The tremor in her voice confirmed what Faye had known deep down. Clara had reached a breaking point, alright. But it had nothing to do with depression and everything to do with Jim. Had he threatened her? Hurt her again? God, Faye wished she hadn’t ignored her instincts when Clara didn’t return her calls. Maybe she hadn’t always been there for her sister, but she was here now. This time, even if Clara reappeared and said that Jim was the kindest man on the face of the earth, she wouldn’t believe her. She wouldn’t bend or break this time. If Clara needed strength to stand up for herself, Faye would be that strength. She just hoped she wasn’t too late.
She hurried up the stone steps to the front door and rang the bell. If her brother-in-law had done anything to hurt her sister or confine her to some facility against her wishes, there would be hell to pay.
She looked down the street for any sign of Jim’s BMW. She needed to hurry. She hit the buzzer a second time, remembering belatedly that Clara always had to remind her to knock softly in case Mia was napping. Did kids even nap at this hour? The door swung open.
“Oh, hey, Clara. Come on in. Did you have a nice lunch date with Jim?” A short-haired brunette in leggings and a red tunic sweater stepped aside and motioned her in. Faye smiled on the outside and tried to channel her inner Clara. Leave it to Jim not to want neighbors and friends to know where his wife really was—assuming he had checked her into a mental health facility. He’d worry about gossip and his professional reputation.
“It was great, thanks.” From what she knew of him, she doubted any date with Jim could be good. The man was full of himself. Judgy without realizing it. Or maybe he did, but felt entitled to be that way. He was liberal with his demands, yet conservative with his compliments when it came to her sister. So much like their parents it was disconcerting. Only their parents didn’t believe in corporal punishment.
Clara always defended Jim and their relationship, but Faye noticed the little things. Clara seemed less confident in herself after marrying him, and she’d changed her mind about getting her master’s in education. Witnessing their marriage only further convinced Faye that if she ever lived with another being it would be a dog. She rubbed her gloved palms together, thankful she’d had the foresight to cover the fact that she wasn’t wearing Clara’s wedding ring. “Something came up and he needed to head back to the office and I have an errand to run closer to home, so I thought I’d pick Mia up first.”
She tucked her long brown hair behind her ears the way her sister always did. Faye usually wore hers twisted up in an alligator clip to keep it out of the way during work. She had deliberately removed the clip before driving over.
“He still working late all the time?” The woman peered out the door before closing it. “New car?”
“No, no. It’s a loaner while mine gets an oil change. I hope Mia wasn’t any trouble. Thanks so much for having her.”
Jim did tend to work late, but she deliberately skirted the question. According to Clara, he was planning to pick Mia up today, which meant he was clearly adjusting his work schedule around Clara being out of the picture. No doubt he was lining up a nanny or planning to sign his kid up for daycare. He’d have to, given his work schedule. Faye seriously hoped he’d be running late right now.
“No problem at all. She and Zak had fun playing. She was pretty quiet, as usual. Maybe more so today. I hope she’s not coming down with something. Her thumb was in her mouth almost the whole time too. You’d better watch out or she’ll end up needing braces. I made sure to break Zak’s thumb sucking as soon as I could.” She interrupted herself and pointed toward the kitchen. “Are you sure you don’t have time for a cup of coffee or tea? They’re just now waking up from a nap.”
Was that code for you woke them up with the doorbell?
“So sorry, but I really can’t.” Did she owe the woman money? Faye wasn’t sure if her sister traded playdates with friends in lieu of paid babysitting. She had referred to a playdate in her message. Faye wasn’t even sure why her sister was friends with such a competitive parent. Talk about relationship patterns. “If Mia’s out of sorts, I should get her home in case she’s catching a cold or something.” Maybe that excuse would be enough to delay further invitations or babysitting fees, if she owed any. Not that Mia’s being quiet was an unusual thing. Now in retrospect, Faye wondered if it had anything to do with the situation at home. She tended to be either extremely quiet or inconsolable.
