Gilt Hollow

by Lorie Langdon

  No longer in the mood for a cider, she began to trudge toward home. Usually she and Lisa walked together until they reached the shaded intersection of Walnut and Second Street, where her friend turned to head home, but Lisa had texted to say she had to leave early and sleep off the pain meds.

  So Willow set off with only her thoughts to keep her company. She kicked a pinecone off the sidewalk, little brown bits clinging to her shoe. Did Ashton really like Penelope? Or was he just using her to gain information? If he’d sought her out to get answers about the jersey, or even to make Colin jealous, he appeared to be enjoying his role a little too much.

  But, whatever. Ashton could hang out with whomever he liked. Willow shifted her fifty-pound backpack onto her other shoulder with a huff. So why did she feel like someone had punched her in the throat?

  ■ ■ ■

  Rainn grabbed a sloppy joe off the tray she carried and sped off with a giggle to join a group of his friends. Willow shook her head as she returned to the service window to replace the missing sandwich. St. Vincent’s served all their meals restaurant style. Pastor Justin, who ran the soup kitchen out of the fellowship hall of their church, believed herding the needy through a cafeteria line was demeaning. He felt being served restored a bit of their dignity.

  Willow had to agree as she delivered the hot plates of food to groups of chattering men and women. Squeaky clean faces and damp hair contrasted with their mismatched, worn clothing. The church allowed use of their shower facilities if people arrived early enough to sign up for one of the limited bathroom time slots.

  “Sir, would you care for coffee or iced tea?” Willow smiled into the older man’s ruddy face as she handed him a bundle of silverware. No paper dishes or plastic sporks were used, only real ceramic plates and metal utensils—even if they did disappear occasionally.

  “Coffee with extra sugar, sweetheart.”

  “Coming right up.” After taking drink orders for the rest of the table, Willow hustled off to the drink station. It used to break her heart looking into the faces of these people whose lives had somehow deteriorated beyond repair, but after getting to know some of the patrons, she learned that, as hard as it was to believe, many of them chose this lifestyle. They felt free of responsibilities, bills, and debt—even if it meant sleeping under a bridge.

  She loaded her tray with steaming coffee and packets of sugar and cream. The plight of the mentally disabled and families with children still killed her, but it felt good to do her part to help them, no matter how small.

  After delivering the drinks, Willow went back to her first table to clear dishes and fill empty cups. A woman lifted her mug with a trembling hand. “More sugar. I said I wanted extra sugar, and you only gave me one packet!” The drug addicts kind of scared her. She had no idea why, but they were obsessed with sugar.

  Willow poured the woman’s coffee and then reached into the pocket of her apron. “Two packets of sugar left.” The woman knew the rules limited one sugar per cup. Willow set the tiny white envelopes on the table and slid them under a napkin, lowering her voice, “I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.” She was rewarded with a moist-eyed grin.

  Astonished and a little touched that something so small could mean so much, Willow pivoted and headed back to replace the coffeepot.

  “Nicely done, Willow.” Pastor Justin stood by the drink table, arms crossed over his barrel chest. A former college linebacker, six feet five and tattooed, he didn’t fit the traditional clerical image. “That could’ve turned ugly fast.”

  Willow winked. “I’ve a few tricks up my sleeve.”

  He chuckled and helped her fill glasses of iced tea. “How’s it going at the old Keller House?”

  “Um … interesting.”

  “Don’t tell me the place is haunted, like everyone says.”

  “In a sense …” Perhaps it was his superpower, like Wonder Woman’s lasso of truth, but Willow found it impossible to lie to this man she’d known her entire life. “It’s more the ghosts of the past turning up around every corner.”

  “Ah … you’re referring to Mr. Keller.” Pastor Justin’s dark eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Well, I have to commend you for forgiving the past and accepting him … even if it puts you in an awkward position.”

  Her mother must’ve shared with him that Willow wished to befriend Ashton again, but Willow wasn’t sure she’d forgiven Ashton for anything. Right then, she couldn’t think about him without her blood simmering. Penelope. Really? The girl had nothing in her head but rainbows and stardust.

