A Family Affair: Summer: Truth in Lies, Book 3

by Mary Campisi

  That was why she drove herself through work, why she didn’t slow down until she was near exhaustion, and why she had no life. She didn’t deserve one, not after what she’d done. The town would agree and they didn’t even know the whole truth.

  “I don’t think I’ll be heading home anytime soon.” Melanie grew up in San Diego. She wouldn’t understand that people in Magdalena carried grudges as big as a warehouse filled with lipstick, especially when one of their own skipped town without so much as an apology. She’d been so confused and full of pain, she could think of nothing but getting away from Cash, who insisted they talk and deal with things.

  And what had she done? Made a grand escape. Well, she’d escaped all right, straight into a self-imposed prison with invisible bars and no way out. Daniel “Cash” Casherdon lived in her soul, a constant reminder of what she’d thrown away.

  “I’ll bet everyone will be happy to see you,” Melanie went on, creating Tess’s backstory as though it were true. “They probably think you’re some sort of celebrity, being a small town and all.”

  Hardly.

  “You need to do this, Tess. Go home. Relax and regroup.” She gave her a quick, strong hug. “And call me in six months.”

  ***

  Tess flipped through the travel brochure she’d picked up this morning. Blue skies. Blue ocean. A seven-day cruise to the Caribbean. It did look relaxing. It even sounded relaxing with descriptions of massages, saunas, poolside drinks. There was only one problem, but it was the same one that threw a roadblock at the other five brochures she’d perused the past ten days.

  She couldn’t relax. She’d tried, but the attempts were more stressful than a red-eye to Hong Kong. The very word relax signified a release of control, a giving up of carefully constructed defenses, like denial and self-preservation. Once that happened, then good old introspection snuck in, taking over her brain and her memory until all that remained was the truth and with that the by-products of that truth: remorse and guilt.

  Relaxation gave a person too much time to think. It was as bad as analyzing oneself and one’s motives, which she’d spent a full year doing. Books, lectures, classes, even three sessions with a therapist, had rendered the same answer, the one she ignored. What was the point of confronting something that couldn’t be changed? The pain would still be there, the wounds newer, more severe. The regret, endless.

  And the results would still be the same. JJ was dead. Cash was gone. Her choices could not be undone, no matter how many books she read or therapists she saw. The only way she could breathe day in, day out, was to obliterate the past and avoid as many situations as she could involving couples, families, and children. That wasn’t always possible, but with enough practice, she’d gotten quite good at extricating emotion from situations, which earned her a reputation as cold and uncaring.

  At least with a reputation like that she wasn’t in danger of having her life crushed again. Tess threw the brochure aside and rifled through the others. The Grand Canyon. Australia. India. New Zealand. She pushed them all aside. She needed work. Long hours. Deadlines. Time zone changes. Damn Melanie and her six-month non-compete clause. Maybe she should call her mother and invite her to Virginia. They could head to D.C., tour the Capitol and the Smithsonian—but only for a few days.

  She didn’t like to surround herself with her mother’s scrutiny, and though Olivia Carrick was never obvious about it, there were semitransparent cues during their monthly phone conversation: a long pause when Tess told her where she’d been, a hitched breath after the mention of someone’s grandchild, a casual and recurring remark about family. Olivia had very specific opinions about her daughter’s life and how she should be living it. Or rather, how she shouldn’t be wasting it selling lipstick.

  Tess chose to ignore the subtleties and limit the time she spent with her mother. Instead, she sent gifts: a watch, a mixer, a sweater. Money for a new washer. She was debating a slow cooker for her mother when the doorbell rang. She slid off the couch and made her way to the front door. Maybe Melanie had reconsidered her position on the non-compete clause and would—

  “Ramona?”

  Cash’s aunt stood on the other side of the door, her dark eyes piercing Tess with determination and purpose. Eight years had streaked her black hair with gray, shifted her complexion to sallow, morphed her body from curvy to plump. Her clothes were still dark and severe, her bosom larger than Tess remembered, her middle larger, too. She moved her head and the gold hoops she always wore swayed against her neck, but it was her eyes that held Tess. Deep, dark, soul-searching eyes that spotted truth and lies.

