Stillwater Rising

by Steena Holmes

  Lacie’s brows rose. “Really? I keep hearing that term over and over, but I wonder if we’re taking it out of context.”

  “How? You choose to either be a victim or not, right?” Charlotte asked.

  “Sometimes you don’t have the choice. We’re all victims right now. All of us. That choice, of not being a victim, was taken from us.” Lacie’s voice mellowed, any evidence of a smile from earlier gone. “How we move on, that’s the choice ahead of us. But we’ll always be a victim.”

  “I’d rather be a victor,” Charlotte stated.

  Lacie lips twirled. “Wouldn’t we all. But to be a victor . . . you must first know what you’re fighting for, right? I’m just worried that we’re moving ahead too fast. We’re not giving ourselves time to adequately—”

  “Grieve,” Jenn and Charlotte said together.

  “Exactly.”

  Charlotte mulled this over. It was very similar to what Jenn had said earlier. Was she not being sensitive enough? Was she trying to push everyone past the grieving process before they were ready? It was impossible, though, for her not to see how this was affecting the town as a whole. It was her job to ensure they made it through, that the local businesses didn’t suffer, especially with the summer season at their door. Charlotte rubbed her eyes, suddenly weary.

  “Listen,” she said, “there’s something I wanted to talk with you both about. Did you read the paper today?”

  Jenn shook her head, but Lacie nodded.

  “Did you read that article about Julia?” she asked Lacie.

  “I did. She’s not doing well, and I’m not sure what to do anymore.”

  “I wish Arnold would censor some of what he puts in the paper.” Charlotte thinned her lips as she thought about the constant barrage toward Julia in the paper.

  “Why?” Jenn spoke up.

  “Because she doesn’t deserve it. Not this. When I spoke to her last week, she’d mentioned the death threats haven’t stopped.” She still couldn’t believe that someone like Julia would get death threats. That didn’t happen to people in her town. The city, maybe. But not Stillwater. But then, she would have said the same thing about children taking guns into schools as well until it had happened.

  “The poor girl. It’s not fair, how she’s being treated. It’s time this town rallied behind her, more than we have, and show everyone she’s not to blame.” Lacie met Charlotte’s gaze and nodded.

  “Exactly.” Charlotte couldn’t be happier that Lacie had brought this up. “She’s a victim in all this as well. It hurts my heart that it’s our own citizens who are caught up in the hatred and tearing her apart like this.”

  “It’s time to erase the evil in this town.”

  Startled, Jenn leaned her body forward. “Evil? Erase it? Do you even know what you’re talking about? How can you spiritualize this? How? Your own son was murdered by her son. Her. Son.” Jenn’s body trembled until the table shook beneath her elbows she’d leaned on the table.

  “Jenn—”

  Charlotte was cut off by the snarl on Jenn’s face.

  “Don’t,” she said to her. “Don’t try to tell me how I should be feeling or what I should be doing. And don’t”—Jenn pushed her chair back, and Charlotte cringed at the scraping noise on the floor—“tell me that I need to start showing some love to the woman I hold responsible for taking my son away from me.” Jenn’s nostrils flared as a deep flush covered the skin on her face and neck.

  “I would suggest, Mayor,” Jenn spat, “that you start concentrating on this town and its survival this summer season rather than focusing on the emotional impact to those who are grieving. Obviously you have no idea how we are feeling, and it’s time you stop pretending like you do.”

  Charlotte’s heart dropped as she watched Jenn leave the coffee shop.

  “You’ve got a good heart, Charlie.” Lacie reached forward and grabbed her hand. She held on tight. “A good heart. That girl is breaking apart, and it scares her. She loves you. You’re safe for her to lash out at.”

  “But I’ve hurt her.”

  Lacie nodded. “Maybe. But she’s hurt herself as well. There’s nothing you can do to make it better. Not for Jenn.” Lacie looked to the ceiling. “Sometimes it’s hard to look past our own fears. But if we don’t, then we tend to get lost in them. Let’s go see if maybe we can stand by Julia, shall we?” She gathered her purse and stood.

  Charlotte felt like she’d just been punched in the stomach and then told it was for the best, but she followed after Lacie, making sure she’d left more than enough money on the table to cover their coffees and treats.

  She wished she could follow after Jenn and talk to her, apologize, and try to understand, but she knew—better than anyone—that forcing Jenn to confront an issue wasn’t the way to go about it.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  JENNIFER

  A ray of sun appeared through an opening in the clouds and glistened off the water like tiny diamonds dancing to a rhythm she couldn’t hear or understand. The water slapped the sand as it boiled in, angry or disgruntled and in sync with the way she felt.

  The way her emotions were rolling inside, she hadn’t waited for the storm to break before she made her way to the beach, relishing the way the water crashed upon the rocks off to the side. If she were to head to the lighthouse and climb down to the rocks, she could feel the heavy spray on her face and let it soak her. Cleanse her.

  When she’d stormed out of Gina’s, she’d rushed down the sidewalk to the water, not really thinking about where she was going, just knowing she needed to be someplace where she would be alone.

