Heartless (40 page)

C
alypso

T
he cursor
on my Word document blinks in time with the music fading in and out of my laptop speakers.

I need to write.

I haven’t written a damn word in months. The second I sent off my Havenhurst application, I was struck with a nasty case of writer’s block.

Presley knocks on my office door.

It’s my first day back, and I’m only here because I needed a distraction from Crew. I couldn’t stand another minute of being separated by nothing more than a thin wall. I tossed and turned all night, wondering what Crew and Emme were doing on the other side. If I had a Magic 8 ball, I would’ve consulted it.

Thinking about what their life would be like after I’m gone.

Cannot predict now.

If Emme would remember me.

Don’t count on it.

How Crew would feel when he thinks of me years from now.

Better not tell you now.

If I was making the right decision.

Results hazy. Try again later.

“Come in,” I call to Presley.

She stands in my doorway, her hands wrapped around a steaming mug with a navy blue tea bag tag hanging over the side.

“I made you some Earl Grey.” She sets it three inches from my curled fist. It’s a broken hand. Won’t type for shit. Doesn’t work anymore. Don’t need it.

“Thank you.” I look but don’t touch.

The mug is warm amber brown with an artisan inspired glaze that fades to an ombré at the bottom. I’ve never seen it before. She must’ve brought it from home. It reminds me of the very same ones we used to make by hand at Shiloh Springs. Every Saturday we’d load up our handmade goods and travel two hours to the Bay City Bazaar to sell them.

My stomach churns. This mug’s nearly identical to the ones Penelope used to give me when she was “taking care of me” during my pregnancies.

My three pregnancies.

All of which were viable.

All of which were taken from me without my consent.

They poisoned me.

They killed my babies.

My fists clench. I rise and slam the lid of my laptop, startling Presley. Her hand sails to her chest.

“Maybe you should call it a day . . .” she steps out of my office, a mix of fear and concern swirling in her dark eyes. “You’re not ready to be back yet.”

I haven’t mourned them yet. My babies.

Not the way normal people mourn the things they love when they lose them. It was easier to stomach when it was Mother Nature I was angry with. When I thought it was utterly and completely beyond my control.

The Shiloh Springs elders filled my head with things like,
“The babies weren’t viable. They wouldn’t have been healthy. It wasn’t meant to be. They would’ve been sick, and that’s not fair to them.”

All words to meant to simultaneously comfort and force me to accept the ugly hand I’d been dealt over and over again.

I wonder, for a moment, if they all knew.

Steam from the tea rises into a thin wisp before evaporating.

“I have to go,” I say.

“Good,” Presley says. “Go home, put your feet up, relax. Come back when you’re ready. Bryson and I can hold the fort down.”

“No,” I say. “I have to go to Shiloh Springs.”

Her mouth gapes before her hands wave frantically. “Are you crazy?”

“I’m leaving in the morning. I should only be gone a day. I have to do this.” The calm that floods over me is almost creepy. I’m not sure where it comes from. Just the mere thought of telling off Father Nathaniel, spitting on Penelope’s grave, and confronting my parents for their roles, brings me peace. “I have to do this for my babies. I have to be their voice.”

Presley speaks, but I don’t listen. I’m sure she’s trying to stop me, but her effort is in vain.

I’m going to Shiloh Springs.

I’m leaving in the morning.

C
rew

“
P
resley told me
.” I lean against the hood of Calypso’s car just before dawn the next morning, Emme on my shoulders, smacking the top of my head with open palms.

A packed duffle bag hangs off Calypso’s shoulder, her tasseled-leather purse on her other one.

“I hope you didn’t come here to stop me.” She huffs.

She reaches for the handle of the rear passenger door and throws her bag in the backseat.

“On the contrary.” I lift Emme from my shoulders and hold her against my chest, legs out. She giggles when she sees Calypso, and Calypso
almost
smiles in return. She’s in a mood. Can’t fault her for that, considering all she’s been through the last few days. “We’re going with you. Me and Emme.”

