by Nicole Young
“Do you think Hannah might have done it?” Her voice took on an edge of unease.
Our eyes met. I could tell Hannah wasn’t really on her list of suspects. My mind refused to follow her path of reasoning. “Let’s talk to Missy before we jump to conclusions. Maybe Hannah got out of sight for a few minutes.”
“Look at this, Tish.” She pointed at a footprint made of powder just outside the bathroom door. “That looks like a man’s shoe. You don’t think Joel was in here?”
A creepy feeling crawled across my neck. I pictured the vehicle pulling out of my driveway. Unless the driver was one of Drake Belmont’s minions, there was only one other possible explanation. Could Mr. GQ be Sam’s ex-husband? “Ummm, there was a white Suburban leaving just as I was coming home. You don’t think . . .”
Sam drew in a sharp breath. Her face took on a look of panic. “Heaven forbid . . .”
“What? What are you thinking?” I grabbed her arm.
“Nothing. Never mind.” She gave a big, fake yawn. “I think I’ll take a nap and worry about this later. Sorry to bug you.”
She pushed me out the door and closed it with a bang.
I hovered. From beyond the door came the tones of a cell phone dialing. There was no napping going on in there. That probably meant my suspicions were right.
I stuck my ear to the pine. Sam’s voice came low and muffled. I strained to hear the details of her call, feeling only slightly guilty for eavesdropping after she’d falsely accused me of vandalism. Her voice moved back and forth between the bathroom and the dresser. My stomach churned up an extra dose of acid. Sam was generally pleasant and perky. It had been easy to forget she’d been the victim of violence. Now, the worst had happened. Her jerk of an ex barged in and resumed his crippling power over her—just when we needed to focus our attention on keeping Missy and her kids safe.
I shuffled to the kitchen, despondent at the turn of events. The stool and countertop provided moral support while I mulled the situation.
Sometime later, Joel came in to start supper.
“Where’s Samantha? I haven’t seen her all afternoon.”
Joel didn’t know I’d already had one exile in residence before I took on the latest family of refugees. I steeled myself for a strong reaction, then told him of the day’s incident and described the vehicle, right down to the boastful license plate.
His brows scrunched. “Papa B suspected as much.” He hammered some numbers into his cell phone. “I’ll call and get the owner’s name. That should solve our mystery.”
While he contacted the state police post, I finished cutting up the salad. Then, going to Sam’s room, I gave a hesitant tap on her door. “Hey, supper’s ready. Are you eating?”
“No.” The word held the defiance of a teenager.
“Come on, Sam. You can’t stay in there forever.”
Bumping. Thumping. Scraping. Slamming.
“Come and eat. You’ll feel better,” I said.
The door opened. Sam’s shirt hung out of her waistband. Her face was swollen. She looked like she’d been dragged behind a four-wheeler.
She gave a slurpy sniffle. “I can’t eat right now. I’m packing.”
I looked past her into the room. Boxes were strewn everywhere. The lava lamp was gone. So was the yellow rug. Even the comforter had disappeared.
Rage—and a good dose of fear—built in my chest. “What do you think you’re doing? If you leave now, it would be like letting your ex control you all over again. And remember, saving Melissa was your idea. You are not ditching me.”
She picked a sweatshirt off the floor, folded it, and tucked it in a box. She bent for a blouse.
I touched her shoulder, trying a gentler approach. “Come on, Sam. We’re all in this together. We can keep Missy safe, and you’ll be safe too. Like you said, it’s kind of like the Alamo here. Together to the end.”
Sam shook her head. “That’s a depressing thought.” She folded the garment and stowed it. “I’m sorry, Tish. I really am. I thought I’d have more time. But things just didn’t work out.”
I stood there, fists clenched, wanting to wring her neck. “You are not leaving me.” My muscles jerked in frustration. “I’m telling Joel.” I twirled and ran to the kitchen.
A door slammed behind me. The windows rattled from the vibration.
