The Art of Going Home
Nicole Sorrell
Copyright 2014, 2016 Nicole Sorrell
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License.
Attribution — You must attribute the work in the manner specified by the author or licensor (but not in any way that suggests that they endorse you or your use of the work).
Noncommercial — You may not use this work for commercial purposes.
No Derivative Works — You may not alter, transform, or build upon this work.
Cover Design by Greg Simanson
Edited by Kathryn Galán
Previously self-published as The Art of Going Home, 2014
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to similarly named places or to persons living or deceased is unintentional.
Print ISBN: 978-1-5331-6236-6
EPUB ISBN: 978-1-3107-5954-3
Library of Congress Control Number: 2015913741
Table of Contents
Title page
Copyright Page
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Dear Reader
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Excerpt from The Art of Retribution
Prologue
Wednesday, June 25, Eighteen Years Ago
“MY ANGEL!” the woman sobbed. Her agonized wails spewed from the depths of her soul, tortured and foul. Clutching her wet daughter to her chest, she sat on the grass by a shallow wading pond, rocking back and forth.
A few yards away, a ten-year-old girl was gently lifted by a police officer from where she lay in a puddle of vomit. The cries seeped into her semi-conscious mind. She opened her eyes to glance toward her desperate mother.
“What did you do?” her mother screamed. “What did you do?”
As the officer approached, the woman turned away, refusing to release her claw-like grip on the girl's twin.
He had already checked. There was no pulse.
Chapter 1
Wednesday, July 1, Present
I DIDN’T WANT to be here.
The other passengers in the crowded coach seats seemed inexplicably happy to have arrived. I wasn’t so enthusiastic. I hadn’t slept at all during the flight to Kansas City. My anxiety wouldn’t let me rest. Over the last two days, my grief had worn me down. I shuffled down the narrow aisle, off the plane, along the dingy hall, and through the airport toward the carousel to wait for my checked luggage.
Suddenly, a warm hand landed on my shoulder from behind and turned me around. A tall, solid man held me against him in a tight hug. I couldn’t see who’d grabbed me, and I started to push away.
“Maddie, you have no idea how happy I am to see you,” a familiar voice said. It belonged to Zacarias Redondo. I’d had a crush on him since I was in middle school. I wrapped my arms around his waist. He cradled my head as he rested his cheek against my hair.
I hadn’t seen him in ten years, though we’d spoken on the phone three days before. Too soon, he straightened and gazed intently at my face. His look made me lightheaded. “I didn’t recognize you at first,” he said.
“What were you expecting?” Despite the circumstances, I couldn’t help teasing him. Because I’d known I wouldn’t have time to change, I was already wearing my black fitted dress and pumps. The ballerina neckline dipped low, and my long honey-brown hair was swept to one side and tied with a black ribbon.
“It wasn’t this. You’re… um…” he said.
“Um?” I prodded, raising one eyebrow.
“Sophisticated. That’s the right word. How are you holding up?” He brushed his fingers against my cheek. I amazed myself by tilting my head into the tender caress.
“I’m in shock, I guess. How are you doing?”
“Well enough, considering.”
“Why did you come to the airport? I was going to rent a car so you all wouldn’t be troubled to pick me up.” He took my hand as we moved toward the suitcases that were rotating on the luggage belt.
“We couldn’t let you do that. It’s no trouble.”
“How’s Sheriff Rey?” I asked. Zac’s father, Reynard Redondo, had been promoted from Deputy Sheriff to Corporal in the County Sheriff’s office six years ago. We’d always called him “Sheriff Rey.” The title stuck, despite its inaccuracy.
“Dad’s doing okay. Holding up. Taking it hard.”
Zac grabbed the suitcases I indicated, ignoring my attempt to take the lighter bag. He led me into the heat and sunshine to his parked truck. Its gleaming white paint looked pristine. He opened the passenger door and helped me up into the cab. While Zac was stashing my luggage in the bed, I let myself sink into the seat. We made our way out of the airport complex, onto the interstate that would carry us away from civilization—first east, and then south—and toward the miniscule town of Clantonville.
Zac held his hand out, palm up. I raised my brows, hesitating before placing my hand in his. I didn’t remember Zac being that affectionate. I decided he was being extra supportive due to the sad event that had forced me to come back.
He gave me a grin and turned his attention to the road. “You’re more beautiful than I remember, Maddie,” he said. Even after so many years, his familiar smile caused my heart to beat faster.
What? “I didn’t realize you ever thought I was beautiful. You should get your vision checked,” I said, deadpan.
“Madisen Jessica Chandler! I’ve always noticed how beautiful you are. How could you not know that?” he admonished. “And my eyesight is perfect twenty-twenty.”
He squeezed my hand with a devilish smile, knowing full well the effect he had on women. The inevitable pink seeped into my cheeks. I still blushed every time he complimented me.
“How have you been? And don’t tell me you’re ‘fine.’ How are you really?” he asked.
