The Reckoning at Gossamer Pond

by Jaime Jo Wright

  Elijah’s glare drilled through her. “I told you to get out of here!”

  Hurt and shock stunned her. “But, he needs to know about your aunt Dorothy. That she was going to meet the kill—”

  “I said go!” he shouted.

  Arms wrapped around her from behind, pulling her against a solid chest. Warm breath filled her ear as a firm voice spoke directly into it. “He’s right, Libby. You’ve done what you can. You must be safe.”

  Jacobus.

  She twisted, her face only inches from the intense eyes.

  “It’s madness here. Reason will be ineffective.” His lips moved against her ear as his logic sank in. Jacobus steered her behind him.

  “You!” Ralph Hayes’s growl filled the air. He launched himself past Elijah and at Jacobus.

  Libby saw the glint of a blade in the darkness. The moon’s reflection momentarily warning her. The man intended to kill Jacobus Corbin.

  She shoved in front of Jacobus. A searing pain coursed through her. She heard Elijah’s shout, sensed Jacobus’s arms, and then the night went black—as if the moon had been snuffed out by evil itself.

  Chapter 29

  Annalise

  Nicole and her boyfriend, Brian, were picture-perfect. Annalise bit the inside of her bottom lip as she handed them their coffee. Brian’s stylish haircut, tailored cotton shirt, and straight-legged olive-green pants made him appear as though he’d stepped out of GQ magazine.

  Annalise avoided looking at Nicole as Brian inserted his credit card into the chip reader.

  “Here you are.” She ripped off the generated receipt and handed it to him.

  “Things going well?” Brian asked as he signed it.

  Annalise tapped her fingers on the counter, eyeing the credit-card machine. “Mm-hmm.”

  “Garrett told me you found some interesting information at the historical society.” Nicole’s words made Annalise’s insides curdle. It was natural Garrett would tell his sister.

  “He didn’t tell me what, though,” Nicole finished. Her tone was hesitant, as if she hoped Annalise would offer it up.

  Not a chance.

  “Sometimes messing with the past isn’t worth it,” Nicole stated.

  Annalise finally looked at her. The frigid eyes irritated her. “But, sometimes it’s necessary,” she retorted.

  Brian handed the credit-card slip to Annalise. He placed the pen back in the cup on the counter. “You’ve got a lot on your plate right now.” He smiled. “What with the food pantry and the coffee shop. I know it’s been tough.”

  “I’d rather not comment.”

  Brian had the graciousness to look apologetic. He tipped his head toward a table and spoke to Nicole. “I’ll just take the coffee over there.”

  Nicole nodded. When he walked away, she leaned closer to Annalise. A whiff of jasmine perfume teased Annalise’s nose. Nicole offered her a grim smile, her attempt at camaraderie.

  “Tyler Darrow had no right to even research the picture of the baby.” Nicole glanced over her shoulder at Brian, then back at Annalise. “I hope no one finds out the baby is . . .” She let her sentence hang.

  There it was again. Don’t tell. Don’t ruin the Greenwoods. Don’t let on that it was Garrett’s baby.

  Annalise rolled her lips between her teeth. She grabbed a washcloth and busied herself wiping the counter down. Illegitimate children seemed to run in the family. The image of Eugene Hayes with his arm draped over a younger version of her grandmother ate at her.

  “They won’t find out,” Annalise muttered.

  “You’re certain?” Nicole might as well have asked what she really meant, which was You won’t tell?

  “I know you don’t like me.” Annalise took little satisfaction from the way Nicole paled. “I know you want Gossamer Grove to keep being pretty, vintage, nice. For the magazines and for tourists. No scandal. Nothing dirty. Nothing controversial. I get it. The town’s economy is important. But so are people, Nicole. You can have your Norman Rockwell life, if you want, but it’s not real. Our town has broken people in it. Many of them come to the pantry every day.” Annalise waved a hand toward the food pantry door. “You can choose to try to hide them, like you hide me, and my baby, and Garrett’s mistakes. But we’re there. Always there.”

  Nicole blinked. She adjusted the bottom of her blouse. “Are you trying to sway my opinion regarding the homeless shelter versus Doug Larson’s wilderness center?”

