AM13 - Alice: Bride of Rhode Island

by Anna J. Stewart

  Paige hugged her arms around her waist and rocked back and forth. “This is so much, Holly. Too much.”

  “It’s not. Not for me.” Boy, she was on a roll these days. The fact Paige wasn’t taking the offer or the apartment for granted proved Holly’s instincts were dead-on when it came to her new employee...and friend. “We single moms have to stick together. Now—” she held out her hands and wiggled her fingers “—how about you take the rest of the morning, go home and pack up your daughter and get settled in.”

  “Yeah.” Paige nodded and swiped her fingers under eyes that continued to spill tears at a dehydrating rate. “Oh, Charlie’s not going to believe this.”

  “You look as if you don’t believe it.” Holly couldn’t remember the last time she felt this happy, this lucky. Maybe, just maybe Paige wasn’t the only person getting a break. She thought of Luke’s amused, smiling face as he’d had breakfast with her father and son. The easy conversation and banter they’d exchanged. And how her insides had fluttered as soon as she’d seen him this morning. Loosening up on all that anger and resentment she held on to for so long was paying off in spades. Finally, her luck was turning around.

  * * *

  WHEN THE DOORBELL to the Winterses’ home did nothing more than give a reluctant clunk, Luke pulled open the ripped screen door and knocked on the warped wood.

  He heard shuffling inside, muttered curses of the female variety, and when the occupant wrenched open the door, Luke’s planned approach took a detour off a cliff.

  “Mrs. Winters.” Luke tipped his department baseball cap and kept his face passive. “I’m Sheriff Saxon.”

  “I know who you are.” She blinked as if the sun was too bright, but the pinprick pupils shining glassily up at him told another story, as did the soiled housecoat that looked as though it had been rescued from a nursing home’s trash bin. “Sorry,” she mumbled sleepily. “It’s still early.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” As if three in the afternoon was early. Luke nudged Kyle’s backpack out of sight on the ground. “I was hoping to speak to your son. Is he home?”

  “Whatcha want with Kyle?” Mrs. Winters leaned her cheek on the hand gripping the door. “He’s a good boy.”

  Luke’s head throbbed and took exception to the claim.

  “Ma’am, your husband’s being held down at county jail on a variety of charges, including resisting arrest. I need a statement from your son about their altercation at the community center on Wednesday.”

  “Their what? Yesterday, you say?”

  Luke clung to the irritated breath lodged in his lungs. Holly was right. Kyle’s mother was definitely part of the problem. “Day before, ma’am.”

  “Do I need to bail him out?”

  “That will be up to you.”

  She frowned, as if the idea of having a choice never occurred to her before now.

  “Ma’am, do you know where I can find Kyle?”

  Mrs. Winters shrugged. “With his friends. He doesn’t come home much.”

  Imagine that. And Luke wouldn’t exactly call the kids Kyle had been hanging out with yesterday friends. Enablers, maybe. He pulled out one of his new business cards. “If Kyle does come home, please have him call me. Your husband’s been transferred to county jail pending formal charges of assault against a minor.”

  “Okay.” She slipped the card in her pocket. “Someone will tell me how much, right?”

  “If you ask, yes. The courthouse will have that information once his bail hearing is over.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Mrs. Wint—”

  The door snapped shut in Luke’s face. He stood there for a long moment, and the dull headache that had been knocking against his skull since he’d gotten up this morning picked up speed. Disgust and rage mingled. Mrs. Winters was more concerned with her husband’s situation than her son’s whereabouts, but he’d bet both took a backseat to whatever drugs she was on.

  Luke stepped away from the door, picked up Kyle’s pack and headed to his squad car. Cash was waiting for him, golden head stuck out the window to enjoy the breeze coming in over the Pacific.

  And here Luke thought he’d had it bad. At least his mother had been three years in the ground before his father had raised a hand to him. Luke didn’t have any memories of his mother. She’d died when he was four. Cancer, he found out when he was old enough to inquire. Ovarian. At least that was what his father had told him.

