A Sinclair Homecoming (The Sinclairs of Alaska)

by Kimberly van Meter - A Sinclair Homecoming (The Sinclairs of Alaska)

  “Tell me about your children, such as their individual personalities and what made them stand out.”

  “Oh, that was so long ago, I don’t remember.” Morgan knew the opposite was true. Jennelle remembered quite clearly who her children were. She was having a hard time reconciling who her children were back then and who they were now. Jennelle shifted in discomfort. “I don’t understand the point of this. How is this going to put me back in my house?”

  Morgan straightened, ignoring the pinch in her back and said, “Generally, people who hoard have emotional trauma in common. We’re trying to get at the root of that pain and if we’re able to do that, I think we can heal the wound causing you to hold on to things that you should let go.”

  “I don’t understand why everyone else has to determine what I should and shouldn’t hold on to. It’s my life and my business.”

  “Yes, it is. However, when your safety became an issue then that’s when outside forces had to come in and evaluate. Your children love you very much and they’re worried about you. You are their mother and at one time I suspect you were all very close. I want to see that happen again. In spite of the hurt on all sides, healing is possible.”

  “You’ve never known the pain of a betrayal by your own flesh and blood,” Jennelle said, dismissing Morgan’s assurances. “It’s a pain so deep, it can never heal.”

  Morgan knew better than to openly disagree, particularly when a patient was hell-bent on seeing things their way, but Morgan felt bad for Wade and his siblings. Jennelle was being intractable in her thinking. It was still early in the therapy but Morgan worried that Jennelle was so far deep in her grief that she was blind to the damage she was doing. Frankly, they all probably needed therapy at this point.

  “Share with me a treasured memory,” Morgan suggested. “Something when the kids were young perhaps.”

  “This is nonsense and a waste of time.”

  “Humor me. I enjoy hearing family stories.”

  Jennelle shrugged and said, “Well, it’s not my dime you’re wasting so, here goes nothing. The one memory that stands out more than the rest is blueberry season. We used to go picking blueberries in late July. Zed loves blueberry jam so we’d take a picnic and go fill our buckets with all the blueberries we could carry. I’d make pies and jam and cobbler and whatever we couldn’t eat we would freeze for later. I could always tell when the kids were sneaking blueberries out of the bucket because their teeth were stained purple. But I didn’t mind. I acted like I did but I really didn’t. They were rascals, all of them. Zed was no different. In fact, I think he encouraged them to get into mischief because he thought it was funny. And sometimes it was.”

  “Sounds like one big, happy, loving family. Did you pass on your recipes to your girls?”

  “I tried. But Miranda was such a tomboy she never wanted to be in the kitchen with me and Simone was such a social butterfly that she wanted to spend more time with her friends than learn how to cook. In fact, the only one who really wanted to learn my recipes was Trace’s high school girlfriend, Delainey. I taught her how to make my strawberry jam.”

  “That was very sweet of you.”

  “I suppose. At least it wasn’t wasted effort. Trace and Delainey just recently got married.”

  “Oh? I hadn’t heard.”

  “Of course not. They ran off and did a quickie wedding at the courthouse. I guess they didn’t want any family or friends around when they tied the knot. Pretty selfish, if you ask me.”

  “Or perhaps they felt they’d waited long enough? As I recall, they broke up and only recently got back together?”

  Jennelle only sniffed in response. Boy, Jennelle was a tough nut to crack. She could only imagine how frustrated her children were.

  Morgan drew a deep breath and followed with a smile. “At any rate, it must be nice to keep the recipe in the family. Now Delainey can teach any children they might have and keep the tradition alive.”

  At the mention of potential grandchildren, Jennelle softened ever so slightly. “That would be nice.” Ah, a subtle crack in her armor. Jennelle examined a cuticle and then admitted, “It’d be nice to have more grandkids. I always envisioned my house filled with them. Things just didn’t work out that way.”

  “No, but they could still,” Morgan said. “Your children are still young enough to give you plenty of grandchildren.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Do you have a good relationship with Miranda’s son?”

  “As good as can be expected. She prefers that he spend all his spare time with his other grandmother. That Yupik woman.”

  Ouch. Another painful topic, apparently. Morgan made a note and steered the conversation back to safer ground. “So Miranda was a tomboy and Simone was very social. What were the boys like?”

  “Boys are boys. They liked dirt and bugs and hanging out with their father. They were always tracking and killing something. I always said boys were like a big cloud of dirt with legs.”

  Morgan caught the subtle smile before Jennelle could smother it, and Morgan capitalized on it. “Your boys turned out really well. I’m sure you’re very proud of them.”

  “I was. Until they betrayed me.”

  “Here’s something to consider—what if they didn’t actually betray you but in the ultimate act of love made a difficult choice to protect their mother?”

  “I suppose everyone can choose to look at a situation however they want. Doesn’t change the facts.”

  “Correct. Facts are facts. And if we look at the facts in your case, you nearly died in your house. Yes?”