Her expression sobers before her lips pull into a sneer.

She thinks I’m joking.

“You should absolutely tell them off,” I say. “But you’re not going by yourself. You’re not going to a camp of baby killers, accusing them of murder, and then leaving. You’ll be walking off with a fucking bull’s eye on the back of your head.”

“They’re non-violent.”

“Non-violent murderers,” I remind her.

“It’s a six-hour drive.”

“I love road trips.”

“That’s a long time for Emme to be in a car.”

“She’ll sleep. And I packed her bag with a metric ton of toys.”

She closes the rear car door and folds her arms, squinting at me. The early morning sun washes her sandy hair in yellows and oranges. Everything about her is on fire, but she’s the prettiest angry girl I’ve ever seen.

“Why are you doing this?” she asks. “You hardly know me. You don’t owe me anything.”

I give Emme a couple of bounces and she reaches for Calypso. I place her in Calypso’s arms, much to her surprise. Emme squeals.

I don’t mean to make this about me, but part of it is. You don’t stare into the eyes of your dying father as he utters the most profoundly shallow bullshit you’ve ever heard in your life and walk away unchanged.

“My father,” I say, “in his fifty-seven years, has learned jack-fucking squat about what it means to live a meaningful existence.”

“I thought he helped people?”

“I’m sure he’s helped some. In his own way. I’m not discrediting that,” I say. “What I’m saying is, work and jobs and careers and businesses . . . none of that shit matters. He spent his entire life focusing on all the things that didn’t matter. What did that give him at the end of the day? A son that kinda likes him. A daughter that’s afraid to admit she doesn’t, so she overcompensates, and a wife who spent twenty-five years browbeating him into nothing more than a fucking sock puppet.”

She squints, waving her hand in the air.

“And what’s this have to do with you accompanying me to Shiloh Springs?”

“People,” I say. “People are what matters. Standing up for what you believe in.”

I know I sound like a motivational speaker.

“You just now got the memo on that?” she snips, reaching for her handle.

“I want to support you,” I say. And protect her. “You can’t go there alone. You can’t do this alone.”

Her brows meet. “You underestimate me then. Makes sense, given the fact that you’ve known me less than a month.”

I move closer. “God damn it, Calypso. Stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop pushing me away.”

“Oh, now this is about you?”

“Of course not.” I’m in her face now, so close I can smell a hint of her morning toothpaste. “It’s about you learning to let people in. Accepting help. Not shutting out the rest of the world when your chips are down.”

I take Emme back from her.

“When Emme was dropped on my doorstep, I didn’t shut down. I called my sister. I asked for help. You know how hard that was? To know you can’t do something alone?”

She shrugs. Can’t tell if she’s agreeing or disagreeing with me.

“We do what we have to do,” I say. “You have to confront those assholes in Shiloh Springs. But you can’t do it alone. Just like I can’t raise Emme alone. You were there for me, Calypso. Let me be there for you.”

Her arms cross, hands squeezing the life out of her delicate elbows. Calypso’s gaze leaves Emme and finds mine.

“You’re all packed?” She exhales, her way of throwing up a little white flag.

“Yep.”

“Get in then.” Calypso reaches for her door handle, but I stop her.

“I’m driving. We’ll take my truck.” I walk behind her and grab her bag from the backseat. She’s in no condition to drive. It’s plain to see she’s still on the verge of tears. “Should be there by one.”

A minute later, we’re piling into my truck and pulling out of the parking lot. When we hit the interstate and take a west exit, Calypso closes her eyes, breathes deep, and rests her head against the glass.

I tune the radio and let her gather her thoughts.

C
alypso

I
t looks exactly
the way I remembered.

The warning signs just before the entrance, declaring this to be a private community.

The blue and yellow painted sign arching over the dirt drive.

A blanket of trees so thick you can’t see through them.

The winding road leading up to the main drag.

The schoolhouse, the laundress, and the main kitchen house. My father’s apothecary. A collection of modest, multi-family two-stories pushed side by side with makeshift dirt sidewalks. Our old house, its yellow siding faded and weathered, nestled behind them all.