  To this day Luke wondered if his mother had been subjected to the same violent outbursts Luke had withstood. In his darker times, Luke was convinced his father had been a different man—a better man—when Mary Saxon was alive; maybe her death had been the trigger that had later fired Ward Saxon’s irredeemable behavior. And then came the darkest hours, when Luke was convinced he was the one to blame for his father’s violence.

  He made a U-turn and drove down Red Admiral Lane, taking note of the neighborhood—save for the Winters house—and that it wasn’t as run-down or as empty or neglected as other streets in Butterfly Harbor. Lawns were manicured and kept in check. Flowers cascaded in small clumps, as if afraid to take the chance in fully developing under the May sun.

  The model street when it came to reinvigorating the town.

  Instantly, he was reminded of those areas he’d haunted as a kid, wishing he was a part of something—anything—other than a dank cave of alcoholic rages and terrible abuse. Luke shook his head and recalled that for a number of years he thought his house was black-and-white while the rest of the world existed in Technicolor. Like those old movies they used to play at the now-closed theater.

  As if color was something he’d had to search for and achieve.

  Right now he needed to track down Kyle Winters. He hadn’t been able to shake the look of terror on the teen’s face while under the fists of his father—terror warring with defiant anger aimed at his father, but taken out on Luke.

  There was little worse in this world than a teenager teetering on the edge of despair, which was why Luke had stashed the fifteen-round automatic he’d found in Kyle’s bag under lock and key back at the station. Until he spoke to Kyle face-to-face, got a better feel for him, Luke wasn’t going to rest easy. If he’d had access to a gun, who knows what else he had stashed away wherever he was.

  Part of Luke wanted to believe the gun was for protection against a father who obviously had no qualms about beating the daylights out of the boy—whether in private or in public. But if Kyle wasn’t home a lot...that possibility seemed remote.

  Luke squeezed the steering wheel. Maybe he was projecting his own experiences onto the kid. Things had gotten bad enough for him he’d taken to losing himself in the same liquid darkness his father had succumbed to rather than targeting the rest of the world as responsible for his lot in life.

  But Kyle wasn’t Luke.

  What it had taken to kick him out of his own situation was almost killing Jake Gordon.

  There were nights he wondered what would have happened if he’d never picked up the phone that night, if he hadn’t agreed to Jake’s request he come pick his father up at the Dusty Rose. His dad had gone on a bender that would have tested the alcohol tolerance of the god of wine himself.

  If Luke hadn’t gotten in the car that night, Jake’s life and Holly’s wouldn’t have been derailed; her mother might never have left. And Luke would probably be lying in a grave next to his dead daddy. Or worse.

  How could something that had gone so wrong given him so much? Luke reached over and stroked his hand down Cash’s head, taking comfort once again in the dog’s presence.

  “We need to find Kyle, boy.” Luke’s fingers curled into the soft fur. “You have any ideas, I’m open to them.”

  “Woof.”

  “Yeah.” Luke pressed his foot on the accelerator and headed up the hill and to the outskirts of to
wn, back to the house that had never been a home.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “I THOUGHT YOU and Charlie were going to go out bike riding again today.” Holly looked up from filling the first tray of salt-and peppershakers. “What’s going on?”

  Simon shrugged. He was halfway through his second new schoolbook, but for the few minutes Holly had been watching him, he hadn’t turned a page.

  “You two have a fight?” Holly pressed.

  Another shrug.

  “Charlie’s acting the same way.” Paige brought over a second tray. “Says she doesn’t feel well. Just wants to stay in her new room and read.”

  “You let her have the bedroom, didn’t you?” Typical mom.

  “Of course.” Paige looked at Holly as if there wasn’t another option. “She’s never really had one to herself. Well, not since she was a baby, but she doesn’t remember. She loves the apartment, by the way, and I’m sure she’ll thank you herself if and when she stops moping around and faking a fever.”