  Willow hated to disappoint, but she wasn’t sure she could own up to accepting Ashton either. She lifted the tray of drinks and noticed that the pastor still watched her with something like concern on his face. “Wait. What aren’t you telling me?”

  Pastor Justin pulled a square of paper from his pocket and unfolded it. When he held it out for Willow to see, she dropped the tray back to the table with a clatter. Her heart in her throat, she took the flyer. Ashton’s face glared back at her in black and white, his mouth set in a tight line, his brows lowered in anger. The picture wasn’t very high quality, like someone had snapped it with their cell phone. Scrawled across the top in bold letters were the words Killer Keller, and on the bottom it said, “Stop harassing our students! Leave now!”

  “Where did you find this?”

  “I took this one from the bulletin board at Bob’s Market.”

  “This one?” The paper trembled in her hand.

  “I removed all the ones I came across in town, but they’re everywhere … on telephone poles, mailboxes, store windows.”

  “Isn’t that illegal? Like character defamation or something?”

  “That’s debatable.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and shrugged. “Some may say they were only exercising their right to free speech. Not that I think it’s right, mind you.”

  “Excuse me! Can I get some iced tea over here?”

  Ignoring the request, Willow glanced back down at the flyer. Did Ashton know about this? Willow glanced up at the clock. It was almost seven thirty. What would Ashton’s parole officer do if he went into town and saw these accusations plastered everywhere?

  Willow untied her apron, lifted it over her head, and handed it to Pastor Justin. “I’m sorry. I have to go.”

  “Sure. I’ll take care of …”

  Willow didn’t hear the rest because she was sprinting for the door.

  CHAPTER Twelve

  So both of your parents are out of town?” Zane Ponytail Reed asked for the second time as he typed into his tablet.

  “Yes.” Ashton draped an arm across the back of the Victorian sofa. He’d led Mr. Reed into the formal parlor, hoping the less comfortable environment would make for a shorter visit. So far it didn’t seem to be working. “They travel a lot.”

  “Before you turned eighteen, your mother signed the papers for your discharge but didn’t visit while she was there.” He glanced up, his expression carefully neutral. “I was under the impression that you hadn’t seen your parents during your incarceration. Is that correct?”

  Ashton forced his jaw to unclench. If Zane had access to Ashton’s records, he knew the answer to that question. “That’s right.”

  “But they were accepting of you staying here after your release?”

  More like they didn’t know or care. “It would seem so.” Ashton answered, working hard to wash the sarcasm from his tone.

  “What are you doing to stay busy? I haven’t received any calls for employment references.”

  “I’ve enrolled full-time at Gilt Hollow High.”

  “They accepted you?”

  “With a nudge from my family’s attorney.”

  Zane sucked in his right cheek, causing his mouth to contort as he paged through his tablet. The silence stretched on until Ashton leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. Mr. Reed cleared his throat and spoke without looking up. “Do the three individuals who witnessed your crime and testified agains
t you attend Gilt Hollow High?”

  “Yes.”

  Zane blew out a breath and took off his glasses. “This concerns me on many levels. Part of my job as a probation officer”—he sat straighter in his chair as if he were a supreme court judge, not a lowly government official—“is to ensure that after your release you are in no way jeopardizing the public welfare.”

  “Why would I—”

  He raised the hand holding his glasses and cut Ashton off. “That remains to be seen, but I’m warning you now, I won’t hesitate to pull you out of that school if there is a need. I spoke with Chief Kagawa on the phone, and he seemed concerned that your return to Gilt Hollow could cause … conflict.”

  Ashton’s suspicions that Kagawa was out to get him confirmed, he pointed out, “Chief Kagawa’s son, Isaiah, was one of the witnesses against me, so keep that in mind. Also remember that I pled guilty to my crime.”

  “Yes, after the other boys stepped forward as witnesses.”

  This man had no clue what Ashton had gone through as a minor shuffled though the justice system alone. All he wanted to know was that Ashton wasn’t going to hurt anyone … else. Ashton met Zane’s gaze and allowed his face to soften. “I just want my old life back. A second chance.”

