“Fantastic,” Will mumbled.
Hannah pushed back her chair. “You okay?”
But Will didn’t answer, and this time, he didn’t close the front door as he left.
Hannah was out of the house and on the gravel in seconds. No way could she let him drive back to New York while he was sleep deprived and distressed. He could fall asleep at the wheel; he could end up in a wreck on I-95; he could die.
“Hey.” She grabbed Will’s upper arm, and his muscles clenched. “It’s getting late, and you’re tired. Why don’t you stay another day?”
“What happened to waving me off with no regrets and a goodbye present?” Will pulled his arm free and stomped over to the cottage, grabbed a green duffel from the porch and walked back toward the Prius.
“I don’t think you should leave.” Hannah positioned herself in front of the trunk.
“Could you move your ass please?”
“No. You shouldn’t drive in this state. Do you know most car wrecks happen when people are mad?”
“I think you’ll find most of them happen when people are drunk.”
She didn’t like his tone, but then she’d raised two teenage boys, one of them a borderline criminal. Will Shepard couldn’t intimidate her if he tried. Folding her arms, she leaned back against the Prius. “The mother in me can’t let you leave until you’ve calmed down.”
“Why, Hannah? Why do you really want me to stay?”
“Why do you really want to leave?”
He glared.
“Okay,” she said, “I’ll go first.”
“Because you’re older and wiser?”
“Because I’m tired of people I love leaving.”
Her forsythia bush was turning to plum and lemon. That shrub hadn’t wilted once during the drought, and next spring, it would shine with yellow blossoms. Nothing held back a forsythia. Nothing.
“You’re supposed to respond,” she said quietly. “When a woman tells you she’s in love.”
He stared at the gravel. “Don’t ask me again to stay. Please.”
“Why? What’s stopping you? Your glitzy New York life?”
“I don’t have a glitzy New York life. I don’t have a life.” His head shot up. “I have nothing except a screwed-up relationship with my dad.”
“That’s not true, you have your writing—”
“I haven’t written a word in months. Surely you’ve figured that out. My career is pretty close to being flushed down the toilet. This time next year I could be working at Home Depot.”
“And you have your son—”
“Let it go, Hannah.” His voice had hardened. He was issuing a threat, which she was going to ignore.
Hannah placed her palms on the Prius and braced herself against the body of his car. One of the dogs barked inside the house. A single bark that suggested Poppy was handing out illicit tidbits.
Confrontations had never been Hannah’s thing. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d cornered anyone. She hadn’t asked Galen the tough questions because she’d been scared of the answers. Will, however, was going to give her answers.
“Are you leaving because something happened to my son—” she paused “—or because something happened to yours?”
“I have feelings for you, Hannah. Strong feelings. And what happened between us will always be special. But this isn’t about us. This, I can’t share. Please, get out of my way.”
“No. I want the truth. I want to know why you never talk about your son. I want to know why you’re plagued by headaches and insomnia. I want to know why your dad has recurring nightmares about—”
“Why?” Will threw the duffel to the ground. “Because the whole time I was holding your son I was wondering why I could only save the wrong kid.”
Her hand flew to her mouth. It all made sense: the insomnia, the migraines, the pacing. Will was battling grief. The giggling brown-haired boy on his iPhone...
Jacob shuffled out onto the porch, holding his cardboard tube. Poppy was behind him. Dear God, why hadn’t she closed the front door?
“Will, don’t—”
“You want the truth? I’ll give you the truth. We both failed to keep our sons safe, Hannah. My son is dead, and your son is barely alive. My son is dead, you get it? Dead. Killed by his drunk mother. She was a crazy bitch and she killed herself and my son. He burned to death in the backseat of her car. Strapped into his five-point-harness car seat. A car seat I bought because it was the safest car seat on the market.”
Hannah glanced at Jacob, but neither of them moved.
