The scar.
He had been young enough to believe that some things were worth fighting for, the themes of movies and a boy’s adventure novels. He had been old enough to comprehend that his mother was walking out on all of them and he felt old enough to do something about it. He wanted to make her realize that he needed her. If he could get to her, grab her and hold her, he could make her see that he loved her. He thought she’d come to her senses. He thought she’d stay.
“I was on the landing, straining to listen, when I heard her say she was leaving. Her heels clicked on the linoleum floor, carrying her closer to the front door and farther away from me. I panicked. From the landing window, I saw her cutting a line through the front yard to his car parked on the street. She hadn’t taken the path down the walkway. She’d been in such a hurry to escape us, she’d cut a straight line through the dew-stained grass. She left a visible path, like a bread crumb trail for me to follow and get her back.” His throat clenched. He remembered the tail exhaust swirling as the man in shadow loaded his mother’s suitcase in the trunk. He’d slammed it and flicked his cigarette butt into the street, the orange glow darkening as his mother climbed into the passenger seat.
The next part played like a high-speed chase scene in a TV show. It had all happened so fast, made his heart pound even now.
“In a frenzy, I raced down the stairs. From the hallway, I could see the front door open and my father standing on the front stoop, watching her leave. He was just standing there, motionless, arms crossed over his chest like his disapproval would be enough to dissuade her. My voice was stuck in my throat. I couldn’t scream out to him to stop her, nor could I scream for her to come back. I raced to stop her myself. I knew that if I could get to her and grab her...if she could just see me...”
He held a fist to his lips, some part of him wanting to cover his mouth to keep the next words from spilling out. But he’d come this far. For once in his life, he was telling his story and he had to get it all out. Some part of him needed to purge the last part, the worst part.
“I sprinted through the threshold not realizing the glass storm door had closed and latched shut.”
He remembered his mother insisting his father install the storm door only a few weeks earlier. She said she wanted to leave the front door open in the summer so she could see the people on the street. She said she was suffocating in the house. She said the storm door was more inviting, that neighbors would come to the house more. She said the long pane of glass would keep the bugs out and let the sunshine in. In the end, it had only kept him from getting to her.
Faith gasped. “You shattered the glass?”
“I cut myself up pretty badly. Most of the cuts healed quickly, but the worst of it was a slice here. A large jagged piece pierced my upper chest.” He touched the scar on his collarbone again, remembering how the bleeding gash hadn’t been enough to make his mother come back. The taillights of the car had disappeared around the block by the time his father caught him in his arms and laid him on the ground, attending to his wounds like a trauma surgeon in a war zone. He knew she hadn’t seen or heard any of it, but at the time he’d still believed she would return. He thought some sort of maternal telepathy would pull her back to him at his time of need.
His father had rushed to call an ambulance, leaving him on the front stoop. Lying there on the cold cement, he’d craned his neck to watch for her even though the pain was tearing through his entire body. He’d been so sure she’d realize her mistake and return, sprinting from the car before the man in shadow even brought it to a complete stop. He’d been wrong.
Below them on the street, a few stragglers milled past, making him shift his attention to watch them. They were most likely making their way home or to the shore to watch the fireworks. In the far distance, the faint music of a band playing at The Bayshore Bar rose above the silence. The restaurant deck would most likely be crowded with folks dancing and drinking, kicking off the beginning of their holiday weekend. He was on a rooftop too, but he felt like he was sitting at the bottom of a dark cavern, staring far up above him at a world carrying on without him. His mother was somewhere up there among the joyful faces while he struggled.
“Did your dad do a good job of taking care of you?”
Tully shifted his gaze back to her. His dad had done the best he could. He knew his dad loved him and wanted to protect him, shield him from his mother’s abandonment, but he had never quite been the same after that. None of them had.
“He left Samantha and me to our own devices a lot more than he should have. We fared okay.” Okay, fine... That was all he could ask for. He’d pushed all his chips to the center of the table, doing everything in his power to make his mother stay with him, and in the end, it hadn’t been good enough. It drove home a point his father had lived by and instilled in him too: there wasn’t much in the world to get that worked up over. In the end, what really mattered enough to get worked up over? He was okay. He and Samantha were okay.
She touched his chin, her graceful fingers grazing the stubble. He parted his bottom lip when her thumb traced along it, electrifying every nerve.
He’d told another person about his mother, finally. He’d recounted the order of events, and now she would carry that knowledge about him forever. There was no use trying to erase it or change it. He’d tethered some part of her, permanently, to himself by sharing his experience.
It crashed over him—the relief. The sweet relief of unburdening his secret, his pain. And if he were honest with himself, his shame. There was a shame in his mother not wanting him, finding him deficient enough that she could leave him like an abandoned box of kittens on the side of the road.
