“That doesn’t make any sense,” I tell her.
“Sure it does. With Evan gone, I had to make it a new home with his memories. And that’s what it came down to … memories. And the best thing about memories is that you can take them anywhere.” She turns to me and winks, telling me that she’s always right no matter how confusing she may sound.
“I’m going to go shower,” I say, leaning over to give her a kiss on the cheek. “Archer is a lucky man.”
“You’ll be lucky, too, when you have Penny back in your arms.”
Her words give me pause and hit me straight in the chest. I dream of the day when I can hold Penny again, when I can feel her nestled into my neck and her body pressed against mine.
The problem with my dream is that it seems to be quickly fading. The tick tock of the law is fighting against me.
I TAKE A DEEP breath after I get out of my car and tilt my head toward the morning sun before walking up the steps to the general store. This is my favorite time of the day, the time when everything is calm. When you can hear the birds chirp before traffic comes barreling down the road, and when you can still make out a four-legged friend who is grazing on the dewy grass across from the store. Everything looks fresh in the morning sunlight, which gives me hope that things are going to be okay. And I need a lot of hope these days.
Every morning, the same two men—John and Steve—sit on the porch in the white rocking chairs the store provides. They sip their coffee and carry on like two old ladies on a Sunday morning. They know everyone in town and absolutely everything that goes on. They are the unofficial mayors of Pittsfield. I say, “Hi,” as I pass by, earning a whistle and a wink. Some think they’re dirty old men, but I believe they’re being nice. They make a lady feel good about herself whether they mean to or not.
I open the door and cringe at the creaking sound it makes. We’ve tried to oil the hinges and even replaced the door, but the same thing happens each time. The guys say it’s the ghost of the previous owner making sure we don’t change the character of the store since it’s on the historical preservation list—not that we would do anything of the sort. There’s something about an old general store that takes people back to the quieter days of the world. The inside doesn’t fare much better with its old floorboards; they tell a story of age each time they’re stepped on. It’s a sound of history and you get used to it over time.
“Good morning, Amy,” Laura says, handing me a steaming cup of coffee. Holding it between my hands, I inhale deeply. I love the smell of her home roasted coffee. She sells it specifically for the store, along with an assortment of cakes, pastries, cheeses, and meats. Her little store is a tourist stop and is often too busy for just the two of us, but we make it work. According to Laura, her first year of ownership was a struggle, but after putting in the breakfast and lunch counter things picked up. And when she started featuring local products to help out the farmers and independent businesses in the area, people really started to come in. By the second year, her business had grown and it’s still thriving fifteen years later. I’ve been working for her for four years now and know just about everything there is to know.
I tip my head back and welcome the warmth as the coffee trickles down my throat before I answer her. Yes, this makes getting up early worth it.
“Morning, Laura. How are things?” I ask, coming around the counter to place my purse in the drawer and grab my apron. I do everything here: cook, clean, stock shelves, serve the lunch crowd, and chat whenever someone needs an ear … and believe me everyone has something to say. I’m everyone’s favorite history teacher’s wife, and when your husband is highly respected you do what you can to keep up appearances.
“Can’t complain. Now that you’re here, I’m going to run and do the banking. I’ll be right back.”
With a flurry, Laura is out the door before I can respond. It’s normal for her; once she has her mind set, it’s moving a million times faster than her body and she probably feels like she’s already late. The nearest town is about forty minutes from here, so her “right back” means two or three hours later. I don’t mind, really, since everyone who comes in are either locals or tourists.
One of the best things about my job is that I get to talk to people from all over. I get to hear their stories and pretend it’s me having the grand adventure they’re enjoying. Tourists love to share. They love that you care. I want them to feel welcomed, even if this isn’t their final destination.
And when they leave, I move on to the next person and their adventure because deep down talking to them makes me miss where I came from, makes me long for the warm air, the ocean and sand between my toes. They make me question my existence and I often find myself wondering how things could’ve been different.
