by Debby Conrad
Hollin lifted one shoulder slightly. “I have no idea. But didn’t you say once that she’d gone back to school?”
He waved a hand as if in dismissal of her explanation. “I mean, she got the house, a nice car, half our savings and investments. What more does she want from me?” Brad scrubbed his hands over his face.
Hollin wished she could say something that would help. “What went wrong with your marriage, if I’m not being too forward? I never really got the opportunity to know Sara very well, but she always seemed pleasant.”
“Pleasant? She’s a bitch!” he said, then laughed, dropping his hands to the table. His nails were perfectly manicured. Brad was always meticulous about his appearance. Never a hair out of place. Angela used to comment on how much he was like his father in that regard.
“It’s none of my business,” she said, glancing at her own nails. She’d never been able to grow them for any length of time. Instead, she’d chosen to wear them short, and kept them polished with a clear lacquer.
Brad pressed his shoulders back, the old dining chair squeaking in protest. “I don’t mind telling you.” He paused, studying her the way he sometimes did. As if he were going to later draw her face from memory.
“Sara wanted more than I could give her. She constantly accused me of not loving her. She was desperate, needy. I couldn’t take it any longer.”
“I thought Sara was the one who had filed for divorce,” she said, confused.
Shrugging, he said, “Yeah. So?”
Hollin shook her head. “I just wondered. It seems odd. If she was so desperate for you to love her, why would she want to divorce you?”
“She’s crazy. Did I mention that?”
“No, you didn’t.” And what did Brad mean by saying she was crazy? The few times Hollin had met the young woman, she seemed bright, pleasant. Maybe a little on the shy side. But definitely not crazy.
He shrugged and got to his feet. “Well, she is. Stay away from her. There’s no telling what she might say, or do.”
Hollin stared up at him, but didn’t ask for him to explain. What could Sara possibly do to hurt her?
Unrolling his cuffs to his wrists, Brad buttoned them. “I have to get back to the office. I have a client coming in. He’s afraid he’s going to miss the April fifteenth deadline to file.” He lifted his navy blazer from the back of the chair and shrugged into it, then walked around the table, leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Tomorrow’s Saturday. I plan to work at the office in the morning, but call me. Maybe we’ll have lunch. We can talk about what we should do about this house, and your mother.”
“Okay. Sure,” she said with a smile and watched as he headed out of the dining room and disappeared around the corner.
Having lunch with Brad sounded like a good idea. Thinking maybe she should invite her sister along, she quickly changed her mind. Rachel and Brad would only argue.
Realizing she hadn’t heard a sound coming from upstairs irked her. Had Rachel gone back to bed? It was almost noon. Hollin got to her feet and decided it was time to have a little talk with her big sister.
#
Rachel ignored the knock at her bedroom door, knowing it was Hollin. She didn’t feel like dealing with her younger sister at the moment. Hopefully, she’d go away and leave her alone.
No suck luck. The solid wood door opened with a creak. Rachel quickly shut her eyes, pretending to sleep.
“I know that face,” Hollin said, closing the door with a loud click. “And I know you’re awake.”
“What do you want?” Rachel asked, peeking up at her from one eye.
“We need to talk.”
Hollin was dressed in a simple white blouse, buttoned to the neck, and black slacks. Very tailored, crisp looking. And definitely Hollin.
Clothing could say so much about a person, and then again it could be used to hide who a person really was.
On rare occasions, Rachel dressed conservatively, masking the ugliness inside her. She’d pretend to be a princess, sometimes a snooty little rich girl, or a scholar. But most times she dressed in skin tight skirts or pants, and low cut tops, to reflect the person she really was. A slut and a drunk, who didn’t give a damn about anyone. Give her a bottle of gin and a man between her legs, and that was all that mattered. Most of the time.
Wincing, Rachel silently admitted there were actually two people in this world she cared about. One was Chelsea and the other Hollin, who was staring down at her with a look of disgust.
