by Kayla Perrin
Lorraine donned her swimsuit and went to the pool. She loved this area of the city. It boasted a lot of townhouses surrounded by lush gardens, bright flowers and majestic palm trees. The pool was enclosed by a wrought-iron gate and had palm trees in each of the four corners. There were several lounge chairs, but today only two had towels on them. A woman and two small children frolicked in the splash pad.
The rectangular-shaped pool wasn’t quite Olympic-sized, but it was definitely large enough for the serious swimmer to do some laps.
As Lorraine made her way to the far end of the pool deck, she wondered why more people didn’t take advantage of the building’s pool. Yes, people worked and didn’t have time to lounge around all day. But a surprisingly few number of men and women took the time in the evening to relax. They were far too overworked and stressed out—two things that helped encourage disease in the body.
Manuel, one of the building’s maintenance workers, paused from clearing debris around the base of one of the palm trees and waved at her from across the pool. Stopping at a lounge chair on the opposite side of the deep end, Lorraine waved at him. Manuel whistled when she began to take off her bathing suit cover.
She fluttered a dismissive hand, wishing that Manuel’s compliment would lift her mood as it had so often in the past. Instead, her chest tightened. She couldn’t get Hunter from her mind.
Lorraine walked to the deepest end of the pool and dove right in. She swam a half-length under the surface, then came up for air, gasping. She switched to the breaststroke, pushing herself hard until her limbs burned. She hit the far end of the pool, turned and swam back. Then again, and again.
With each stroke, with each muscle working harder and harder, she prayed the physical pain would take away the memory of the day’s stress.
Four laps later and physically spent, Lorraine finally came up for air. She rested her arms on the edge of the pool deck at the deep end and gasped in several breaths.
Manuel wandered over to her. “You okay?” he asked.
“Uh-huh.” Lorraine pushed the loose strands of hair from her eyes.
Manuel eyed her skeptically. “You’re swimming like the devil is chasing you.”
“I’ve had a bit of a stressful day,” she told him, holding up a hand to protect her eyes from the sun as she stared up at him.
“Already? It’s barely noon.”
“Oh, yeah,” Lorraine said, the memory of Hunter’s scowling face jumping into her mind.
“If it has to do with your ex, you want me to deal with him?” Manuel asked, his tone playful.
It was something he had jokingly stated in the past when she’d shared the facts about how Paul had made her life hell. “Naw,” Lorraine said. “Wouldn’t want you to go to jail a few years shy of your retirement.”
Manuel was in his early sixties, and one of the maintenance men who always had a kind word for all of the residents.
“Yeah,” he said, “you’re right. Maria would be upset if I ruined the plan to return to Guatemala when we retire. Not to mention what my kids would think of me.”
“See?” Lorraine said. “Not a good plan. Don’t worry, I can take care of myself.”
“I just don’t like seeing you unhappy,” Manuel said. “That ex of yours always makes you so miserable.”
Lorraine offered him a weak smile. Of course, today’s stress had nothing to do with her ex. But Manuel didn’t need to know that. And the last thing she wanted to do right now was get into the whole sordid deal regarding Hunter.
“I’m fine,” Lorraine said. “Don’t you get gray hair over me.”
Manuel laughed and rubbed his bald head.
Lorraine chuckled. Then she pushed off the pool’s edge and began to swim on her back, hoping that she could finally push thoughts of Hunter out of her mind.
* * *
Hours after the meeting with the lawyer, Hunter was standing on the deck in the backyard of his father’s house, the same house he’d grown up in. The same house he’d avoided for years. He frowned as he stared out at the general state of disarray.
Weeds were thriving in the grass, the white paint was peeling from the deck’s floor. The shingles on the shed’s roof were visibly deteriorating.
How long had his father been ill? It wasn’t like him to let a property get out of control to this degree. For years, his father had flipped houses—something he’d taken pride in. He’d enjoyed taking houses that were in horrible conditions and turning them into beautiful homes. Yet he’d let his own home fall apart?
Hunter’s throat thickened as he continued to look around. He drew in a slow, even breath, trying to shake the wave of emotion that hit him. Was it possible that his father had let this property run into the ground because without any family here, he didn’t see it as a home?
Hunter understood the feeling. After the death of his twin sister, there’d been a void in this house. Neither of his parents had been the same jovial people they’d been before Ava’s tragic passing. The strain on their relationship had been obvious to him, even though he’d only been twelve at the time. Before, Hunter’s parents had enjoyed taking walks and holding hands, snuggling on the sofa and watching a movie, and going out for date nights. All four of them enjoyed Sunday night charades, going out to play tennis at a local court, and spontaneous road trips in the summer. Their house had been a fun and loving home.
And then they’d lost Ava. And the glue that held the family together had crumbled. It had been devastating enough to lose his twin sister, but he’d lost his mother, too, because a piece of her had died along with Ava. Four years later, she’d passed away for real, and Hunter would always believe that a broken heart had killed her. After his mother’s death, the remnants of the relationship between Hunter and his father had disintegrated. Douglas had shut down emotionally as a father, while almost immediately getting involved with another woman. The relationship with a real estate agent had brewed so fast that Hunter couldn’t help wondering if his father had been involved with Joanne before his mother’s death. Two months later, Douglas and Joanne were married.
