Close to Home (23 page)

When she'd finally gone downstairs, Sarah had found Arlene humming at the stove, bacon sizzling in a frying pan, a stack of pancakes warming in the oven, the smell of hot maple syrup filling the kitchen. Dressed in work clothes and reading the paper, Dad was seated at the table in his worn chair. He'd barely glanced up, but said, “Good morning, Sunshine. Runnin' a little late, aren't ya?”

“Oh, for the love of God, Frank. We've got plenty of time,” Arlene declared, pouring batter carefully on a long griddle. “Come on now, Sarah, grab some hotcakes!” Her mother looked over her shoulder and offered Sarah a grin and a wink. Almost as if they held a private little secret. She then placed a stack of pancakes and a couple of slices of bacon on a plate in front of Sarah and handed her the syrup. “You slept so long this morning. You must've been exhausted.”

“A little,” Sarah said warily as she sat at the table where two empty plates, streaks of syrup evident, had been left. A couple of glasses stood empty as well. Obviously her brothers had already mowed through their breakfasts. “Bottomless pits” their father had often called the twins, and there had been a touch of pride in his voice.

Dee Linn's spot was bare. As always. Arlene had quit fighting outwardly about breakfast with the ever-dieting Dee Linn a year before, though Sarah suspected from the underlying tension between mother and daughter that the war was still ongoing but had morphed into a stony, simmering silence.

At least Arlene seemed in a good mood this morning, and Sarah relaxed a little. Cutting into the warm, buttery pancakes and tasting the sweetness of the syrup made the morning seem brighter. Arlene's off-key humming and her father's interest in the sports page convinced Sarah that things were back to as normal as they could be. She dug in eagerly, polishing off the stack. Once finished, she wiped her mouth with her napkin just as she heard the sound of Dee Linn's heels scurrying down the stairs.

“Hurry up!” her older sister called impatiently as she breezed past the kitchen to the anteroom off the back porch where the coats were hung. “I can't be late to first period,” she called from somewhere near the back door. “Sister Annabelle will kill me if I'm tardy one more time!”

“Coming!” Sarah was feeling better. Dee Linn would take her to school and she could forget all about last night.

“Don't forget your milk,” Arlene said as Sarah climbed off her chair.

Obediently, she grabbed the glass and realized it wasn't cold, that it had been sitting. But she couldn't be too concerned now, she had to get moving. Dee Linn was already bustling back through the kitchen and refusing any kind of food before it was even offered.

“I'm not hungry,” she said, as she did every morning. “Are the boys ready? God, where
are
they?”

“Most important meal of the day,” their father said, glancing over the tops of his reading glasses.

“That's just some radical scheme by the cereal companies to force people to choke down their overprocessed, sugary cardboard.” She clomped her way to the staircase. “Jake! Joe!” then returned to the kitchen. “Can you get them going?”

“Yelling won't help,” their father said and snapped the paper.

Arlene turned off the burners of the stove and glanced over her shoulder. “Want me to get my switch?”

“What? No!” Dee Linn stared at Arlene, but their mother wasn't looking at her older daughter, she was staring straight at Sarah, and for an instant Sarah thought of last night's nightmare, of seeing her mother, willow switch in hand, filling the doorway of her room.

At that moment frantic footsteps pounded from the upstairs, thundering down the staircase to herald the twins, pushing and yelling, backpacks flying, as they raced into the room. Their heads were wet, hair gelled into place, faces scrubbed until they were red. The smell of some kind of aftershave rolled in an invisible cloud around them.

“Take your plates to the sink!” Arlene ordered. “Both of you!”

The twins looked about to argue, and Sarah was grateful that the heat was off her, that Arlene's attention was turned to her rambunctious fourteen-year-old sons. “Oh, for the love of God, Joe, just how much cologne did you use? You can smell it from a mile off. You don't need to use a fire hose when you apply that stuff!”

“Listen to your mother,” their father said.

“Let's get going!” Dee Linn was about to have a conniption fit.

Still wrestling a bit, the boys grabbed their plates, and Arlene lifted her brows at Sarah, who got the message and started chugging her warm milk.

Until something hit her tongue and the back of her throat, something that wasn't liquid and . . .

