A Cold Tomorrow

by Mae Clair

  “Would you…would you like to come inside?”

  “No thank you, dear.” Mrs. Flynn turned to face her. “I just wanted to welcome you back. Maggie asked me to.”

  Oh, God. The woman was certifiably crazy.

  She might have contemplated the thought further but for the arrival of a police car in front of Aunt Rosie’s house. Mrs. Flynn shook her head at the sight, then quietly left the porch without so much as a goodbye. She was halfway across the yard when the man in the car stepped onto the street.

  “Mom,” he called.

  Mom?

  Eve felt her eyebrows launch into her bangs as she watched the man dart around the rear of his car to greet Mrs. Flynn on the grass. They exchanged a few soft words before the woman continued her path back to her home and the man jogged toward the porch. As he hustled up the steps, Eve got the shock of her life.

  “Ryan?”

  “Hey, you remembered.” Maggie’s brother grinned and extended his hand.

  When she slid her fingers into his, he yanked her close, hugging her tightly. In no time, she found herself laughing breathlessly.

  “It’s so good to see you, Ryan.” She hugged him back, delighted by the warmth his unexpected presence brought. “Mr. Barnett never said you worked for the sheriff’s department.”

  “Yep. A sergeant.” He tapped the badge pinned to his neatly pressed uniform, then held her at arm’s length, his smile igniting a sparkle in his blue eyes.

  It was hard to believe the skinny thirteen-year-old she remembered had matured into such a tall, broad-shouldered man. His black hair, no longer curly but wavy, lay tousled over his brow, his grin as infectious as always.

  “God, it’s good to see you after all these years.” Ryan seemed reluctant to release her. “I ran into Adam Barnett at the bank, and he told me he’d given you the keys. I can’t believe you’re really here.”

  “I can’t either.” She hugged him again, then laughed. “You got so tall.”

  “And you got so…” He paused and wiggled his eyebrows, molding his hands in the shape of an hourglass. “Curvy.”

  She swatted his arm. “You always were a trouble-maker. Do you want to come in for a while? The house is a wreck, but—”

  “Actually, that’s why I’m here. I wanted to go over the vandalism report with you.” He sobered abruptly and stepped away. “And I’m sorry about my mother. I hope she didn’t say anything to upset you.”

  “No, I…” How did she explain the odd conversation? She’d only been in Point Pleasant a short while. The last thing she wanted to do was offend a childhood friend by pointing out that his mother was off her rocker.

  Ryan shook his head, clearly conscious of what may have been said. “Sometimes she gets confused and gets caught up in the past.”

  Eve let the remark slide without comment. “I was just going to get my bags out of my car.” She steered the conversation elsewhere. “Maybe you could give me a hand?”

  “Sure.”

  Together, they trudged to her Corolla. Ryan grabbed her suitcase and overnight bag while Eve snatched a jacket from the backseat along with a few boxed goods she’d brought for the trip. Later, she’d hit the grocery store and stock up on perishable items. At least the refrigerator was in working order.

  In the house, Ryan carried her luggage upstairs while she detoured to the kitchen with her small parcel of crackers, instant rice, and peanut butter. She wished she had something to offer him, but the best she could manage was peanut butter and crackers. Mentally, she bumped the grocery store higher on her to-do list.

  “I put everything in the spare bedroom for you,” Ryan announced, entering the kitchen. “I guess you saw Rosie’s room is a mess.”

  Eve added her box of instant rice to the nearest cupboard, nudging aside several cans of Campbell’s soup left behind by Aunt Rosie. A vivid memory flashed through her mind as she recalled her aunt feeding her tomato soup and a grilled cheese for lunch on a brisk autumn day.

  “Her dark room, too.” Eve shut the cupboard and turned, bracing her back against the counter. “The vandals hit the upstairs hard. Do you have any idea who would have done such a thing?”

  “Afraid not.” Ryan motioned her toward the dining room. “Let’s sit down.”

  At the dining room table, he withdrew a folded sheaf of papers from his breast pocket. “I thought you should have a copy of the vandalism report.”

  Eve eyed the papers he handed her. It was standard stuff—date, time, damage done. “Who reported it?”

  “No one. I still live next door with my mom. It’s um…complicated.” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “After Rosie died, I kept an eye on the place. Several days after her death, I was walking around the house when I noticed the door on the screened porch had been busted. I guess the vandals chose it because it was hidden from the street. Easy entry.”

  “Did they take anything?”

  “Not that I could tell, but Rosie isn’t here to answer that question. I should have said it before, Eve, but you have my sympathies.” He covered her hand with his where it rested on the table.

  She managed a wan smile and nodded a thank you. It was good to see him again, a familiar face that made the shock of returning to her childhood home less traumatic. Even if he was grown, no longer the thirteen-year-old boy she remembered, he was still the brother of her one-time best friend.

  “So you think it was just kids out for some fun?” She winced, unable to comprehend how anyone could view destroying the home of the recently deceased as entertaining.