  “How high did she get the thermometer?”

  “One hundred and ten.” Paige chuckled. “Stuck it in her hot chocolate, I’m assuming. I’m letting it play out for a while yet, but she knows if she doesn’t come to me about whatever’s bothering her soon, I’ll wheedle it out of her.”

  Holly arched a brow.

  “My mac and cheese,” Paige said. “She’ll tell me anything for my homemade mac and cheese. I have a secret ingredient. Cheesy crackers as the topping.”

  Holly’s stomach rumbled as she mouthed a silent ooh.

  “You planning another run on my kitchen, girl?” Ursula’s accusation blasted from the kitchen window.

  “No, ma’am.” Paige bit her lip and shot a guilty look at Holly. “Sorry,” she whispered.

  Holly grinned. “Don’t worry about it. She already asked me yesterday about your kitchen-sink breakfast. I saw her scribbling down notes. If things get nasty, offer up your mac and cheese. That’ll smooth things over.” It would make Holly exceedingly happy, as well. Nothing better than hot pasta and gooey cheese.

  “Speaking of kitchen sink, you and Luke. There, um, anything going on there?”

  Holly’s face went hot. She could only imagine the shade of pink tinting her cheeks as she grabbed the ketchup bottles and turned them over on one another. “We’re getting to be friends. I think.”

  Friends was good. Friends was...something she wasn’t sure she’d ever been with Gray. With her husband it had been sparks, then fire then...barely smoldering embers as real life and personal demons took over. Maybe enough time had passed, or maybe it was her honest and unexpected heart-to-heart with Luke that had plucked the final sting of anger away. Now there was only sadness when she thought of Gray. She tried to remember if there had been anything beyond the intoxicating rush of first love and the excitement of romance and fantasy.

  She didn’t rely on Gray in the later years, or want to talk to him about anything more than plans for Simon or paying the bills, something he’d started neglecting those last months. Luke was different—he was solid. Determined. And far too distracting for her liking.

  And she could talk to him for hours. That was...nice.

  “Friends, huh?” Paige smiled. “Sounds like a good place to start.”

  “Is that what you had with Charlie’s father?” Holly’s effort to change the subject made her realize how little she knew about Paige and her life before Butterfly Harbor.

  Paige’s hand slipped and she dropped the tray of saltshakers. Without hesitating, she tossed a fingerful over her left shoulder and muttered, “For luck.” Then she responded, “Not exactly.”

  Holly didn’t push. She recognized the same hesitant tone she’d have used had she voiced her previous thoughts about Gray. It was too soon for those types of confidences, she supposed. But get Abby in the room with them, maybe a couple bottles of wine and a tearjerker of a love story on the TV...and who knew what secrets might be divulged. Something to keep in mind.

  “Simon, how did your walk with grandpa and Sheriff Saxon go?” Holly tried again.

  “Good.” Finally, an actual spoken word.

  “Obviously,” Holly muttered. She didn’t know what worried her more: an overattentive, plotting Simon or a sullen, silent one. Something was bothering her son, and she’d bet it had something to with Charlie’s sudden aversion to the diner. “Where did you guys go the other day?”

  “Around.”

  “Don’t you wish there was a button to push,” Paige said with a weary shake of her head, “to make them talk even when they don’t want to.”

  “We’d make a bloody fortune.”

  “Why don’t you take off early tonight, let me close up,” Paige offered.

  Holly frowned. She’d never let anyone else close the diner before. Sure, she let Ursula open, but that was different.

  “Take Simon home, have a mom-and-son night. Maybe he’ll let his guard down and tell you what’s going on.”

  “Then I can call you and fill you in?”

  Paige’s too-innocent eye blink reminded Holly of one of those carnival dolls. “Why, what a great idea.”

  “You and me.” Holly did the double-finger point at Paige. “Simpatico. Totally.”

  “It’s slow.” Paige and Holly scanned the whole two tables of customers. “Want to run me through your system?”

