by Olivia Miles
“What are you trying to say?”
“It shouldn’t have gone on for so long.” He swallowed. “The night I left home, I discovered something that I couldn’t live with.”
Lucy’s frown deepened. She nodded. “Go on.”
“Everyone always said that Mr. Porter died by his own carelessness. That he forgot to pull the emergency brake on the excavator, that human error caused it to roll over him.”
Lucy stared at him in confusion. “Richard Porter? Emily’s father?” Lucy’s brow rose. “Scott, why are you even bringing this up?”
He held up a hand. “Mr. Porter’s death was an accident. But I was the one who caused it.”
Lucy stared at him in disbelief. Scott held his breath against the silence of the room. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said calmly.
Scott sighed, burdened by the need to repeat himself, to confirm the horrible circumstances. “I was on the job site that day,” he explained. “Just like I always was in my spare time as a kid. And I was the last person on the machine before it rolled down into the ditch.”
Lucy was staring at him with an intensity he had never seen before. She didn’t blink. “You remember this?”
“No!” He combed his hair off his forehead, stared into his hands. “I was nine years old. That day was a blur to me. I just remember climbing on the equipment, running around in the dirt, and then the screams. The frantic way Dad grabbed me and thrust me into your car, hissing at us to go straight home and to never say a word if questioned.”
Lucy nodded. “Right. I remember that, too.”
“But I heard Mom and Dad talking the night I left town. They were talking about it, Lucy. They were talking about that day, and what happened. They kept it a secret from me for nine years. That’s why they never liked Emily. That’s why...why I couldn’t be with her after I found out.”
She leaned forward. Her eyes looked wild, her face was a chalky-white. “They said you caused the accident?”
Scott nodded. “Yes!”
Lucy stared at him wordlessly, and then finally relaxed against the couch. Her mouth was parted, but no sound came out, until finally she said, “I’m sorry, Scott. But that’s not what happened that day at all. I was there. I was dropping off sandwiches for Dad’s lunch when it all happened. I’d just finished putting them in the trailer when the shouts rang out and Dad started yelling for me to get back in the car and go, to take you home. I was there, Scott. And in the chaos of everything, no one bothered to ask me what I saw.”
* * *
The timer to the oven buzzed. Right on time, Emily thought with a small smile. The test of a true baker was being able to know when a pie was done by the smell, and by the scent of cinnamon and apples wafting through the kitchen, instinct told Emily this was going to be one good deep-dish pie. Almost good enough to fill that hole in her heart.
She placed the dish on the cooling rack and closed the oven door with her hip. With hands already coated in flour, she rolled fresh dough into a large circle and then carefully positioned it in a glass pie plate. The comfort of the routine distracted her, and she felt her shoulders relax as she filled the shell with the fruit mixture from her large ceramic bowl. She took care in spreading the filling evenly with the back of her wooden spoon. A sprinkling of brown sugar would add a nice flavor under the second crust, she decided on a whim.
Crimping the edges together, she took small pleasure in the well-honed skill, remembering the way her mother had first taught her to squeeze the crusts between her thumb and forefinger. It was comforting and peaceful to work with her hands—a constructive way to work through the grief.
She carefully set the pie in the oven and turned the timer. The kitchen was a mess and she huffed in dismay as she tossed a dish towel over her shoulder. There was only one issue she took with baking: cleaning up afterward.
Still, cleaning was better than wallowing in pity and eating her way through half a gallon of fudge ripple ice cream. The past week had been a whirlwind of emotions, and it would take some time to get back on track. If she could focus on the normal routine of her day, then she should be okay. Someday.
In a way, she should probably be relieved. After all, for years she had held on to the pain Scott had caused her when he dumped her without a word. Now she could at least scratch that ridiculous sentiment off her list. To think she had been so shattered over something so...trivial! In light of the damage Scott had really caused her, it seemed almost laughable that she should have ever been so upset over a teenage romance that never led to anything more. There was no room for pining now. Last night had been an illusion. An experience built on hopes and dreams. And lies.
For twelve years he had hidden this secret from her—from everyone!—all this time knowing that her father hadn’t died by his own careless error, the way everyone in town believed.
It was wrong, and so very unfair that this was all they remembered him by. And it wasn’t even true! Deep down she had never believed it—her father was good at his job, he took pride in it, but she knew her mother lost sleep about it, and she could still remember her mutterings at the funeral. He had worked too hard. He was tired. Worn-out. Maybe...
The thought of her mother that day haunted her almost as much as the memory of her father’s grin, the way he would swoop her and Julia into his arms each night when he came home, as if they were weightless. He’d lift them up and somehow, with his support, it was as if they could fly.
And now she alone knew the truth. She would have to tell her mother, and Julia. She would have to bear that responsibility, brace herself for their reaction.
Emily bit her lip as she scraped the pie filling from the wooden spoons. She would not think of the pain in Scott’s eyes. She would not think of the remorse in his tone. The anguish—no.
Tears prickled her eyes. She quickly blinked them away as she heard a key turn in the lock and her sister appeared.