Even if his father hadn’t been emotionally aloof before his involvement with Joanne, the marriage had signified an end of Hunter’s relationship with him.
Hunter walked forward and gripped the deck’s railing. A sliver of broken wood pricked his finger, stinging him the way the memory of that time in his life did. His father had put all of his attention into Joanne, while practically forgetting that Hunter existed. A vicious cycle had ensued, with Hunter acting out in a bid for attention from his father, and his father pulling away more and more because he didn’t know how to deal with a difficult child. Hunter had been testing his father’s love the way teens were apt to do, and his father’s response had proven to him that he wasn’t a priority in his life.
Douglas’s marriage fell apart a year later, and he quickly moved on to the next woman. And the next. And Hunter’s resentment had grown. The family home had become more like a prison, one he couldn’t wait to break free from.
Finally, as an eighteen-year-old, Hunter had been able to forge out on his own. Nevada offered him the escape he desperately needed, while joining the fire service had allowed him to do something in honor of his sister.
Even as the years passed, the sudden loss of his twin had been hard to actually believe. To this day, Hunter couldn’t accept what had happened. How could he accept the tragedy when “what if” questions had plagued him?
What if he hadn’t been mad at Ava and she hadn’t gone to a friend’s house for the night?
What if his father and mother hadn’t wanted a date night? Would Ava have bothered to go to her friend’s house if she and Hunter hadn’t been fighting?
What if Ava’s friend’s father hadn’t been smoking?
What if, what if, what if... Those what if questions hau
nted a person.
Hunter had finally gotten a measure of peace when he’d thrown himself into his job, something that gave him purpose, even if he would never have true closure. Helping people and saving lives had been a saving grace for him.
He’d never expected to return to Ocean City, but the call he’d received from the hospice had changed everything. He’d learned that his father was dying and didn’t have much time left. Hunter knew then that he needed to return home.
Hunter looked out at the unkempt lawn, and a wave of regret washed over him. Suddenly, the weeds and brown patches seemed like a metaphor for his messy relationship with his father.
His father had left him this house in the will, something Hunter had expected but didn’t want. Until today, he’d figured he would simply fix it up and sell it. But as memories from the past flooded him, mixed with regret, he wondered if he should consider living here.
His father hadn’t been all bad. The fact that he’d impressed Lorraine said he’d done something right. Had he simply been a dying man who’d changed his ways? Or did Hunter not know his father as well as he’d believed?
Hunter went back into the house and took a seat on the leather armchair, the same chair his father had liked to occupy. It felt weird looking around the room from this vantage point. He tried, for the first time, to put himself in his father’s shoes.
All these years, Hunter had blamed his dad for the disintegration of their bond. And, yes, his father certainly held his share of blame. He’d pushed Hunter away when he’d gotten involved with Joanne, putting the last nail in the proverbial coffin on their relationship. Sure, they’d spoken over the years, but always briefly, superficially and rarely. But over the last six months, his father had called and emailed him more often. Hunter had ignored his father, keeping him at bay. And why?
Because he sensed that his father was trying to make amends, and Hunter hadn’t wanted any part of it. Never once had his father apologized for emotionally abandoning him. So how could they suddenly become bosom buddies? Hunter had kept his father at arm’s length, sending him the occasional brief email stating that he was busy, that he’d be in touch later. But he’d been waiting for an apology, because until then he wouldn’t be able to even consider moving forward.
And now here he was, sitting in his father’s chair, a feeling of heaviness bearing down on his chest. Seeing his father in the hospice, thin and frail and a far cry from the strong man he’d once been, had shaken Hunter to the core. At that moment, he realized how much he’d always hoped that some day they’d be able to get over the past. Now some day would never come.
“This is not your fault,” he said aloud, the words reverberating in the room. This was his father’s fault, the one who’d been an adult. Hunter had been young, and had needed his dad after the double blow of losing his sister and mother. Instead, his father had left him alone to navigate the ocean of grief as a teenager. It was hard enough for any person to deal with the premature loss of two family members, let alone a child.
The heaviness in his chest grew worse, like a weight pressing down on him. He could hardly draw in air. This house was filled with memories he’d tried so hard to bury, because they were too painful. He and Ava fighting over the last chocolate chip cookie their mother had made. Him licking the spoon of the cake batter after his mother had whipped up a batch of her delicious lemon cake. The family gathered in the living room to watch a Saturday night movie and eat popcorn. They’d had some happy times. The memories had been buried so deeply, but being here again, they were coming to the surface.
The sound of his mother’s laugh, warm and infectious, seemed to float in the room. Hunter smiled. And then a wave of sadness gripped him. Not just for him and what he’d lost, but also for what his father had lost. His parents had been high school sweethearts, inseparable. He must have been in a world of pain after losing the woman who’d been the love of his life.
“I shouldn’t have shut you out, Dad,” Hunter said aloud. “If only I’d known you were sick. I’m so sorry.”
