Strawberry Hill

by Catherine Anderson

  Nancy’s gaze sharpened. “Slade Randall? Good grief, Mother. Please don’t tell me you named my younger brother after your first love.”

  “Guilty.” Vickie stared past her daughter through the window that looked out on the side yard. “I was obsessed with Slade. I admit it. I couldn’t name Brody after him. Matt would have gone ballistic. But he didn’t know Slade’s middle name. I sort of sneaked it in on him. I was older than you are before I ever stopped hoping for a happy ending with Slade. I kept thinking that he’d sow his wild oats. Have all the women he wanted. Drink, party, and get it out of his system. You know? And then he’d realize that the only woman he’d ever really loved was me. It never happened. He never showed up on my doorstep. Never looked me up on Facebook. I know he didn’t, because my page is listed under Vickie Granger Brown. Lots of women use their maiden names so old friends can find them, but I did it so one particular person could find me. He never even tried.”

  “So this morning, when you saw the job listing, you couldn’t help but hope that by taking the position, you might be able to open the door for Brody to meet his father.”

  “Yes. And for nearly an hour, I deluded myself into thinking that Slade might leap at a second chance to have a relationship with his son. Stupid, I know. But there it is. I’m a romantic at heart.”

  “I don’t think it’s stupid, exactly. But it is hoping for a lot.”

  Vickie puffed air into her cheeks and emptied what remained of the whiskey into their glasses. “Of all you kids, I feel like I failed Brody the most.”

  “You didn’t fail any of us, Mom.”

  “I did fail Brody. I listened to Matt. Chose to keep the identity of Brody’s real father a big secret. It was the worst decision I could have made. Even back then, the state went after fathers for child support. I could have forced Slade to step up to the plate. If I had, I could have done more for Brody.”

  “Slade’s support check would have gone to make it better for all of us, not only Brody. It wouldn’t have stretched far enough to cover frivolous extras like a horse.”

  “You’re right, I suppose,” Vickie replied. “It’s just—well, this sounds mercenary, but Brody should have been a rich kid like Slade was. Not rich rich, like we read about in magazines. His folks didn’t own a yacht or a jet or have servants. But Slade’s financial situation was a huge step up from ordinary kids in Mystic Creek. Brody would have had so many more opportunities if Slade had acknowledged him, and it would have been better for you and Randall, too. I could have spent the lion’s share of my income on the two of you.”

  The green of Nancy’s eyes darkened again, making Vickie wonder if her own irises changed shades with her shifting emotions. “Oh, Mom. I think I just got a glimmer of why you felt compelled to help Marcus attend Harvard. You feel guilty for breaking up with Slade, because that deprived Brody of his birthrights, and you saw a chance to make sure that Brody’s son got at least one chance at something better.”

  Vickie nodded. “I loved Slade. Despite his infidelity, he was a good person. When I broke up with him, I did it out of hurt and a sense of betrayal, thinking I couldn’t be with a man who was unfaithful to me. And look how that turned out. I ended up with another man who was even worse and had two kids with him that he refused to even help support. Looking back on it, I can’t help but think how it would have played out if I had married Slade instead. All three of you kids would have been his. All of you would have had a better childhood and far more opportunities. Marcus was my chance to help at least one grandchild move up in the world.”

  “Loving a man who can’t be faithful would be an endless heartbreak for a woman like you. Your choice to end the engagement wasn’t a frivolous decision.” Nancy pursed her lips. “And money and opportunity don’t give other kids a better childhood than we had. Once you got rid of my father, our home was a happy place. None of us went without anything important. That said, I can finally understand what drove you to get a home equity loan on this house. And what drove you to help Marcus realize his dream of attending an Ivy League school. You could never offer Brody what you felt he had coming to him, so you couldn’t resist trying to do it for his son.”