  “I’m well aware that taking a plea bargain doesn’t mean you’ve accepted your guilt. However, your counselor, Mr. Larkin, has assured me of your rehabilitation. So I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt.” He replaced the glasses on his face and propped his tablet on his knee.

  Silence loomed like a specter, stretching to fill the round two-story room and sucking the air from Ashton’s lungs. This man, this stranger, held countless words in his hands that summed up the life of a juvenile delinquent. But those words didn’t define him—his past or his future.

  After what felt like hours, Zane removed his glasses again and raised his blank gaze. His next words sounded as if he recited them from some probation officer’s guide on how to be a pretentious stooge. “The court has dictated that we meet every four weeks for the next six months, though it is up to my discretion to meet on a more frequent basis if I deem it necessary. I’d like to return in three weeks.” He tapped the screen and then swiped his finger over the surface. “Perhaps if we meet on a Saturday afternoon your parents will be around?”

  Knowing that wasn’t going to happen, Ashton kept his reply noncommittal. “Yeah, maybe.”

  “Good.” Zane tucked his glasses into his pocket and then grinned, his demeanor transforming as if someone had changed his internal TV channel. “The Ohio State game starts in twenty minutes. Want to head into town and watch it at the Postman’s Tavern?”

  Ashton would rather slit his wrists with a chain saw. But before he could come up with a good excuse, the doorbell gonged. Shooting to his feet, he asked Zane to wait and jogged into the foyer. He paused before opening the door. The only person who knew he was staying here was Willow. If he answered the door, he could blow that secret out of the water.

  He glanced over his shoulder at Mr. Ponytail Reed, who whistled an old Van Halen song while he packed up his things. Ashton couldn’t afford the man’s suspicion. Deciding he could talk his way out of anything, he opened the door.

  Out of breath from sprinting the five blocks from the church, Willow clutched a fist to her diaphragm and sucked in air. What was taking him so long to answer? Was the meeting over already? She smoothed the hair back into her braid and lifted a hand to the gargoyle knocker. The hideous monster eyeballed her, but before she could pound its brass talons against the wood, the door swung open.

  Ashton’s face a mask of stone, he growled, “Yes?”

  “I just needed …” Willow trailed off. She hadn’t planned on how to tell him that someone had plastered his face all over town, accusations blaring from every page. The only thought in her head had been to warn him. “I … you …”

  Ashton glanced over his shoulder and then stepped onto the porch, yanking the door shut behind him. “What the heck, Wil?”

  Willow’s heart gave a tight flutter and tears burned behind her eyes. No one called her Wil except Ashton and her dad. To hide her overreaction, she spun on her heel and stalked to the other end of the porch.

  She felt Ashton come up behind her as the warped floorboards dipped. “Hey, what’s going on?” A warm hand clasped her shoulder, flashing something like heat lightning down her spine.

  Hyperaware and feeling raw, she jerked away from him and spun around. Concern etched his brow, and those dark blue eyes swept over her face, sending every rational thought tumbling out of her head. She crossed her arms under her chest and spat, “Do you have a motorcycle license?”

  His mouth stretched into a flat line, and he blinked three times before answering. “Nooo … but I did get a driver’s license as part of my prerelease program.” He crossed his arms, mirroring her stance. “What is this all about? I’m kind of right in the middle of something.” He jerked his head back toward the house.

  “Well, you need a specific license to drive a motorcycle, and I saw you …” Willow cut herself off with a shake of her head before she sounded like a jealous sow. “Never mind, I came to show you this.” She pulled the folded paper out of her jeans pocket. “Pastor Justin found it at Bob’s and said they’re all over town … on light poles, in shop windows. I can help you take them down. It’s outrageous, really. I mean … it doesn’t mean anything.”

  The hint of a smile curled up one side of Ashton’s mouth. “Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?” He held out his hand. “Can I see it?”

