“Yeah, you’re pretty good,” Talen agreed with a reluctant smile that warmed her heart. “But I still want to go to bed a little later. I’m not even tired.”
“Good night, my son,” she said with a knowing smile. For a boy who professed he was still wide-awake, he was already rubbing at his eyes and fighting a yawn. He’d be asleep within five minutes.
Not long after the house had been closed up for the night, Miranda climbed into bed and checked her emails from her laptop. As she scanned the emails, she was disappointed to see that Trace had not responded to her latest email. He hated technology but he grudgingly kept an email address because he didn’t actually have a regular mailing address and this was the only way his family could reach him at times. But sometimes he went weeks without checking his email, which defeated the purpose. She sighed and closed her laptop, more than a little irritated at her brothers.
It was unfair that both of those nitwits were happy to let her deal with their parents when they knew full well neither their mother nor father were easy to handle. This latest situation with their mother was a pain in her backside and she could use a little backup.
Miranda leaned over and grabbed her cell phone. It was a long shot, as Trace turned on his cell phone as often as he checked his email, but she was a little desperate.
“Hey, Trace, this is Miranda. I need you to check in as soon as possible. I need to talk to you about Mom. It’s important, so please don’t blow me off for another few weeks while you roam the countryside like an antisocial wild man. Love you.”
She tossed her phone to the bed and yawned. It wasn’t late but she was beat. Most days she could handle everything without blinking an eye but it seemed that the weight of all her responsibilities was heavier than usual. She hated nights like this—emotionally exhausted yet too wired to actually sleep—and she knew she would toss and turn all night while her brain refused to shut down for a blessed minute. It was nights like this that she craved a warm body beside her and a shot of whiskey to warm her insides. She swung her legs free from the bed and headed for the kitchen. At least she could manage the whiskey, if not the man.
One generous shot later, she returned to her bed and climbed beneath the covers. Maybe tonight would be different. She wouldn’t dream of her sister or anyone in her family.
Maybe she would just drift into nothingness and her brain would stop jabbering long enough for a moment’s peace.
Maybe.
Not likely.
CHAPTER NINE
THE LOUD BUZZ of her cell phone rattling on her nightstand jarred her from a restless sleep. Miranda fumbled for the phone and answered in a sleepy mumble to hear her brother’s voice on the other line.
“I got your message. What’s up?”
Miranda sat up to rub the sleep from her eyes as she answered, “I can’t believe you actually called me back so soon. I half expected not to hear from you for another couple weeks.”
“You said it was important,” Trace reminded her. “So what’s going on?”
Miranda yawned as she slowly came awake. “The situation with Mom is getting out of control. I need your input. She won’t listen to me, and of course, Dad is no help. I hired an organizer to go out there and help her and she sent the woman away. And then she was mad at me for sending the woman to her home.”
“Of course she was mad. I wouldn’t want a stranger poking her nose into my business, either.”
Trace’s irritation rubbed Miranda the wrong way. He didn’t know what it was like to deal with their mother on an everyday basis. He’d conveniently skipped out on the family, same as Wade, the cowards. “Trace, the way she’s living is dangerous. She’s a hoarder,” she maintained with an edge to her voice.
“Come on, Miranda. I think you’re exaggerating. Mom likes to collect stuff but she’s not a hoarder.”
“No, that’s where you’re wrong. You haven’t been down here to see the house lately. It’s a nightmare. I don’t know how she walks through the house. It’s gotten so bad that Dad is practically living in his shop.”
“I’d be more concerned about Dad selling pot than I am about Mom liking to collect things.”
“If you visited more than once a year you’d know that Mom’s collecting is the bigger issue. I can’t do this by myself. You and Wade have put all the responsibility of our parents on my shoulders and it’s not fair. I need you to come home.”
“Nobody told you to stay in Homer.”