“People heard screaming. That could have been him. Every time I close my eyes I imagine him screaming for Daddy, screaming for me to save him. But I didn’t, I didn’t save him. I didn’t even know he was in danger. You want to know what I was doing as my son died? I was solving a plot problem. Oh, but wait. It gets better. I didn’t save my son, but your son? Your son who doesn’t give a flying fuck whether he lives or dies? Him I could save.”
Part of her wanted to yell, You’re wrong, my son does care. But it would be a lie. She choked back bile.
“Willie?”
Will whirled around. “Jesus,” he muttered. “Dad, Dad, I—”
“Willie? Why you talkin’ that way about my grandbaby?”
Will gulped for air as if he was hyperventilating.
She was trapped inside a slow-moving nightmare, her body frozen in time. Her vision blurred as the world slipped away; the thud of her heartbeat stifled every sound in the forest. Will’s son was dead. A child, a five-year-old child, was dead.
“Freddie died, Dad. He’s dead. Killed.”
“But the Great European Adventure?” Jacob dropped the cardboard tube. Poppy picked it up and leaned it against the dining room window.
“A story I made up.” Will closed his eyes. “Freddie died in a car wreck in New York, on July 1 at 8:30 p.m. He was with his mother and her new lover. Single-vehicle accident. No survivors.”
“The heiress?” Poppy said. “She was Freddie’s mother? But the press said—”
“I have a well-paid, well-oiled P.R. machine. So does her family.” Will spat out his words.
Hannah clutched at her throat, and her pulse banged against her thumb.
“Them nightmares, they was real?” Jacob swayed and Poppy helped him down onto the rocker. “Why, Willie? Why did you lie to me, boy?”
“Why did you lie to me about Mom, pretend she was okay?”
“For you, son.”
“I did the same, Dad. I did the same.”
Hannah inhaled through her mouth, then exhaled. Breathed in, breathed out, and inched toward Will. She tried to say his name, but nothing came out. Touch him, she had to touch him. Her hand moved forward and Will grabbed it, tightening his grip until she gasped.
“I should have known better. I should have learned something from the lies. I certainly had enough time to think about it during all those hours you locked me in my room when I was a kid. I never understood why you did that, Dad. Why did you put me in my bedroom and turn the key in the lock? Why?”
“So you wouldn’t see your mama when the demons took her. And sometimes I needed to go find her, bring her home.”
“Didn’t you realize how scared I was? How alone I felt?”
“I—I wanted you safe, son. Wanted you hidden so you’d be safe.”
“But it only made me resent you and hate her.”
“Don’t speak about your mama that way.”
“Why not? She ruined our lives because she wouldn’t admit she needed help, and you enabled her.”
“She were a free spirit, Willie. I let her be herself.”
“She was batshit insane.”
“You will not talk about your mama that
way. You won’t, you hear me? She loved you, son. She just...” Poppy put her arm around Jacob. “Motherin’ were real hard for her, real hard. But she were so proud. She told everyone about her son.”
“She told me,” Hannah said.
Three pairs of eyes stared at her.
“I met her once—she brought me Rosie. She was leaving when she saw a picture of the boys. She said her son had just become a father, and she was so proud because he would be a good dad, the best.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Will released her hand, and she flexed her fingers.
“I’m sorry, it was such a brief exchange and...I didn’t remember that part until now.”
“She wanted to be a grandmama real bad,” Jacob said. “Maybe they’re together. You reckon they’re together?” He turned to Poppy. “I never wanted to think of my Angeline alone under the dirt. I wanted to think of her runnin’ wild in the forest, like the wind. You reckon Freddie’s with her? You think they’re together?”
“I think so, honey.” Poppy kissed his cheek.
“So, Freddie’s passed on?” Jacob said.
