The Art of Going Home (The Art of Living series Book 1)

by Nicole Sorrell

  “Your father said you never saw her?” he asked.

  “I haven’t. I call the nursing home about once a month to check on her. They encourage me to visit, while warning that she may not recognize me. There’s also a possibility that seeing me would upset her.”

  “I didn’t realize you kept up with her.”

  “She was a terrible mother,” I said, letting out a huff. “Sometimes, I’m angry that she wasn’t there for me when I needed her most. In the end, she is my mother.” I fought to keep the bitterness out of my voice. “I spent a lot of time hating her. Now I realize she’s a weak person, who always blames others when something goes wrong. Especially me. I’ll never understand why she married an extremely selfish, egotistical bully when she didn’t possess the confidence to stand up to him.”

  Zac closed his arms around me. I leaned against his chest, getting lost in contentment for a minute. I couldn’t help it. I caught myself and squashed the feeling. I was acting vulnerable, exactly like he’d said. You’re pathetic, Madisen.

  I leaned back to put a little distance between us and changed the subject to try to gain some control. “Who were those two women at the cemetery?” I asked. “You looked like you were shocked to see them.”

  “No one in particular. Just people coming to the funeral.”

  My temper flared. What a hypocritical liar! He’d chastised me for not having friends close enough to confide in. And that “relationship” comment, about being strong for one another! Now he was unwilling to open up to me? I squinted in anger, and I barely managed to hold my tongue. I considered a moment and decided to take a different approach. I put a hand on his cheek to turn him to me and looked into his eyes.

  “Zac, you can tell me. That was your child with the younger woman, wasn’t it?”

  “For God’s sake, Maddie!” he spluttered. “How did you come up with something so ridiculous?”

  Gotcha! “I don’t know what to think if you refuse to communicate. I can only make assumptions.” I shrugged. “If we’re going to be in a relationship, you’ll have to trust me enough to talk to me.”

  “You shouldn’t use my own advice against me, you know.” He forced a smile.

  “Now you see that it’s not always easy to reveal personal things.”

  He rubbed his chin like he was deciding how to start. “The younger woman at the cemetery today was my half-sister,” he said. “The other one was my mom.” He laughed at my incredulous look. He quickly sobered, because there wasn’t anything funny about it.

  “You never told me you had a sister,” I blurted.

  “I didn’t know,” he said. His brows were drawn together.

  “Oh,” was all I could muster. I was at a loss. The look on Zac’s face clearly said he was, too. “Have you seen your mom since she left?” I asked tentatively.

  “No.” He stared for a long moment at my hand, where he drew circles with his thumb. At last, he spoke. “You’re aware that my mom disappeared shortly after my first birthday.” I nodded, not wanting to interrupt. “We never heard from her again. Dad wouldn’t tell us anything except that she wasn’t coming back. He never explained what happened or why she left. Today we learned Mom was pregnant with Lauren, and Dad wasn’t the father.

  “She said Dad kicked her out without letting her say goodbye. She’d always wanted to be involved in our lives while we were growing up. Dad wouldn’t allow it, and he never told us. She decided she wouldn’t let him keep her away any longer and came to the funeral. She wants us to know our sister and get to know her if we want. Dad was furious. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him that angry.” He leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

  I still couldn’t think of anything to say. After discovering he’d been lied to for thirty years about the reason his mom left; that she wanted to keep in touch and his dad hadn’t permitted it; that he had a sister he’d never known existed—what words were appropriate in these circumstances? I slowly rubbed his arm, hoping he would understand my willingness to listen, and let the silence stretch out.

  Finally, with a sigh, he opened his eyes.

  “Why couldn’t your mom force your dad to let her see you and Carlos?” I ventured.

  “I don’t know for sure. I’d be willing to bet Dad would’ve made it virtually impossible. Since she didn’t live in town, she would’ve needed his cooperation. Even if there was a court order, I doubt he would’ve complied.