  He hesitated. “It looks that way.”

  “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

  “Nothing of importance.” He patted her hand again and stood, then paced a short distance away. “What are you going to do with the place?”

  The million-dollar question. “Sell it, of course.” It hurt to say, as if she was turning her back on Aunt Rosie and all her aunt held dear. “Vandalism aside, the home needs work to make it desirable. I’m no expert, but it looks like it could use a new roof and several of the rooms should be repainted. If I want to put it on the market, I’m going to have to fix it up first.” It was a sobering thought. “I don’t suppose you could recommend someone?”

  He surprised her with a quick answer. “Do you remember Caden?”

  “Your brother?” Her heart lurched again. How could she forget her childhood crush?

  “He has a contracting business. Home remodeling, repairs. That sort of thing.”

  “It sounds ideal.” For some reason she hadn’t considered encountering him when she’d returned to Point Pleasant. “Do you have a phone number for him? I’d like to talk to him about taking on the repairs.”

  “How about if I have him stop by tomorrow? Will that work?”

  “Perfect.” She was planning on addressing the hotel tomorrow, something that would probably take most of the day. “Do you think he can stop early? Around nine? I was planning on visiting the hotel later.”

  “It shouldn’t be a problem.” He shot her a sideways glance as if measuring her reaction. “The hotel is still the center of town.”

  “I thought as much.” Eve glanced at her hands, thinking back to the years when her parents and Aunt Rosie had made the hotel the focus of their lives. It had been her family’s defining legacy long before she was born. Her great grandfather Clarence had paid for its construction in 1922, then quickly turned the establishment into a thriving operation, bolstered in part by Point Pleasant’s blossoming river trade. It hadn’t taken her more than a few hours in town to realize those days were nothing more than a memory. “I noticed things are different.”

  A shadow crossed Ryan’s face. “A lot’s changed since you left.”

  “The Silver Bridge affected everything.”

  He nodded, shoulders slumping as he stuffed his hands in his pockets. “It wasn’t just the catastrophe. Bruce Mechanical closed up shop shortly afterward.
That dried up half the employment in town. Point Pleasant isn’t the thriving river community it used to be.”

  How sad. Eve had fond memories of watching riverboats and tugs traverse the waters of the Ohio and Kanawha Rivers, ushering barges loaded with coal from Ohio to West Virginia and vice-versa. When Bruce Mechanical launched a new boat, the event was guaranteed to draw a crowd. She, Maggie, and Sarah had eagerly raced to the docks as the newly built ships slid sideways into the water, tilting so far she feared they would capsize before righting themselves.

  Ryan returned to his seat at the table, then reclined comfortably, crossing an ankle over his knee. “Main Street is pretty much a ghost town these days. I’m sure you noticed.”

  She nodded. “They moved the Silver Bridge.”

  “We call it the Silver Memorial Bridge now, but you’re right.” A frown flitted across his mouth. “The new bridge diverts the flow of traffic out of town, bypassing Main. As much as we appreciate the Silver Memorial Bridge, it’s partially responsible for sapping Point Pleasant’s lifeblood.”

  “What about the hotel?” She had to know.

  “It holds its own.” Ryan gave a one-shouldered shrug. “It may not pull the traffic it did in its heyday, but according to Rosie, it was solvent. I’m sure you’ve seen the books.”

  “Enough of them.” The hotel was a juggernaut she needed to tackle.

  “So you really want to sell it?” Ryan asked.

  She glanced at her hands. The Parrish Hotel was as much a part of Point Pleasant as the historic Silver Bridge. Her family had invested decades in its growth. The idea of fluffing it off for financial gain was nothing short of sacrilege.

  “I’m still undecided.” It wasn’t an entire lie. Part of her resisted the idea of unloading an institution that had been her family’s legacy. “Right now I’m using two weeks of my vacation time from Labor and Industry. I do clerical work, not the most exciting thing, but it’s a Commonwealth job, and the benefits are good. I don’t know the first thing about overseeing a hotel.”

  “That’s what a manager is for.”

  “I’m not sure I want to go that route.” The thought of entrusting so much to someone she didn’t know left her uneasy.

  “You’ve got a lot on you,” Ryan conceded. “Half of the businesses on Main Street were forced to close.”

  “But the hotel survived.”

  “Along with the Crowne Theater. At least for now. Your aunt saw to the hotel’s prosperity. The Parrish name still has enough clout to draw visitors from neighboring states.”

  She nodded and laced her hands on her lap. “I’ll look into it tomorrow.” Wrapping her head around the house was enough for the day. Suddenly, she didn’t want to think about the past or the pressing matters looming over her head. She simply wanted to bask in the warmth of seeing an old friend. “Thanks for bringing the vandalism report. I never would have pegged you as a cop. You always got into so much trouble as a kid.”

  He laughed. “Odd how things turn out. What about you? Did you marry?”

  “No.”