Knowing how determined her sister could be, Rachel pulled back the sheet with a loud groan and sat up. Adjusting the pillows to rest against the iron headboard, she leaned back into them. “If this is about trying to save this old house, give it up, Hollin.” She stuck her bottom lip out and blew her bangs away from her eyes.
“I didn’t come up here to talk about the house, although we will need to discuss it soon enough.” Hollin bit at her top lip then sat on the edge of the bed, angling her body so she could look Rachel in the eye. “Your room hasn’t been updated either, I see.”
“Thanks for pointing that out.” She yawned, growing impatient. “If you have something to say, just say it.” She was certain Hollin was going to tell her she was too thin, like she’d hinted a few days ago. Or maybe she’d ask her if she was all right, like she did every time they saw each other. “Are you eating well?” she’d ask Rachel. “Getting enough sleep? Maybe you should exercise.”
Exercise. Not on her life. And besides, she got plenty of exercise, thank you very much. Hollin had no idea how strenuous her big sister’s sex life was.
“Why didn’t you get up with Chelsea this morning?” her sister berated.
Rachel blinked, then became defiant. “Because I was sleeping. And don’t come in here with that holier than thou look and tell me how to raise my daughter. My daughter,” she repeated with emphasis. “Josephine got the three of us off to school most mornings when Mother was too sick or too weak to get out of bed. She can certainly handle one little six-year-old.”
“You weren’t too sick or too weak, Rachel.” Her gaze drifted toward the empty gin bottle on the nightstand and she frowned. “Maybe hung over.”
Rachel answered with a roll of her eyes.
“What are you trying to do? Kill yourself?”
“No,” Rachel insisted. “I was upset over John’s death, is all.” She ran a hand through her tangled hair. “And what business is it of yours anyway? You barely come home to visit, rarely call, and now you think you can come in here and start telling me how to live my life.”
“That’s not what this is about. I’m concerned about you.”
“Well, don’t waste your time. My life is what it is.” She scrambled to the side of the bed and reached for the pack of cigarettes and silver lighter in the nightstand drawer.
“And what is that exactly? You never finished your degree, you don’t work. I haven’t seen you spend more than a few minutes a day with your daughter.”
The anger bubbled inside her. “You think you know me so well. Well, you don’t know shit! Go back to Boston, to your safe little apartment with all the deadbolts and the steel grates on the windows. And I’ll stay here and fight off all the bogeymen.” She placed a cigarette between her lips and lit it, inhaling deeply. Turning her head in her sister’s direction, she blew a cloud of smoke her way.
“Rachel,” Hollin said, waving the smoke away from her face. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I just thought--” She coughed, getting to her feet and out of the haze of smoke. “Never mind.” She headed toward the door, then turned back around. “I’ve been thinking about quitting my job in Boston and moving back home for awhile. I’ll find a job here and--”
This time it was Rachel’s turn to cough. “Hollin, you can’t be serious,” she choked out, tossing the cigarette in the open gin bottle. The heated end made a tiny sizzle sound before dying completely. “And where do you think you’re going to find a job in Whisper Lake working with antiques?”
&
nbsp; “I can do something else. Work in an office maybe. I’m pretty computer savvy.” She shrugged nonchalantly. “Anyway, Mother needs someone to help make decisions around here, and it’s obvious you’re not going to help her. I’m meeting Brad for lunch tomorrow, and we’re going to talk about what to do.”
“Hollin, go back to Boston,” she pleaded. “There’s nothing you can do to change things here.”
“Well, I’m going to try. I’m not going to let Mother lose this house without at least putting up a fight.”
“I don’t want you hurt again.” Tears clouded Rachel’s eyes. “You’re too fragile. Let me talk to Brad. We’ll work something out.”
Hollin shook her head back and forth. “I’m staying.” She turned and opened the door.
Rachel, feeling desperate to change her sister’s mind, asked, “What if he tries to hurt you again?”