Crew doesn’t say much, and I don’t look at him in case he has judge-y eyes. Not that he’s the type to judge, but on the off chance, I couldn’t handle it right now.

A small family comes out from behind a stone house. The children are barefoot, with grime and mud clear up to their ankles, and the wife wears a gauzy dress that blows in the breeze. Her long, dark hair is pulled into a loose braid that hangs over her left shoulder. She shields her eyes from the sun, squinting to get a better look at us.

We’re technically trespassing.

“Hi,” I call out. It takes all the strength I have to force myself to smile. I need to see Father Nathaniel, and the last thing I need is for the commune-dwellers to sense a threat and escort me out.

Her husband stays with the dirt-covered children and she strides toward us. The closer she gets, I recognize the spray of freckles across her nose and the bright violet eyes that feel like they’re staring deep into my soul.

“Nicolette,” I say to Holly Linwood’s little sister. I stand before Mathias’ sister-in-law. Last time I saw her, she was just starting to sprout tits and the boys were beginning to pay attention to her.

Rightfully so.

She’s stunning. Turned out even prettier than her sister.

Vegas would eat her up, hippie wardrobe or not.

“Calypso?” Her mouth widens as she nears.

I nod.

Nicolette throws her arms around my shoulders. Her hair smells like a forest, all mossy and earthen.

“What are you doing here?” Her voice is a low whisper, implying I shouldn’t be here.

Well aware.

“Came to take care of some old business.” I glance behind me, where Crew is a few yards back, bouncing Emme and staring at the makeshift little village I called home for most of my life. “Father Nathaniel around?”

Nicolette’s face sobers, all traces of her smile gone.

“You didn’t hear?” she asks.

Obviously not.

“He passed last month,” she says. “I’m sure you heard about Penelope. Poor man was just heartbroken.”

I try not to roll my eyes.

“He couldn’t live without her.” Nicolette shakes her head. “Whole place has been in mourning. And Mathias. He took it the hardest. But he’s really stepped up, you know. He’s stayed strong for us.”

My heart lurches when she says his name. That entire chapter of my life has yet to be finished. The book was never closed. Father Nathaniel handled the dissolution of our relationship. Maybe if Mathias had been half the man he was supposed to be and told me himself, I’d have at least had some closure.

“Can I see him?” I ask.

Nicolette peers at me with squinted eyes, like she’s trying to figure out my intentions. I know he’s married to her sister. I know they’re family. She owes me nothing. Her allegiance should be to them.

I flash a sweet half-smile. “Just want to say hello.”

She sighs, probably only half-believing me but taking mercy on me anyway.

“I’ll take you to him,” she says.

I motion for Crew to follow, and we head toward the big building at the end of the main drag. It’s the only brick building in the community, the only building with locks, and the only building with a bomb shelter beneath it big enough for all two-hundred-plus Shiloh Springs residents.

We climb the concrete stairs, and Nicolette shows us in. A resident sitting at a desk in front gives us a curious glare before rifling through a paper planner. I don’t recognize her. Must be a new addition.

Lucky her.

“We don’t have anyone on the books today,” she says to Nicolette.

“This is an old friend of the community,” Nicolette says. “She’d like to speak to Father Mathias.”

Father Mathias. Can’t deny that it has a nice ring to it. Sounds like a cult leader. I smirk for half a second. No one sees.

“He’s not expecting anyone,” the receptionist says. “I was instructed only to bother him if Holly was going into labor.”

I hate my heart for aching right now. I know damn well I have no business longing for what might have been, what was never meant to be.

“Holly’s pregnant?” I force faux excitement into my tone.

Nicolette rolls her eyes. “Baby number four in four years. One after another. They want a whole quiver full.”

I do the math.

I left Shiloh Springs three years ago, after losing my third child.

That means Holly would’ve been pregnant at the same time as me.