Quickly she spat the milk back into her glass and saw a black clot, with wings and legs . . . a dead fly floating on the surface. She met her mother's eyes just as her stomach bucked. Dropping the glass on the table, sloshing the remains of the milk and the fly, she raced out of the room to the downstairs bathroom, where she upchucked all of her breakfast into the toilet.

How had the fly gotten into her glass?

Had it just died there overnight, because Sarah was certain that was the same milk she'd poured the night before, that her mother had left it out to make a point. But the fly? Had it landed in the milk and been trapped, or had her mother actually . . .

Lifting her head, she caught her mother's reflection in the mirror over the sink. Arlene was just staring expressionlessly. “What happened?”

“You know what happened!” Sarah choked out. “You put it there!”

“Put what where?” Arlene asked.

“The fly, Mom. In my milk!” Grabbing the hand towel, Sarah wiped her face.

“There you go again,” Arlene said on a sigh. “Imagining things.”

“I did not imagine that fly!” Sarah's stomach roiled again, and she spat into the sink, then placed her head under the faucet and let the water run over her tongue and lips as she tried to get rid of the awful feeling that something was still stuck to the back of her mouth. She gagged several times and felt her mother standing behind her, probably smiling.

“Mom! Can you get her moving?” Dee Linn wailed over the sound of water rushing from the faucet. “Now I'm gonna be late for sure!”

“Your sister's sick. Maybe she should stay home and—”

“No!” Sarah straightened and wiped her face with the hand towel her mother was holding. “I'm going.”

“Then you'd better run,” Arlene said, her lips pursing. “We don't want your sister to drive too fast this morning.”

Sarah flung the towel into the sink.

“It's just an insect, Sarah. Too bad it was in your milk, but it won't kill you, you know. It's not poison. Always the drama queen. Of course I didn't put it there. How could I? Why would I?”

“I heard you last night,” Sarah whispered. “Talking to yourself. Blaming Dad for Theresa and Roger leaving.”

“Oh, for the love of God!” Dee Linn appeared in the doorway. “I don't know what this is all about, but I'm leaving. With or without you!”

Sarah's stomach roiled again, and she turned quickly to dry-heave bile into the toilet. By the time she'd cleaned herself and grabbed her backpack, Dee Linn was furious.

“What's wrong with you?” she demanded, shepherding Sarah back through the kitchen and the pantry area, where their mother, one arm wrapped around her slim waist, was smoking a cigarette. She mouthed the words “Speak no evil,” in a cloud of smoke, and Sarah ignored her. How many times had Arlene warned her of just that, to keep quiet? By the time Dee Linn had gathered their brothers together, forcing them to give up a quick game of catch with a football in the backyard, they were, indeed, late.

Sarah got a tardy slip at the elementary school, and according to the twins, they both had to do an extra set of push-ups in P.E., while Dee Linn had been “mortified” by Sister Annabelle in homeroom at Our Lady of the River.

Now, nearly a quarter of a century later, Sarah remembered that night and day vividly, the most indelible memory being her calm mother, watching her children leave as she smoked her cigarette on the back porch.

Her relationship with her mother had never recovered.

She'd sworn, when she'd given birth to Jade years later, that theirs would be a perfect mother/daughter relationship. That naïveté had worn off with the ensuing years, and she was convinced that perfection didn't exist, but at least she wanted a decent, fun-loving kinship with Jade, one that would last through the years.

But of course she'd lied.

Big-time.

So she could beat herself up about it, or somehow try to repair the damage. At least the truth was out.

“He's here!” Jade called from the dining room.

Sarah had been so caught up in the past, she hadn't seen her daughter slip into the foyer to stand by the windows near the door.

“Okay, let me handle this, and then you can talk to him—alone, or not. Or I'll be there.”

“What about me?” Gracie asked. She'd pieced together what had transpired a few minutes earlier, and Sarah had been forced to confirm the truth.

“Can you and Xena hang out in the kitchen or dining room for a few minutes? Then we'll see how it goes. I'll probably join you.”

Jade was shaking her head. “I don't want to be alone with him.”

“I'll be right here. Don't worry. It's going to be okay,” she said, though she didn't see how.