She followed as the woman—Faye really wished Clara had mentioned a name—motioned her down a short hall that led from the cozy foyer to a kitchen and adjoining family room at the back of the house. An extra-large, build-in-place playpen filled with a wonderland of toddler toys and a couple of small, padded mats for napping took up a good part of the room. Mia sat in the playpen, her blond hair sticking up on the right side of her rosy face, still looking groggy and sucking her thumb. The other child was trying to escape the penned space. If he was any older than Mia’s sixteen months, it didn’t look like it was by much, based on his size, but he was definitely more daring than her niece. Then again, the Donovan girls had been taught to follow rules for so long it had probably worked its way into their genes.
“Hey, sweetie,” Faye said, as she scooped up Mia, nuzzled her cheek and gave her a kiss. “Time to go.”
Mia pouted but didn’t say anything. She just examined her aunt with the scrutinizing eyes of a toddler. Clara had mentioned once that she worried Mia wasn’t saying as many words as some of her playmates, but right now, Faye was glad the kid didn’t know how to say her aunt’s name yet.
“Fa,” Mia said, as if on cue. Faye closed her eyes briefly. Had her scent given her away? Whom was she kidding? Babies knew who their mothers were, even if they were identical twins. Her chest cramped and her heart beat even faster. Mia had just tried saying her name for the first time—at the worst time. Panic and pride swirled inside her. Her mouth felt dry and she swallowed hard. Baby, I hope your mommy is safe. I’ll keep you safe until I can find her. She gave Mia another peck on the cheek.
“No, we’re not going far. Just to the store and home. Come on, honey.” She hoped the word cover-up would go over smoothly.
“That’s really good! You didn’t tell me she’d picked up a new word. Zak is up to five words already.”
Was she keeping count? Did competition between kids begin before the age of two now? Why not get a head start on college choices?
“Oh, her jacket?” Faye asked, looking around the room. Clara usually brought the floral print bag full of baby stuff whenever she visited or they went shopping together. It had been one of the gifts Faye had given Clara at her baby shower. She didn’t see it.
“Right here.” Zak’s mom reached into a coat closet and brought out the bag.
She took the proffered coat and set Mia down just long enough to get her bundled. The woman ducked her head in a small closet between the kitchen and living room.
“I have her diaper bag here too. They literally just woke up so I didn’t have a chance to check her diaper. If you want to—”
“I’ll have to change it at home. We’ll be there soon enough.” She knew she was probably sounding like a terrible mother, but if they didn’t get out of there fast, Mia might start crying for her mama or, worse yet, her father would show
up. She lifted her back into her arms and took the bag. The wall clock over the kitchen fridge read one forty-five. Please be late, Jim. Please. “Thanks so much. I’ll give you a call to set up the next play time.”
“I thought we’d agreed on next Saturday as our trade. I made reservations for Mat and I for our anniversary,” she said, ruffling the hair of her escape artist, as he clung to her leg.
Shoot. Well, someone was going to be missing their reservation.
“Right. We did. I’m sorry. I do have that on the calendar,” Faye lied.
“Great. You had me worried for a sec.” The mom lifted Zak up and led Faye back toward the front door. They were almost there. She’d be on the road any minute. She was going to have to buckle Mia into that darned car seat in record time. A few more steps and they’d be outside.
The doorbell rang.
Faye stopped. Her face went cold. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t move. It took a second, after the door was opened, to register that a deliveryman had rung the bell. Not Jim. She gripped Mia a little tighter and rushed forward.
“Thanks again,” she blurted, as she squeezed past the guy with Mia on one hip and her bag slung over the opposite shoulder. She didn’t look back or wave to Zak’s mom. Jim could drive up any moment. And even if she drove off before he did, it wouldn’t give her much time to get out of town or ditch her car. She threw the bag in the car and frantically worked the car seat straps around Mia. She’d have to get rid of the bag, once she emptied the contents into her duffel. The baby bag was unique. Too recognizable, not to mention she’d had it inscribed with Clara’s name. She was also leaving behind her Beetle, her business...her home. And possibly her freedom. But as much as it all meant to her, she’d throw it away a hundred times over if it meant ensuring that Mia would be safe. She’d give her life for her sister and this little girl. She glanced down the street again, before she closed the back door and got in the driver’s seat. Please be late. Of all days, she prayed that today Jim would be slammed with an overload of prosecution cases.