“You knew and then you didn’t. And I...I just...couldn’t. Couldn’t do it. Couldn’t tell you again. Tell you he was—” Will buckled and collapsed onto his knees. “I want him back, Dad. I miss him so much and I just...I just...need him back. I don’t know what to do with this pain. I don’t know how to be without him. It hurts so much, Dad. I can’t do it. I can’t.” He thrust the heels of his hands into his eyes and began rocking.
Hannah sank down in front of him and eased his head onto her chest. In the distance, bottles and cans clunked into the recycling truck. Their world was imploding, and it was recycling day.
Will pulled himself up. “How do you live without Mom?”
“I have you, son. And I have her stories.” Jacob patted his heart. “And I have the forest. And I have this beautiful day.”
Jacob was so calm—shockingly so. Had he known all along? Had some part of him believed the nightmares but he, too, had chosen the better story? Jacob stood—strong and tall and straight. People talked about she-bears protecting their cubs but what about father bears?
“There’ll be no more talk of goin’ back to the city, son. You’ll be stayin’ here with your people, with your kin.”
“I’m sorry, Dad. I’m sorry. I’m so used to looking after myself, and then Freddie blasted my world apart, and I can’t, I just can’t...” Finally, he spoke to Hannah. “And I wanted to tell you, but I couldn’t, I couldn’t—”
“Poppy,” Hannah said. “Take Jacob back inside and serve some of that carrot cake you brought over earlier. Will and I are going to stay here for a while.”
“Come on, Handsome,” Poppy said. “We’re on refreshment duty. Do you know I make the best carrot cake in the county? Cream cheese frosting to die for.” And she led Jacob inside.
* * *
Exhausted. He was exhausted.
“I just want to sleep,” Will said.
“I know, baby, but you can’t do it on the gravel. Can you stand?”
He shook his head.
“When you’re ready, I’m going to help you inside. You’re going to lie down in my bed, and I’m going to bring you something to help you sleep.”
Yes, that’s exactly what he wanted: to lose himself in Hannah’s white bed with the overstuffed pillows. To sleep and never wake up. The gravel bit into his knees, but he couldn’t move. Not yet. Not till he’d told her everything.
“Galen knows, about Freddie. I had to explain why I couldn’t come back. Are you hurt that I told him the truth and not you?”
“You had your reasons, Will, and rehashing what’s done is pointless. Galen is a kind soul. He was a good choice.”
But she needed to hear everything, to understand.
“I nearly told you so many times, but I knew if I did, I’d be asking you to lie to my dad. When I told Dad that Freddie had been—” he hesitated “—killed, it was a really bad scene. I drove down in the middle of the night to tell him in person, and it was awful. They had to sedate him. And then, when he started talking about Freddie’s journey, the staff assumed he was delusional. I didn’t mean to lie to him, but he was driving me crazy—drinking every night, trapped in this loop of forgetting, repeating himself over and over. Angry all the time. And one day he just forgot about the accident and I couldn’t...”
“It’s okay, Will. You don’t have to explain.”
But he did. He’d spent his life retreating, always feeling he’d said too much when he’d said nothing at all. For once, he wanted a different ending. For once, he wanted to tell the truth. Since leaving New York, he’d been struggling to hold on, refusing to let go. Every climber knew a controlled fall was the only way to avoid injury. And yet he’d hung on to the bitter end, made the worst climbing mistake. Until Hannah had pushed him.
“No, no, I do have to explain. Because I told myself I was doing it for Dad, and it worked. He was calmer, drinking less. But life became a little easier for me, too. I could think about Freddie in the present tense. Dad’s memory sucked away everything I didn’t want to confront, gave me the excuse I needed to rewrite my own story. I wanted so hard to forget, and then all I wanted was to remember.” He blinked and took a deep breath. “In the beginning, I lied for Dad, but I kept lying for myself. My life is about me, Will Shepard. Always has been. The only person I know how to protect is me. You hate me now. Do you? Hate me?”
Crows cawed, mocking him the same way they’d done when he was a kid hiding from his mom.