I didn’t avoid looking at him like I used to, studying his profile slowly. I saw all of the reasons I’d been infatuated with him when I was in eighth grade, and he was a junior. His Latino good looks made my stomach flutter. He had sensuous lips that begged to be kissed, straight white teeth, and cleanly arched brows. His smooth olive skin and chocolate eyes promised to grant secret desires. He was six foot three, with a perfect masculine body. He exuded raw power, like a captive animal that might attack at any moment. He looked particularly handsome in his suit and tie. For the first time ever, I wasn’t self-conscious around him. Maybe you’re too exhausted today.
“I’m numb, I guess,” I replied. “Aunt Ceci’s passing was such a blow. She never tol
d me the cancer was that advanced. I’m going to miss her so much.” I fought the lump in my throat. “I should’ve been there. Now I’ll never get to tell her goodbye.”
“She didn’t want to put you through seeing her in pain at the end.”
What? Why not? I was too surprised to comment.
“How are you doing otherwise? With life in general?” he asked.
“My life is going well,” I answered automatically. He threw me an unconvinced look. “Truly it is. I guess Aunt Ceci told you that I finished my Chartered Property and Casualty Underwriter coursework?” Zac shook his head. “It’s a designation for insurance professionals, kind of like an MBA. The classes and exams are pretty demanding. It took me four years to finish. Also, I got a promotion at work a couple of months ago. Our San Antonio office has about thirteen thousand employees, so the competition is always extreme. For the ten positions they were filling, there were about two hundred and sixty applicants.”
“Wow! I heard about the promotion. I didn’t realize how many people you beat out for it. You know I’m proud of you,” he said. “What about your life outside work? What keeps you busy? Anybody to hang out with? Anyone you’re close to?”
I knew what was behind his questions. I was positive Aunt Ceci had kept him updated about everything. About my small circle of friends. That I had no boyfriend.
Not that it was difficult for me to talk to people. I gave presentations at work with confidence. Yet, I always worried that, if others got past my protective walls, they’d think I wasn’t good enough.
“You may not think I form intimate relationships, but I do,” I said defensively. “I’m sure you’re aware I belong to a running club. Well, I guess it’s not a club. About twenty of us get together after work three times a week. On the days I don’t run, I work out at the gym. I know people there, too.” They’re acquaintances, at least.
“What do you do on weekends? Holidays?” he pressed. “Who do you talk to? Someone close enough to confide in?”
You’re letting this go too far, Madisen. “Okay, Zac. I get it.” I tried to cross my arms. He wouldn’t let go of my hand. “You don’t think leaving home was the right decision. Nevertheless, I’m satisfied with my life.” It was mostly true. My best friend, Tabitha, was the one person I’d told about my “just-sex hookups,” when I couldn’t take the loneliness anymore.
Zac’s expression grew serious. “It’s not that I think your decision to leave was wrong,” he said. “When you escaped the bad memories of Angeline’s death, you left behind everyone who loves you.”
He was right. I’d paid a high price to leave the only home I’d ever known. I couldn’t tell him that memories of my murdered twin weren’t the sole reason I’d fled. Aside from being disliked by nearly the whole town, I also left because it was the one place I heard my dead sister’s voice in my head. I was certain full-blown insanity would follow. It had happened to my mother, and I was terrified I’d inherit her mental illness.
I managed to keep my voice steady as my eyes stung with tears. “I know I left good things behind,” I agreed. “Aunt Ceci was the best. She cared for me as if I were her own daughter, and I wasn’t there for her at the end. I won’t forgive myself for that. And I won’t stand for you lecturing me about the choices I’ve made. I did what I had to do.”
With a pained look, he let the subject drop. I suspected it wouldn’t be the end of the discussion.
Chapter 2
ASHAMED TO LET HIM see I was on the verge of tears, I stared at the scenery through the window. Suburbs slowly changed to green pastures and fields. Trees grew in the fence rows that divided the rolling landscape. The corn was starting to grow tall; the wheat harvest was almost finished. A lone combine kicked up dust as it moved through the golden grain. One tractor planted soybeans amid the wheat stubble.
Seeing the familiar countryside triggered my memories. They ricocheted around my mind like bullets spit from an Uzi. Eventually, one stood out more than the others. I was riding in a car then, too.
I’d been very careful to breathe slowly. I didn’t want to make any noise. Father had remained silent even when he came to pick me up at the hospital. In the exam room, only the nurse had spoken. She explained kindly that I wasn’t injured, and I could go home. I followed him to the car, shutting the door behind me as quietly as I could.
I wished the dried vomit on my shirt hadn’t stunk so much in the stuffy interior. Father hadn’t appeared to notice, and I’d been relieved his sullen expression hadn’t changed to anger.
I firmly pushed the memory away.
Stress sank deeper into my skull. No, not stress alone. Also fear. No matter how hard coming back would be, I owed it to Aunt Ceci to pay my final respects.
I turned to Zac. “Do you mind if I rest for a while?”