  “I didn’t either. No luck yet, or just not ready to settle down. I can’t figure out which.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me.” He’d always been a free spirit, much like Rosie, playful and prone to trouble. “What about Caden?” She hoped the query appeared as nothing more than the innocent probing of an old friend trying to catch up on the present. Her heart gave a little flutter when she thought of him. Amazing her long-buried attraction was still there.

  “Caden’s single, too.” Ryan shook his head. “He’ll probably end up an old man living alone unless he moves past his guilt.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Ryan waved a hand as if brushing away the thought. “He hasn’t forgiven himself for taking Maggie shopping that night. Most of us have moved on. Caden hasn’t.”

  She thought of herself, her mother. Their world had come to a crashing halt that cold December night when her father’s car fell into the Ohio River. And yet somehow they’d rummaged up the strength to continue. It had taken uprooting, leaving the shadow of the disaster behind in Point Pleasant, but somehow her mother had managed to put the pieces together for herself and her twelve-year-old daughter. Eventually, her mother had remarried, and Eve found herself with a stepfather. As much as she loved the man, part of her understood Caden’s refusal to relinquish the past.

  “What about your parents?” She couldn’t help venturing the question given the odd discussion she’d had with Mrs. Flynn. Should she tell Ryan what his mother had said about Maggie…talking about her as if she were still alive?

  He shrugged, and she sensed his reluctance. “My father passed away a few years ago.”

  “I’m so sorry.” She had fond memories of Mr. Flynn.

  “It was his lungs. All those years spent working in a coal mine finally caught up with him.”

  “What about your mother?”

  “She’s accepted his death, but Maggie’s…” Again a shrug that said far more than words. “A part of her died when that bridge went down.”

  Eve bit her lip. She could understand Mrs. Flynn’s pain.

  “Most of the time she’s okay,” Ryan continued. “But other times, she retreats into the past and insists Maggie is still alive. She talks about her as if they share discussions. It’s the reason I still live at home…to take care of her. She can be a handful when she’s in the past.”

  Eve wasn’t sure what to say. So much tragedy had happened when the Silver Bridge collapsed. The town had suffered, but more than that, the populace had crumpled under the blow of individual losses. Fifteen years later, splinters of that residual pain reached far and wide.

  “I’m sorry.” There were no words for the loss or the choking reach of its tentacles.

  “We do the best we can.” As if deciding he’d had enough gloom, Ryan stood. “It’s good to have you back, Eve, even if only for a short while. I’ll tell Caden to drop by tomorrow morning.”

  She walked him to the door, thankful to have encountered a familiar face. It had been a stroke of luck to learn Caden was a contractor. It would save her the trouble of looking for someone to do the repairs and speed the sale of the house that much more quickly.

  “What about Sarah?” she asked as he stepped onto the front porch. Eve stayed inside on the threshold, a breeze scuttling past her like an uninvited guest. “Does she still live in town?”

  He nodded. “She works in the records division at the courthouse. We had a bad situation there several years back. I’m not sure if Rosie told you about the bomb blast.”

  She had. A suicidal ex-convict had forced his way inside with a shotgun and a homemade explosive device. Despite attempts at negotiation, the bomber had leveled the entire first floor, killing three and injuring six others. After hearing about it, Eve had called her aunt to make sure she was safe.

  “Another tragedy in a town plagued by them,” Aunt Rosie had said. “Fools around here are saying it’s the curse of Cornstalk come to blight us again.”

  “I saw it on the news when it happened,” Eve told Ryan. At the time, she’d wondered if it was in some way connected to the Mothman. She didn’t believe in the curse of Cornstalk, an Indian chief who’d been murdered in the days preceding the American Revolution. Local legend said he’d cursed the town with his dying breath. You couldn’t grow up in Point Pleasant without having the shadow of that legend leech into every event that took place.

  “Sarah wasn’t hurt, was she?” Cold fear gripped her stomach as she thought of her childhood friend.

  “No, she wasn’t working then, but we lost a lot of good people. Strange how things keep happening in this town.” He raised a hand in farewell. “Stay in touch, Eve. Don’t leave without saying goodbye.”

  She stayed at the door, closing it only after he’d driven off in his police cruiser. The emptiness of the house settled over her with a marked hush, and she wondered how Aunt Rosie had m
anaged living there on her own for so many years. Then again, like the hotel, the house was part of Parrish history.

  Meet the Author

  Mae Clair opened a Pandora’s Box of characters when she was a child and never looked back. Her father, an artist who tinkered with writing, encouraged her to create make-believe worlds by spinning tales of far-off places on summer nights beneath the stars.

  Mae loves creating character-driven fiction in settings that vary from contemporary to mythical. Wherever her pen takes her, she flavors her stories with mystery, suspense, and a hint of romance. Married to her high school sweetheart, she lives in Pennsylvania and is passionate about cryptozoology, old photographs, a good Maine lobster tail, and cats.

  Discover more about Mae on her website and blog at MaeClair.net