“Hey there!” Julia smiled brightly and plopped her bag down on the table with a heavy thud. She glanced around the dirty-dish-strewn kitchen, eyes gleaming as she spotted the pie. “Oh, yum! Or...” A wave of disappointment crossed her face. “For Sweetie Pie?”
“For you,” Emily said impulsively. She could always make another tonight. God knew she wouldn’t be finding sleep, and keeping busy was better than dwelling on her own misery.
Julia’s face brightened. “Really?” she said, already grabbing a plate from the cabinet. “Should I get one for you?”
Emily shook her head. “I get enough at work,” she fibbed. She pressed her hand to her stomach. It had churned itself raw. She wasn’t sure she would ever have an appetite again. With a tight smile she cautioned, “You might want to let it cool a bit first.”
“Oh, pshaw.” Julia sliced a large wedge and eagerly cracked the crust with her fork. “Delicious,” she said when she had swallowed the first bite. “You really do have a gift, Em. I’m not just saying it to be nice, either. You know I’m honest to a fault.”
“Thanks.” Emily turned her back and lifted the faucet handle to soak the dirty mixing bowls.
Julia leaned a hip against the counter. “So have you given any more thought to that school?”
Her chest felt heavy. She had given quite a bit of thought to it, but her emotions weren’t to be trusted just now. Her judgment felt clouded. “I’m still thinking about it,” she said evenly.
“Did you talk to Scott about it?”
Emily closed her eyes. “Julia.” She sighed.
“Well, don’t let him be the deciding factor, Emily,” Julia said. “Promise me that much at least. If there’s something between you, he can wait. There are some things in life you have to do for yourself, Emily. Not for me. Not for Mom. Not for Scott.”
Emily turned around to face her sister and wiped her hands on a nearby dish tow
el. She felt weary, but she knew if she went to bed and closed her eyes she would just be haunted by demons she didn’t want to face. “What about Lucy? She’s depending on me.”
“You’ve done nothing but take care of us since Daddy died,” Julia said. “Don’t you think it’s time for you to do something for yourself? I know how much you care about Lucy—she’s a great friend to all of us—but she can take care of herself. She would want this for you, Emily. She sees your talent! Don’t hold yourself back. It’s too big of an opportunity.”
Emily held her sister’s gaze. She couldn’t hold back the truth any longer. As tempting as it was to shelter Julia as much as she had tried to all her life, keeping this information from her sister would make her just as guilty as Scott.
“Julia.” She stopped. “Can we talk for a minute?”
Julia frowned and then took another bite of pie. “We are talking.”
Emily hesitated. “It’s about something else. Something...serious.”
Julia set her fork down, her expression sobering. Immediately Emily wished she could have kept her mouth shut. In a matter of seconds she was going to shatter her sister’s world, tear open wounds that had never properly healed and now never could.
“What is it?”
Emily tipped her chin in the direction of the cramped living room and they silently settled into their usual spots. Unable to make eye contact, Emily stared into her lap. “It’s about Dad. It’s about what happened to him.”
She waited for Julia to say something, but for once, her sister was speechless. There was no turning back.
“The accident wasn’t Dad’s fault,” she said.
“Then whose was it?” Julia demanded quickly.
Emily pressed her lips together. “It was Scott’s fault.”
The room went still. Emily wasn’t even sure she could feel her own pulse. She waited for Julia to speak, to say something, but she couldn’t be sure her sister was breathing, either.
“Scott?” Julia finally said. “But how—”
“He told me. Today.” Emily gave her sister a level stare. Julia’s eyes were so wide, Emily could make out the whites around her green irises, which had darkened to mud. “He was nine years old and he was the last one on the...” She couldn’t bring herself to say the word. “He didn’t know it was his fault. And when he found out, nine years later, he left town.”
“He didn’t know until then? No one told him?”
Emily shook her head. “He didn’t realize what he had done, that he was to blame. His parents covered it up. As a result, we didn’t get a dime of insurance money.”
“Oh, my God,” Julia groaned. “I didn’t even think of that part. Not that money could have brought Daddy back.”
“No.” Emily’s voice was clipped. Anger was setting in. “No, but it would have made Mom’s life a heck of a lot easier.”
Julia nodded. Her expression was pained as she stared to the far wall. The temperature had dropped with the setting sun and an evening breeze flew in the half-open windows. Emily shivered.
“Poor Scott,” Julia said, and Emily felt her jaw drop.
“What?”
“Poor Scott,” Julia said, searching her face. “He loved you so much, Emily. And then he found out what his parents did—”
“What he did,” Emily reminded her. Her chest was heaving with emotion. What the hell was Julia thinking?
“But he didn’t know. It was his father’s fault for allowing a kid on a construction site!” Julia leaned forward. “My God, Emily. What was he supposed to do? Run and tell you then and there? He was torn between you and his parents! And finding out what he had done—” She broke off, shaking her head. “It must have torn him apart! It must have driven him nearly mad!”
“You’re getting carried away with that ridiculous soap opera again, Julia!” Emily snapped. She silently vowed to stop watching Passion’s Crest for good.