I set out and start the daily chores around the store. Laura has already dealt with the early morning rush, leaving me to clean up and make sure the store is presentable. Our busy times vary, but between five and six in the morning you can guarantee a trucker or two will be in here eating before hitting the highway. The state lacks the necessary highway system to help them get from point A to point B. This is where small towns like Pittsfield come in. If you create the atmosphere, they’ll stop and become regulars.
One of the farmers from down the road walks in, grabs the newspaper, and takes a seat at the counter. After pouring his usual iced tea, I set it down in front of him.
“Thanks, Amy.”
“No problem, Adam. Let me know when you’re ready to order.”
He nods and opens the paper, getting lost in the news. The paper here is nothing like I’m used to. You can read front to back in under an hour, or just ask one of the guys on the porch what’s going on and they’ll tell you. Not a whole lot happens around here, and for that I’m thankful. The less excitement we have the better I feel.
“Unbelievable,” Adam huffs, grabbing my attention.
“What’s that?”
He shakes his head and ruffles the paper to straighten it out. “Just that senator from Florida.”
I’m not sure what Adam is talking about, as I haven’t been keeping up with the news lately. There was a time in my life when all I did was watch the news, but lately it’s depressing with all the children being murdered and the terrorist attacks. Each time I hear about one, I want to crawl into bed with Chloe and hold her. She wouldn’t allow that, being almost ten. Apparently it’s no longer cool to do those types of things with your mom.
“I hadn’t heard. Do you want the usual?” I’m not trying to rush him, but don’t want to get caught if more people come in. When he nods, I set off to make his roast beef and bacon grinder.
“This guy’s a real piece of shit.”
“Most politicians are. They’re liars and thieves, taking the taxpayers’ money for hammers and toilet seats that they put in the books for an exorbitant amount. I’m not sure I’ve met one who doesn’t lie.” Bringing his sandwich and a bag of chips over, I rest my hip against the counter.
“Nah, this guy is the scum. Says here he’s being charged with all kinds of crimes against children, like prostitution and rape.”
I cringe at what Adam says. Being a mother, it’s our job to protect our children at all costs. I know I do. I’ve taken measures before to protect Chloe. These men and even woman that sexually harm children … I have no words for them. They should not be walking amongst us, I know that, but as I stand here I have to keep my opinions to myself because Ray doesn’t believe in the death penalty.
“I’d like to get my hands on this guy and squeeze the life out of him,” Adam states in between bites.
“What’s his name?”
Adam returns his focus to the paper before replying, “Lawson. Says here he’s being charged with rape and pedophilia. What a sick fuck.”
Everything around me stops and my body grows cold. I’m having trouble forming a sentence, or getting my mouth to move. I want to tell Adam that he has no idea how deranged this man is, but I can’t. It�
�s my secret to keep and mine alone. It’s been years—six and a half to be exact—since I’ve heard that name, and I could’ve honestly gone the rest of my life without ever hearing it again.
“Amy? Amy!”
Adam’s yelling gets my attention and I try to compose myself as I look at him. “What?”
“You’re um … well, you’re holding the knife like you’re about to kill someone. I’ve read stories about people blacking out and committing murder, and honestly I don’t want to die today.”
I glance at the knife in my hand, one I don’t remember picking up, and set it down on the counter. Wiping my hands on my apron as if they’re dirty, I step away. I need some water or something, but moving seems so unnatural right now.
Suddenly, the bell above the door chimes and a family walks in. They’re loud and the kids take off in opposite directions, searching for what their hearts desire.
“Amy, are you okay?”
Glancing at Adam, I fake a smile. I nod as memories that I’ve long hidden come rushing back.
The doorbell chimes throughout the house, waking Claire from the nap she was taking on my chest. We’ve been up for who knows how long dealing with her cough and runny nose that sleep has evaded us. I drag my tired ass to the door, pleasantly surprised to see Frannie together with a man dressed in a suit standing there.