Joel followed me back to the bedroom and tapped on the door. “Sam. Open up,” he said in a soft, cajoling voice.
The door opened. He went in. The door closed.
I stared at its six wood panels, fuming over the injustice of being left out. I went to the kitchen. With no Joel in sight, Melissa and I dipped into the pot of vegetable soup on the stove. Side salads and fresh bread made the meal complete. Melissa cut up a hot dog with a side of straight veggies for Hannah. Andrew got his usual runny white entrée along with a taste of mashed carrots. I told Missy as much as I could about the intruder situation, using code I hoped Hannah couldn’t crack.
“Sounds like something Drake would do. Only milder,” Missy said. She spooned another helping toward Andrew’s waiting lips.
“How are you holding up, anyway?” I asked her.
“It’s hard. I miss my life. My things. My house. You’re very kind to let us stay here.”
“I wish we had done it sooner. It seems foolish now that you had to suffer all those months when you could have been taking steps to get your life together.”
“I know. But I guess I just wasn’t ready. I’m ready now, believe me.”
“Good.” We sat in silence as the kids finished their meals.
With a final bite of her hot dog bun, Hannah wiggled off the stool and put her plate in the trash. She skipped to the diaper bag by the door and reached in. A Dr. Seuss book appeared. She settled on the tile beneath the window and began to read aloud.
Missy held a cloth under warm water and cleaned up Andrew’s pudgy cheeks. “Joel offered to drive me to Escanaba for my checkup this week. While we’re in town, I’m going to see an attorney.”
She bit her lip and gave Hannah a sidelong glance.
The girl was absorbed in her book. “. . . but the Grinch was very, very bad. He didn’t like the little Who people and he wanted to make them go away . . .” She made up words for the pictures.
Missy turned back to me. “I’m going to file.”
I nodded. “You’re doing the right thing.”
Her voice cracked. “Do you think so? God hates divorce. It says so right in the Bible.”
“I can only believe that a loving God hates what Drake has done to you even worse than He hates divorce.”
She sighed. “I struggle so much with that. Sometimes I feel like God’s providing me the way out, like what you and your grandfather have done for me. Other times, I feel like the biggest sinner on the planet, like I’m quitting on the thing God commanded me to see through to the end. ’Til death do us part.”
Behind us, Hannah turned another page. “. . . And the mean Grinch tied up his dog to the sled and went down to steal everything from the Who people . . . all their good stuff . . .”
My chin jutted out in Melissa’s defense. I kept my voice to a harsh whisper. “Well, if Drake had anything to do with it, you’d be dead and he’d be the one raising those kids. I can’t see God wanting that to happen. So just take this opportunity and quit trying to jump back into the pit He just pulled you from.”
“I wish it was that simple,” Melissa said.
I tapped my fingers on the counter. I knew where she was coming from. Self-condemnation was a tempting place to rest. It was certainly easier than coming up with a new approach to life, setting new goals, and trying to be the awesome individual God made you to be. I’d lingered in the guilt pit for years. It gave me a great excuse to check out of life and just exist. Thankfully, God made me face my sin head-on and admit the part I’d had in creating the situation. After that, I grew up a little. I quit worrying so much about what everyone else thought and started doing what was
right for my life. Of course, there were casualties . . . like my relationship with Brad.
At the very thought of his name, my throat constricted and my eyes teared up. I missed his voice. And his smile. And his hand holding mine . . .
“Tish? Are you all right?” Missy touched my arm.
I wiped my eyes and nodded. “Yeah. Sorry. What a long, crazy day.”
“I know what you mean.”
She got up from her stool and wrapped her arms around me. Her chin rested in my hair. I clung to her for dear life, my elbows pressing against her firm belly with its little baby tucked inside. I started to cry. She cried with me.
We were still blubbering together about our own personal woes when Joel stepped into the kitchen. He looked over his shoulder toward Sam’s room as if he wasn’t sure which was worse: the sobbing woman he’d just left, or the two bawling females yet to face.