“This is a nightmare,” Jade said under her breath as Sarah mentally counted to five, walked through the foyer to open the door, and realized her daughter was right: the night had taken a turn from bad to worse.

Clint Walsh wasn't standing under the harsh glare of the single porch light.

Nope.

The person waiting at the door was none other than Evan Tolliver, the man she'd told she'd never want to see again.

Apparently he hadn't gotten the message.

J
ade wanted to die.

Right here.

Right now.

If only God would take her, everything would be better, but now she had to face the truth and a father who probably hadn't wanted her way back when (or a mom who had told him the truth) and didn't need the inconvenience of a teenager right now.

As she hung back from the doorway, her heart jackhammering, her insides twisted into a billion knots, she saw not the man who was supposedly her father, but that jerkwad Evan Tolliver standing on the porch and trying to pour on the charm. Him being here would only make things worse.

How could her life get any more complicated?

She wasn't the only one who was feeling this way. Gracie, still as a stone, finally looked from the doorway to Jade, then took a step backward into the shadows, while the dog let out a low growl that sounded like a warning. Good! Jade hoped Evan heard it, got the message, and took the hell off.

Wrapping her arms around her middle, she thought of the man she now knew was her father. Why hadn't Mom had the guts to be honest when she'd first asked about her father? Why keep the secret? If everyone had been on page one from the get-go, there wouldn't be all this drama, all this angst. Everyone would understand the way things were. Maybe Jade would even have had a relationship with the man. But, oh, no, Sarah had bottled up the truth, and now Jade was faced with meeting a stranger and . . . what? Hope to form some kind of daddy-daughter bond with him?

Get real.

Mom had really fouled up, and not just in this instance. Jade was certain her mother had kept secrets about the family in general. Despite the fact that Sarah was working on this project with her siblings, there were obviously major rifts in the family, which wasn't much of a surprise.

Really, Mom was just plain weird, probably because the whole damned family was kind of out of some gothic novel. And the ghost thing was something else too. Was it real? Jade didn't know and certainly didn't care. She just knew her mother hadn't been truthful about her biological dad and hadn't been able to hold onto her adoptive one. Noel McAdams had walked out the door a few years back, and Jade had never forgiven Sarah for that bonehead move. Noel McAdams had treated her as if she were his own until Mom pissed him off and he split for good, taking off for the other side of the country and basically disappearing from their lives.

There were plenty of reasons to hate her mother, and now one of them was standing on the front porch, and from the looks of his country-boy smile, he was trying to wheedle his way back into Sarah's good graces.

The one
smart
thing her mother had done was break it off with Evan Tolliver. Too bad the jerk hadn't taken the hint.

He needed to leave now, before Walsh showed up and everything blew up. Oh, God, if she could just run away . . .

The thought had barely come into her head when she pulled her broken cell phone from her pocket to text Cody. She'd call him later, but right now, she needed him to be on alert, to help her make a plan.

She was going to leave this old monster of a house and her super-dysfunctional family as soon as she could.

 

Evan's eyes softened a little as his gaze met Sarah's. He was dressed down for him, in khakis, a sweater, and a jacket; he was a handsome, but heartless man. “Hi, Sarah,” he said, offering up a smile, as if that would break any remaining ice from their last conversation. “Long time no see.”

“What're you doing here, Evan?” Sarah asked. Could there be a worse time for him to land on her doorstep?

“I thought I'd surprise you.”

“Mission accomplished,” she said coolly.

He pretended he didn't understand as a cold wind blew from the east, scattering dry leaves and burrowing deep into her soul. “I just wanted to see you.”

“I told you—”

“Shhh.” He held up a hand, fingers splayed in front of her nose. “We need to talk.” As if realizing how offensive the gesture was, he dropped his arm and took a step toward her, as if he intended to walk into her house. She blocked the doorway.

“I already told you I'm making a new life here for me and the girls. It doesn't include you.” Her voice was firm. “I'm pretty sure I made myself clear on the phone.”

“Well, that's a helluva thing.”

Folding her arms over her chest, she tried to sound calm when she was actually anxious and angry inside. Who did he think he was? “Maybe so, but it's where we are.” She felt rather than saw her children gathering behind her, then heard a low growl from Xena.