  Control freak that she was, the doubt Holly had about trusting anyone else with her diner quickly took a backseat at the prospect of spending some quality time with her son. Now was her chance to stop lamenting not being able to enjoy Simon’s solitary company.

  “Yeah, that would be great. I have a checklist—”

  “Of course you do.” Paige beamed. “Let me run up and tell Charlie I’ll be later than usual.”

  “Simon?” Holly rapped her knuckles on the counter to get her son’s attention. “Paige is going to close the diner for us. How about pizza and a movie tonight?”

  “Really?” Simon’s eyes bulged. Guilt nibbled along the edge of Holly’s heart. How could such a simple thing bring such unexpected—and suspicious—joy? “You mean it?”

  “I do. It is Friday. Give me until five, okay? Then it’ll be just you and me.”

  Whatever light had been lacking in Simon’s eyes exploded. “Yeah, okay. What movie?”

  “Whatever you want.” And Holly would probably live to regret it.

  “Awesome! Thanks, Mom.”

  “Don’t thank me, thank Paige,” Holly said.

  “I will.”

  After this morning, she hadn’t thought her day could get much better. “Then I will go order the pizza.” A full evening with her son with nothing more to worry about than him overdosing on pepperoni and sausage?

  Things were definitely spinning her way.

  * * *

  “NO OFFENSE,” JAKE said from beside Luke as they sat in pitch-blackness in the station’s outer office. “But this is not my preferred way to spend a Friday evening.”

  “Yeah, well.” Luke stretched out his legs, set down his empty soda can and shoved the empty pizza box to the side. “Dining in the dark wasn’t at the top of my to-do list, either.”

  “It’s after eight,” Jake said. “Simon’s usually in bed by nine.”

  “We gave him enough telling him we’d be looking at the security footage in the morning. If he doesn’t take the bait—” Luke shrugged, then realized Jake couldn’t see him “—I’ll admit I was wrong and hope making him a junior deputy is enough to get me off his radar.”

  “You’ll forgive me if I hope he doesn’t show.”

  “I want to be wrong, Jake. But that kid is going to try to cover his tracks. It’s what I would have done in his place.” They’d left one desk lamp on in the outer office, but Luke could hea
r the dull hum of the sleeping computers.

  “If Simon’s this devious and capable at eight, I shudder to think what puberty’s going to bring for my daughter.” Jake’s resigned tone had Luke smiling. “Makes me wish there was someone for her to rely on.”

  Luke embraced the darkness as a way to avoid responding. Jake had been dropping hints like this all day, and while Luke appreciated and was even humbled that Jake thought him worthy of Holly’s romantic attention, Luke wasn’t going to let it go to his head. Or his heart. Holly had already done that.

  The best thing Luke could ever do for Holly—and her son—was to remain available as someone for either of them to count on, but as far as anything serious or permanent? Or romantic?

  That was something Luke had given up hopes of years ago. Family, home, people to care about—people to care about him? It wasn’t in the cards for him. Not with the baggage he carried. Not with the risks he brought. Surely even Jake at his most optimistic had to see that.

  Men like Luke didn’t get happily-ever-after. They got empty homes, empty bottles and empty reminders they were—and always would be—on their own.

  He’d done enough damage to Holly’s family. The least he could do was help scare her son straight.

  “It’s kind of nice,” Luke said to Jake. “Being Simon’s enemy number one. Feels like an odd badge of honor.”

  “Keep thinking that. But you might be losing your status soon. Wonder who he’ll move on to next.”

  Luke didn’t have to wonder. “Kyle Winters. He thinks he’s a bully.”

  “Simon doesn’t like bullies,” Jake agreed. “Another reason to track that kid down and set things straight. He doesn’t need to add Simon the avenger to his list of problems.”

  At least they were looking for some humor in the Kyle Winters situation. The kid had vanished. No one Luke had talked to in the past few days had seen him. But maybe looking for him wasn’t the solution. Maybe they needed to wait until Kyle came to them.