But sorry now was too little, too late, wasn’t it? Because his father couldn’t hear him. Hunter should have spoken to his father while he’d been alive.
Despite their troubled relationship, Hunter had loved his father. Did his father know that? Before he’d passed, had he known?
Lorraine. Her name popped into Hunter’s mind. She’d spent a lot of time with his father. They’d gotten extremely close. Had his father spoken to her about their relationship?
It was highly likely that he had.
Hunter needed to know what he’d said. Lorraine was the only one who had the answers he desired.
He needed to talk to her. As soon as possible.
Chapter 9
Lorraine waited until nearly the end of the work day to text Rosa. She needed to talk to her friend about what had happened this morning, and it would have to be an in-depth conversation. Probably over a good meal and a glass of wine. A recap over the phone simply wouldn’t do.
At 4:30, Lorraine sent a simple text.
Dinner tonight after work? I need to chat.
Her phone rang shortly afterward. She answered Rosa’s call after the first ring. “Hey, Rosa.”
“What’s going on?”
“Are you free to get a bite?” Lorraine asked.
“Well, I don’t have a hot date. So I guess you’re in luck.”
Lorraine smiled. She could always count on Rosa to inject humor into a conversation. “I can meet you at five. Ruby’s Café?”
“Sure. But what’s going on? Everything okay?”
Lorraine sighed. “I’ll tell you when I see you.”
“Now you have me worried.”
“I’ll fill you in later,” Lorraine told her. “See you soon, okay?”
Fifteen minutes later, Lorraine was out of the house and on her way to the café. When she arrived, Rosa was already there, sitting at a table facing the door. Rosa beamed and waved at her.
“I see my friend,” Lorraine said when the hostess greeted her and offered her a menu.
Rosa got to her feet and opened her arms wide. Lorraine walked into her embrace. “Hey, girl!”
“Thanks for meeting me, Rosa.”
Rosa waved a dismissive hand when she pulled apart from Lorraine. “Of course.” She raised an eyebrow. “As long as you’re buying.”
“Ha!” Lorraine took a seat at the table. “That’s the price of this girl talk, is it? Definitely cheaper than therapy, so I won’t complain.”
Rosa took a seat opposite Lorraine. Her expression turned to serious. “What’s going on?”
Lorraine rubbed her temples, then folded her arms on the table. “Remember I told you I was going to the lawyer’s office today?”
Rosa frowned. “It didn’t go well? I figured you’d be happy after the meeting...?”
“Happy is the last word I’d use to describe how I felt this morning.” Lorraine blew out a frazzled breath. “You won’t believe what happened.”
The waitress arrived at the table with two glasses of white wine. “There you are,” she said. “Do you need more time to check out the menu?”
“Yes, please,” Lorraine told her.
When the waitress walked away, Rosa said, “I took the liberty of ordering us wine. Riesling, your favorite. I had a feeling we’d need it.”
“Good call,” Lorraine told her. She lifted her wine glass and took a sip.
“Don’t keep me in suspense,” Rosa pleaded. “What happened at the lawyer’s office? The family gave you a hard time?”
“Remember the guy at the bar?”
“Mr. Hottie? How could I forget him? The one you were so into that you sprinted out of the b—” Rosa’s words died in her throat, and were followed by a gasp. “Oh, my God. You’re not saying—”
“He was there,” Lorraine said. “In the lawyer’s office.”
“He was the lawyer?” Rosa surmised, her eyes growing as wide as saucers.
“Worse,” Lorraine told her. And when Rosa’s eyes narrowed, Lorraine explained. “He’s the son. The son of the man who died.”
“No!” Rosa exclaimed. Then in a not-so-hushed voice, “You slept with your patient’s son?”
Lorraine quickly glanced left and right, hoping that no one within earshot had heard Rosa. She edged across the table and began speaking in a lower voice. “Honestly, I have to be the unluckiest person in the world. It’s like the universe is punishing me for having a one-night stand.”
“Or, forcing you back together,” Rosa said, her voice rising on a hopeful note. “You did say you had an amazing night with him.”
“That’s definitely not going to be happening,” Lorraine said. She snorted. “God, Rosa. It was awful. For a moment, I was so stunned. I thought I was imagining things. I mean, how could he be there? And the look on his face—he was as shocked as I was. But if only it was just shock.”
“What do you mean?”
“He didn’t see the situation as it was—a bizarre coincidence. He thought...” Lorraine paused, swallowed. “He thought I targeted him that night in the bar. He thinks I used his father in order to be left in the will.”
“What?”
“I know, right? It’s absurd. But the look he gave me... I swear. It was filled with hate.”
“Did you guys have some big confrontation in the lawyer’s office?”
Lorraine sipped more wine. “No. We didn’t let on that we knew each other. But Hunter followed me out when I left the office. He accosted me on the street.”
“Oh, my God. He was that angry?”
“Yes. He thought the worst of me, and it made me feel like a pile of crap.”
“But why?” Rosa asked. “You had such a great night together.”
“It didn’t help that I gave him a fake name. It made him all the more suspicious.”