“You shouldn’t have had to fair okay, John. Neither you nor Samantha. You deserved better than okay. You deserve better now. You’re worth so much more and—” Her voice caught as her eyes moistened. “I need you to know that you deserve the world.” She brought her face closer to his, stroking his cheek and murmuring, “The whole world.”
The crack of the first firework sounded over the lake, a burst of red light illuminating the contours of her face, the swanlike slope of her neck. Purple light crackled to blue, then green, then red again, each color reflecting against the porcelain skin he now had to touch or he’d go mad.
Taking her hand from his chin, he pulled her to her feet and to his lap. She slipped her body into his arms and pressed a hand to his chest. His heart thudded hard under it. He knew the moment she felt it when she released a sigh as whimsical as dandelion seeds floating on a breeze. He imagined a future where he could be satisfied with that sigh every day for the rest of his life, satisfied with letting it carry him right along on the breeze that was Faith.
She ran her fingers around the scoop of his collar and pulled the fabric down, revealing the scar. His skin chilled at being exposed, at the possibility that he’d find pity behind her stormy eyes. Instead her expression cleared, a boldness taking hold of her. She dipped her mouth to the scar, skimming kisses there. He let his head fall back to his shoulders as her lips lingered over his skin for a moment and then a moment more.
A carnival of colors exploded overhead, one after another. All over town, people congregated together to make the most of the shared experience. Tully leaned forward and guided Faith’s face toward his. He couldn’t remember a shared experience in all his life that felt as sweet as holding her in his arms.
He ran his hands around the apples of her cheeks, peering into a face he couldn’t believe he hadn’t known until now. A week ago, she’d been a stranger, but here she felt like something so much more, so important like his heart had known her longer or maybe forever.
When she moved, cozying her body into his embrace, he wrapped his arms snuggly around her. The thunder of fireworks had faded to background music against Faith’s murmuring in his ear. He kissed along her throat, pecking kisses in tune to the vibrations she hummed for
him along the way. His thoughts, at first hurried, now slowed. The world could come crashing down around them, but all his focus was on this woman in his arms whom he never wanted to let go. He didn’t know what the next day would bring or what the facts of the vandalism case would present, and he didn’t care. His present, this moment where they were safely hidden from the rest of the world, was solely for her. If he could hold her right here until the sun rose, he’d consider himself the luckiest man on earth.
Her kisses tasted like sweet nectar on his tongue, satisfying a craving he hadn’t realized he’d had and for so, so long. But it was all of her that satisfied something for him. He drew back and her eyes fluttered open. He wanted to see what it was that had bewitched him.
She pressed her forehead to his, the way he’d done when they’d been on Falcon’s Peak. She held him there. When he’d first done it to her, it was because he’d known he’d overstepped by kissing her and needed to pause. He hadn’t wanted to hurt her then or lead her to believe that his decision to stop had anything to do with not wanting her. She’d been the best thing to happen to him and still was here.
He’d tied a weight to his painful memories and had tossed them overboard. Before Faith, he might have thought talking about those memories was like dragging a muddy river, dredging up things that should stay sunk. But with Faith, through her gentle pressing, talking about the past had felt more like a cathartic release.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey, yourself. Are you okay?”
“More than okay.”
Her mouth curled. “More than okay is good for now. I’ll take it.” Then she kissed him again. Together, in the secluded spot, overlooking the town, she seemed to be losing herself to the music they were making together, and the melody was carrying him right along with it.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
FAITH AWAKENED SLOWLY. She was curled in her oversize camping chair. Her head rested on a rolled blanket she had brought to the stakeout. Another blanket was tucked around her and gathered up to her neck. She wanted to stretch. But something had woken her and until she knew what it was, she wouldn’t move.
It was still dark, but not silent. The songbirds had awakened, crooning to each other over the buildings and treetops. She’d risen before the sun numerous times over the years and had usually groaned at their songs as if they gloated about having something happy to sing about. But this morning, for the first time since she could remember, she delighted in their tunes. Perhaps, she thought, it was because this morning she had something of her own to be happy about.
She recalled the evening’s progression and how her stakeout had turned into a make-out session. Pulling the blanket slowly over her mouth, she smiled at the memory of it all. She had kissed men before. Heck, she’d been married. But everything about kissing John had felt like she’d been roused from a hazy dream. It was as if she’d been walking around the house with the shade drawn, thinking it was raining outside, and then suddenly someone opened the windows and let in the sunshine.
She had savored his kiss the day they had hiked up to the lookout. She’d figured his feelings for her weren’t as strong as hers were for him, considering her feelings had been simmering for over a dozen years. But on the roof, his second kiss had told her more than his words could have ever conveyed. He had confided in her about his mother and trusted her enough to tell her the ugliest details. She could tell by the break in his voice that he had never told another woman about the night his mother left. It was a secret you didn’t reveal until you were sure your confidant was someone who could be trusted, someone special. Someone, she hoped, who could stand the test of time with you.