  Jennelle looked away, stubborn as hell. “I’m tired. Are we done for the day?”

  And just like that, Morgan lost her. “Of course,” she said with a sigh. “I’ll be back tomorrow, same time.”

  “I guess I can’t stop you while I’m stuck in this bed.”

  Morgan gathered her things and rose. “I just want to say that although you may disagree, I feel you and your husband did a very good job in raising your children. And I feel confident we can fix what is broken between you all.”

  “We’ll see.”

  Morgan left it at that. Jennelle wasn’t in the mood to hear anything else and Morgan had enough experience to know when a patient had reached their limit.

  Morgan exited the room and nearly ran into Wade. Mentally in her own world, she was completely startled and dropped everything in her hands, scattering notes and her recorder, grimacing when it shattered. “Crap!” she muttered, bending to pick up the pieces.

  “Here, let me help you,” Wade offered, bending, as well.

  She was so embarrassed that she didn’t protest, and when he handed her the pieces of her recorder she smiled briefly, too thrown off her game to react appropriately. Images from her imagination assaulted her brain and she was momentarily too flustered to speak.

  “Are you okay?” Wade asked, concerned.

  She flashed him a quick smile and tried to keep moving. “Yes, thank you,” she answered brightly. “I’m fine. Nice to see you!” And then she hustled away from him as if the devil were on her heels.

  By the time she reached her car, she was breathing heavily and feeling like an idiot.

  Even worse? Her gaze strayed to the broken bits of her recorder and realized she’d have to try and remember everything Jennelle had said but her mind had gone blank.

  “Son of a bitch,” she muttered.

  She needed to get her head on straight. And that meant no more allowing any inappropriate mental images of Wade Sinclair.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  WADE WATCHED, PUZZLED, as Morgan hurried down the hall and wondered if his unfortunate experience with her sister had upset her more than she’d let on. He had half a mind to chase after her just to make sure everything was okay but he had to talk to his mo
m. Wade was still out of sorts but he wanted to see what his mom’s perspective was on his dad’s voluntary jail stay. He could probably guess what her opinion was but he needed to be sure. He walked in and found his mom staring out the window, her expression wounded and lost and he gentled his voice to ask, “Is everything okay, Mom?”

  She glanced at him briefly before returning her gaze to the view. “I’m sure you saw that woman leaving. I don’t understand why she has to keep poking at me. Haven’t I gone through enough?”

  “Mama, do we have to go through this again? She’s here because she’s required to be. If you hadn’t ruined your house none of this would be happening. But I’m not here to talk about your house. I need to talk about your husband.”

  At the mention of Zed, Wade snagged her attention. “What’s wrong? Is he okay?”

  “He’s fine. I just saw him at the jail. But I have to say I’m incredibly disappointed. He’s choosing to stay in that place instead of letting anyone bail him out. We could really use his help in this situation but he’s digging his heels in and refusing to budge. Sort of like you,” he added with a mild frown. “I don’t understand what’s wrong with the two of you.”

  Jennelle took immediate issue with his statement. “What do you mean, what’s wrong with us? What kind of question is that? Your father is his own man. I’m not his boss. If he doesn’t want to help it’s his choice. Besides, has it ever occurred to you, all of you are making a big deal about nothing? Maybe your father realizes that and just wants to let the dust settle so things can get back to normal.”

  “Normal? Which normal would that be? The one where you live like a hermit crab, piling on more and more crap until it topples over onto you and Dad remains oblivious to what’s going on under his nose because he’s stoned half the time? That normal?” At Jennelle’s disapproving stare, Wade threw his hands up in frustration. “Because I’ve lost sight of what normal is in this family and I think you have, too.”

  “You’re in a fine mood. Nobody asked you to get involved.”

  “Stop it. This is serious. I put my life on hold to come out here to help you and him. The least that he can do is accept the help to bail him out.”

  She shrugged. “Zed’s never been one to accept a handout. I would’ve thought you would remember that.”

  “It’s not a handout. In one instance it’s a friend being there for another friend, and in the other it’s his son.”

  “Well, either way it doesn’t matter, does it? Because he’s perfectly content to sit there and if that’s the case then that is where he will remain until he’s ready to leave.”

  “Mama, did you know that Dad had a drug problem?” he asked, going straight for the hard question.

  She scowled. “A drug problem? Really? I think that’s a little extreme, don’t you? Your father doesn’t have a drug problem. He has a gardening problem.”

  “Well, the garden he was tending is illegal. So I would say it’s a problem no matter what. And that doesn’t bother you?”

  “I don’t like it,” she admitted stiffly. “But he’s a grown man. I can’t chase after him and make him do what’s right, any more than I could make you children do what’s right.”

  “Yeah, that’s the thing. We are doing what’s right. And the fact that both my parents are acting like children is really disheartening.”

  Jennelle glared. “I did not raise my son to talk to his mother that way.”

  Wade took a moment to collect himself. “You’re right. I apologize but I’m frustrated. I feel we are all killing ourselves to help you both and neither of you will lift a finger.”

