by Brenda Novak
“Not very long.”
“What was she doing, exactly?”
“I just told you all I know, Ed.”
At the irritation in her voice, he bit back a sharp retort. Why was Simone so damn dysfunctional when she came to Millcreek? The woman she was in Dallas would’ve marched outside to confront Sloane instead of hiding away in the house, fresh from bed and still unproductive at dinnertime. “That’s her car down the street, you said?”
“That’s the car she got into, but then the neighbor came out and said something to her.”
“You saw that?”
“Of course. I was standing right where you are, trying to figure out what was going on.”
“And then what?”
She sighed audibly. “And then...nothing. They went inside.”
Pulling his gaze away from Sloane’s car—a much more expensive vehicle than most young women could afford—he turned to confront his girlfriend. “Are my questions bugging you?”
“A little,” she admitted. “It doesn’t matter how many times we go over it, there’s not much I can say. I can’t conjure up answers I don’t have.”
“Well, forgive me for pressing you, but if you hadn’t seen your daughter for ten years, you might be interested in hearing a few details.”
She crossed her legs and smoothed her robe. She had one headstrong daughter, a little monster who was with her ex-husband at the moment. The child was only eleven, but Simone told some shocking stories about how difficult she was to control.
Maybe one day Simone would have her own taste of what he was going through.
“Don’t take your bad mood out on me,” she grumbled.
He rolled his eyes and turned back to the window. “Don’t you have to be back in Dallas soon?”
“Tomorrow morning, actually. And with the way you’re acting now, I’m glad.”
He was glad, too. He was ready for her to leave. He liked the sex she provided. It gave him a nice outlet when he grew bored of the minutiae he had to sift through as mayor of a small town—whether residents thought the police were responding accurately to a case involving three children who’d been caught playing show-and-tell in a shed; whether there should be a stoplight at the corner of Western and Polk; whether Hansen’s Print Services, located behind a tiny subdivision, should be allowed a sign at the entrance to that subdivision. But he and Simone couldn’t tolerate each other much longer than two or three days at a time, and it had been that long.
Behind him, he heard her get up. When she spoke again, she was standing right beside him, also staring out at Sloane’s car. “Does your son know his sister is back?”
“Of course. I called him as soon as I heard she was coming.”
“And? Is he as leery of her as you are?”
“I’m not leery of her,” he said. But that wasn’t entirely true. Sloane was the one wild card in his life, the only person he couldn’t convince to see the past the way he saw it—and that could have all kinds of implications.
His cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He hated to look away from Sloane’s car again, for fear he’d miss her when she came out, but whoever was trying to reach him only called back when he didn’t answer, so he took a quick peek.
“Who is it?” Simone asked.
“Randy.”
“Speak of the devil.”
He didn’t respond. She wasn’t part of his “real” life, so he didn’t feel she should have any input, sarcastic or otherwise.
He pushed the talk button. “Hello?”
“Dad? Have you seen her?”
He hadn’t seen her, but it was possible he was looking at her car right now. “Not yet.”
“Neither have I. Maybe she hasn’t arrived.”
“She’s here.”
“How do you know?”
The woman Simone had described to him sounded like Sloane, but he couldn’t be positive, so he didn’t mention that. “Paige stopped by my office.”
“And?”
“She said Sloane is staying with her.”
“For how long?”
“Until she finds another rental.”
“So pressuring the Woodses to renege on the lease didn’t help.”
“I’m sure it sent a message.”
“One she ignored!”
Randy had a point. Losing the house didn’t seem to have deterred Sloane. “Maybe she took what they told her at face value. Maybe she believed they’d already leased it to someone else.”
“And maybe she didn’t but is just plain determined.”
That wasn’t a comforting thought...
“If she hasn’t reached out to you, and she hasn’t reached out to me, I doubt she’s here to try to patch things up,” Randy continued.
“I think that’s safe to assume,” Ed agreed.
“So what’s she here for?”
That was the million-dollar question. Sloane had a successful career, had made something of herself. She didn’t need him or Randy. It wasn’t as if she was crawling back on her knees, like he’d always told himself she would. So why was she here? What did she hope to accomplish?
The possibilities raised the hair on the back of his neck.
Had she come back to bring him down, to ruin him?
If so, it didn’t help that she was talking to Vickie Winters. He could only imagine what Vickie had to say. She’d never forgiven him for breaking off the affair they’d been having in the weeks and months before everything went so wrong with Clara.
Was she telling Sloane that she was part of the reason Clara had attempted to stand up to him for a change? Or that she’d done everything possible in the twenty-three years since then to get back in his bed?
He doubted it. It was probably all lies. God, what had he ever seen in that drab, bitter, bitch of a woman? Clara had been twice the person Vickie was, and he’d been a fool.
