He said softly, “Bryce, I hope you know that none of that is your fault. It’s mine, it’s Dad’s, it’s your mother’s. We should have tried harder. I still should. It’s not easy.”
“Did anyone ever even try?” she asked, not intending to sound so petulant. “I don’t understand.”
Wilder shifted again, uncomfortable. “After she disappeared, Dad was crazy with worry. They’d had a terrible fight, and Michelle ran away, just vanished. By the time she called us, days later, Dad was practically ready to get the FBI after her.”
“Where was she?” Bryce demanded, facing him now, horrified despite herself.
“Oklahoma, by then. She told Dad if he tried to find her she would only run away again. He cried, threatened her…I wish I could remember it better, but I was young and only heard things in bits and pieces. And by January 5, Shelly had turned 18, so legally Dad couldn’t make her come home. And then you were born that summer.”
Bryce bit her lip hard before she found herself mentioning the suicide attempts. Michelle would never forgive her, of that she was certain. Instead she asked one last question. “Why did my mom leave this place?”
Wilder said, “I wish I could answer that for you. It was New Year’s Eve, 1973.”
Thursday, November 22, 1973 - Rose Lake - Thanksgiving Night
It was after 11:00 p.m., and Michelle wasn’t yet home from the Taylors’ house. Daniel paced into the kitchen again, drew the lacy edge of the curtain away from the window to peer down the long snow-crusted drive, battling concern and exasperation as he debated whether or not to phone over to Bar and Caroline’s, see if she’d decided to spend the night. He gave his eldest more leeway than she probably deserved; Lydia’s pursed lips and stone-walled silence all through dinner attested to the fact that she disagreed with his allowing Michelle to dine at the Taylors’ instead of at home on this holiday afternoon. But, damn it all, it wasn’t worth the fighting. Daniel could hardly handle Lydia’s mood swings, let alone the deadly combination of hers and his teenage daughter’s.
Christ, he thought again, anger beginning to creep into his head, forming a band around his skull. But then…headlights blinked over the top of the hill all at once, moving slowly. Moments later, as the car edged near enough the glow of the yard light, Daniel recognized the Taylors’ big green Buick rolling over the icy road. Instead of turning right into the driveway though, the car crunched to a stop at the far end of the lane, and Daniel watched, puzzled, as the passenger door popped open and his daughter climbed out and began walking slowly, carefully up the drive, leaving the door gaping. An arm in a letter jacket reached and pulled it shut, and the big car grumbled away without turning around; Michelle did not look back.
Moments later she came into the entryway. Daniel heard her stomp her boots, heard the scuffling noises of her coat, hat, scarf being removed, then a strange, abrupt sound, like that of a small animal whose leg has just felt a trap spring shut. His heart constricted and he found himself jogging through the kitchen, met her just coming up the three steps that led from their mud room. Michelle saw him and gasped, startled, and Daniel reached and clicked the light switch in the entryway. Michelle immediately averted her face, but not fast enough.
He said, “You’ve been crying.”
She kept her face pointed at the carpet, revealing the messy part in her blonde hair. For a fraction of a second she reminded him so strongly of Margaret, her mother, that he found his throat tight. He put his hands on her shoulders, was shocked at how fragile she felt beneath his hands, her shoulder bones thin as water reeds under his grip. Still she wouldn’t look at him, and he said, “Come up here, Shelly.”
She moved unwillingly. Behind her father the house was dark and silent, the familiar edges of their furniture blurred and fuzzy in the dimness. She studied the edge of the round rag rug that hugged the floor near the stove, held back the sobs that wanted so desperately to claw out of her throat. The shakes wouldn’t come until later, she would learn.
Daniel said, his voice not unkind, “What’s wrong, Shelly?”
She breathed through her nose, shallowly, finally managed to whisper the truth, “Bar, Jr. and I had a bad fight.”
“That why he wouldn’t drive you all the way up to the house?”
She nodded, grateful not to have to explain further. But Daniel was not so easily put aside. He had known the boy since he and Shelly were both tiny, and liked him tremendously, but felt compelled to ask sternly, “He try anything you need to tell me, Michelle?”
She shook her head again, much more vigorously, terrified her father might take off in his truck after the Taylors’ Buick. Daniel said, “I don’t know that I believe you.”