  “If Carlos’s enraged reaction at the cemetery is any indication, he wouldn’t have agreed to see her when he was old enough to decide for himself. In my case, I think she was afraid that, by the time I turned eighteen, I’d already been poisoned against her. I don’t remember her. I didn’t recognize her today.” He sounded utterly dejected. It made me hurt for him.

  “Do you want to get to know her now?” I asked.

  “Maybe. Part of me is angry that she was unfaithful to Dad. To me and Carlos, too, really. I’m also mad at Dad for not telling us why she left. And for not telling us she wanted to see us. Another part of me comprehends how hurt he was. I don’t know if I can forgive him for hiding the fact that we have a sister. It’s not her fault this whole thing happened. If I want to get to know her I’m sure Dad will be against it. Should I respect his wishes and stay away from her? I don’t know.”

  “What about your sister Lauren?” I asked. “Did she know about you and Carlos?”

  “I got the impression she always knew about us.”

  “The little girl with them. Is she Lauren’s daughter?”

  “Yes.” With a baffled look he exclaimed, “I’m an uncle!” That idea would obviously take some getting used to.

  “I wonder why she was at the restaurant tonight.” Zac shook his head. I voiced one more question. “Do you know who Lauren’s father is?”

  Wearily, he murmured, “I have no idea.”

  We fell silent. So much heartache had been uncovered, we were well past the point of exhaustion.

  ~~~

  Something heavy rested on my shoulder. Zac lay back against the headboard, my cheek resting on his chest. He looked incredibly content in sleep, with his arm around me. I knew how bushed he was. I shifted carefully and immediately dozed off.

  My dreams carried me back to that day eighteen years ago, to the first time I was forced to deal with death…

  My feet flew along the hall past our childhood bedrooms and down the stairs in excitement. “Come on, Angeline!” I cried. “Bookmobile’s here! Where are you?”

  Mr. Dorman, the elementary school librarian, pulled the van into the drive. Too impatient to continue my search for her, I gave a last shout into the house and ran out the door.

  Exaggerated in my dream world, the mobile library was impossibly huge on the inside. Endless shelves lined the walls, and they were filled with books. I grabbed several and passed by the tables to sit on one of the sofas. Opening the first book, I saw a cheery shallow pool of water amid cut grass. Trees grew along one side, between it and the house. It’s a story about our wading pond!

  The scene on the page turned cloudy right in front of my eyes. The next page showed a picture of Angeline’s face. Her hair looked funny. It was waving as it floated about. She’s in the water.

  Her expression turned scared, and she started struggling. Soon she was thrashing wildly, trying to escape the hands clenched on her shoulders that held her under. Though only bubbles came out of Angeline’s open mouth, I heard her scream. “Maddie! Help! Please HELP ME…!”

  Yanked from sleep, I heard Zac’s steady heartbeat in my ear.

  “I should’ve found you, Angeline,” I whispered quietly into the darkness. “I should’ve taken you with me to the van. I could’ve saved you.” Mother’s words reverberated in my head. “What did you do? What did you do?”

  ~~~

  His lips settled softly on my cheek as Zac tucked the blanket around me.

  “See you tonight, baby,” he whispered. Not waking fully, I sighed and turned over, quickly going ba
ck to sleep.

  Rousing with a start, I sat up. It was already eight o’clock. Pushing the dream aside, I jumped out of bed and changed into shorts and a sports bra, then put on my shoes. I wanted to get my run in as early as I could. Soon it would grow hot enough to fry eggs on the hoods of cars.

  I slipped the card key into my wristband and stepped outside. Bending forward, I placed my palms on the sidewalk and dropped my head to my shins. For several minutes, I did stretches to wake up my muscles. I wanted to do the six-mile route I’d mapped out.

  Chapter 8

  MOST PEOPLE WHO KNEW about my dedication to running assumed I did it to stay in shape or to stay thin. But running was how I coped. Some months ago, I’d badly sprained my ankle and couldn’t put weight on it for six weeks. It was awful. I had to buy heartburn tablets practically by the case. I grew glum and cranky. For me, the high I got from running was the equivalent of taking Zoloft.

