I stare at the video as it ends. An arrow spins, waiting on the next story to begin, but Todd hits pause.
“Her children,” I whisper.
“Poor Henny,” states Todd without knowing her.
My own company’s headquarters wasn’t far from her father’s, hoping to encroach on his excessive property along the riverfront. I wanted to be neighbors so he could look out his window and see my building. I wanted Arthur Miller to glance across that river and know that I’d made something of myself. I never needed him to be proud of me. I wanted to rub it in his face that I was damn proud of myself.
“Want me to keep digging?”
I nod without speaking as my brain tosses around what I’ve learned.
Henny’s children died.
Her children could not be at a cabin in the woods.
Henny didn’t—couldn’t, shouldn’t—have any children with her.
Why would she lie to me?
“Pull up images. Maybe something will show a picture of the family.” Todd ignores my terse tone, and his fingers fly over the keyboard.
An image appears of Jeffrey Heiner, polished and trim with his beautiful wife beside him, blonde and perfected. Two children stand before them. Both blonde. Both blue-eyed. They look like Henny. Their formal attire suggests the family was at a fundraising function or business event.
Two boys aged five and eight. Timothy and Brandon.
Scotia saw Henny at the beauty salon with a child, though. A child who looked similar to Malik, and neither of these boys pictured with Henny look like him. So whose child does she have?
“Can you search the rentals in the area? Anything under Heiner or Miller? Anything . . .” I don’t even know what I’m looking for. More lies perhaps, or am I grappling for some honesty? Had Henny moved back to the Knoxville area when her husband took over her father’s company? She hadn’t mentioned that. She said they lived in Nashville. She said her children were alive.
They’d be a year older if they lived. Six and nine.
My stomach pitches.
“And additional family,” I mutter, thoughts spewing out as they come to me.
Todd types away for minutes without speaking and then fires off fact after fact.
“In-laws living in Florida. Both her parents are deceased.” I never thought Henny’s mother was a bad person, despite Arthur’s disapproval of me. For a moment, I’m sorry that Henny has no one in her life, finding sympathy as I’d lost my only family in Harper and Davis. But I still have their three children.
“I’m not finding anything about a rental under Miller or Heiner, especially because many of them are managed by a management company and not listed by owner.” Todd’s brows crease, and I sense the search could take a while.
“Forget it, man,” I mutter, my heart sinking as I know what I need to do. My suspicion runs deep. Even though I haven’t seen her with kids, I can’t dismiss the sickening feeling in my belly from the things Henny told me. And there’s no doubt her children do not match Malik’s appearance. Maybe she isn’t right in the head over the loss of her babies. Maybe she’s still not processing what’s happened to them. Maybe it’s post-traumatic stress disorder.
As much as I want to reason with myself and diagnose excuses for Henny’s behavior, I can’t deny she was at the bar last night, telling more lies and ordering enough food for a small army, or at least, a small family.
Oh, Henny, what have you done?
I reach for my phone. I have another call I need to make.
When I call Maura to tell her what I’ve done and check on Malik, she tells me he’s more withdrawn than ever. I hate to admit Scotia might be our secret weapon with him. It’d be so much easier if he spoke to us, explained what happened to him, and told us why he freaked out over seeing Hennessy in the bar last night.
I decide to head to Harper House later that afternoon and find Scotia and Maura discussing Malik.
“You can’t allow him to be removed,” Scotia interjects.
“We might not have a choice,” Maura counters, and I pause inside the door of Maura’s office where the two women are in a standoff with one another. I don’t want the boy to go, either, but without answers, I’m nervous that his caginess might mean it’s time for alternative placement. We can’t have him around the other boys if he’s a risk.
Maura tips her head at me in greeting, causing Scotia to turn and face me.
“Chet, tell me it isn’t true? He can’t be taken away from here without answers.”
“That’s how the system works. If he’s any sort of threat to himself or the others, he needs to be in a place where there is more individualized attention like a home with no other children, not our group setting.”