Michelle met his eyes then, and her own were huge and rimmed with scarlet, swollen from tears. The expression in their depths was one he didn’t understand fully, not that he ever did with his eldest, but she said, “No, Daddy, I swear.”
With those words her breath reached his nose and he said, “Goddamn it, Michelle. You’ve been drinking.”
She hung her head again, didn’t disagree. He let go her shoulders and said, “Get up to your room. I’m too damn tired to deal with this tonight.”
She went without another word. Daniel dropped to a chair at the kitchen table, braced his forehead against his palms for a long moment, sought the strength to get up and face his wife in their ice-cold bed. Upstairs, Michelle barely made it to the bathroom before puking her guts out. She had indeed been drinking; the contents of the toilet was a clear whiskey-brown and nearly 90 proof, even after being slightly digested. Weakly she fumbled to her feet and slipped her frosty jeans over her hips, grabbed a towel from the rack and scraped it between her legs, tried feverishly to remove the slippery, blood-tinged mess that had been left there.
Chapter Twelve
Rose Lake, Minnesota – Friday, June 23, 1995
At supper that night Wilder said, “It’s Fair Fest this week. I totally forgot.”
“Daddy! Did we miss the parade already?”
“Can we go tomorrow? Please, please!”
“Grandpa always brought us to the parade, remember?” Evelyn looked wistful, the twins bright-eyed and hopeful. Cody added enthusiastically, “They spray you with the fire hose on the fire engines!”
Bryce, who’d seen the way the little town 10 miles away was decked out for the festival, couldn’t help but smile at their excited expressions. Matthew, across the table from her, watched that smile with a full heart, caught her eye in the next second and sent her one of his own.
Erica, busy slicing her pork chop, said, “The parade is always on the Saturday. Tonight is the country night street dance, tomorrow night, rock.”
“Yeah, that’s right. You kids should drive over,” Wilder said to Matthew and Bryce.
“Daddy, can we go, too?” Emma begged, and Cody nodded until his bangs flopped onto his forehead. Evelyn said, “Yeah, right, you two, that’s way past your bed times.”
Emma shot her a glare, then turned the charm on her uncle. “Please, Uncle Matty. I promise we’ll be so good you won’t even know we’re there.”
Matthew narrowed his eyes at her in simulated sternness. “Is that the same way you promised you wouldn’t go after snakes on the beach, slide ice down Aunt Debbie’s swimsuit, track sand through the house and chase Jenny around the beach with dead fish anymore?
Emma’s shoulders sank a little. “But Uncle Matty,” she whined, and Cody pointed at her and laughed silently.
Wilder ruffled her curls. “Honey, we’ll go to the parade tomorrow, and stay for the evening, okay?”
“Fine,” she grumbled, grabbing her empty plate and slapping it into the sink. Erica called after her, “We love you!”
Emma stomped up the stairs even harder in response.
Erica raised her eyebrows at the table in general. “And not even a teenager yet.”
“Whatever, Mom,” Evelyn teased.
“Whad’dya say, Bryce?” Matthew asked her as
Wilder forked more salad onto his plate and Evelyn asked her mother a question. Over the din their eyes met and held for a fraction of a moment; it was so damn hard to keep her feelings hidden when she looked into those dark eyes, especially when they held such a promise for later that her knees felt weak with desire.
She looked back at her plate, stunned by the extravagance of this gift of time together, trying to sound nonchalant as she replied, “Sure, that sounds like fun.”
“Riley and Deb were driving over there, and a few of the Ryan clan, last I heard today,” Wilder added. “Have fun, you two. You both deserve a night out.”
***
And so 30 minutes later they were rolling down the evening highway under a sky whose western curve was painted a gentle melon-orange, the silver sphere of Venus riding along on the back of a fleet of slender, horizontal purple clouds, behind which the sun was melting in a river of molten magenta. Matthew’s right hand was tucked neatly between both her own, their fingers interlaced on her thighs, which were bare beneath her short jean skirt. The fresh evening breeze flowed in the windows, playing with their hair, skimming along their warm faces, and Bryce stroked his knuckles with her thumbs, marveling at how big and strong his hands were; her own appeared tiny and fragile by comparison, like baby birds.