  “I’ve come about my nephew.”

  Cash.

  Fear shot through Tess and crumbled years of denial. “Has something happened to him?” Ramona ignored the question and stepped inside, dominating the room with her presence. She would not travel hundreds of miles, or worse, breathe the same oxygen as Tess if she had a choice. Something had happened to him, and it was bad. But what could Ramona possibly want with her?

  “Please. Have a seat.” Tess tried to remain calm. Don’t let her see how much this news has upset you. Play it cool. She cleared her throat and sat on the couch next to the rocking chair Ramona had chosen. When the woman’s gaze landed on the scattered brochures, Tess gathered them up, muttering, “They’re for a friend.”

  “Cash was shot. He wasn’t even on duty, just pumping gas when he witnessed the robbery and…tried to intervene.” She paused, her lips flattening before she pushed out the next words. “He was shot in the shoulder and chest. He lost a lot of blood.” Another pause, a sharp intake of breath. “He’s back in Magdalena. He’s had therapy but he’s very weak and…and not like the Cash I remember.”

  Tess clasped her hands in her lap so hard her fingers hurt. “Will he be all right?”

  His aunt shrugged. “What does that really mean? The doctors say he’ll recover, with minimal limitations. But he’s different.” She sucked in a breath, frowned. “He’s not the same Cash.”

  “I’m sorry.” That was the second reference Ramona made to Cash being different. What exactly did she mean by that?

  “There’s more. He says the incident is all a blur and refuses to talk about it. Thank God there were eyewitnesses who saw the whole thing and could get to him, or…” her voice trailed off. “He’s refused counseling and is on leave from the force.” She studied Tess, letting the silence fill the room. Tess fidgeted, clasped her hands tighter, and looked away. She had more questions about Cash, so many of them, but if she started asking, she wouldn’t stop, and the pain of asking would take over and suffocate her.

  “I was with him at the hospital and I stayed in that chair until I knew he was going to make it.” Her eyes glistened, but she didn’t cry. “He would wake in the middle of the night and cry out. Always the same thing. I tried to ignore it, but I couldn’t.” Her voice grew stronger, zeroing in on Tess. “The truth often reveals itself when we are weakest or most vulnerable. I didn’t want it to be so, but there it was.”

  “There what was?” Cash used to say his aunt had a sixth sense about people and could often tell when something was about to happen before it did.

  She sighed. “You. He called your name. Such pain and torment, and there was nothing I could do but hold his hand and listen. I witnessed a broken man and it tore at my soul as surely as if the crows had pecked it apart. I vowed if he lived, I would find a way to make him whole again, no matter what I had to do or how many bargains I had to make.” Her dark gaze pierced Tess. “And I plan to keep that vow.”

  Cash had called her name. Perhaps she hadn’t been the only one hurting all these years. Perhaps Cash had known his own pain, had wished things were different. Had missed her even though she’d pushed him away. The knowledge made her dizzy and nauseated. “I’m so sorry.”

  Ramona ignored her. “You need to come back to Magdalena and make him whole again.”

  “What? I can’t—”

  “You’re responsi
ble for that boy’s pain and you’re going to take it away.”

  “You can’t be serious.” This was why Ramona Casherdon had traveled hundreds of miles to see her? Did she think a personal visit could persuade Tess to agree to what would certainly be a disaster on so many levels?

  The woman’s lips tilted at the corners in what could almost be considered a smile. “I’m very serious. You’ll return to Magdalena, make Cash believe you’ve had an ‘awakening’ after learning of his near-death experience. You’ll stay by his side; you’ll make him care about living again.”

  “I can’t do that.” I can’t see Cash, look in his eyes, remember how things were…

  Ramona lifted the latch on her purse and removed a folded piece of paper. “You sent Cash a letter a few months after he left.” She paused, lifted a brow. “I know it was returned to you, but not before I read it. Here.” She held the folded paper out to Tess. “Would you like to refresh your memory?”