Scotia turns away from my clinical answer. “Is he a threat to the other boys?” she questions of Maura. “He’d never hurt anyone.” Her statement is said with confidence, yet I don’t think Scotia is qualified to assess him.
“We don’t know for certain that he won’t,” I state, and Scotia rounds back to me.
“You can’t say for certain he will,” she defends.
“His erratic behavior might say otherwise.” I huff. “Scotia, I keep telling—”
She stops me by holding up a hand. “It’s not my concern,” she mocks but continues. “If you thought he was a threat, why did he remain here in the first place? He’s been here since July.”
“The social services department asked us to keep him,” Maura clarifies. I’m certain Scotia already knows this fact.
“So you did, and he’s been fine, until . . .” Scotia glares at me, not mentioning she-who-shall-not-be-named.
“I’m handling it,” I tell her.
“How?” Scotia snaps just as she did this morning in her bedroom.
“I’m having dinner with Henny.” The statement falls in the room like a hammer on an anvil. After calling Deputy Boone, I called Hennessy, prepared to ask her out to dinner. It isn’t that I didn’t trust Boone to do his job, but I had my own plan. I had to do something as Scotia suggested. I’d hoped Henny would invite me to her cabin, and I’d see for myself if she had a child in her presence. A child that was not hers. I still can’t wrap my head around the thought.
But Henny hadn’t answered her phone, and I have to let the authorities handle things for the moment.
“You what?!” Scotia barks, snapping me out of my thoughts. She blinks at me, lids fluttering in disbelief.
“You need to trust me,” I say in response, not ready to give her the details of my plan.
“Trust you? How can I trust you? One minute, you’re fucking me, and the next, you’re going out to dinner with that . . . that . . .”
Maura gasps behind Scotia, but I ignore her and instead focus on Scotia’s rising temper and my growing anger.
“Don’t hold back, Scotia. Give it to me,” I taunt, wiggling my fingers at her.
“That potential kidnapper!” Her voice cracks. I flinch. The words are like a slap, even though they’ve been lingering in my head all day.
“We don’t know that,” I state, crossing my arms and glaring at Scotia.
“Why do you keep defending her?” Scotia questions. While her voice climbs an octave, her shoulders slump, but she isn’t defeated. This woman has a lot of fight in her.
“Because she’s had a difficult life.” Her husband died. Her children are dead.
“We’ve all had difficult lives in some way,” Scotia snaps, twisting a bit and stepping back when she remembers Maura’s standing behind her. “Tell him.” She tosses out a hand, hoping Maura will support her.
“When I mentioned dating, Hennessy was not who I had in mind,” my friend states. “And this . . .,” Maura says, pointing at Scotia, then me. “I did not see this coming.”
“Yeah, well, neither did I,” Scotia states, crossing her arms and tipping up her nose.
“Just what does that mean?” I question.
“What happened to opening up to each other?” Scot
ia asks, forgetting Maura again and dismissing my question.
“It doesn’t mean we are accountable to each other for everything.”
“Oh Chet,” Maura mutters, shaking her head side to side.
“I see.” Scotia’s voice falters. The shutters slam shut on those silvery eyes, which are now dark steel. Her crossed arms hold her tight, and the invisible armor swings around her body.
“You’re doing that thing, darlin’.”
Scotia holds up her head. “You know, Mr. Chesterfield, you might think I’m a cold-hearted witch at times, but I do have feelings. That boy is my concern. I care about him just as I care about each and every other boy in this house. I want what’s best for all of them, but right now, Malik especially, because he needs it the most. And there might be another child out there who needs help as well.” Scotia means the child she saw with Henny.
“I—”
“It seems the only boy I was fool enough to care about in this home was you.”
Silence falls around us, and Scotia steps forward, coming into my space.
“I willingly gave myself to you because I thought you saw me differently, but I can see now you don’t. And while you’re a good man at heart . . .for these boys, for your businesses, and for Hennessy Miller, you aren’t good for me.”