She said, “Do you know that just the sight of your hands makes me go crazy?”
He angled a grin at her, squeezed her hands with his. “Oh, yeah?”
She grinned back, hitting him straight in the gut. He knew he would be happy forever if he could just see that smile his whole life through. He would find a way, if it were the last thing he did. He said, “I think I know a few other things that make you go crazy.”
She scooted a couple inches closer to him, pressed his hand against the hem of her skirt. “Oh, yeah?”
He said, “I’ll show you later,” and she raised his hand to her mouth and lightly bit his index finger.
Minutes later they were pulling into the outskirts of Fairfield, a town just slightly larger than Rose Lake, indicated by the need for two stoplights rather than one on Main. The town was made magical by the evening air, the edges of the daily reality of life blurred slightly by dusk and the twinkling lights that seemed to be strung along every horizontal surface. Music met their ears as Matthew parked on a side street and they climbed out into the warm evening. Matthew reached for her hand before realizing he could not, and his gut twisted a little. Bryce brushed her knuckles lightly against his own, promised, “Later.”
They headed for the center of town, into the beat of a lively country band. Matthew said, “That’s Bailey Ryan’s band,” indicating the lead singer. “I think you met his brother Nate already.”
Bryce nodded. The band was revved up behind a row of floodlights, stomping the beat of The Devil Went Down to Georgia by the Charlie Daniels Band. Bailey, on the fiddle, was singing with a wide-open mouth while two other guys backed him up with guitars.
Main Street had been roped off, and for two blocks people were dancing and drinking, swaying and singing along. They hadn’t walked another step before someone caught Matthew around the neck in a one-armed lock, and suddenly Riley and Deb were there, in a big, rowdy group of people Bryce recognized from Rose Lake, including Nate Ryan and Matthew’s ex-girlfriend Angie. Though she didn’t seem to have got the message that they were exes. Bryce, who had been dragged away by Debbie to get a beer, watched from 20 feet away as Angie sidled over to Matthew and hooked one arm through his. She had perfect blonde hair and incredible breasts harnessed into a tight yellow tank top. Bryce felt a white-hot rush of jealousy flay her nerves, reminding herself fiercely that here, in front of all these eyes, she had to play it cool.
Debbie was flushed and already pretty drunk; her blue-green eyes gleamed merrily as she surveyed the crowd and sipped from a long-necked bottle. She handed another to Bryce, without anyone seeming to care that she wasn’t quite of age, and Bryce drank long and deep, letting the cold liquid calm her slightly. Matthew had moved casually away from Angie, was deep in conversation with another guy who was handing him a beer as they spoke.
Debbie leaned in close to Bryce and said, “I’m so glad you’re here! I told Ri that we should come and get you if Matty wasn’t up to heading over.”
“Thanks, by the way. Are you sure it’s all right if I drink this? I’m not 21 for a few more weeks.”
Debbie giggled and almost shot beer out her nose. “Believe me, no one here gives a damn. I just stole these from Marshall Ryan’s cooler on the way into town. He’s over there, talking to Matty. His wife Carla just had their first baby last weekend, but she must have let him out of the house for the night. Ug, here comes Angie Stickland.”
Bryce’s insides seized again as Angie stopped beside her and Debbie. Up close she wasn’t quite as stunning; her make-up was thick and her eyes a little too close together, but there was no denying she had a fabulous body. She said, “Hi, Deb, I just wanted to introduce myself to Bryce. I’m Angie,” she continued, and Bryce was meanly glad to realize that Angie’s breath was stale.
Bryce straightened her shoulders and found her voice. “Hi, nice to meet you. I’m Bryce Mitchell.”
“Matty’s niece, right? Your mom used to live here?”
“Yeah, a long time ago.”
Angie leaned in closer, wobbling a little, and Bryce realized she was even more shitfaced than Debbie. Angie whispered, “I’m not supposed to tell you this, but Nate Ryan is hot for you.”
Bryce laughed while Debbie said, “Thanks, Ange, big news flash.”
“Well, shit, he’s kind-of shy,” she said, and then reeled away on high-heeled sandals, back in the direction of Matthew.
“God, she’s such a moron,” Debbie said. “What the hell did Matthew ever see in her?”