  Annalise palmed the countertop and breathed in deep. It went so much deeper than a piece of property. How did she get anyone to recognize the broken people under their noses? That each of them was living out ramifications of bad choices and tragedies. That life wasn’t pretty.

  “You will never get it, Nicole, until you hurt.” Annalise met the woman’s eyes. “Until you understand what it is to be destitute. Whether financially or emotionally or spiritually.”

  Nicole said nothing, but turned and walked away. Toward Brian, toward her coffee, toward her carefully ordered world. Annalise had spent years building her own well-ordered world too. Order from chaos, she’d hoped, yet the broken pieces of her could never walk away.

  Annalise hurried into her office and slouched in her chair. She reached for her messenger bag and pulled out the folder that held obituaries, photographs, and revival flyers. The photo she’d found of herself, pregnant and alone at Aunt Tracy’s. She flipped it over, staring at the names she could only assume Eugene Hayes had penned. All of them were familiar but one.

  Libby Sheffield.

  Who was she? What had she to do with this story? This unsettling conglomeration of people spanning well over a century.

  Annalise fumbled through the photographs, pulling out the picture she’d asked Gloria about on her first visit. The unfamiliar young woman with the brooding dark eyes and hair, the pale skin. She studied her. Was this Libby? How did she fit into the Greenwood family tree? Or didn’t she?

  Her eyes narrowed as something in the photograph captured her attention. Annalise frowned and leaned closer, but it was tiny and the picture quality blurry. She tugged open her desk drawer, neatly organized into compartments. Paper clips, rubber bands, pens—blue ink in one compartment, black in another—a ruler, scissors, and . . . She reached for the magnifying glass and held it over the image. Holding her breath, her heart began racing until it pounded in her chest.

  A small watch was clipped to the woman’s blouse. Heart-shaped, with gold filigree, and tiny hands with the time frozen for eternity at what looked to be 8:36 p.m.

  Annalise shoved the papers and pictures back into the folder and jammed it in her bag. She needed to go back to her house. The jewelry box, upstairs in her bedroom, filled with cheap baubles and a few inherited pieces. Her grandmother’s watch, handed down to her mother, then to her. A heart-shaped timepiece, identical to the one in the photograph. But it was broken. It had never worked. Time had stopped at 8:36 p.m. and never started again.

  “Where are you going?” Garrett braced a sheet of plywood against an angled frame he’d built against his garage. One sheet of plywood had already been screwed down. A box of climbing holds sat in the yard. He was building a climbing wall. Annalise didn’t care.

  She hurried by him toward her home. Since the historical society debacle yesterday, she’d avoided him, choosing instead to escape to Brent and Christen’s and play with their kids.

  “Hey!” Garrett jogged up to her. His T-shirt had sawdust scattered across it and had holes in the sides under his arms. “You can’t be alone, Q.”

  “I’m fine.” She wasn’t. He was right. Her heart palpitated just looking at her front door.

  “I’ll come in with you.” Garrett tugged at the stocking cap he wore as if he were going skiing.

  She tried to ignore him, tried to ignore the way he followed her up the stairs to her bedroom. The way he filled the space with the most intoxicating and yet uncomfortable mix of emotions.

  Annalise ran her fingers over the empty spot on he
r dresser. She longed for Gia’s picture. The real one. Not the photocopy of it, reminding her someone was still out there. Still trying to hurt her.

  Garrett shifted behind Annalise. He probably didn’t intend to make her this aware of his presence, but she was. All because of Gia, and before Gia. They’d conceived her together when they were only eighteen years old. Annalise remembered how nervous she’d been, the butterflies in her stomach when the popular Garrett Greenwood approached her that day by her locker. She wasn’t unpopular, but she wasn’t popular either. Annalise had blended in, on purpose, except for her flaming red hair. Unlike her parents’ ambitions, she only wanted to reach her goals, bullet point by bullet point.

  Garrett Greenwood and his eyes. They were what appealed to Annalise. The other girls oohed and aahed over his hard muscles from climbing. His abs, his hair, his charm. But in his eyes, Annalise found a vulnerability hiding behind the quiet swagger. She’d been drawn in.