  Jenn dropped down to the sand and toed off her shoes, digging her feet deep down until she couldn’t dig any further. She needed to feel anchored, and the weight of the heavy sand on her foot helped.

  Her heart was heavy, almost too heavy for her to carry right now.

  The overwhelming feeling of failure threatened to carry her off, like the pebbles tumbling about in the gentle waves. With each surge the pebble pushed forward and then rolled back until it was too far away to reach the shoreline again.

  Jenn couldn’t help but admit to herself that she would be okay if she were to be swept too far away, as horrible as that sounded.

  There were a few children, down by the play park, and their squeals of laughter drifted with the wind down to where she sat. Her eyes closed as she listened to their happiness, and though the tight band around her heart squeezed until she thought she couldn’t handle more pain, a slight smile played with her lips. One of the voices sounded like her son’s.

  Bobby loved the beach. Had loved the beach. She used to bring Bobby down to the sand, armed with buckets and shovels, and together they’d build forts and castles surrounded by moats. Just like the kids down the way were doing now.

  Jenn hugged her knees close to her chest, rested her chin in between, and listened to the noise around her. She needed to find some sense of peace, some stillness that she could grab ahold of, before she headed back home.

  Nothing about today had started off the way she expected. Perhaps that’s what had her in a tailspin. She should have realized Charity wouldn’t have stayed home, that she’d want to be at the school. She should have been prepared, and she hadn’t been.

  “Look what I found.”

  Jenn raised her head and squinted. The sun shining behind a head of blond curls created a halo effect. It was the little girl who had been laughing earlier.

  “What did you find?” she asked.

  The little girl had her hands behind her back, and she shifted from one foot to the other. She brought one hand out and opened her palm, as if offering the gift nestled in between her fingers to Jenn.

  “Isn’t that pretty.” Jenn smiled as she studied the pastel-colored shell. Charity used to do the same thing, comb the shore for seashells and colored rocks. A few pieces stil
l sat on the shelves in her room.

  “Would you like it?” A dimple appeared in the little girl’s cheek.

  Jenn caught movement to the side of her and noticed a woman walking toward them.

  “Is that your mom?”

  The little girl nodded.

  “Does she have any of your special shells yet?” Jenn asked.

  The little head with blond curls shook her head.

  “I’m sure she would love one, don’t you think?”

  The little girl pursed her lips as she glanced over to her mother. “But you look sad,” she said. “I know this will make you happy.”

  Jenn’s heart skipped a beat. I know this will make you happy. Bobby used to say the same thing to her. He would always bring her things he found, whether it was a smooth stone, a pink seashell, a furry caterpillar, or even a dandelion weed . . . he always knew how to make her happy.

  Jenn blinked past the tears that formed and took the small shell from the waiting palm.

  “It’s perfect,” she managed to whisper before the mother called her daughter away.

  Her finger traced the raised edges on the shell, wiping away some of the sand, and Jenn gave into the tears she’d held at bay. The tears scalded her as they trickled down, over her cheeks and then down her throat.

  She missed her son. Her arms ached constantly to hold him. She listened for his voice at all times, and she’d never be able to tuck him in at night or kiss his cheek or see the twinkle in his eye. It killed her every time she realized he was gone.

  Having Robert and Charity wasn’t enough. She wasn’t enough. Something was missing inside of her, something that was destroyed the moment she knew he was gone.

  She knew, deep in her heart, that it was her fault. Hers. She’d seen that boy walk into the school. She could have stopped him; she should have realized something was wrong. And yet, she’d been too focused on herself and on the phone call with the lawyer.

  CHAPTER NINE

  SAMANTHA

  Out of all the towns Samantha Hill had visited throughout her career as a reporter, Stillwater Bay had to be the most obscure, quaint little town she’d ever visited. She could have sworn she’d seen some of the old Victorian homes here in a Thomas Kinkade painting. Everywhere she went, there were white picket fences, flowering shrubs, and welcome mats on every doorstep.

  Only the puppy dogs trailing after running children in the fields were missing from the scene.

  It was hard to believe that something as horrific as a school shooting could ever happen in an idyllic town like Stillwater Bay. When she’d first been given the assignment, she’d pictured the town full of bicycles, worn boardwalks that stretched along the beach, and young girls skipping in white frocks. This town was known as a hard-to-get-to vacation spot in the middle of nowhere on the West Coast, a place bypassed by many on their way to more popular destinations, unless they were into antique shopping, bed-and-breakfasts, and sand riddled with seashells.

  Small-town girl, Samantha Hill was not. And yet, something about this town appealed to her.

  Her day hadn’t exactly gone as planned. She had intended to be at the school when it opened, talk to the parents, ask the principal more questions, and get some shots with the kids walking in . . . but Charlotte had stopped her. So she’d stayed downtown and spun her wheels.

  “Coming in for dessert?” Shelley, her landlady and owner of the Seaglass B&B, poked her head out the screen door.

  “Would love to. I just need to make a phone call first.”

  “Don’t be long; the pie is still hot.”

  The smell of freshly baked apple pie drifted out the open door.