Melissa dropped her arms and grabbed for paper toweling. I used the hem of my T-shirt.
“How’d it go in there?” I asked.
“So-so. It’s confirmed that her ex-husband was driving the vehicle you ID’d, Tish. Needless to say, she’s pretty freaked out and ready to run.”
I opened my mouth to interrupt, but he put up a hand and kept talking.
“Don’t worry, I convinced her to stay,” Joel said, a hint of triumph in his voice. “There’s no reason we can’t keep her safe along with Melissa. Especially since we’ve got extra help on the way.”
“Oh? Who’s that?” I asked.
“Samantha’s brother is coming for a visit. He’s a police officer downstate somewhere. I guess he was tied up with some big trial, but now that it’s over he can take time off.”
I sucked in an agonizing breath. No. Not Brad. I’d worked hard to free my mind of him. I couldn’t face him. I couldn’t see him. One word, one smile, one touch . . . and I’d be back at the beginning of wretched heartache.
30
“Absolutely not,” I said. “There’s enough people at the lodge as it is. I don’t have room for tourists.” There was no need for Joel to know of my past relationship with Brad.
Joel gave my face a playful squeeze with his fingers. “Not to worry. He’ll be staying at the lake house with me, Papa B, and Olivia.” He winked as he waltzed off.
My hands planted themselves on my hips and stayed there as I mounted the staircase. People were doing things without my consent. It might have been Sam’s idea to rescue Melissa and her kids, but I was the one who’d actually done it. So, technically, everything should be my plan, my way.
I closed my door, shutting out the turn of circumstances. I went for the bedside table and picked up my mom’s picture. I wiped off the remaining black letters with my bath towel. I stuck the two halves together, matching the jagged edges. Then I curled under my blankets, stared into her beautiful eyes, and cried myself to sleep.
Thursday morning, I rebelled against life by staying in bed. Finally, about an hour before I was due at Candice’s house, I bathed and dressed. I snuck out of the lodge without bumping into anyone. The drive to Candice’s farmhouse lifted my spirits. The leaves were in fresh, full-blown splendor, giving testimony to hot, lazy days ahead.
I turned onto her property and parked, full of anticipation for the conversation ahead with all its distractions. I’d spent almost every Thursday over the past three months at Candice’s home. It was a tradition I’d come to love, a fixture of my new life.
Candice waved me in. “Hello!”
I hurried up the walk and gave her a hug of greeting. “How are you feeling this week? Better?” I asked.
“I won’t be participating in any foot races, if that’s what you mean.”
“Well, I just hoped you were up for talking today.”
She nodded her head. “That’s right. I have some explaining to do.”
She served tea and sandwiches on the enclosed back porch. I settled into white wicker softened by pastel floral cushions. The view over the fields brought a sigh of contentment as I sipped the icy concoction. An occasional fly buzzed against the screen, an annoyance diminished by the barrier between us.
“I bumped into two guys at the Grille yesterday,” I said. I didn’t want to waste any time getting to the point just in case Candice tried to wiggle out of the conversation again. “They were there when my mom died.”
She adjusted in her chair. “Oh? What guys were those?”
“Homer somebody and something Baker.” What a sleuth I was turning out to be.
A nod. “Johnson and Cody. They’re locals. Usually, those two are unemployed. But your mom died the year the mill hired for that big shutdown. Of course, even with a job they were doing what they do best—hanging out at the bar.” Her voice of derision was back on again, and I wondered what those two men did to get on her bad side. Or did Candice even have a good side?
“So you already know about them?” I asked. I was a latecomer to the investigation, so it shouldn’t surprise me that I didn’t have anything new.
“Like I said, there were plenty of rumors flying around. Apparently, Johnson and Baker witnessed your mom’s car driving into the quarry. They said it looked like she’d done it on purpose.”
I sat forward. “No. No, they said they didn’t see her drive over. They said they only heard about it later.”
“It’s all so long ago. I’m surprised anybody remembers anything.”
“Homer Johnson said he remembered plain as day.”