The room hazes around me, and my stomach churns. Tiny beads of sweat dot my forehead. I think I’m going to get sick.

A hand centers my lower back. It’s Crew.

“Can I see him for a moment?” I ask the receptionist. “Just want to say hi. We’re old friends, and I came all this way.”

Nicolette, bless her heart, doesn’t budge. She stares until the girl rises and trots to a back office. She returns a minute later.

“You can go back.” Her voice is meek, as if she were just scolded for trying to shoo me away.

“Want me to go with you?” Crew asks.

I face him, gazing into friendly eyes. Ones that have never hurt me, never lied. Never betrayed.

“Wait here,” I say. “I need to talk to him alone.”

My chest fills, thick and heavy, and my heart pounds in my ears. I try to swallow, but I can’t. Each step I take down the long hallway to the back office makes my knees a little less steady beneath me.

But I came all this way.

I have to stay strong.

Mathias Shiloh doesn’t get the privilege of watching me fall apart.

Standing outside his door, I clear my throat, take two long, deep breaths, and show myself in.

“Calypso.” He rises from behind his desk when I walk in. His clear blue eyes flash and he masks a softened smile. His arms hang neutrally at his sides. There’s no running embrace. There’s no fanfare. And there shouldn’t be.

This is not a joyous reunion.

“What brings you here?” He motions for me to take the seat across from him before sitting back down.

This feels like a business meeting more than anything else.

He studies me like he’s seeing me for the first time, all over again.

I can’t say the same. Mathias hasn’t changed at all. He’s barely aged. He still wears the white-blonde waves, California surfer tan, and crystalline gaze I once fell in love with. The linen shirt he wears is reminiscent of his father’s wardrobe. For all intents and purposes, “Father Mathias” is the second coming of “Father Nathaniel.” I have to think this is the way Father Nathaniel had it planned all along.

“I came to see your father,” I say.

I don’t apologize for his passing. I’m not sorry.

Mathias folds his hands across his desk, staring down at them and running his thumb along top of its opposite knuckle like a worry stone.

“Father passed last year, as I’m sure you’ve been informed.”

I’m going to cut to the chase because I didn’t come here to reminisce.

“I came for answers.” I shoot daggers his way and sit up straight.

Mathias snorts, his crystal eyes hardening. “Answers to what? Kind of a broad statement there, Calypso.”

He says my name again, softly. Sweetly. The familiarity of my name on his lips is meant to break me down, weaken my resolve. Remind me we were once lovers.

I won’t let him get to me.

My body shakes. I try to fight it, but I feel it. It starts in my toes and trembles upwards. As long as it doesn’t hit my voice, I’ll get through this.

“I was recently informed.” I pause. Inhale. I need a moment. My fingers drum across my thighs. I want to pop my knuckles until they hurt. I need a distraction. I lie them flat across my legs and meet Mathias’ stare again. “It was recently brought to my attention that those mis . . . miscarriages I had several years ago were inflicted on me.”

Mathias wrinkles his nose and then laughs. In the span of two seconds, he’s already made me feel two inches tall. My mind floods with doubt. Am I crazy? Was this just another one of Elijah’s ploys?

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says. “And I really hope you’re not coming here to imply something sinister took place.”

“Your father and Holly’s father made an arrangement,” I say. “When we were all babies. You were always supposed to end up with Holly. But you fell in love with me.”

Mathias leans back, his hand positioned beneath his chin and his eyes narrowed.

“We were in love,” I say. “And we were young. And no one could talk us out of it.”

His silence causes a second wave of self-doubt. Maybe our love was only ever one-sided. Maybe it was all in my head. Maybe all these years, I made it into something bigger than it ever was.

But I press on.

“You wanted to please your father. You wanted to carry on his legacy. You wanted a family . . . with me,” I say. “And when you thought I couldn’t give it to you . . . after we lost three of our . . .”

I can’t say it.

“Your father had me poisoned so I’d lose them,” I say. “Your mother helped. My father helped.”

Mathias clears his throat. “Wow. Calypso. I . . .”