  Long runs also enabled me to zone out and gave me time to think. I especially needed that now. It always took about a mile to warm up and get set in my pace. After that, the regular rhythm let me be in my head and mull over whatever issues I was facing. On that day, it would be what Angeline had asked me to do.

  I set out, careful to keep my stride long, shoulders relaxed, fingers loose, and hands low. I headed toward the town square, waving back to the people in passing cars who raised their hands. Many of them probably didn’t know who I was. Around here, it was just the neighborly thing to do.

  The first time Angeline and I talked after she died was about a month after her murder. Some days before, I’d discovered that my gold butterfly necklace was missing. We were given matching necklaces on our eighth birthday, and Angeline had been buried with hers. I was heartbroken. In a dream, Angeline told me to check my tennis shoes. Although I’d worn them twice since the necklace was lost, I found it tangled in the laces.

  After that, I always listened to her, and she never failed me. She told me when to avoid Father because he was angry; the days Mother was up to talking; and when Aunt Ceci was going to fix my favorite dinner of cheese-stuffed fried peppers: chiles rellenos.

  Now she was telling me to do something much more significant. How would I go about finding a killer? I’d never been told anything about it at the time, and only knew that no one was arrested or charged with murder. I wouldn’t be getting details from Father, since talking to him was out of the question. Gleaning more information seemed impossible. Besides, I didn’t think I could handle the additional heartache it would stir up so soon after burying Aunt Ceci.

  For the first time in my life, I decided to ignore what Angeline asked. Too much pain would be brought up for nothing. Yes, I would let it go. I was sure it was the right decision.

  Finishing the six miles with a steady pace, I felt good. I always did, after a run. The endorphins never failed to give me a sense of wellbeing.

  In the shower, the spray was as hot as I could stand, the way I loved it. I stayed in a long time, taking advantage of the hotel’s endless supply of scalding water. The thick steam billowed. I could barely see the showerhead.

  “Maddie!”

  I was so badly frightened I screamed.

  “You need to find out who killed me.”

  I leaned against the shower wall, panting, near panic. I’d never heard Angeline’s voice when I was awake. It horrified me. God, Madisen! You’re going out of your mind.

  My hands quivered as I quickly dried off, and pulled on shorts and a tank top. As soon as I was dressed, I escaped the hotel room and headed down the block to the fast food restaurant.

  I was uneasy as I ate, sitting alone with a grilled chicken sandwich, salad, and big glass of orange juice. And a bigger cup of black coffee. I always included caffeine in my diet; it was on my personal list of essential nutrients. Today, it added to my jitters.

  The contentment I’d gained from the run was gone, replaced by indecisive trepidation. I didn’t want to drag up all the sorrow I’d sidestepped for so long, yet I was also afraid to deny Angeline.

  What if ignoring her request meant I’d continue to hear her voice while I was awake? No question I’d be driven crazy, like my Mother.

  Too restless to stay in my room alone after I finished my meal, I decided to retrace the first part of my run back to the town square. It was a long walk, and I needed the distraction. I wandered through a quaint antique shop, a dress shop, and a jewelry store.

  Nothing held my attention. Hearing Angeline’s voice in the shower plagued me. The day was becoming hot, and I was getting sweaty. I strolled back to the hotel. As I crossed the parking lot, I got an idea.

  The air conditioning in my room felt divine, though my hands were slippery from nerves as I dialed the number on my phone.

  “Hi, Sheriff Rey. It’s Maddie.”

  “It’s great to hear from you,” he said. “How are you?”

  “I’m better today. How are you?”

  “I’m doing okay. How can I help you, mi’ja?”

  “I have a favor to ask,” I said. “I want to talk to someone in the department about the investigation into Angeline’s death. I never knew what was found, and I think it would ease my mind to know the circumstances of the murder. Who handled it?”

  He was silent for a long time. I thought perhaps we’d been cut off. “I’m familiar with all the particulars of the case,” he finally said. “It may not be good for you to relive it all right now. Are you sure you want to do this, Maddie?”