“What's with you?” His smile shifted to something hard and cruel. Half a foot taller than she, Evan Tolliver could be intimidating.

“Mom?” Gracie whispered.

“Not now, Grace.” Sarah's gaze didn't so much as waver as she stared Evan down. “We don't need a scene. I'm asking you to leave now.”

“I just want to talk things over. You know, face-to-face.”

“I've said what I had to say, and this is a really bad time.” It was even worse than he might think as she heard the low rumble of a truck's engine over the ever-present rush of the river. Clint's pickup, no doubt. Perfect. “Then again, there isn't a good time.”

“Sarah—”

“Please leave. Don't make me call the police.”

Her heart sank as she saw the flash of headlights through the trees. Talk about bad timing. If she didn't get rid of Evan—and fast—things were bound to get ugly. Or uglier.

“The cops?” He was more angry than wounded. “Are you kidding?”

“No.” She yanked her cell from her pocket. As she started punching out 911, she asked, “What's it going to be?”

“For the love of . . .” Finally Evan heard the truck and saw the beams of headlights splash against the house. “Oh, wait . . . that's what this is all about? You're expecting someone?” He turned to spy Clint parking his old pickup near the garage. “What the hell?”

As the truck's engine died, Clint hopped from the cab, shouldered the door of the truck closed, and, hands in his jacket pockets, jogged toward the house.

“Of course,” Evan muttered furiously as he skewered Sarah with a condemning look. “Bullshit, no one else.”

No reason to argue. He wouldn't believe her anyway. “Just go.”

“You played me for a fucking fool. Lying to me and cheating on me. Un-be-lieve-a-ble!” The skin over his face tightened. “You know, I could
smell
the stink of another man on you—”

“That's not what happened,” she cut in.

“You moved back here because of
him,
” He jabbed an accusing finger toward Clint, who'd just reached the weak circle of light from the porch.

“It's not like that,” she said, then caught herself. “Look, I don't have to explain myself. You just have to leave.”

Clint took the stairs two at a time. “Something wrong?” he asked Sarah.

Evan bristled. “You tell me.”

“Evan's just leaving.” Sarah said tightly, “or I'm going to ask the police to escort him out of here.”

“The police?” Clint's eyebrows raised.

Sarah glared at Evan as she introduced, “Clint Walsh, this is Evan Tolliver, my ex-boss at Tolliver Construction. He seems to think there was more to it than that. That our relationship was personal.”

“Damned straight, there was.” Evan's eyes narrowed to slits. “Who the hell are you?”

“Clint's my neighbor,” Sarah told him flatly.

“And what else?” Evan demanded.

Wedging his body closer to Sarah, Clint said, “Looks like you'd better listen to the lady.”

“Not just yet.” Evan stood his ground, and Sarah wished they all could just disappear. “Sarah and I have unfinished business.”

“No. We don't.” Sarah wouldn't give him an inch.

“You heard her, Tolliver,” Clint said crisply. “She wants you gone. And knowing Sarah, the call to the police isn't just a threat. She usually does what she says. She's a straight shooter.”

“Is she?” Evan threw back, sizing up Clint while Sarah died inside.
A straight shooter? Not so much,
Clint would soon find out.

“What you're doing here is trespassing,” Clint went on. “And if the cops come and maybe the press find out and do a little reporting, it wouldn't look all that good for your construction company, now, would it? Not exactly the kind of publicity you'd want.”

A muscle worked in Evan's jaw, ticking off his rage under the bare bulb. He didn't like to lose. Ever. And he rarely backed down. Sarah knew. She'd seen construction projects go massively over budget, or have to be abandoned altogether because of Evan's inability to admit he was wrong or give up on something he wanted. But here, on her porch of the old manor house, with Clint calmly stating the facts, Evan actually took a step backward. When he hesitated, Clint advised, “It's time for you to go.”

Evan's fists balled, and his lips flattened over his teeth. “Okay,” he finally said between clenched teeth. “Okay,” he finally ground out. “You and Sarah. That's the way it is.” He made a disgusted sound, cold fury evident in his eyes as he slid his gaze to Sarah's face. “This isn't over,” he warned.