Great defense, Trace. Blame me for choosing to make a life here. “I have a job that I love. It’s not just about staying in Homer. This is my son’s home, too. I’m not about to tear Talen away from his heritage just because things don’t always go smoothly.”
“Is this all you want to talk about? I’m on a job and I only took a few minutes to make the call because you made it sound urgent.”
“It is urgent, damn it. Our mother is going to die in that house because it’s unsanitary and unsafe. I can’t let Talen visit anymore because I’m afraid he’ll be smothered by the towers of crap she has in her house. I’m sorry if you felt that was beneath your notice.”
The silence on the other end told Miranda she’d hit a nerve. Good. Trace lived close enough to at least check in on his parents every now and again instead of the annual obligatory visits he made. “Fine. After this job I’ll make some time to check things out. Stop getting so worked up about it. You should focus more on your own life than fixing those of other people.”
Miranda bristled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know what I’m talking about. Get your shit together, Miranda.”
Someone had been flapping their jaws to her brother about her activities. God, she hated that. Living under a microscope was a pain in the ass. It was times like this when she wished she had moved away, too. “You’re one to talk,” she shot back. “I’m not the one hiding in the mountains because I can’t handle being around people.”
“Whatever you say, Miranda. I’ll be in touch.” There was a pause and then Trace added, “Give the kid a squeeze for me.”
The line went dead and Miranda knew that Trace had ended the call. She loved her brother but he drove her crazy with the same argument about her lifestyle. As if he had room to talk. It wasn’t as if he were the epitome of normal living. He wasn’t some bastion of emotional stability. And yet, even knowing this about her brother, he still managed to get under her skin when he made comments like that. “Damn hypocrite.” She tossed the phone to her nightstand and tried to get a few more minutes of sleep before her alarm went off and she had to get Talen ready for school.
* * *
JEREMIAH DIDN’T KNOW why he thought leaving Wyoming would mean the end to his insomnia, but he’d had high hopes that the nights of staring at the ceiling with eyes burning from fatigue were over. However, by 4:00 a.m. he knew his hope had been misplaced and that simply lying in bed for another two hours was an exercise in pathetic futility. He quickly showered and dressed, grabbed a coffee and headed to the office, almost grateful to be doing something productive rather than pretending to sleep. By the time 8:00 a.m. rolled around he’d already made a serious dent in the stack of paperwork he had scheduled to study as part of his first week of acclimation and he was in good shape for the rest of the week.
If only he didn’t look and feel like crap.
He wasn’t surprised when Miranda walked in first, bright and early. From what he could tell, Miranda was also an early riser. She must’ve been accustomed to walking into an empty office, because when she saw he was already there she briefly startled. There was a moment’s hesitation, as if she was contemplating ignoring his presence and walking straight to her office, but he was glad when she walked in with a guarded yet polite expression. “I’m not used to anyone being here before me. Virgil liked to roll in around nine, and Todd and Mary w
ander in around the same time. So, is this what I can expect of my new boss? How am I supposed to get away with anything if you’re just as dedicated as I am?”
He chuckled. “I’ve never been one to sleep in. Besides, I have plenty of work to keep me busy, and since I’m still living at my hotel, I really don’t have anything to do but stare at the walls when I’m not at the office.” Add in the fact he didn’t know a soul aside from his coworkers, spending extra time at the office was actually preferable to wandering around like a lost tourist. “That’s my excuse. What’s yours? Consummate workaholic?”
“A lack of dedication has never been my problem,” she said, smiling. “But since my son has to be at school at 7:30 a.m., it makes sense to come straight to the office after I drop him off.”
Jeremiah’s easy smile froze. “You’re a mother?” he asked, trying to sound casual when in fact, he was stunned. It shouldn’t matter but it did. “I didn’t realize.”
Her cheeks colored. “Whenever I have guests over, I take Talen to his grandmother’s place.” She cleared her throat and met his gaze. “Is it so surprising that I’m a mother?” she asked, slightly defensive.