  Vickie felt tears welling in her eyes again. “Thank you for trying to understand. I know how it looks on the surface—that I’m partial to Marcus. But that isn’t the case at all. It’s just that seeing Brody in the fix he’s in now, watching him struggle to make ends meet and take care of his wife, I’m reminded on a daily basis that a decision I made years ago put him in this situation. If I had stayed with Slade, Brody would have grown up on the Wilder Ranch. He would be able to afford Marissa’s medication and all the physical therapy. His kids wouldn’t be approaching college age with no money available for their educations.”

  “I get it, Mom. Finally.” Nancy let her eyes fall closed for a moment. “I said some rotten stuff in the bedroom. But I didn’t know all this yet. And I did feel jealous. Not for myself, but for your other grandkids. I couldn’t understand why you’d go so far for Brody’s son with no thought for mine or Randall’s.”

  “When Marcus pays me back, I’ll help my other grandkids. Maybe not quite as much, but I’ll be there with my checkbook open.”

  “It’s unnecessary to be even-steven with your grandchildren.” She lifted her hands, palms turned upward. “I didn’t understand and felt that you were doing more for Marcus than you should.”

  “Even what I did doesn’t really balance the scale,” Vickie observed. “I will never regret marrying Matthew Brown. As bad as the marriage was, I got you and Randall out of the deal, and I’d never wish to change that. But sometimes in the dark of night when I try to fall asleep, I do wish that I’d married Slade and had my family with him. Money and opportunity aside, Slade would have been a much better dad.” She studied Nancy’s face. “He would have loved you like no tomorrow and tugged on your ponytail every chance he got.”

  Nancy caught a drip of condensation on her glass with her thumb. “I’m over my jealous snit. I hope Marcus excels at Harvard, and maybe, if you go to Mystic Creek to take that job, I’ll get to meet Slade Wilder someday.”

  “If I go, it’ll be the equivalent of taking a baseball bat to a hornet’s nest. It’ll all come out. Brody will hate me for never telling him the truth. Slade will hate me for screwing up his life by forcing our adult son down his throat. When I think of Slade, he hasn’t aged in my mind, but the truth is that he’s almost sixty-four. He’s too old for the drama of dealing with an angry, bitter, illegitimate son. I wanted to bust it all wide open when I first saw his ad, but then I realized I might only succeed in hurting all the people I love most. And for what? Slade may refuse to acknowledge Brody even now.”

  “There are paternity tests now. He can deny it all he likes—if he’s so blind that he can ignore how much Brody looks like him—but he can’t deny a DNA match. You’ve got him by the balls, Mom. All you have to do is squeeze.”

  Vickie laughed. It wasn’t funny, but she couldn’t help herself. “But will Brody even want to know his father? He’s a proud man, my Brody. He’d never refuse to acknowledge one of his children. He’ll hold that against Slade. In the end, I could blow our lives to smithereens and no good may come of it.”

  “You’ll never know until you face Slade,” Nancy replied. “You have to tell Brody now, regardless. And trust me, he’ll hunt down his real father, if only to tell him he’s a rotten, low-down, deadbeat jerk! So everything will be blown to smithereens anyway.” A grin tipped Nancy’s lips into a mischievous smirk. “You may as well see him again yourself. If nothing else, Mom, you can put it all to rest in your own mind and turn loose of the past.”

  Chapter Four

  Using the key-fob remote, Erin locked the county vehicle as she angled across the Flagg’s Market parking lot. She appreciated the toot-toot of the horn, which assured her that everything was secured. That feature had malfunctioned on the ol
d pickup she’d been assigned, and she’d wasted a lot of time walking around to check all the doors every time she parked. Getting a new rig had been the highlight of the past week for her.

  She tried to take normal strides as she reached the sidewalk, but every muscle in her butt and legs protested. Saddle sore. Erin had never imagined it hurting this much. In addition to the tenderness in all her body parts that had touched the saddle, she was sore in places that hadn’t touched it, such as her calves. And because she didn’t want people laughing behind her back any more than they already were, she refused to ask anyone how long it took for the soreness to go away. Days, possibly? Normally Erin worked out muscle soreness by forcing herself to do the exercises that had caused it, but just the thought of getting back on a horse made her want to groan.