  Jennelle’s eyes flashed. “Oh, that’s rich. Nobody said that you needed to come out here and police what we were doing. If your sister hadn’t poked her nose where it didn’t belong none of this would’ve happened. If you feel the need to blame someone, blame your sister.”

  It killed him that his mother was being so hard on Miranda because he knew it was unwarranted and coming out sidewise from a different place. Thank God Miranda had found Jeremiah and straightened herself out. Otherwise, Jennelle’s wrath might’ve ruined her. “Please stop being so harsh to Miranda. She’s the one who’s been doing the heavy lifting around here and you’ve done nothing but run her down. It’s gotta stop, Mama. For Miranda’s sake, please. It’s almost as if you hate her and that hurts my heart to even think because she loves you very much. We all love you and I wish you could see that.”

  “Parenting advice from a man who has never had any children? That’s hilarious. I don’t hate your sister. I’m very disappointed in her—there’s a difference.”

  “Well, it’s sort of hard to tell. Because what comes out of your mouth sounds like hatred. And the situation with Simone’s room has definitely gotten out of hand. Everything in it needs to be boxed up and put in the attic.”

  “Don’t you dare touch a single item in that room. Do you hear me? Not a single item.”

  “Why? So you can stay in there and pretend that Simone is alive? She’s not,” he said, adding in a lowered tone, “she died eight years ago. It’s time to let the past go.”

  Jennelle gasped as if Wade had just sliced her with a knife, and her eyes watered. “How dare you. How dare you speak to me like this. A mother can never forget her child. And you are cruel to ask for me to do so. Now get out of my room. I no longer want to look at your face.”

  “Mama...”

  “Get out.”

  Wade was flabbergasted by how stubbornly difficult his mother was being. She flat-out refused to give him an inch. He’d never seen her so closed off to her children. Just as the man rotting in jail was not the man who’d raised him, this bitter and mean woman was not the woman of his childhood. He didn’t know this woman. And frankly, at the moment, he didn’t want to.

  Wade left, needing to put some distance between him and that room. He didn’t know who to talk to or how to handle the situation. All he knew was that he was one big ball of stress. He could really use a beer. By the time he reached his car he already knew he was headed to The Rusty Anchor. He wasn’t much of a drinker but right about now he could use a little bump in the chillout factor.

  He walked into the old bar, assaulted by the smell of frozen boots, spilled beer and the subtle odor of fish but the pungent aroma somehow soothed his ragged nerves. The Rusty Anchor never changed. This place was an integral part of Homer and his childhood. Back in the day, the rules were a bit more lax than they were now. His mom used to send him into The Rusty Anchor to go bring Zed home on the occasion that he’d spent a little too much time with his buddies. One time he and Trace had seen Delainey’s dad, Harlan, passed out at the bar and they’d helped him home for Delainey’s sake. Not all the memories were good. He sidled up to the bar and gestured. The old bartender was a face he recognized and he smiled. “Hey, Russ, it’s been a while. Do you remember me?”

  Russ squinted at Wade and then nodded in recognition. “There’s no mistaking a Sinclair but it’s been a while since I saw your mug around. How you been, Wade? I heard about your dad. Tough break. But we all knew he was gonna get caught sooner or later. Part of me wondered if that’s what he wanted all along.”

  “Was it pretty much common knowledge that my dad was growing and dealing pot?”

  “Pretty much.” He paused then asked, “What’ll you have?”

  “Whatever’s on tap.”

  “You got it.” Russ turned and filled a stein with amber liquid and pushed it toward him. “So I take it you’re here to help out your parents?”

  Wade took a drink of his beer. “I guess you could say that. Things have fallen to crap. Not sure what to do about it, either.”

  “Probably not much you can do about it until they want to change. Your dad, he just sort of fell apart after Simone, you know? And I do know about your mom but there certainly has been a lo
t of change in her life that hasn’t been for the better.”

  “Yeah, you can say that again. It’s like I don’t even recognize them anymore.”

  “Death will do that to you. Tragedy sucks the life out of you and leaves an empty shell behind.”

  “Do you remember Simone?”

  Russ nodded. “Cute kid. Didn’t know her very well, though. We didn’t exactly run in the same circles.”

  Wade smiled. “Yeah, I guess not. You want to know something? I can’t remember the sound of her voice. It’s just gone from my memory and I’ll never get it back. Sometimes I wonder if that’s what my mom is going through. She’s got her room all fixed up as if Simone hadn’t died. Maybe she’s just trying to hold on to everything because she’s afraid she’ll wake up one morning and everything she thought she remembered about Simone will be gone.”

  “It’s possible. But life goes on. That’s a fact that she’s going to have to get used to. No matter how many trinkets she holds on to, it ain’t gonna bring the girl back.”

  “Yeah, that’s the part she’s having trouble with.”

  Russ smiled. “Take it easy, kid. Don’t OD on home stuff. Take it one step at a time. Good to see you.”