My head starts to shake, brimstone and flames brewing on my tongue, ready to lash back at her.
“I opened up to you, giving you my body and my heart, and it’s not enough, is it? You’ll always want her. But what you were searching for from that woman, you won’t ever find. Not in her. Not even in me. The only person you need to prove something to is yourself, and all you’ve proven to me is I’m not worth anything to you but good sex. And even that is questionable.”
What the . . .? “I told you, I’m handling it.”
“I suppose sex is one way to get Henny to open up to you, too.”
Scotia’s mark is hit. “You’re out of line.”
“No, I’m out of here.” Scotia turns to Maura. “I’ll check back tomorrow about that thing we were discussing.”
“What thing?” I interject, anger vibrating off my large body in waves strong enough to knock both women over.
“It’s not your concern,” Scotia sneers, turning back to me and tossing my own words in my face. She steps around me, careful to keep her distance, and disappears behind me. My eyes meet Maura’s.
“What have you done?” Maura whispers.
“I didn’t mean for you to hear all that,” I mutter, lowering my head.
“You were blocking the exit, so I had no choice but to be a witness to that train wreck. And you have bigger issues than me hearing a few words.” Her exasperated tone tells me she’s disappointed in more than being forced to stand here during my argument with Scotia.
“I’ve made another grave mistake where a woman was concerned.” My voice lowers, my head hangs. I’m not asking a question; I’m pointing out facts.
“With Hennessy Miller?”
“With Scotia Simmons.”
Maura’s eyes narrow, anger flaring in them. “That woman would do more good than harm to you.”
“Don’t you mean more harm than good?”
“No, I mean exactly what I said. You have a big heart, Chet, and you need a woman who matches it. Her convictions might be loud where yours are quiet, but you need her in your life.”
“I don’t need anyone,” I quickly retort, realizing it isn’t exactly true. I’ve needed Maura and the boys.
“Good luck going it on your own, then, Chet.” Maura pats my chest as she storms around me the same way Scotia did.
I don’t know what she means, and I don’t get a chance to ask, leaving me as puzzled as I always am with women.
When I told Scotia I was having dinner with Henny, it wasn’t completely true. Hennessy hadn’t agreed to a date yet. She hadn’t returned the call I’d made to her after I’d learned the information about her history. For some unexplained reason, I wanted to help her because she needed help. She needed to face her most recent past. I knew how dangerous it was to live there, and she had to move forward.
After Scotia stormed out of Harper House, and Maura put me in my place, I decided on something I swore I’d never do. I chased Scotia.
“Good luck going it alone,” Maura had said. I’d been alone for so long I was comfortable by myself, but I didn’t want to be. I’d like to think Scotia’s reaction is just classic Scotia. She’s salty off the cuff and vinegar in her venom. She’d shut down but perhaps that shield of armor was because she was hurt . . . by me.
“She would do more good than harm.” I tried to see things from Scotia’s perspective. She was looking out for Malik. And it would have stung me if she told me she was going out with another man, no matter what the reasoning. I needed her to trust me, but I hadn’t been open enough with her. I hadn’t shared my plan with her.
I didn’t miss what she said this morning. I want everyone to know we are together. I want us together, too. I just need her to see that.
Hoping I can entice Scotia into letting me make dinner for her so we can talk, I’m in the Piggly Wiggly picking up steaks. I’m at the meat counter waiting on my order when I see Henny out of the corner of my eye.
“Hennessy?” I say, turning fully to face her. I don’t miss the possessive motion of her arm sweeping around the shoulders of a little boy and tucking said child behind her. My eyes lower to him, but Henny quickly draws my attention.