“This changes nothing, Will. You’ve been protecting yourself since you were a kid because you’ve had no choice. You had to survive. I’ve watched you with your dad and with my son. You’re kind and generous, and you don’t deserve this.” She paused. “I’m so sorry about Freddie. Losing a child, I can’t imagine.”
“But I think you’re the one person who can. You’ve faced that fear every day since Galen came home. If I stay here, with you, will you help me figure out how to let Freddie go?”
She nodded.
He cupped her face. “Also...I think I...you know.” Last time he told someone he loved her, it didn’t work out so well. Why do it again now, in this moment of despair? He moved closer and kissed her. A first kiss, a last kiss, and everything in between.
She tasted of tears.
Her mouth was soft and warm, her kiss tentative, as if she knew she could crush him.
“You going to break my heart?” He rested his forehead against hers and wove his fingers into her hair.
“You going to break mine the first time a cute young babe gives you the eye?”
“You think I’m that shallow?”
“No, I’m thinking my AARP card will come in the mail eleven years before yours.”
“Ten. I turn thirty-five on Christmas Eve. I want you in my life, Hannah. I want the fairy tale.” He twisted one of her curls around his index finger and tugged it gently across his lips. When he was ready to climb back into life, she would be his anchor. “What’s Liam like?”
“Feisty. Galen’s the easy one. At least—” she hesitated “—he was.”
“We need to get him writing again. Writing saved me once, it can save him, too.”
“Will?”
“Yeah?”
“Tell me you love me.”
“I do,” he whispered. “I do love you.”
“Louder.”
He stood up and pulled her with him. Then he took a deep breath and inhaled wood smoke and lavender—the smells of home.
“I love you,” he said. What words! What strength they gave him! His heart, his lungs, seemed to expand, to fill his chest.
“I love this woman!” he shouted into the sky.
And somewhere on Saponi Mountain, he t
hought he heard drums.
Thirty-Four
Christmas Eve
Will blew on his fingers and went back to typing. It was sixty degrees, ridiculously mild for late December, but the sun had begun its descent, and his corner of the porch was sinking into shade. Hannah was worried it was too warm for a Christmas Eve fire, but Will and Galen had spent the morning splitting logs. Even if they had to turn on the air-conditioning and wear shorts, she would have her fire.
Inside the house, his dad and Galen were decorating the Charlie Brown Christmas tree chosen by Galen for its deformity. Decorating the tree had always, apparently, been a family affair, and every day for the past week the damn thing sat outside in a bucket—a painful reminder that Will was the cause of a family rift. Liam was home for the break but refusing to visit. Sadly, this didn’t prevent Hannah’s youngest from huffing and puffing via phone. Will had been called many names before but never a gigolo. Pretty ironic, considering Inigo’s living arrangements.
At least the old man was quietly content these days. There were moments—heart-crushing moments—when his dad called Galen Freddie, and as if by secret agreement, no one corrected him. The old man would still need full-time care but, with any luck, not before they were in the new house with the caregiver annex—plus caregiver, now that Poppy worked for Hannah.
His dad had also been teaching Galen to make primitive weaponry, and at Galen’s suggestion, they were putting together a demonstration for local elementary schools. Galen had proved to be surprisingly gifted—both with his hands and in his care of the elderly. Come spring, all three of them would be helping with the tribe’s Homeland Preservation Project. A future that Will could never have imagined was evolving, gaining substance. Giving hope.
Right.
Will cracked his knuckles and stared at the half-full page on the screen. Make word count before dinner. Dinner with birthday cake and candles. Hadn’t had too many of those in the past thirty years.
He scratched his neck, then pummeled the lumps in the cushion behind his back, but his mind refused to budge. It was stuck on Hannah’s birthday present. A lunchtime quickie, she’d whispered as she’d dragged him into the bathroom, pushed him against the door and used her mouth to shush his moans. They’d done it standing up. Earth-shattering sex with the woman he loved—best birthday present ever.
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