“No, of course n—” He stopped and changed course, admitting, “Actually, yes. I don’t usually put much store in stereotypes but I didn’t expect you to have a child. I apologize for my assumption. What’s his name?” he asked, striving for polite interest when in fact, he could feel himself shutting down inside. Since Tyler’s death, Jeremiah did his best to avoid putting himself in situations like these.
“Talen.”
“Talon. Like the bird claw?” he asked in spite of himself.
“Yes. His father was Yupik and I wanted a name that would reflect his Native heritage.”
Tyler had been named after Jeremiah’s paternal great-grandfather, who had fought in World War II. The disagreement between him and Josie over the name had been epic. In the end, Jeremiah had won out only because Josie had been certain she was pregnant with a girl and thus had agreed to allow Jeremiah to name the child if it popped out a boy. The decision to wait to find out the gender until birth had worked out in Jeremiah’s favor. He still remembered the feel of his newborn son in his arms, the smell of his sweet skin, and the way Tyler had squalled loud enough to bring the hospital walls down. Unwelcome tears stung his eyes and he cut his gaze away from Miranda abruptly. “Well, I guess I better get used to sharing the coffeepot if there are going to be two early risers around here,” he said with a brief smile, signaling the end to the conversation.
“Maybe tomorrow I’ll surprise you with doughnuts,” she said, smiling, but he saw the questions in her eyes at his demeanor change. He wished he had the guts to explain but he wasn’t ready to let anyone know about his past—not yet.
Miranda retreated and headed for her office, leaving Jeremiah to his work.
But Jeremiah’s mind was not focused on work any longer. Perhaps it was the sleep deprivation, or maybe it was the stress of the move, but Jeremiah’s thoughts were as unruly and undisciplined as a willful puppy that nipped and bit because it didn’t know how sharp its teeth were.
Jeremiah tried not to think about Tyler. His pain and lingering grief made the topic of his son off-limits. In the months after his wife had left him, he’d often wondered if his talking about Tyler would have helped his wife deal with her own grief. But his ex-wife was consumed with hatred as well as grief and deep down he knew it wouldn’t have made a difference. But somehow blaming himself for the demise of their marriage seemed appropriate. Maybe it was his way of doing penance, even though he knew there was no escaping the guilt he felt for buying Tyler that damn ATV. The logical part of his brain told him Tyler’s accident had been simply that—an accident. But logic and emotion rarely lived in the same house. He still remembered the tipping point of his decision to buy the all-terrain vehicle. He’d been working eighty-hour weeks and he’d wanted to make it up to Tyler somehow. He’d known the boy had wanted an ATV, and even though his wife had disapproved, it’d seemed a small price to pay for his son’s instant gratitude. Of course, he’d had no way of knowing that the true price would be far more than he could afford to pay.
“Dad, I’ll be a good driver. I promise.” Tyler’s earnest voice rang in Jeremiah’s memory. “All my friends already have one. Their dads don’t care. Why are you being so protective? I’m not a baby anymore.”
“I don’t know.... Your mom might skin my hide if I go against her in this.” Truthfully, Jeremiah had been uncertain about the safety. But Tyler had seemed so sure of himself that he’d been swayed by his son’s confidence. “Let’s think about it for a while,” he’d suggested, hoping for a little more time to do some research.
But Tyler wasn’t going to be put off. He knew what he wanted and he knew exactly what to say to get it. “Dad, having an ATV isn’t just for fun. I could use it to check the property. When you’re gone I can use it to check the fence line. You know that last storm blew out the south side fence and we didn’t even know about it until a few weeks later.”
Tyler made a persuasive point. They’d actually lost two calves who’d somehow wandered out and broken their necks after falling in a small ravine. Not that Jeremiah was a cattleman, per se, but he enjoyed having a few livestock. Made him feel closer to the land. “You’d have to promise me there’d be no hotdogging.” A slow smile crept across Tyler’s face as he sensed victory. Jeremiah chuckled. “All right, who gets to break it to your mom?”