“Chester. It’s so great to see you.” The strain in her voice tells me our surprise meeting is anything but pleasant. “I didn’t realize you spent so much time in this valley.” There’s an unasked question, considering I told Henny when we met for drinks that I live in North Carolina. I hadn’t mentioned The Fugitive for some reason, just that I had a place over the border and made the trek to Knoxville a few times a week. She only knows Chester Chesterfield, owner of Chesterfield Oil, the parent company for Stop-and-Pump, is headquartered across from her father’s hydroelectric company. I was a poor man from the valley who wanted a mountain ridge home. I wanted her, once upon a time, no matter the cost.
I’m not that man anymore, though.
“Where should I be?” I tilt my head, eyes drifting to the boy she’s keeping pressed to the back of her leg, shielding him as she speaks with me. I don’t wait for an answer.
“Who’s this?” I question instead, lowering to a squat, not missing how Henny draws him farther behind her, shielding him between her body and the meat counter at her back.
“This is my son, Timmy. He’s terribly shy.” I look up at her from my lowered position, searching her face for the lie. I’m on fragile ground here, like an unstable layer of ice on a lake before it cracks. I don’t want to do anything to spook Henny. I certainly can’t just reach for the child, so I need to stall. I need to see if she’ll open up to me.
“And your other boy? Brandon was his name, correct? Where is he?” While I ask the question, I see the child at her legs struggle. I smile as gently as I can, considering the tension suddenly pressing at my chest. I pretend to play a sort of peekaboo with the boy by swinging my head from one side of Henny’s hips to the other. Henny fights to keep the child hidden behind her each time he shifts. Her hands reach down and stop him from peeking around her thighs.
“He isn’t with us this evening. He’s at home.”
“Alone?” My head pops up as I slowly lift my body, meeting Henny in the eye. “He’s a little young to be left alone. Eight, you said?” I pause, waiting for confirmation.
“He’s nine now.” Her terse answer is spoken through clenched teeth.
“Hen, I—”
“Well, my, my, isn’t this cozy?” The saccharine-sweet but completely false tenor of Scotia’s voice interrupts me. I close my eyes, wishing this moment wasn’t happening, but it is. I’m this close to getting Henny to speak to me. I know her lie, and she’s in grave danger if she doesn’t come clean. I don’t need Scotia to ruin thin
gs.
However, Scotia brings herself close to my side, stopping just inches from touching me. She looks from Henny to me and back to Henny. Scotia’s lips curl deeper, her cheeks lifting higher on her face as she mockingly stares at my former love.
“Family outing?” Scotia asks bitterly, and I hate that she’s slipping into that mode where she’s ready to insult. I have to remind myself she’s not interpreting this situation correctly, and she’s jumping to a conclusion I can’t rectify at the moment.
“Yes,” I state, stepping closer to Henny, placing my back to the meat counter. “Scotia, you remember Henny from the other evening? We planned to have drinks together, but instead, she’s invited me to her place to meet her boys.” I gaze down at the child.
“And you decided to go grocery shopping together? Isn’t that precious?” Scotia looks from the child to me, her expression hardening. An almost visible film of protection covers her face as she reaches for a string of pearls at her throat.
“I’ll be meeting her other son,” I say, hoping Scotia understands my meaning. Deep down, I’m hoping not to find another child at Henny’s home. I’m suddenly only concerned about the one before me. It’s evident this boy isn’t hers. He looks nothing like her, and from what I remember of Jeffrey, the child doesn’t match him either. Not to mention the cold truth I discovered online—her children are dead.
“Actually, tonight isn’t a good night,” Henny interjects. “My son is sick,” she says to Scotia, a detail she hadn’t mentioned to me. “And it probably wouldn’t be a good idea to bring a stranger into the house to meet him.”
“I’m not a stranger, Hen.” I turn on her, placing a hand on her shoulder in what I hope is a comforting manner. It’s obvious she’s in trouble, and I’m willing to help her, but the only way I can do that is to get closer. For the sake of the child at her legs, I don’t want to tip her off. “Let me come meet the boy. We can purchase soup for him.”
Love in a Pickle: A Silver Fox Small Town Romance (Green Valley Library Book 9) Page 25