“Hey, Fran,” I say, letting her come in. The man follows her, eyeing Claire the entire time.
“Penny, this is my friend from high school, Ted Lawson. He’s a state senator making his rounds and thought he’d spare me some of his time today. This is Penny McCoy. Her husband is the SEAL I was telling you about.”
“What about Tucker?” I ask, mid-yawn and handshake.
“Oh, just that River is his team leader and I’ve been making sure all the wives are doing okay since they’ve been gone.” Her smile is sweet and on the inside I’m rolling my eyes. She doesn’t know jack shit about Ryley or me and is trying to weasel her way into our lives. Frannie married River a few days before the guys deployed. That doesn’t make her the queen bee around here.
“You look tired,” she says, her tone laced with pity.
“I am. Claire isn’t feeling well, and we haven’t sleep in what feels like days. I haven’t even showered.”
Frannie reaches for her, and Claire goes willingly. “Why don’t you go and take one now? I’ll watch Claire for you.”
The thought of a nice hot shower does sound like something I need. “Thank you, Frannie. I won’t be long.” I kiss Claire on the top of her head and make a beeline for the stairs. Before I head up, I take a look at her friend, finding it odd that she brought him here. However, I’m so tired nothing makes sense. He’s sitting on the couch, reading my recent fashion magazine and seems harmless. Besides, he’s a state senator; I guess I should feel lucky he’s in my house.
I stay in the shower longer than I had planned, and even take the time to blow dry my hair before heading back downstairs.
“Frannie, I can’t thank you enough,” I say as I come down the stairs, stopping short when I don’t see Frannie, but only her friend. He’s lying on the couch without his shirt on and Claire is lying on top of him, naked. It takes my mind a minute to register what I’m seeing as his hand is caressing her bottom.
“What’s going on here? Where the hell is Frannie?” I pull Claire off of him and wrap her in my arms; she’s lethargic and limp. “What’d you do to my daughter?” I scream at him as he moves at a snail’s pace.
He puts his hands up. “I was just helping her feel better.”
“By taking off her clothes? You’re a sick fuck. You need to get out of my house.” I move quickly around the room, searching for her clothes, but can’t find them. “Where are her things?” I ask, but he doesn’t answer. I can feel him behind me and I go rigid.
“Good-bye, lovely Claire. Until we meet again.”
Turning, I glare at him. “What the fuck are you talking about? You will not come anywhere near my daughter. I’m calling the police.”
He sets his hand on my shoulder and leans closer. “You’ll do no such thing, or your worst nightmare will come true.”
Before I can comprehend his words, he’s out of my house and I’m standing there with a baby that is barely moving and completely naked. I run upstairs as fast as I can and get her dressed. Rushing back down the stairs, I open the door—half expecting him to still be standing there—and put her into the car. My first stop will be the hospital to have her checked out. The second stop is the police. Whoever this man is, he needs to be called in for questioning. If he hurt my baby, I’ll be his worst nightmare.
Only when the bell on the front counter dings again do I snap out of the day that changed my life forever.
“My name is Amy Barnes,” I mumble under my breath, forcing myself to remember who I am and reminding myself that Ted Lawson can no longer hurt us.
RYLEY DROVE ME TO meet with Marley this morning, claiming that it was no big deal because she had to go make an appointment with a wedding dress consultant. When I asked Archer why he wasn’t going, I got the death glare. I know when Ryley is out of the house it gives him time with EJ, but I also know when he’s not near Ryley, he starts to panic a little. He’s also preparing himself for the arrival of Nate and Cara, who called last night to say they’re coming to town in a few days. Evan isn’t happy; Ryley is thrilled. I’m hoping Ryley is thrilled because Cara will be here and not just Nate, given the history between them.
I’m waiting. It’s all I ever do these days. Marley has a client in her office, and from what I’m gathering this was a spur of the moment appointment. Without a secretary or a two-room office, she has standing room in the hall to wait and from my experience last time, Marley is punctual.