She just hoped she wouldn’t end up being one of them.
* * *
A BRISK GUST of wind flapped the collar of Sheriff Carlos Ryker’s uniform as he stood at the end of the pier, watching the horizon turn a fiery crimson over the Atlantic. White-tipped waves raced toward the shoreline and tumbled against the sand. The Turtleback Lighthouse stood like a sentinel down the beach to his left, and several cottages, each nestled in its own private stretch of dunes and reeds, trailed along the beach to the north and south of town.
He closed his eyes briefly, taking in the crashing surf and hoarse cries of gulls in search of their morning meal. He’d never tire of this dawn ritual. It fueled him. It reminded him of when his mother would walk out here with him when he was a kid and tell him stories about his father, focusing only on good memories. It reminded him of the time he’d brought her out here in a wheelchair because cancer had made her too weak to walk and the treatments they’d sought at hospitals hadn’t been effective. She had insisted that if she was going to leave this life, she wanted to be home. She wanted her spirit to ride the waves and wind. Coming out here every morning was a way of honoring her. Of remembering how her laughter would carry through the air. Her laugh was warm, heartfelt, and she never held it back.
Another gust ruffled his hair and the cold numbed his ears. He didn’t bother zipping up his jacket. He loved everything about the town of Turtleback Beach, especially winter, with days in the midfifties, crisper nights and brisk, early mornings like this one. The small town still attracted off-season tourists, as did neighboring towns like Rodanthe and Cape Hatteras along North Carolina’s Outer Banks, but the pristine beaches along the southern tip were even less crowded in winter than they were in summer. Life seemed a little calmer this time of year—especially with New Year’s behind them—even if his job as sheriff still demanded his attention.
He took a bite of the cinnamon pecan muffin he’d picked up at The Saltwater Sweetery, the town’s only bakery, but one whose growing reputation drew tourists down from the busier northern towns of the Outer Banks. Heck. It drew people from North Carolina’s mainland too. Darla, the owner, was gifted. Downright magical when it came to baking. She also never failed to have his usual order ready by sunrise every morning. Coffee, no cream, and his favorite muffin. The routine was just as comforting as going home to his place on the sound side of town at the end of a long shift. The alone time was grounding. Reassuring. As complicated as work could get sometimes, he made sure he kept his personal life simple. The only greeting he needed when he got home came from his rescue mutt, Pepper.
He took a swig of the coffee and let its warmth steel him. The ocean shimmered with the first rays of sun as it broke past the horizon. He ate the rest of his muffin in two bites and headed down the weather-worn pier that led to a short boardwalk. Turtleback’s main restaurant hadn’t opened yet, but apart from the aroma wafting through town from the bakery, he could see a light on in Castaway Books, a quaint used bookstore with a rickety wood sign carved with a palm tree on an island and a washed-up boat full of books. Eve was an early bird and was probably shelving new arrivals. A person could see most of the town’s shops from here. They lined Turtleback’s main street in bright, albeit weather-faded, colors. All of them were raised slightly on stilts due to the region’s hurricanes and tropical storms.
He held on to his coffee and tucked one hand into his jacket pocket for warmth as he made his way back to the bakery, where he’d left his sheriff’s SUV. He was officially on shift in fifteen minutes. His deputy Jordan Daniels, who’d been on duty last night, would be waiting at the station on the edge of town for relief. He picked up his pace, scanning the town partly out of habit and partly, he had to admit, because he loved the sight of it. Turtleback looked like a picturesque town plucked from an oil painting.