Candice folded her hands in her lap. “Tish. Everybody remembers things their own way. I’m sure their story has evolved over the years.”
“You’d think if they’d witnessed a car driving over a cliff, they’d remember it, even twenty-six years later.”
“Seems that way.” She shrugged. “Maybe I’m the one with the faulty memory.”
“I’m sure you remember what you were doing that night when you got the news.”
She gave a slow nod. “Plain as day.”
“Were you still at Puppa’s?”
“No. The fire had taken place weeks earlier and I’d stormed off. I blamed Bernard for the whole thing. So I was staying in Escanaba when I got the news.”
“Did Puppa call you?”
“He didn’t even know where I was.” She sounded like she might break into tears. “No. I heard about it later.”
I swallowed. “That must have been really hard for you.”
She blinked and nodded. “Yes, but that was no excuse not to attend that funeral, if only for your sake.” She wiped under her eyes. “But I couldn’t face your grandfather. And I couldn’t face Eva and Art. And I couldn’t face you.” The tears started rolling. “If only Beth hadn’t gone that night. I keep asking myself, why? Why?”
I scooted next to her and put my arms around her shoulders. “They said she went to meet my father at the Watering Hole. To warn him about something.”
“Your mother should never have been near the place,” Candice said. “Jake was in the clear. Bernard lost his career over the deal he cut to get that kid out of the loop.”
I paused to get the details straight in my mind. “But the fire. Sid and Paul both died, and my grandfather supposedly cut the deal with them. With the two of them dead, my father was back in jeopardy and my mom went to warn him.”
“How could she have known where he was unless your grandfather told her?” She jabbed a finger into the cushion. “That’s why she’s dead. It’s your grandfather’s fault.”
I backed away from the enraged woman and sat in my chair. “It makes me feel better if I can blame someone too. But I don’t think I’ll join you in blaming my grandfather. I like him. He tries to do his best. I’m sure he thought he was doing the right thing, even back then.”
Candice seethed through her teeth before calming down. “You’re right. It’s easy to blame. I guess we’ll never know why Beth died that night, and we’ll just have to accept that.”
I took a sip of iced tea. I’d never accept that my mother ki
lled herself. And I’d never stop asking why until some new, better explanation could replace that lame account of the death of a woman who lived and loved so well, yet so briefly.
“Anyway”—I set my tea on the glass-top—“I’m going to request the police report. I’ll feel better after I read what the cops had to say.”
Candice’s tea clanked to the table. “Do you really think you’re strong enough to sift through those details? I insist you let it go. For your own sake.”
My stubborn streak dug in. “I think I can handle it. It’ll be a lot better than making stuff up in my head. I’m ready for the truth. Hey, by the way,” I changed the subject as quickly as I could, “we had an interesting adventure yesterday.”
I filled her in on my visiting family and the scare we had from Sam’s ex-husband.
“You have Melissa Belmont staying at your place?” Candice straightened, disapproval thick on her voice. “Does Drake know that?”
“I hope not. But I’m pretty sure he must.” I told her about Stick’s visit and Joel’s deception. “For all we know, Stick went right to Drake and told him where Missy and the kids are hiding out.”
She pressed her hands together. “Tish. You don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into. Drake’s scheduled to get out of jail in a few days. Don’t think for a minute he won’t go after his family.” She leaned forward, elbows on knees. “And what were you thinking taking in that Sam girl? Now you’ve got her ex starting in. And it’s only the beginning. He’ll play cat and mouse awhile just for fun. Then he’ll go in for the kill.” She stared at me with pleading eyes. “Throw them out. Save your own life.”
I shivered at the chill in her voice. But all her urging couldn’t quash the defensive feeling that rose in my chest. “These are my friends. They need me. I can’t let them down.”
The color drained from her face. “I understand.” She stood and stacked the tea things on the tray. “Now if you don’t mind, I think I’ll rest a bit.”
I took the hint, said goodbye, and headed back to the lodge.