“Tits,” said a new voice, and Nate Ryan came out of nowhere, looking dark and handsome, all smiles and eyes for Bryce. He shrugged apologetically, palms up, and Debbie giggled while Bryce tried not to stare as Angie reached her destination. But Nate moved just slightly and inadvertantly blocked her view. He said, “Bryce, you look amazing.”
“Shy, my ass,” Debbie said.
“Thanks, thank you,” Bryce said distractedly, and finished her beer with a gulp. Nate had another all ready for her, and she was a third of the way into it as Bailey finished a song and spotted his little brother and Bryce, then grabbed the mic and called into the crowd, “How’s about we slow things down a little, folks? Grab someone you love, or someone you love tonight, and get on out here!”
Nate, who’d prearranged this with his older brother, tipped his head at Bryce and asked innocently, “How about a dance?”
Shit, shit, shit. Should have seen this coming, Bryce. She was ready to shake her head but Debbie ordered, “Go have fun! I’ll go ask Matty, he won’t say no to me, and Angie’ll be pissed.”
Nate tipped his elbow and she could not see a way out of this one. Debbie had made her way to Matthew and was hauling him into the fray, and Bryce took Nate’s arm. Bailey grinned and struck up Doug Stone’s I Never Knew Love, and Nate smoothly slipped his arms around her waist, more intimate than most of the other couples, but he held loosely, not forcing anything either. She put her own arms up around his neck, which felt foreign to her; already her arms craved Matthew.
“So, hello,” he said from a foot away, and his eyes were dark and satisfied on her own. She saw exactly what he wanted, and she acknowledged that once a part of her would have been more than happy to accept a few nights of fun, no strings attached.
Arms length, she thought, and said, “Hello yourself.” Shit, that sounds flirty.
He grinned a little, added, “That’s my brother on the fiddle.”
Bryce nodded. “Matthew told me. He’s really good.”
“He’s always been musically inclined. I told him he should try to make it in Nashville.”
This line of conversation was okay. She said, “What’s he say about that?”
“He
doesn’t think it’s worth it, would rather stick around here and play at local events. You know. He’s engaged and Laura doesn’t want to move, and all of that.”
“Hmm,” she said, trying to readjust her beer bottle, which was trailing down his back, held precariously in the tips of her fingers. She peered around at the swirling crowd, searching for Matthew, but there were too many people.
“I’ve got some rum in my truck, if you’re interested,” he said a moment later, and she almost rolled her eyes, but held herself back.
“Thanks, but I’m good with beer,” she told him as Bailey crooned the last line of the song and held a wavering note on the fiddle.
“No problem, that works for me,” he replied easily, and squeezed her waist just a little before releasing her as the song ended. It was that moment that the crowd parted just enough for Matthew to see the gesture, 15 feet away with Debbie, and he clenched his jaw in near-agony, knowing he could do nothing but watch. Bryce turned then, seeking him, and his heart eased a little as their gazes met and her mouth softened, her eyes stroking his for a second, letting him know everything was all right.
But there was Angie in the next second, who’d been dancing with Riley, and he turned her over to Matthew as she clutched him, laughing about something, her head tipped back. It was practically grab her or let her fall, and Matthew bent his head and said something to her which made her laughter fizzle out. Debbie fluffed her hair and shot Bryce an annoyed look, and Nate asked, “One more?”
“Sure,” she said, as Angie slid her arms around Matthew’s neck and pressed close to his chest, a place she’d certainly been many times before. Bryce turned away as the next song started, this time one she knew, When I Close My Eyes by Kenny Chesney. She recalled that Wade liked this song, and she mentally recoiled from the thought, knowing that Wade was probably drunk out of his mind out there somewhere on the southern plains tonight.
Matthew and his ex danced to this one, and Bryce fought the growing urge to go and claw the woman’s eyes out, as her hands curled around the back of Matthew’s neck and traced intimate patterns with long fingernails. He was talking to her with a serious expression, though her eyes were closed. Shit, I can’t take this shit. The thought of Wade was making her feel guilty; the man she loved so much it hurt her was being pawed by a gorgeous blonde woman he used to have regular sex with, and though she wanted nothing more than to shove through the crowd and shove Angie on her ass, Bryce forced her own attention on Nate and heard herself say, “That rum still on the table?”
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