Slowly pivoting around, Hollin swallowed noisily. She spoke quietly, but firmly. “Griffin Wells . . . is never . . . going . . . to hurt me . . . again.” With that, she left the room, closing the door behind her.
Rachel slunk back onto the mattress and closed her eyes. A stab of guilt laid buried in her heart. “Oh, Hollin, you are so naive.”
#
Hollin slept well the night before. The first good night’s sleep she’d gotten in a long time. And she hadn’t taken any of her mother’s sleeping pills last night to help her along.
Was the reason she’d been able to sleep because she’d finally decided to conquer her fears? Or was it because she’d had a dry bed, and no howling winds or rain outside her window to disturb her?
Whatever the reason, she didn’t care. She planned to take advantage of the day.
After quickly showering and dressing, she ran downstairs to grab some breakfast. She didn’t have a minute to waste. She and Brad were having lunch later. In the meantime, Hollin thought it might be advantageous, even though it was Saturday, to nose around town and get a feel for what kinds of jobs might be out there.
But she’d no sooner reached the bottom of the stairs when the doorbell rang. Glancing at her watch, she wondered who could be paying them a visit at shortly after eight in the morning.
She ran a hand over her tan trousers and opened the door. Neil Thorpe stood on the front porch, smiling nervously. He was dressed casually in khakis and a black, pullover sweater.
“Neil,” she said, trying not to sound so surprised to see him. “What are you doing here?”
“Hello, Hollin. I thought maybe I might catch you this morning.” He paused, peering over his shoulder and up at the clear blue sky. “It’s a nice day out.”
“Yes. It’s nice to see the sun for a change.”
He looked at her again, and his right eye twitched. “Would you mind if I came in?”
She hesitated briefly, then swung the door open wide. “Please, come in.”
Chelsea chose that moment to skip into the foyer, her blond hair swinging wildly about her shoulders. She had a milk mustache, and her bright blue eyes widened. “Who are you?” She fumbled with the buckle on her denim overalls.
“My name is Neil,” he said, holding out his hand. “I’m a close friend of your aunt’s.”
Hollin balked inwardly at the term “close friend.” It wasn’t as if they’d kept in touch over the years. Until the day of the funeral, she hadn’t seen or heard from Neil since she’d moved away.
“I’ve seen you in town a few times,” he said to her niece, “with your mom.”
Reluctantly, Chelsea took Neil’s hand and shook it.
Neil glanced around, then looked back at Hollin. “Is there somewhere we can talk . . . in private?”
“Uh, sure,” Hollin said, wondering what was so important that he’d come to see her so early in the morning. “Chelsea, can you excuse us for a few minutes? I need to talk to Mr. Thorpe alone.”
The animation left the child’s face, and she lowered her lashes. “Okay,” she said. Slumping her shoulders, she turned and walked back toward the dining room, her sneakers smacking against the hardwood floor in her wake.
Hollin had obviously hurt her feelings. Perhaps if she offered to read Chelsea another story, like last night, she’d forgive her.
Hollin led the way to the library and was about to flick on the wall switch in the wood paneled room, when Neil slid the pocket door shut behind them. Her uneasiness around him made her voice sharp and demanding. “Neil, what is it you need to speak with me about?”
Neil made himself comfortable in a high back chair.
But Hollin refused to move away from the door. Instinctively, her hand found the wall switch and flicked it on. The overhead chandelier brightened the room nicely, showing off the bookcases that flanked the fireplace. She pinned Neil with a look and crossed her arms in front of her, waiting for an answer.
“I was hoping I could take you to breakfast,” he said, his voice unsteady. “And maybe for a walk around the lake later.”
Breakfast and a walk? He could have said that in the foyer, or better yet, while standing on the front porch. Instead, the man had insinuated himself into her home. Feeling violated, she said, “Neil, I’m sorry, but I have plans for today. You should have called.”
“I was going to call, but I thought you’d brush me off.”