“Of course not,” he said. “I can tell you’re exhausted.” I smiled. He always seemed to know me better than anyone else.
I forced my eyes closed. I didn’t think I would fall sleep. At least I could unwind...
“Maddie,” a childish voice sings. “Maddie!”
With a spasm, I awoke. Zac noticed and furrowed his brow. I must have looked terrified because he put a hand on my arm. “You okay?” he asked.
“Yes, fine,” I lied, as my stomach turned cold. I wanted to deny it, though I knew it was real. The thing I feared the most about coming home had happened. Hearing Angeline’s voice again meant my sanity was slipping.
After nearly two hours on the road, we reached Clantonville. The population sign read 6,203. That was twenty-four more than when I’d left.
The community was filled with people who were content with homogeneity. Restaurants with foreign food were the height of cultural diversity. The half dozen Hispanic and African American families were looked upon with mild curiosity and a certain degree of misgiving. When I’d lived here, a typical summer evening was spent counting fireflies, and listening to the monotonous whir of cicadas.
Zac started to chatter about inane things, which was rare. “Randy and Dean asked about you the other day at Frank’s Bar and Grill. We usually stop there after our martial arts class. I teach the beginner’s once a week, and train with Master Chen two times a week…” I was too distracted to concentrate, but his deep voice helped to ease my tension.
Lawler’s Funeral Home was a long building with an exterior of tacky sheet metal. Zac opened the truck door and took my hand to help me down. I could hear faint music. The vigil for Aunt Ceci was being held in the chapel. He must have felt my fingers trembling because he wrapped a solid arm around my waist to steady me.
My mind raced. Zac walked me into the building, and down a wide hall. We entered a hushed room lined with pews on each side filled with people.
At the front was the open casket, with a free-standing prie-dieu kneeler to one side. Gazing at Aunt Ceci, I remembered the first time I’d wished she was my mother.
It was the twenty-eighth of June, five days since our tenth birthday, and three days after Angeline had died. Mother had spent those days in the hospital, sedated.
I’d rushed up to her as she stepped in the front door. She’d responded with a slap that left a bruise on my cheek for days. Then, she’d paused to focus on her surroundings.
“What did you do?” Mother had hissed.
“Get back,” Father had ordered as he’d marched her to their bedroom. Cecilia had been caring for me while Mother was away. She’d drawn me to the kitchen as I bit back my tears. Even as a child, I was ashamed to cry in front of others. Cecilia had pulled me onto her lap in a fierce hug. I’d wished that hug could cocoon me forever.
After that, I didn’t speak for seven and a half weeks. When I started talking again, I began calling her “Aunt Ceci” like Zac did, even though we weren’t related. I’d known instinctively that she loved me more than my parents ever would.
Zac shifted, bringing my thoughts back to the small chapel.
He led me to the front pew where Aunt Ceci’s bro
thers, Sheriff Rey and José Redondo, were seated, along with José’s wife, Marie. They quickly rose to greet me. I returned their hugs as best I could. We sat with them, Zac holding me solidly to his side.
Gradually, the music quieted. A solemn-faced man came to the front and knelt on the prie-dieu to lead the rosary prayers. The repetition of the words was soothing, and my mind began to go blank. Zac rested his chin lightly on top of my head. A drop hit my hand. Jeez, Madisen, more tears? How can you have any left?
After the prayers, we sang two of Aunt Ceci’s favorite hymns. Then it was over. People filtered across the hall. Through double doors, a large room was furnished with comfortable chairs, sofas, and coffee tables, all in muted mauve and sage. Chandeliers twenty years out of style hung apathetically from the ceiling.
We stood close to the door with Uncle José and Aunt Marie. Uncle José’s mustache made him look like a modern version of Pancho Villa. He was a stout, stereotypical-looking Mexican with gentle brown eyes and silver-sprinkled hair. I found him jovial. Prone to spurts of temper that flared quickly, his irritation burned out just as rapidly. Aunt Marie was shorter, with severe features that belied her sunny smile and tranquil manner. She had a dark complexion with a beauty mark near her mouth; her raven hair lay easily on her shoulders.
Sheriff Rey and Zac’s older brother, Carlos, moved around the room. They thanked the mourners for coming and shared memories. The three men inherited the same handsome, square-jawed facial structure, dark hair color, and considerable height. Zac was the tallest, and best looking, of the three. Just barely.
I stayed tucked safely under Zac’s arm, grateful for his unwavering support. I was unsure I could navigate on my own.
Suddenly, Tabitha, or Tabs as I called her, stood in front of me. Her arms were thrown open to gather me in. Our hug was long and tight, letting me absorb strength from her. Maybe I’d survive this ordeal after all.
“Oh, Maddie!” Her big brown eyes filled with tears of sympathy. “Cecilia was more of a mother to you than your own flesh and blood mother will ever be. I’m sorry she’s gone, honey.” She took my hands and leaned down to whisper, “I know how hard it is for you to be back here. Have you seen your father?”
The Art of Going Home (The Art of Living series Book 1) Page 1