My eyes burn. Being back here, with him, with my first love, it brings a rush of nostalgia more powerful than I imagined. The good, the bad, everything in between, it’s all hitting me at once.

“I think you should go,” he says.

I blink. My mind goes blank. “What?”

It’s not the reaction I expected.

“Coming back here,” he says. “Mucking up all these feelings. You and your theories. It’s not a good idea. You shouldn’t be here, Calypso.”

I rise slowly, feeling grossly dissatisfied with our entire exchange. I didn’t travel this far to be shooed from his presence like some pesky fly.

“My theories?” I spit. “Our parents
murdered
our babies, Mathias.”

“You have no proof.”

“What if I get proof?” I say. “I’m going to talk to my father after this. Get some answers. If he confesses, will you believe me then?”

“And what will that change?” His voice booms. Mathias is angry. “What’s done is done. The future we would’ve had together is long gone. Holly is my chosen one. We have a family.”

“I’m not asking you to leave Holly.” I wouldn’t dream of it. Sitting across from Mathias Shiloh, I know one thing to be true now: I could never be with him again. I wouldn’t want to.

“Then why did you come here?” he asks.

My lips part, but I don’t answer.

I came here to confront Father Nathaniel. I wanted him to pay for his sins. I wanted a confession. I wanted his entire reputation to be ruined. I wanted his empire to crumble, his minions to scatter like leaves in the wind.

I wanted him to see me thriving.

Still standing.

Mathias slinks back in his chair, gazing out the window to a wooden playground where giggling children chase one another without a care in the world.

It’s peaceful here. Corruption aside.

I had a happy childhood.

“After the third baby,” he says. “My father told me how beside yourself you were. He told me if I were to get you pregnant again, your body wouldn’t be able to handle it. He told me you might die, if not for physical reasons then from a broken heart. I didn’t want to hurt you again, Calypso. I didn’t want to put you through that all over again. I loved you too much.”

I came here expecting a fight. A battle. A war.

I didn’t expect to have my heart broken all over again.

Our gazes meet, holding for what feels like forever.

I want to be mad at him. I want to believe he’s lying, covering for the evil deeds of his father. It’s easier that way.

“I believed my father.” His voice breaks. “And I let you go because it was the only way to stop your pain.”

My gaze lands on a drawing hanging on a bulletin board behind him. The name Cassidy is scribbled in the corner, only the ‘d’ is backward, making it look like Cassiby. He and I always planned to use that name. It was his favorite for a girl.

Must be a picture his four-year-old drew.

“Bullshit.” I rise, my chest on fire. I slam my fist against his chest. “Holly was already pregnant when you and I broke up. You’re a goddamned liar, Mathias Shiloh. You’re no better than your father, may he
rot
in Hell.”

Mathias trips over his words.

I’m halfway to the door when I hear him calling after me.

“I’m going to see my parents. Don’t you dare try and stop me,” I declare, my back toward him. “And then you’ll
never
see me again.”

I burst through his doors and storm down the hall, where Crew and Nicolette are idly chit-chatting. I don’t have time to wonder what the hell the two of them could possibly have to talk about.

“Let’s go.” I brush past them and head out the front doors, running down the stairs and marching toward the dirt sidewalk path that will lead us to my father’s apothecary.

Crew is yards behind me, Emme in his arms.

Ahead in the distance, I see a woman with sandy hair that matches mine, streaks of gray that show her age, and a long gray dress that drags on the floor as she sweeps the front steps of the shop with a Shaker broom.

“Verity.” I call my mother by her first name, the way I’ve always done.

Once upon a time, before she and my father came to Shiloh Springs, her name was Margot.

Plain old Margot. Margot Crabtree, I believe she was.

She stops sweeping and glances around, her hand shielding her eyes from the early afternoon blaze of the sun. I watch her squint, then squint harder.

“I need to speak to Stone.” I stop short, fold my arms, and peer inside the shop to see if my father is inside. There’s movement behind lace curtains.