  She set the paper in his palm as if it might explode, and honestly, she worried that he might. Whoever had done this wasn’t messing around. Their intent had been to harm him—to rally the town against him. When she said it didn’t mean anything, that wasn’t the truth.

  He unfolded the paper, and naked pain shot across his face.

  Willow’s heart gave a twist and she reached out but drew back before she touched him. “Ashton …”

  The front door opened, and a middle-aged man with thinning hair poked his head out. “Ashton, the game starts in ten minutes. We’ll be lucky to find a seat at the tavern.”

  Ashton folded the paper and stuck it in his pocket.

  “Oh, hello.” The man walked outside as he looped a messenger bag over his shoulder. “I didn’t see you there.”

  The tension radiating from Ashton could’ve set a small town on fire, so Willow shook the man’s hand and tried to hold his attention. “Hi, I’m Willow. Ashton and I are old friends.”

  His eyes widened before he could contain his surprise. Did he think Ashton lived in a bubble?

  “I’m Zane Reed. Ashton and I were just headed into town to watch the game.” He hitched a thumb over his shoulder. “Can’t be much fun hanging out in this hulking place all alone.” He laughed loud and long.

  Willow offered a forced chuckle as her gaze strayed to Ashton. He leaned against the porch rail, booted ankles crossed, fists shoved into his pockets, a bored look on his face. Amazing. She doubted they offered acting class in juvie, but he was a master.

  “You’re welcome to join us,” Mr. Reed said.

  “Oh well, that’s nice of you, but … I … er … just walked through town, and the streets are packed. Some kind of save our oceans rally or something … Besides, Ashton and I are supposed to study for a trig test tonight.”

  “Thanks for the invite, Zane,” Ashton cut in, his tone perfectly cordial except for an odd emphasis on the letter Z. “But Willow’s right. I have a lot of catching up to do. Maybe some other time?”

  “Sure, that works.” Zane shook Ashton’s hand. “I’ll see you, and hopefully your parents, in a few weeks.”

  Willow tensed at the mention of Ashton’s absentee parents, but he responded with a nod. “Sounds good.”

  The parole officer made his way down the crooked front stairs. As soon as he’d backed out of the driveway, Ashton lifted an eyebrow at Willow. “Save the oceans ral
ly? Not bad, Lamott. With a little training, you could join the accomplished fibbers club.”

  Not falling for the distraction, she cocked her head. “Your parents?”

  “Sometimes you have to tell people what they want to hear.”

  “But what—”

  “I’ll make up another excuse.” He shrugged a shoulder. “A lot can change in three weeks.”

  He said it like he could be in Jamaica next month, or maybe on Mars. Like he had no clue what tomorrow held. Didn’t he have any plans for his future? For what came next? Willow’d had the next twenty years of her life planned out since she was twelve—graduate high school with honors, earn a scholarship to Miami University, finish her BS in biochem in two years, and then it was off to MIT for her graduate program. The thought of drifting with the wind made her skin crawl. Shaking off the sensation, she resumed their original conversation. “I saw you take off with Penelope after school.” But the image the words conjured made her wish she could take them back. She ran a hand over her braid and cleared her throat. “Um, did you find out anything?”

  “Other than that she hates Colin Martin almost as much as I do? No, but …” Ashton’s gaze narrowed on her, searching. Willow stilled like a cornered animal, afraid to move. A whip-poor-will’s haunting call echoed in the distance. He uncrossed his arms and pushed off the rail, closing the distance between them in two strides.

  She took a step back and hit the house. Ashton didn’t stop until inches separated them. When she looked up into his face, a smile played around his closed mouth and something like wonder flashed in his eyes. “You’re blushing.” Slowly he lifted his hand and, feather-light, brushed the crest of her cheek with his knuckles.

  Willow’s skin blazed in response to his touch, her pulse pounding so hard, she worried he might hear it. A breeze whispered through the leaves, whipping around the corner of the house and lifting the hair on Willow’s neck. She shivered.

  Ashton studied her face, his voice low and soft, “Are you jealous?”

  When she didn’t answer right away, Ashton’s mouth kicked up on one side, breaking the spell.