  She hurried as fast as she could up the walkway, hoping she would encounter no one. The bruises on the left side her face, which were now red, deep purple, and charcoal gray, seemed to flash like neon lights at people and prompt them to ask questions. Rather than tell the true story, which would mean mentioning Wyatt Fitzgerald’s involvement, Erin had been saying that she’d had a riding accident. That wasn’t really a lie. She’d ridden a horse up Strawberry Hill, met an incredibly attractive cowboy, and, bang, now she had a shiner that not even her new, oversize sunglasses could hide.

  The display windows of the Morning Grind offered a welcoming glow inside the cavernous, round building. Purchased by the city council, the massive structure had been remodeled and named the Mystic Creek Menagerie. Various shops and a restaurant called Dizzy’s lined the perimeter of the circular common area, which housed at its center a gigantic, revolving dining area for the restaurant’s patrons. So far, Erin had never eaten at Dizzy’s, so she didn’t know if people who sat on the turning platform actually felt woozy after they finished a meal. But the name was catchy, and those seeking gourmet fare either came here to eat or went to Peck’s Red Rooster, which had a booming business of its own. The revolving dining area made Erin think of the SkyCity Restaurant at the Space Needle, where she’d dined with her parents countless times to celebrate special occasions.

  Her attention snagged by a colorful spray of autumn leaves in the window, which was dotted with artfully arranged gourds, Erin reminded herself to at least take a stab at fixing up her cottage for Halloween. Maybe she could steal some ideas from Julie, the shop owner who had a knack for decorating that Erin envied. Pushing open the glass door, embellished with the shop’s name in gold lettering, Erin called, “Good morning! Look what the cat dragged in!”

  “Like all bad pennies, you just keep turning up!” Julie tossed back, laughter lacing her tone. “And you’re standing up straight. What an improvement over the shape you were in yesterday.”

  Erin had been so sore the day before that she’d barely been able to walk, let alone straighten her spine. “I used some of that liniment you gave me, which you forgot to mention burns and won’t wash off your skin. It absorbed into my pores, and I think it permanently destroyed all my hair follicles. I may never have to shave my legs again.”

  “If that’s the case, I’ll give myself the equivalent of a Brazilian wax job with the liniment and be done with that torture, once and for all.”

  Erin winced at the thought. “Don’t do that. It’ll set you afire, and I’m not yet positive that all my hair follicles are dead.”

  “Now you tell me. I was imagining the millions I could make selling hair-killing liniment to women. Imagine never needing a wax job again!”

  Erin shared the sentiment. “I can’t believe there are women out there who put themselves through that just to turn guys on. What’s up with that? Do men really find bald va-jay-jays attractive?”

  Julie giggled. “You call yours a va-jay-jay? New one on me. Mine’s a hoo-hoo.”

  “I worked with a deputy up north who called hers the princess. When the guys got wind of that, she never heard the end of it.”

  Julie’s hazel eyes danced with laughter. “Are you the one who leaked the information?”

  “Heck, no.” Glancing at Julie’s hair, she added, “Look how long I’ve refrained from telling anyone the story behind your blue streak.”

  The swath of bleached and tinted strands in Julie’s dark hair shone like a laser beam in the overhead fluorescent lighting. “And that story better remain untold,” she warned. “Unless, of course, you want everyone in town to know exactly how your face got messed up.”

  Erin smiled. “I guess our best bet is to remain friends so our secrets stay safe.”

  “Yep.” Manipulating a large metal tray to balance precariously on the counter edge, Julie bent to add more bakery items to the display, both glazed and powdered doughnuts, maple bars with filling, and apple fritters, her only four offerings for breakfast. For lunch she featured a soup of the day and oven-fresh croissants. “I’m stuck with you, I guess. You know too much.”

  Erin had never had a friend she trusted as much as she did Julie, and she felt fairly sure Julie felt the same way about her. They had become fast friends a little over a year ago—almost as if they’d recognized a kindred soul. There had been none of the cautious circling that normally took place between two strangers, and neither of them had felt hesitant about sharing confidences. They’d both just understood without discussion that nothing either of them said would ever be repeated.