  Never mind she found out later that he’d been dared to win the affection of a nobody girl at school. Why he’d zeroed in on her, she didn’t know, didn’t care. By that time they were “a thing.” A couple. Going anywhere and everywhere together. A kiss, another, and then more. Until the night of Nicole’s campfire. His older sister home from college. There’d been underage drinking, but neither Garrett nor Annalise could blame their behavior on that. They didn’t have a sip. They were intoxicated—with each other. As the night drew deep, the campfire warm, they’d snuck away. For a kiss, Annalise thought. But it had grown into much more than she’d ever intended. His bedroom, the comforter, the pillows, the smell of his spicy deodorant, and the lull of music in the background. She’d memorized him. He’d memorized her.

  Annalise swallowed and drew a fast breath, blowing it out between her lips. Twelve years ago. She hadn’t forgotten him.

  “You okay?” Garrett’s voice invaded her thoughts.

  “Yeah.”

  “I don’t believe you.” He was good at seeing through her.

  “I’m looking for something.” She rummaged through her jewelry box, her fingers finding the heart-shaped watch with its pin in the back to attach to a shirt or jacket. Annalise rubbed her thumb over its face. 8:36. Turning, she held it out to him. Anything to shift the subject of her thoughts. She was tired. Alone. Garrett shouldn’t be here.

  He took the watch, his callused fingers brushing hers, reminding her that he’d left to spend twelve years on the climbing circuit. She caught a glimpse of green ink that wound around his bicep and disappeared beneath his shirtsleeve. More tattoo peeked out through the wide holes in his ratty shirt. The man had turned into a vagabond, a successful climber with numerous endorsements and money to spare.

  Garrett gave her a quizzical look. “What is it?” He turned the watch over in his hand.

  “It was my grandmother’s,” Annalise explained. “And it’s identical to one in that picture of the young woman I found in Eugene’s trailer.”

  Garrett raised an eyebrow. “You think it might be the same watch?”

  Annalise nodded.

  Their gazes collided.

  She swallowed.

  He took a deep breath.

  She made pretense of crossing the room to look out the window.

  Annalise heard him set the watch on her dresser. A moment later, she sensed him behind her. Neither said a word. She could hear him breathe, smell the sawdust on him. She wished things could go back to the way they’d been. Before he’d come back to Gossamer Grove. Before Eugene Hayes. When Gia’s picture greeted her every morning. She’d pray for her and then go about her day pretending everything was all right. She was okay with pretending. She had done so for twelve years now.

  Annalise wrapped her arms around herself as she stared out the window toward Garrett’s house below. Maybe she wasn’t okay with pretending anymore. Now that the wounds were opened, maybe now she just wanted to heal.

  “I’m sorry.” Garrett’s voice rumbled behind her.

  Annalise didn’t turn.

  Garrett moved from behind her, his hands jammed in the pockets of his shorts. He stared out the window as well. They looked down over his house, the deck, the electric saw and sawhorses, the box of climbing holds.

  “I never should have listened to my parents. Leaving you was a stupid move.”

  “It wasn’t all your fault,” she finally admitted. “I could have fought harder.” Annalise looked over at him. “I could’ve asked you if you wanted a say in anything.”

  Garrett shrugged. “I don’t know if it would have changed anything. I was stoked to hit the rocks. You know? But I did care, Q. I did.”

  She wiped away a tear. Hoping Garrett didn’t notice, Annalise wrapped her arms back around herself.

  “I’ve thought of her every day.” His words. So quiet, so low, Annalise barely heard them.

  “You and me both,” she muttered. Only she’d birthed Gia, carried her for nine months, held her after she was born, handed her off to a nurse, signed papers, listed the father as “unknown,” and never once ventured to ask if Garrett had an opinion. She hadn’t wanted to ask. She’d been frightened, hurt, and angry. She’d also been just as wrong as he was. Each one’s mistakes weren’t greater or lesser than the other’s. They were just . . . mistakes.

  Annalise turned toward him, her shoulder brushing his.

  Garrett’s lashes were damp and he looked away, worked his jaw from side to side, and blinked.

  One word whispered in her heart.

  Grace.