  Tess sipped in breaths of air, her eyes on the paper. The truth and the destruction she’d caused lay in the folds of that paper. She shook her head. “No.”

  Ramona returned the letter to her purse and continued. “I’ll expect you back in Magdalena within the week. You can call your mother and I’m sure she’ll tell you about Cash, since the whole town is buzzing about it. There’s your opportunity to say you’re coming home.”

  “Please don’t do this.”

  “I’m saving my nephew. And if you don’t want me to blast the contents of that letter all over town, you’ll do as I say.” Her voice dipped, softened. “Your poor mother would never recover.” Pause. “Word has it she’s not well.”

  “What do you mean?” She’d spoken with her mother last week and Olivia had sounded as matter-of-fact as always.

  Cash’s aunt shrugged. “She has to have some testing done. Could be nothing, or it could be something. Either way, do you want this on your conscience?”

  “Of course not, but even if I agree, what makes you think Cash wants to see me or would consider giving us another chance?” Another chance with Cash… Just thinking the words made her queasy.

  “Oh, he won’t want to have anything to do with you, but you’ll figure it out. He can say whatever he wants, but the truth was in those words he moaned while he was in pain. Your name.” Her mouth pinched as she spit out the next words. “He’s never gotten over you.”

  Ramona actually believed her plan would work. But to what end? “What happens if I do ‘figure it out’ and he recovers? Then what? Do you really think we could just pick up where we left off eight years ago?”

  The woman did smile this time, but it was cold and brittle. “Of course not. We both know that’s not possible, don’t we? Once my nephew is strong again, you’re going to tell him the truth so he can move on and find someone to share his life with and it won’t be you. Cash deserves to know he was going to be a father, and he deserves to know why he wasn’t. When you tell him, I think we both know what’s going to happen.”

  Chapter 4

  Another day in hell. The hours ran together with nothing to pull him through but the next pill. People called this living? Right. His aunt might think Magdalena and a pain-in-the-ass physical therapist would heal him, but he was past healing, even if she refused to see it. And it had nothing to do with a beat-up body and two bullet holes.

  He’d only come back because he couldn’t stand to hurt his aunt. Again. The woman had endured enough grief these past years, and he was the cause of most of it. The least he could do was stay alive for her, but there was a lot more than a messed-up shoulder and a wound in the chest holding him down, threatening to screw him up for good.

  He did not want to remember what happened that night, did not want to think about the kid in the baggy pants and hoodie who reminded him so much of JJ that for a split second, Cash thought it was JJ. And that’s why he’d hesitated and ended up with two bullet holes in his body. The kid wasn’t JJ and he wasn’t robbing a convenience store with an unloaded gun. He’d nailed Cash and by the time the paramedics arrived, there’d been enough blood on the cement to fill a bucket.

  But Cash wasn’t going to tell anybody why he’d hesitated, or that he had hesitated. They wouldn’t believe him anyway, not when he had the quickest reaction time and deadliest aim on the force. Saying he paused was like saying a sharpshooter had decided to get a bead on a field of flowers instead of his target. Never happen. Only it had. A cop was still a cop, on duty or off, so that was no excuse either.

  What if it happened again? What if his partner took a bullet because of Cash’s hesitation? Ben Reed was strong, agile, ex-military, but he deserved a partner who didn’t let a screwed-up past threaten his safety. In the eight years since JJ’s death, Cash had never been in a situation that so closely mimicked the one that night, but now that he had, how long would it be before the situation recreated itself? Would it never happen again, would it happen twice, five times?

  He couldn’t risk that and that’s why he was so royally messed up right now, why the physical pain was nothing compared to the mental anguish and doubt tearing at his body.

  By the time Gina Servetti arrived, the pill had smoothed things out just enough to pretend civility and execute a plan to get rid of her. He’d tried belligerence, moodiness, plain anger, and sulking, but none of those stopped the damn woman from her mission. He had not tried sexual banter.