  Pushing back the brim of her Stetson to peruse the wall menu behind the register, Erin rocked on her boot heels.

  “You do this every blessed morning,” Julie commented with a chuckle. “Look and drool, look and drool. But in the end you always order a latte, double shot, skim. Don’t you ever want to rebel with half-and-half and real syrup instead of that artificially sweetened crap? And the world won’t end if you splurge on a maple bar once in a while.”

  “A law enforcement officer has to stay in shape.”

  “Tell that to Deputy Bentley. I bet Hank’s put on twenty pounds over the summer with all those iced lattes and glazed doughnuts for breakfast.”

  “And he’ll lose all twenty by cutting back the sugar in his coffee at home. It takes me ten minutes to gain ten pounds and a month to lose them.”

  “If you gained ten pounds, nobody would notice. At your last counseling session, I thought Jonas suggested that you back off the dieting. I don’t see you doing it.”

  Erin leaned her elbows on the checkout counter and jutted out one hip. “Just make me my regular and get off my case.”

  Julie turned toward the stainless-steel lineup of machines to make Erin’s coffee. “You’re too controlled, Erin. You stifle every frivolous urge you get. How will you ever learn to relax and turn loose if you don’t practice?” She glanced over her shoulder. “That’s a masculine stance, by the way.”

  Erin straightened her hip. “I shouldn’t have told you about that. Now you’ll be watching every little thing I do.”

  “Luckily for you I’m willing to help you change. When you meet a man, you probably turn an introductory handshake into a power grip that makes a man worry that you can beat him at arm wrestling.”

  Erin released a sigh. “If their egos are so fragile they can’t handle being beaten at arm wrestling by a woman, they have a problem.”

  “The male ego is fragile. Men are all about image. Take Derek, for instance. He must have known he was gay when he married me. I was his cover-up so his family would never find out if he was happily married with two-point-five kids and a minivan. He didn’t think about what the deception would do to me. He wanted to have his boyfriends, but he couldn’t face letting the truth come out. He thought it would have destroyed his image.”

  Erin knew that Julie’s whole world had come to an end when she’d caught her husband sleeping with another man. In many ways, it had been worse for her than if he’d been unfaithful with another woman. A wife couldn’t compete with a man. She just had to accept and move on. The
blue streak in Julie’s hair was symbolic, an outward sign of her broken heart. When she finally got over her husband’s betrayal, she said the blue streak would become sunshine yellow, because she’d be happy again.

  Coming to the counter with Erin’s coffee, Julie said, “Subject change. My nightmare marriage is a depressing topic.”

  “For me, my obsession with being the son my father wants is just as depressing. And, just so you know, allowing myself to show vulnerability is really hard. You forget that I’ve had a lifetime of practice at putting up walls.”

  “I’ll pick just one habit a week, and you can work on breaking it,” Julie suggested. “Picture each mannerism as an iron shackle, placed upon a part of your body by your father.” Julie pressed the insides of her wrists together as if she wore handcuffs and then, pretending to use all her strength, broke free from the invisible clasps. “Have an imaginary conversation with your dad. ‘Bye-bye, Father Dearest! I’m a girl. Get used to it, Daddy-O.’”

  “You make it sound so easy.”

  “I have every confidence that you can and will do this.”

  With a laugh, Erin said, “Yes, ma’am. Shackles. I got it. Now would you earn your profit by running my credit card?”

  Julie took the piece of plastic and slid it through the scanner. She wore blue jeans and a red plaid flannel shirt, the tails tied at her slender waist to show off an expanse of her flat belly. It was an ultracasual look, but Julie was one of those women who could make a fashion statement wearing a burlap sack. Erin had already promised that she would let Julie dress her when she finally went out on a date. Julie was afraid Erin would pair a sexy dress with commando boots.

  As Erin added a touch more artificial sweetener to her latte and stirred industriously with an ineffective red stick, Julie rested her folded arms on the counter again. “Can I give you a well-intended critique of your camouflage glasses?”