The sky was getting lighter by the minute. He caught sight of an old, blue Accord he’d never seen before parked along the side of the bookshop. He was certain it hadn’t been there earlier when he’d gone into the bakery. He’d have noticed it, even in the dark. Eve hadn’t mentioned anything yesterday about having guests coming to town. In fact, he’d specifically asked if she had plans to visit relatives, since bad weather had caused her to cancel a trip up north at Christmas. She’d said no and made no mention of anyone coming down instead. And tourists were definitely not out and about at this hour of the morning, not to mention the shop didn’t open until 10:00 a.m. It seemed rather early for anyone from a neighboring town to be dropping off donated books.
Eve’s head popped up as she tried to pull a large bag out of the back seat of the car. It seemed to be caught on something. Guess it wasn’t too early for someone donating books.
He put his coffee in his vehicle, then took double strides across the street.
“Bright and early, I see. Here, let me help,” he said, grabbing the oversize duffel bag, unhitching the bottom where it had caught on a long rectangular box with a playpen label. A child’s car seat occupied the rest of the space.
“You know what they say. The early bird catches the bookworm,” Eve said, tugging a cable-knit cardigan across her chest when a gust blew past.
Carlos raised a brow at her and shook his head as she shut the car door behind him.
“I don’t think that’s what they say.”
“Oh, come on,” Eve explained. “The early bird catches the worm, but I’m a bookworm and sell books, so...never mind.”
“I’m laughing on the inside.” Carlos adjusted his grip on the bag.
“Okay, I’ll admit, that wasn’t even close to funny. But I haven’t had my coffee yet.”
“Excuses, excuses,” he teased.
“Thanks for the help, by the way. I could have handled it, but I do appreciate it.” She hurried ahead of him and the shell-and-bell chime tinkled as she held the shop door open.
�
�I know you could have carried it yourself, but it’s no problem. Anything else to unload before I head to the station?”
“Nope. That’s it, Sheriff in Shining Armor.”
He chuckled and set the bag down in front of the live edge wood counter where her cash register sat.
“Now that is funny. No shining armor here. Just a helping hand.”
His mother had raised him to open doors and to always help out, even before the Air Force had reinforced the chivalry and respect she believed in. More than once, his behavior had inadvertently offended the opposite sex. He was all for women’s rights, equality and empowerment. It simply wasn’t in him to stand by and not offer help if heavy lifting was involved or a tire needed changing or whatever. He did have to explain that once to Eve, back when she was trying to recover from hurricane damage. She was almost as bad at accepting help as he was at taking compliments. Even those laced with her quirky, book-based sense of humor.
A whimper and whine had him glancing over at the children’s book area, which was decorated whimsically and used for story time. A woman in black jeans, a green, form-fitting sweater and piercing blue eyes lined in dark makeup stood stiff as a mannequin. She sported a rather daring shade of burgundy hair cut in a short bob. A little redhead, who looked no more than a year and a half, clung to her leg with a tear-streaked face. No doubt the woman was the car owner. He gave her a quick nod, but it was hard not to take his eyes off hers. Mainly because of the cold stare he was getting in return.
“Oh, Faye, this is Carlos Ryker, the town sheriff. And Sheriff, this little pumpkin is Nim. Faye and I went to college together,” Eve said. She stole a quick sip of coffee from the pottery mug that sat on the checkout counter, then went and scooped Nim up into her arms and bounced her gently on her hip. The redheaded woman kept a hand on her daughter’s shoulder.
College friends, then. The stilted smile Faye gave him didn’t soften her gaze. Clearly, this woman didn’t like seeing a man in uniform. At least not a cop. He never had that problem back in the Air Force. He gave her a reassuring smile. Many folks equated a cop with getting a speeding or parking ticket. He was used to the cold shoulder from tourists who assumed he was out to get them, rather than to keep them safe. The excuses and lies he’d heard over the years from people trying to get out of a ticket were pretty creative at times. Everything from having eaten bad seafood and needing to get to the nearest bathroom pronto—only to find them at the local restaurant eating joyfully twenty minutes later—to flat out begging him not to ruin their birthday. But there was something about this woman’s body language that said a whole lot more than an old friend visiting.