  “Nice shirt. Why don’t you open the first three buttons?” Her dark head jerked up from the notes in her hand. Aha. He caught the faint pink slithering up her neck, across her chest. Now he was onto something. Ten minutes and a few crass remarks would send her flying out the door.

  Cash worked a lopsided smiled through the drugged haze and patted his bed. Hospital issue, rolled into his old room, compliments of Ramona and Magdalena General Physical Therapy. “Unbutton your shirt. Come get cozy with me.”

  Her dark eyes narrowed the tiniest bit. She’d be a real looker if she’d get rid of the “He done me wrong” pissed-off attitude. Didn’t she know relationships were screwed from the start?

  “Gina?”

  “Stop it, Cash.” She eyed him with equal parts curiosity and something else. He couldn’t quite make it out. Interest? Women couldn’t resist his smile, or his charm. Even with a busted-up body and a screwed-up head, those nurses and therapists still wanted him. And once in a while, he’d relented and taken what they offered. That had been an acrobatic feat, especially in a hospital, but he’d complied and they’d pulled the curtains and got what they wanted, or said they did. The sex was never the question. It was the other they expected, and when they didn’t get it, even though he’d told them it wasn’t there, they’d gone away crying or mad.

  Hadn’t he told every single one of them it would never be about more than sex?

  Thanks to his ex-fiancée. She’d taken his honor and his heart and crushed them. Just as well. Being unencumbered had made him a better policeman. And now, indirectly, she’d taken that from him, too. The pure fact that he’d lost the choice created a slow burn in his gut that spread and made him wish he could obliterate her from his brain—permanently.

  Wham! Something smacked the side of his head. “Hey, what are you doing?”

  Gina went all soft and innocent on him. “Sorry. I guess I was so caught up in your attempted seduction, I got carried away.”

  Sarcasm at its finest. Cash closed his eyes and sighed. Maybe if he pretended she wasn’t here…

  “Really, Cash? You’re going to resort to childish pranks?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Fine. You tell your aunt she’s wasting her hard-earned money on you.”

  One eye flew open. She knew how to get to him. His aunt had insisted he continue his sessions in Magdalena even though the physical therapy department in Philly had discharged him. Ramona thought his despondent attitude and continual grogginess necessitated more therapy. What she didn’t know was that the attitude and the grogginess had more to do with h
is mental state and the pills he’d been taking and less to do with his beat-up body. Still, he’d have to get himself straight and soon because he could not have Ramona shelling out money she didn’t have for therapy he didn’t need. “Okay. Confession time.”

  “Is this where you’re going to tell me you don’t really need therapy? I figured that out on the initial assessment, but what I didn’t understand was why you couldn’t navigate basic weights and exercises.” Her gaze narrowed on the bedside stand and the bottle of pills resting there. “There’s your problem, isn’t it?”

  He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “I might have taken an extra pill now and again to help me along.”

  “Help you along? With what exactly? Life? Your moods?” Her voice escalated with uncharacteristic emotion. “Addiction creeps up on you; a pill here and there, to smooth out the rough spots and before you know it, there are more rough spots than smooth ones. Stop now. Get out of bed and start moving.”

  “Okay, stop yelling.”

  “I’m not yelling.” Her voice quieted. “I just don’t want to see you mess yourself up.”

  She spoke like she’d seen somebody get messed up. Had she? He wasn’t about to ask, even if he wanted to know. “Let’s at least finish up the next two sessions so my aunt doesn’t get suspicious. But we have to have rules.”

  She eyed him. “Rules?”

  “I don’t want to hear about town chit-chat. No telling me about Pop Benito’s new tennis shoes. Or how The Bleeding Hearts Society planted a pansy outside of Lina’s Café. And I sure as hell don’t want you gushing about how Nate Desantro has turned human now that he has a beautiful wife and a baby. I don’t care. Got it? And I don’t want to hear about it.”

  Gina shrugged. “I don’t gush. Ever.” She wrote a few things in her chart. “He even smiles now.”

  “Who?”