  No, you’re not. “Yes, I am.”

  “Okay,” he said. “I won’t be able to meet with you until next week, because of the holiday tomorrow. Aren’t you flying back early Monday?”

  “I’ll arrange to stay another day. I’ll see you first thing in the morning. I appreciate it.”

  Next, I dialed my work. I respected my manager Leo tremendously. He was surprised by my call and sounded happy to hear from me. He asked how my visit was going. Before I’d left, he’d encouraged me to take more than four days off, knowing I hadn’t been back home in a long time. He checked the schedule for me and found that no other employees were out. Despite my protests, he put me down for vacation the whole week. I could easily afford to do it since I’d racked up a ton of personal leave hours. I wasn’t required to report to work until July thirteenth.

  After hanging up, I chewed my lip in apprehension. I wasn’t sure this was the right thing to do. But I went ahead and canceled my flight back to San Antonio.

  I had a couple of hours to kill before getting ready for dinner with Randy and Tabs. I tried watching TV to relax. Nothing was interesting. I decided to lay down for a nap.

  I couldn’t unwind enough to drop off. I decided to resort to a dependable standby that always worked to reduce my tension. I dug through my suitcase until I found BOB, my Battery Operated Boyfriend: six and a half impressive inches of purple latex manliness. He was the perfect guy; faithful, dependable, long-lasting (assuming his batteries didn’t run down), and always willing to put my needs ahead of his own. I stripped and plopped onto the bed, letting my imagination stray to Zac. After thirty minutes of BOB’s ministrations, I was much calmer.

  I headed to the bathroom, washed up BOB, and took another quick shower to rinse away the sweat from my exertions.

  Refreshed, I put on my favorite old jeans. They fit like paint and were so worn they had threadbare knees and a tiny rip under the back pocket. I added a scooped-neck, stretchy shirt that was barely long enough to skim the top of my pants, and wedge sandals. I put on a bit of makeup and was about to check my hair again when Zac knocked.

  He caught his breath when I opened the door and slid his eyes down and up the length of my body. I invited him in and, hoping to hide the instant lust he evoked, walked back into the room to finish my hair in the full-length mirror. He stepped inside with a tempting glint in his eyes.

  “Mind if I use your bathroom?” he asked.

  “No, of course not.”

  When he came out, he was
beaming broadly, wearing a huge self-satisfied smirk. I couldn’t help notice that even when he leered, he was handsome. I got a little suspicious when he put his hands on his hips and rocked back on the heels of his boots.

  “I see you’ve brought a friend.” My confusion prompted him to gesture to the bathroom. “Looks like you’re acquainted with Mr. Buzz.”

  I glanced over to see BOB sitting proudly erect on the vanity in all his purple glory.

  OH MY GOD! I was beyond mortified. I clamped down my open mouth as a white-hot burn crawled up my neck to my cheeks. Knowing I was turning all kinds of red, I spun away from Zac, marched to the bed, and yanked my purse onto my shoulder.

  “You’re such an idiot!” I hissed.

  “Why am I the idiot?” He couldn’t keep the grin out of his voice. I refused to turn and face him.

  “Not you! Me.”

  “Oh yeah,” he said. “I almost forgot you always talk to yourself like that. Call yourself ‘you.’” I didn’t want to dig myself in any deeper so didn’t answer. "It’s always been kind of odd,” he continued. “I think it’s sexy, though."

  Good God, Madisen! Could you have done anything more humiliating?

  Chapter 9

  AT THE GROCERY, I picked up a bottle of Pinot Grigio. Zac wore his delighted smile all the way across town. I hoped the crimson would be gone from my face by the time we got to Randy and Tabs’s place.

  As we pulled up to the cute house, I looked it over. Randy had bought the one-story cottage last year, and Tabs had moved in with him. He’d gotten a good deal because it was a fixer, and he was gradually making repairs. The exterior needed fresh paint. The porch treads, handrail, and balusters had all been replaced and painted. Where a few floorboards in the porch had apparently rotted, new ones had been installed.