“No,” Julia said. Her tone was firm enough to make Emily sit up a little straighter. “No, Emily, this is reality. Real life. Yours, mine. Scott’s. Think of what he’s carried with him all these years.”
“He should have told me,” Emily insisted.
“And what would you have said if he had? Huh?” Julia cocked her head. “If he had told you twelve years ago what he had done, how would you have reacted?”
Emily frowned. She shook her head, searching for an answer. It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter what she would have said. “I don’t know,” she said.
“It took a lot of courage for him to tell you, Emily. He ran away because he loved you, because he didn’t want to hurt you. And he told you the truth now, after all these years, because he still loves you. And because he knows you deserved to hear it.”
A painful knot had wedged itself in her throat, but Emily willed herself not to cry. What did it matter if Scott loved her then or loved her now? It didn’t change anything. Not a damn thing. But for some reason, it did matter. It mattered an awful lot.
* * *
Scott stared at his sister in disbelief. “I don’t understand. Mom and Dad said that it was me—my fault.”
Lucy shook her head forcefully. “No. No, I was there. I remember, because I was worried you were going to slip climbing off that machine. It was parked right at the edge of that ditch, and it made me nervous.”
“Rightfully so,” Scott said grimly.
“You started walking around, picking up nails. You were always collecting little things like that.”
Scott rested his elbows on his knees, leaning forward. “But what happened then?”
“Right after you hopped off the machine, Richard Porter climbed back on. He moved the machine an inch, then cursed, like he’d forgotten something. It was the curse that caught my attention.” She frowned deeply, as if reliving the moment all over again. “And then he jumped down into the ditch, and the next thing I knew...”
“The excavator rolled,” Scott finished for her.
Lucy closed her eyes. “Yes,” she said softly.
Scott dragged a hand down his face. “So it really was Mr. Porter’s fault?”
“But Dad thought it was you?” She sighed. “It all happened so fast. You must have been the last one he saw on the machine before it happened. And he just assumed.” Urgency flared in Lucy’s eyes. “You have to speak with Emily.”
Scott’s pulse was racing. He pressed his lips together, fighting that war of emotions that waged within him. “It’s too late,” he huffed. She wouldn’t want to hear it. She had told him to leave town. To never come back. “What am I supposed to do, just go knock on her door?”
Lucy widened her gaze, driving home the obvious. “Yes. That’s exactly what you should do.”
“And tell her it was her father’s error all along? That’s going to go down nicely.” He pounded a fist against his thigh. He didn’t know which outcome was worse. “Lucy, maybe it really was my fault—”
She looked at him with pity. “No, Scott. I saw. I remember it clear as day. Who would be able to forget something so awful? You hopped off and Mr. Porter climbed on. He moved the machine. He was the last one operating it. It...it was just a tragic accident.”
Scott released a long sigh, dragging his eyes over to the photos that lined the mantle in silver frames. His eye caught one of their trips to Martha’s Vineyard when he was about eight. It was a black-and-white photo, glossy enough to have been torn from a magazine. Happy enough, too. His hair was lighter then and his teeth were crooked. Lucy stood beside him with a mouthful of braces, sporting a hairstyle that was popular back then but which probably made her cringe now. His parents stood behind them, tanned and young.
It was before the accident. Before their lives were shattered forever. After that day, his father became distant and removed, and his mother had a tired look
about her. Nothing was ever the same again.
Scott shifted his gaze back to his sister. “She’ll still think I lied to her, Lucy. It doesn’t change anything.”
“Yes, it does,” Lucy urged. She reached over and set a hand on his wrist. Her eyes were pleading, but he didn’t want to believe her. He didn’t want to hope. “Go to her, Scott. For me.”
He managed a tight smile. “I’m always doing favors for you.”
“Good, because I have one more.” She paused. “Find forgiveness in your heart for Dad, Scott. He thought he was protecting you. He made a bad decision—a bunch of bad decisions, honestly—but it wasn’t black-and-white. He thought he was taking the path that would cause the least amount of damage. For you. For us. For all the other people that depended on their jobs with the company. It doesn’t make it right, but he was trying to survive a horrible situation. Please try to understand that.”
Scott gritted his teeth. “I’m not there yet, Lucy.”
“I’m just saying that I understand the lengths people will take to protect their loved ones,” Lucy said and they both knew she was referring to Bobby’s involvement in the destruction of the town library. “That’s all Dad was trying to do. In his heart, he thought he was protecting you.”
Scott nodded slowly. “I’ll stop by the hospital tonight. But first...I have to see Emily.”
He tried to dismiss the uncertainty that filled him as he hugged his sister goodbye and walked through the door, a much freer man than when he had entered. There was a chance that Emily wouldn’t care what he had to say. The truth was one thing. Trust was another.
He strode around the corner, toward the doorway to the apartments above the diner. The key felt heavy in his hand. This was his last chance. His last chance to win back the woman who had somehow found the way to his heart, and who would forever hold a place in it.
* * *
Emily had just taken another pie out of the oven when she heard the knock. She froze, bent over at the waist, oven mitt gripping the side of the scalding pie plate, her breath locked tight in her chest.