Once the fireworks had faded and the night air had finally begun to cool, he had drawn back and she had traced the crinkle lines around his eyes. He’d smoothed her hair off her face and guided her head to rest against the crook of his neck. She’d never felt more at peace.
When Tully had pulled a blanket over the two of them and held her close, she’d told herself that returning to Roseley had been the best decision she’d ever made. Dreamily watching for shooting stars, she’d nearly believed that he could be her home. They could be each other’s home together.
* * *
“GOOD MORNING,” TULLY SAID, the early chill making his voice gruff. Faith poked her head out from under her blanket before sitting straighter at the sight of him. Arms crossed over his chest and legs extended and crossed at the ankles, he had no blanket while she monopolized two.
“Are you cold?” she said, yanking the rolled blanket from under her head and holding it, apologetically, out for him. He shook his head and reached for a thermos.
“Nah, the air is still warm, don’t you think?” He poured a cup of steaming liquid and handed it to her.
She smiled and happily accepted it. “Did you have this in the soft cooler all night?”
“I wasn’t sure if you drank coffee, so I improvised. Besides, I always like hot chocolate on a stakeout.”
“Tell me about your stakeouts. Have you been on many?”
“Only a couple when I first made detective.”
“Were they dangerous?”
“Stakeouts are rarely dangerous. They’re mostly for gathering information or learning someone’s routine.”
“What were your stakeouts for?”
He crossed his arms again. “I don’t usually talk about past cases.”
She swallowed an audible “oh,” disappointed that his candor from the night before hadn’t extended to the morning. Though the sun was still far from breaking above the horizon, she could easily see his features as her eyes had adjusted to the dark. The streetlamps below gave off a steady glow. She thought the connection they had had the night before wouldn’t dull with the dawn, but as he stayed tight-lipped about his work, she wondered if she wished for too much.
Faith wrapped her chilled fingers around the warm cup and took a sip, savoring the chocolaty sweetness on her tongue. Tully tipped his head, noticeably pleased she liked it, before he craned an ear toward the direction of the lake.
“Sounds like we’re not the only ones awake this early.”
It sounded like a canopy of songbirds were swaying above their heads, each elbowing for lead diva in an opera only they knew.
“I think I heard the first one sing,” she said. “I’m pretty sure it woke me up.”
“I’ve been awake for a while, and you’re probably right. You didn’t stir until they began singing.”
She wondered what he’d been doing, sitting there awake. Had he been watching the street for criminals or watching her sleep?
“Do you usually wake up so early?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Gokotta, then?” Tully raised an inquisitive brow. She chuckled at stumping him. “It’s a Swedish word. It’s the act of waking up early in the morning and going outside to listen to the first birds sing. Uncle Gus says he practices it every day.”
“I’m awake early enough to hear the first birds sing but only because that’s when trout and largemouth bass start biting.”
“Well, the next time you wake up to hear the birds sing, you’ll know the word for it.” She took another sip and smiled at him over the rim of her cup. He returned a smile of his own. “I don’t know what time I nodded off last night. Did you hear or see anything?” She was referring to the vandal and hoped he hadn’t heard her talking in her sleep, piecing together dreams that had been about him.
“Nothing. I stayed awake for a long time—”
“And tucked me in, I see.”
He shrugged as if to convey it was no big deal.
“Listen, I have to get into the station early this morning.”
“If they broke into another shop and we missed it, would you have gotten a call last night?”
“Not necessarily. I haven’t been getting called until the morning when
someone sees and reports it. I’ll drive around and check the storefronts when I leave. Can I give you a lift home?”
She shook her head. “I have a lot of work to catch up on too. I might as well get up and get moving.”
“Keep your shop door locked, remember, until the rest of the world wakes up.”
“Right.” She drank the last of her hot chocolate, tolerating the heat as best as she could. “And I know how to take care of myself, remember? I was the one who invited you along to my stakeout.”
He kissed her gently on the forehead without another word before leaving. She stayed perched at the edge of her chair, listening for the sound of his truck engine powering on before she hugged herself and let out a happy squeal. Things around here were finally looking up.
* * *
TULLY HAD SPENT the morning getting caught up on some cases that had been opened the day before. The Fourth of July celebration brought good fun, but it also brought problems too. A couple of fellas had drunk too much beer and had gotten into an altercation late in the evening. Neighbors had filed noise complaints about the Garners, who fired fireworks long into the night. There were also the typical parking and speeding violations, but no vandalism.
Officer Allison White collapsed onto her desk chair, coming off the third shift.
“Talk about a great way to start a forest fire,” she said. “I had to break up a group setting off firecrackers in The Void. That grass is as dry as straw. I don’t know what they were thinking.”
Tully immediately thought of his father and what he’d do if a fire broke out and he had to find his own escape. It was another reason to get his dad home once and for all, but as Walter was a grown man, what could he do to persuade him?
“Was it anyone we know?”
Her Hometown Detective Page 18