Twinges of guilt tamped her anger. She told herself the man hadn’t done anything for her to be mad at him. And he was right. Had he called, she would have given him the brush off. She rarely dated, and if and when she did, it was only with men she considered trusted friends. Mostly gay guys.
Even though she and Neil had once been friends, a long time ago, she didn’t truly feel that way about him now. She remembered feeling uncomfortable around him the night of the Sweetheart Ball. Remembered how he’d spoken to her about a future together, and that he thought he was in love with her. They were only fifteen. She’d almost laughed at the time, and would have if she hadn’t been afraid of hurting his feelings.
She’d assumed he’d gotten over her in all these years, but maybe not. Then again, perhaps the man was only trying to be friendly. Her stepfather had died. Maybe he simply wanted to offer comfort, friendship, nothing more.
She dropped her hands to her sides, relaxing her stance. “Neil, I’m really sorry. I have a lot to do in the next few weeks, but I’m planning on moving back here soon. Once I get settled I’d love to have breakfast with you. As a friend,” she added emphatically.
He shook his head regretfully, then with sad eyes, he met her gaze. “I still think about you all the time, Hollin.”
She swallowed thickly, but didn’t respond.
“Do you . . . ever think about me?”
Hollin’s mouth fell open, but the words wouldn’t come.
“I didn’t think so,” he said calmly, quietly. “I teach at the local college, did you know that?”
“Yes. Rachel keeps me up to date about my old friends, whenever I’m home.”
He lifted a shoulder. “I make a decent living, maybe not enough to afford a house like this one. But I own a nice little bungalow in town near where I work.”
She forced a smile and fiddled with the button on her cardigan set. “That’s nice, Neil.”
“Do you still have the pink dress you wore on our first date? The one with all the ruffles?”
First date? He made it sound as if they’d dated for awhile. There was only one date. And she’d regretted accepting his invitation to this day. “No, I don’t have the dress any longer.”
“That’s a shame. You looked so beautiful in it.”
Her brain clouded with apprehension. She needed air, desperately. Turning away from him, she slid the door open and took a deep breath.
As she was about to turn around, she felt him come up behind her. He laid a hand on her shoulder. “Please, Hollin, if you’d just give me a chance.”
Anxious to escape his disturbing presence, she hurried into the hall and didn’t stop until she reached the front door. “Neil, I’m sorry
. I have things I need to do today.”
Neil came around to stand in front of her. He reached out to touch her cheek, but she stepped back quickly. “You don’t have to be afraid of me. I would never hurt you the way that Griffin Wells--”
“Neil, please!” she shouted. “I’d like for you to leave. Now!”
Hollin saw Neil’s eye twitch again, his right cheek lifting as if to meet it. She’d clearly unsettled him, and she didn’t care one little bit.
Josephine shuffled into the foyer, wiping her hands on her white apron. “Is everything all right, child?”
“Everything is fine. Mr. Thorpe was just leaving.” Hollin pushed past him and opened the door.
Neil looked as if he were about to say something, then with a lift of his shoulders, he turned and walked out.
Her mind floundered with the old fears and uncertainties Neil had aroused in her. She didn’t relax until he’d driven out of sight.
If Neil had the power to reduce her composure to such a fragile shell, how would she react if she ever came face-to-face with Griffin Wells?
CHAPTER FOUR
Hollin had plenty of time to kill before meeting Brad, which is why she passed through town at least five or six times. She’d seen several “Help Wanted” signs in some of the windows of the local businesses, but none of the jobs being advertised seemed like something she’d be interested in pursuing.
The same way none of the jobs listed in the local paper appealed to her.
Having graduated from NYU with a double major, one in Art History and the other in Literature, was of little benefit to her in Whisper Lake. Most of the help needed in town was for cooks, waitresses, secretaries, retail clerks, an RN and a gas station attendant.
She sighed, reaching the edge of town, and turned the car back around. Again. “Oh, there’s one I didn’t notice before,” she said to herself, glancing at the sign for the Peacock Motel. The sign read “Desk Clerk for Night Shift Needed.”