“You married her. That falls under your jurisdiction.”
Jeremiah laughed. “Caught on a technicality. We’ll break the news to her tonight. You better not make me regret this, boy.”
Famous last words. He’d live to do more than regret it.
But he still remembered Tyler’s smile, the joy shining in his eyes. Given the choice he’d take it all back, but all Jeremiah had now were the memories of his son’s laughter, his son’s smile, and everything else that’d made Tyler an amazing kid. Aww hell, why’d he have to go down this road? He’d left Wyoming for a purpose and yet it seemed the ghost of his past rode shotgun beside him.
Would this ever end? Would he ever find peace? Tears pricked his eyes and he fought to hold them back. Bawling at his desk was not the way he wanted his coworkers to see him and he definitely didn’t want Miranda to see him so weak and pathetic. Put it away, Jeremiah. The past is the past. Leave it there.
Maybe if he kept working on burying the pain, it would finally work.
A sigh rattled out of his tight chest and he forced himself to focus on anything but the memory of his son.
Thank God for a demanding job.
* * *
JENNELLE SINCLAIR WOUND her way through the hall around various piles of magazines, books, newspapers and other assorted paper items and let herself into the spare room that had once belonged to her daughter Simone.
A sense of relief followed as it always did for inexplicable reasons when she closed the door and took a seat on the neat and tidy twin bed. Jennelle was the only one who came into this room, which gave her the opportunity to treat the room as her own personal haven.
The pictures on the walls were entirely of Simone and her various accomplishments—of which there’d been so many!—and each time Jennelle let her gaze rest on a photo, she remembered happy memories.
It was like stepping back in time. Simone, her bright and bubbly little ball of sunshine, had been such a happy child. Always wearing a smile, Simone had never met a person she hadn’t wanted to befriend. And people had flocked to her like flowers to sunshine. Who could blame them? Simone had been pretty as a picture with more charisma than a movie star.
And being in this room, surrounded by her daughter’s things, gave Jennelle a sense of peace even if it was something no one else could understand. No one was allowed in this room. Not even her husband. Not that he was interested in com
ing inside. No, Zed avoided even the mention of their daughter’s name. It was as if she’d never been born. And that was unconscionable in Jennelle’s opinion. To pretend as if the girl had never brightened their lives, never blessed them with her presence, was almost downright evil.
But what did he know about a mother’s grief? Men weren’t capable of understanding the complexity of a woman’s emotion. She’d carried that child in her womb for nine months, nourished and sustained her, only to lose her to some sick bastard.... It was more than a mother’s heart could bear on most days. This room...well, it soothed that wild grief, if however briefly—and she wasn’t giving it up.
Jennelle smoothed her hand over the thick quilt that she’d made for Simone on her eighth birthday and smiled as she remembered Simone asking in her sweet little voice, “Am I your special girl, Mama?”
“Always and forever,” Jennelle murmured to the phantom voice that was never far from her mind. Her eyes welled as they always did when she thought of Simone. “Why did you leave us so soon?”
If only Jennelle could stay in this room forever. This was a special place. A place where she could forget that her lovely Simone was brutally killed and her case was never solved.
She could blank out the fact that Simone had been alive when that person had left her on the mountain to die. And that if Trace and Miranda had been better trackers they would’ve found her. There were so many things Jennelle had to forget in order to function. When Simone had died, people had told her it would get better, time healed all wounds. They were wrong. It hadn’t gotten better, the pain hadn’t gone away, and she still missed Simone every single day. So, she made this room, filled with all of Simone’s things, a slice in time protected from everything and anyone who might try to take Simone away. In this room she could pretend that Simone was alive and well and about to burst through the front door any moment, chattering about her day, filling their lives with light.
Some days she absolutely needed the illusion to function. And besides, it was none of anyone else’s business how she coped with her grief.
That Reckless Night Page 8