“Yes, it is,” she stated firmly.

“We'll see.” He nearly tripped as he backed to the edge of the porch and half stumbled down the stairs, just catching himself before he could fall.

The muscles in the back of Clint's neck were tight, his rough-hewn features set as he waited tensely. If Evan didn't leave, it was clear he was ready to take matters into his own hands.

Evan hesitated, as if he were going to say something more, but, reading Clint's expression, thought better of it. Turning on his heel, he flung one last threatening glance in Sarah's direction, then stormed to his vehicle.

“Doesn't like to take no for an answer,” Clint observed as Evan fired up his truck.

Sarah finally let out her breath and still held tight to her cell phone. “Evan lives in the land of yes, though I did go out with him a couple of times. Big mistake.”

“Mmmm.”

Behind the wheel, Evan hit the gas. His truck lurched forward and made a wide circle, nearly taking out the cherry tree, somehow managing to kick up practically nonexistent gravel.

“You haven't seen the last of him,” Clint predicted as Evan's truck's taillights disappeared into the trees. “He the reason you called me over here?”

“Actually, no,” she admitted, heart in her throat. Now that Evan and his threats were gone, the weight of what was about to go down settled over her shoulders. “There's something else. Come on in. We need to talk. You and me . . . and Jade.” She hitched her head toward the foyer, where her daughters and the dog were waiting. With Clint following, she said to Jade, “Let's head to the living room. Clint, if you'll wait for me there?”

“All right.” His brows were drawn together. He was clearly lost as to her cryptic comments, but he headed for the living room.

Placing her hands on Gracie's shoulders, Sarah steered her youngest down the corridor leading to the kitchen. “You might want to give us a few minutes. Once I tell him what's what, then I'll come back in here. He and Jade may need some time alone.”

“You think it'll be that easy?”

“Not a chance.”

“It's a little weird, Mom.”

Sarah said with a humorless laugh, “It's a lot weird.”

For reasons she couldn't name, Sarah felt guilty shutting Gracie out of this meeting, but she felt she owed Jade and Clint as much privacy as possible. “Okay. Fingers crossed this goes well,” she said, turning back toward the living room.

“Good luck, Mom. I think you're gonna need it.” Though Gracie and Xena were in the kitchen, Sarah was certain her youngest would hang near the living room archway so that she could eavesdrop.

Walking back into the living area, Sarah found two sets of eyes following her every move. Jade's were worried, almost scared. Clint's, as he stood near one of the pillars guarding the parlor, were filled with questions. “Okay, so what's going on that's so important?” he asked. Before she could answer, he smiled faintly and said, “You know, Sarah, you look like you've seen a ghost.”

“She probably has,” Jade said under her breath.

“Not now.” Sarah cut off any chance of being derailed. “We've got more important issues to discuss right now.”

“Issues?” Clint repeated. “But not with Tolliver?”

Sarah shook her head. “He just showed up, a few minutes before you. Bad timing.”

“Super bad,” Jade agreed.

“Are you in some kind of trouble?” Clint asked Jade.

Jade lowered herself to the hearth and visibly shrank as she pulled an afghan around her feet. “No . . .” Jade was tongue-tied for once. Rather than explain, she actually looked to her mother for help. “It's . . . it's . . . complicated.”

“I'm the one in trouble,” Sarah cut in.

Confusion pulled his thick eyebrows together. “How so?” He slid a supportive arm around Sarah's shoulders and squeezed her. For just a second, she remembered the smell of him, the easy way she talked to him, how safe she'd always felt when he was around. While life in this old house with her parents and siblings had been an emotional roller coaster, Clint had been rock-steady, an easy friend who had become a passionate lover. Even after they'd officially broken up, she'd found it impossible to resist him. Oh, Lord, this was going to be even harder than she had imagined. But it had to be done. She slid out of his embrace. “Maybe you'd better sit down.”

“Heavy stuff?” he asked, half teasing.

“Very.”

“Yep,” Jade seconded.

He glanced at Jade, and his eyes narrowed a fraction, then, as he sat on the edge of the old couch, his hands clasped between his jean-clad knees, he eyed Sarah with a newfound suspicion. “Okay, go.”