  She hated that word, in this moment, more than any other. For to give grace, forgiveness was required. Forgiving herself, forgiving him. It was her war cry for all the destitute of Gossamer Grove. Authenticity! Why hide the shame, the grief, the trauma? A community should extend grace and love and care. But it was so hard to practice. Especially when she knew it wasn’t all Garrett’s fault. It was hers too.

  “Did you ever . . . ?” Annalise hesitated. It wasn’t worth asking. Did he ever have another relationship? Think of getting married to someone else? Or had what happened ruined him like it had her? Burned her, made her gun-shy. A loner.

  Garrett must have read her mind. He shrugged and blew out a sigh. “Yeah. I hung with a few women. I mean, I was in Europe. It’s part of the lifestyle, unfortunately. Climb, hang out, mess around. It’s a rush, you know? Until you crash.”

  “You crashed?” Annalise hadn’t. She’d never allowed it. Only right choices from then on. Order, control, wisdom, and responsibility.

  Garrett nodded. “Oh, I crashed hard. It was sick.”

  “Did you fall off a mountain?”

  He smiled, a vague smile that told Annalise her question showed her ignorance about climbing. That his crash hadn’t been physical. Of course not. She would’ve heard about it.

  “Nah. I didn’t fall.” Garrett gave her a quick glance. “A guy I climbed with did. But he took routes free, no ropes, no anchors. Dude scaled El Capitan that way.”

  “Oh.” She didn’t really know what he was talking about.

  “No, my crash was about three years ago. I met this guy named Matt. He was a climber from Colorado. He tagged along with a few of us for a while, but he wasn’t up to our category. He mostly did 5.11s, 5.12s.”

  Annalise nodded. She understood that from when she’d dated Garrett. The pitch. The scale. The climb difficulty. 5.10 was considered good. 5.12 really good. Anything over this was champion stuff. It was Garrett.

  Garrett gave a small laugh. “One night,” he went on, removing his hat and balling it up in his hand, “I’d had too much to drink. I passed out in an alley outside a little joint in Innsbruck, Germany, and Matt found me. Hauled me back to the hostel where we were staying. The next morning I wasn’t fit for climbing, so the rest of the guys took off and Matt stayed back with me.”

  “What happened?” Annalise asked.

  Garrett met her eyes. His narrowed, emotional, deep. “I told him—everything. About you. About the baby. I don’t know
why, but I did. You know what he told me?”

  “What?” Annalise bit her lip.

  Garrett’s eyes dropped to her mouth, then rose fast to her eyes again. “He told me that to understand grace, you have to fall. Crash and burn.”

  They weren’t the words she was expecting, or wanting, to hear. They didn’t even really make sense.

  Garrett’s hand came up, and his fingers trailed down her cheek. “I hadn’t crashed yet, Q. But I did that day. Hard.”

  “What do you mean?” she whispered, leaning into his hand, into the feel of him, into the comfort that came from his touch when it shouldn’t.

  “That was the day I faced you.” His gaze caressed her face. “What I’d done. Who I was. That was the day I hated what I’d become. That was the day I crashed but realized there was grace to start over. To try again. To become different.”

  His fingers pushed through her hair, tucking it behind her ear. Her breath caught and held as he lowered his face. The vulnerability in his eyes staggered her, taking her off guard and completely erasing the anger she harbored toward him. They’d both been prey to their own choices, both been at fault, and yet, somehow, Garrett’s healing seemed far beyond hers.

  Annalise kept her eyes open, locked onto his as he palmed her face with both hands, tilting it up toward him. His lips pressed against her forehead, taking her breath away more than if he’d kissed her mouth. It was the first kiss he’d given her that spoke of newness, of grace. He held his lips there for a long moment before drawing back.

  Garrett let his hands drop to her shoulders. “When I climb a route and hit the crux, it’s painful. But I push, Q. I push past it and it’s a total rush when I stand at the top. It’s like coming back to life. The climb is still there. But I conquered it.”

  “How?” Annalise searched his face.

  “I gave myself the grace to admit I’d fallen. Then by the grace of God, I started to climb again. It’s a beautiful view from the top, Q. It’s beautiful.”

  His answer burrowed into her soul, making her forget everything but the idea that she might be able to let her heart beat again. Really beat. To live, without regret.