  “I’ll be fast. I just need to call my—”

  “Editor. I know. He’s been calling here all day, worried since he couldn’t reach you on your phone,” Shelley said.

  “Sorry.” Samantha frowned. She’d told him not to call the residence. Plus, he should have seen that she’d read his million text messages throughout the day. He’d expected her to send in her piece from the school. Instead, she’d sent in a piece about how the town was handling the reopening. Not exactly what he wanted, and yet, he didn’t turn it down. She was the only reporter left in Stillwater.

  She still had nightmares of the scene at the public school. She’d been one of the first reporters there, which meant she’d seen the aftermath of the murders and witnessed the stretchers coming out of the school with cloth-covered bodies of small children and teachers who had been murdered by a teenage boy.

  Sam pulled out her cell phone and checked for any new messages. Half a dozen in the last hour. They all said basically the same thing.

  Come home.

  She didn’t want to. She wasn’t ready to. There was something about this town, about the people here, that made her want to stay. And that was so unlike her to feel that way. She loved Seattle. So what was it about this town that compelled her to linger?

  Her phone rang, and she knew she couldn’t avoid him forever.

  “Yes, Alex?” she sighed into the phone, leaning back on the lounger, and smiled at an older couple who waved to her on their daily evening walk.

  “I was starting to think you were avoiding me.”

  “Never,” she said. “I just . . . got busy.”

  There was a pause on the phone. “Please tell me you managed to talk to the principal at least.”

  “Just in passing.”

  “You talked to him, though, right?”

  She heard the expectation in his voice and wished she had the answers he wanted to hear.

  “Not yet.” She made sure to add that last bit. “I know he’s hiding something; I’m just not sure what.”

  Alex groaned. “You can’t get anyone to say anything about him? I need something to back this doubt of yours.”

  “I know. Trust me, I know. Give me a few more days, please. A week. There’s a story here; I just need to find my sources.” She bit her lip while she waited for Alex to tell her to take all the time she needed. That’s what she really wanted. There was so much here, so much she could soak in, take advantage of. She had been tired, bone tired, but the air here, it reenergized her. Made her feel alive again. A feeling she hadn’t experienced in a long, long time.

  “I can give you a few days, Sam, but that’s it. If you’ve got nothing, then it’s time to move on. I can use you here.”

  “There’s more here, Alex. I know it. There’s something off about”—she hesitated to say the name—“well, there’s something he’s not saying. And I can give you stories. This town isn’t as . . . cohesive . . . as Mayor Stone wants everyone to think it is. There are fractures all over the place.” She hated using people’s grief to her advantage like this, but she knew Alex would eat it up. It’s what he thrived on. And having a shooting like the one that occurred in such an obscure town, it rocked the country.

  She was no stranger to murder. She’d earned a reputation early on in her career for finding the heart where there was none. When she reported the grisly details of a gang shooting, a domestic violence case, or needless accidents, she didn’t just report the facts, she dug deep to bring heart to the events, sharing not only the details, but the people behind it. Her goal was to help her readers become invested in the news.

  It’s why Alex sent her here. Not to just report the details that every other station would focus on, but to go behind the scenes, find the stories others deemed unimportant, and grab readers’ and viewers’ attention.

  So far, it had worked. They boasted some of the highest ratings in the country, but they were losing their edge. Because she wasn’t ready to head home yet, she had thrown Alex a bone, the principal and her doubts about him. She’d focused on the mayor and the Crowne family; she’d interviewed the different teachers at the school and reported on how the shooting decimated a town determined to remain strong, especially wit
h the tourist season on them.

  “Days, Samantha. Then I want you home,” Alex clipped his words before he hung up.

  Samantha set her phone down on the seat beside her while letting out a deep breath. The thought of leaving, of being forced to leave in a few days, bothered her. Set her heart racing. She couldn’t leave yet. She wasn’t ready.

  “If you want that pie before it goes cold, now would be the time.” Shelley poked her head out from the screen door.

  “I thought you were different.” Shelley held the door open for her.

  Sam’s skin prickled as a breeze followed her inside.

  “I am,” she said.

  When Shelley shook her head, Sam knew she must have overheard part of her conversation. Now what? Did she explain her words and hope that Shelley understood why she was trying to linger in her town or just leave things alone? Sam wasn’t one for caring what others thought of her; she’d learned to develop a thick skin years ago, but . . .

  “Nothing good comes out of digging in closets. Some things need to remain buried.”

  “But at what cost?”

  “The price tag is always too high, Samantha. You should know that by now.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHARLOTTE

  Charlotte loved her town, especially on a weekend morning. There was a time, growing up, all she longed for was to move away, but a few years in the city during college and she knew she wanted to come back. Needed to.

  Some people found hobbies, such as knitting or baking or swimming, to complete them, but for her, it was this town. Her town. Stillwater Bay was more than just a community to her; it was her family. She cared deeply about what happened to this town and the families who lived here. She looked forward to their summer families who arrived and filled their small town with their busyness and excitement. Knowing that her town thrived filled her with a deep contentment, but when it hurt, she hurt.

  Like now.