It’s been just over a week since I’ve seen her, and even though she called last week, she had to cancel our meeting saying her lead didn’t pan out. Today, I’m physically in the hallway outside her office at her request.
When her door opens, a woman comes out. Our eyes meet briefly and I can tell she’s been crying. It’s probably not a good thing as I can only imagine the news she was given isn’t good. For all I know, I could be facing the same sort of news when I step in.
Marley greets me at the door with a soft smile. Almost hesitantly, I follow her into her office and take a seat across from her desk. I quickly glance at the file sitting there and see my name. It’s gone from being thin to thick in a week’s time, and I don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing.
“Hi, Mr. McCoy.”
“Please, call me Tucker or just McCoy. None of that mister crap.”
She nods and opens my file, taking out a piece of paper. “I’m going to just cut right to the chase.” That’d be nice. Even though she’s not only being paid by the hour—by Ryley—we’re still working against the clock.
As if in slow motion she sets it down on the table and slides it over to me. I know I’m supposed to lean forward and look, but my body is frozen in place. Anxiety and fear run rapidly through my system right now. I’m torn, needing to know what’s on that paper, but also afraid of what it says.
“I’m afraid to look,” I tell her honestly. If she’s surprised by my admission she doesn’t show it.
“I understand,” she replies, pulling the sheet of paper back to my file. “I think you probably feel lost, but be assured I’m here to help. With that said, I don’t want to withhold any information that I find from you. In my line of work it’s going to be good and bad, but nonetheless it’s helpful in what I’m doing.”
I take in everything she’s saying, but I’m still fearful of what’s on that document. Is Penny remarried? Did she file for divorce from me? Is she dead? What about Claire? I have these questions every day, yet there are no answers to fill the void.
“The fear I feel, I’ve been trained to not feel this way and yet I can’t … I can’t stop feeling like I’ve failed Penny and Claire when all I ever wanted to do was protect them.”
“I understand, Tucker.” She pauses, taking a deep breath. “My line of work can be rewarding and also very painful. It’s never fun to tell people that their spouses, who they think are working late, are actually having affairs, or living secret lives. But sometimes, I get the happy … like reuniting long lost siblings, or people searching for their adoptive parents or those parents searching for their children. While not all of those are happy, most are. I want to believe your case is going to be happy.”
My heart beats a little faster when she finishes. “Did you find something?” I ask, trying not to get my hopes up.
“I did, and while the news isn’t good, it does tell me what I’m looking for.”
With a furrowed brow I stare at her questioningly, waiting for her to continue. She picks up the sheet of paper I wouldn’t look at and reads it out loud.
“My name is Sgt. Doyle. Penelope McCoy entered into the police station with her young daughter at approximately 1900 hours stating that a man molested her daughter. I took her complaint, noting that the child had already been to the hospital, but the report was inconclusive. The child is two years old and I did not ask her any questions due to her age. I did not notice any visible physical damage / bruising on the parts of her body that were not covered by clothing.
“Mrs. McCoy attests that her friend, Frannie Riveria, came to her house with a friend, Ted Lawson, who represented himself as a senator and she left her child in the care of Riveria while she showered, stating that the young child has been sick and her friend offered her a small break. Mrs. McCoy states that her husband is currently on deployment with the United States Navy to which I asked why this matter isn’t being brought up to the police on base and she states they dismissed her claim. Mrs. McCoy goes onto state that when she came down from her shower, she found Lawson prone on her sofa without a shirt on and with her naked daughter lying on his chest. He was caressing her bottom, and when she took the child from him, the child was limp and lethargic leading Mrs. McCoy to believe he had drugged her. The report from the hospital says lab results are pending. When Mrs. McCoy informed Lawson that she was reporting this to the authorizes, he told her that if she did her worst nightmare would come true.”
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