Worse than a fool. But what was done was done. He’d put it behind him, and he wasn’t going to allow anyone to dredge it up again.
“Wish I knew,” he said. “We’ll just have to keep an eye on her.”
He froze as he saw Sloane come out of Vickie’s house, watched with hungry eyes as she walked around the back of her car and slipped behind the wheel. Even from a distance, she was extraordinarily beautiful.
“Dad?”
Randy’s voice made him realize that he’d quit listening to his son. “What?”
“Don’t worry about anything. I know you didn’t hurt Mom, okay?”
The memory of that night rose up but he quickly blocked it. “Thanks.”
It wasn’t until he’d disconnected with Randy and Sloane was long gone that he remembered Simone and turned to find himself alone in the room—except for Ruger.
“Simone?” he called, taking the stairs two at a time until he reached the master bedroom, where he found her packing.
“What are you doing?” he asked from the doorway. “I thought you weren’t leaving until morning.”
“I figured I might as well head back early,” she said.
He watched as she changed into a pair of tight-fitting jeans and a silky sleeveless tank. “Just like that?”
The zipper rasped as she closed her suitcase. “Yeah. Just like that. You’ve got some things to do, anyway. Am I right?”
He studied her dispassionately. His dog was more loyal than she was. But it didn’t matter. Lucky for her, he didn’t care if he ever saw her again. “Yeah, I do,” he said. “Good riddance.”
She glanced up at him, but she didn’t argue, didn’t express any surprise at his surly response. She just shrugged and kept packing, and he knew then that he’d never see her again.
CHAPTER SIX
It was a good thing Sloane hadn’t needed Paige to call the police. When she returned, she found her friend so caug
ht up in finishing dinner she didn’t seem to be paying any attention to the clock, didn’t even seem to notice that Sloane was late.
“Hey, you’re back!” she shouted above the music that was blaring as Sloane walked into the kitchen with the items she’d purchased from the store.
“How are things going?” Sloane shouted. “Do you need any help?”
Paige was at the stove, frying strips of tortilla. “No. I’m almost done.”
“I can barely hear you!”
She set her spatula aside long enough to turn down the music coming through her Bluetooth. “Sorry about that. Trevor’s gone, so I was taking advantage of being able to play my music as loud as possible.”
Sloane set the cake and wine on the counter. “Trevor’s not home yet?”
“He came home, but he was bummed out about something that happened at school, so I let him call Micah. They left to hang out with each other for a while. You know—guys’ night out. I thought it might be nice for us to have some time alone, anyway.”
Sloane was glad that Trevor was getting to spend the evening with his father. The poor kid had seemed so bummed last night about the divorce, and it sounded as if whatever had happened today hadn’t made him feel any better. “What went wrong at school? I hope it wasn’t anything serious.”
“His best friend, Spaulding, the one he walks home with after school, invited someone else to go with him and his family to Disneyland.”
“Ouch! That’s too bad.”
“Yeah, it broke Trevor’s heart. He never would’ve done that to Spaulding, but Spaulding has the right to invite whoever he wants, so there’s not much I can do.”
Sloane got out two glasses and uncorked the wine while Paige scooped the fried tortilla strips onto a plate lined with a paper towel. “Will Trevor stay the night with Micah, or will Micah bring him home?”
“Micah will bring him home.”
“Even though it’s a weekend?”
“It’s my weekend.”
Sloane poured herself a bit more wine than usual. She wasn’t anxious to see her former boyfriend again and hoped he wouldn’t come inside when he dropped Trevor off. She was having a hard enough time trying to forget their earlier encounter. And now that she’d spoken with Vickie Winters, she had what her father’s neighbor had revealed swirling around in her head and causing her stomach to churn with acid. She was trying not to think about that until after dinner, though, when she could be alone. “Don’t you have to work in the shop?”
“I have an employee who handles Saturdays and any other days I need, and I usually take Trevor with me on Sunday. I’m only open from noon to five on Sunday, anyway, and he likes to help out.”
“So when it comes to Micah’s visits, you adhere pretty strictly to the schedule set up by the court?”
“I bend now and then, but I’m cautious. I don’t want Micah to get any ideas.”
“Like...”
She started to grate a block of cheddar cheese. “Like trying to take Trevor away from me.”
The cork squeaked as Sloane put it back in the wine bottle. “You think he’d do that?”
“I’m sure he’d like to. As far as he’s concerned, the sun rises and sets on ‘his boy.’” She paused to take a drink of the wine Sloane slid close to her. “He would’ve fought much harder for custody if he thought I’d give even an inch.”
Paige sounded proud of herself but her words made Sloane sad for Micah. “He didn’t fight?”
“Not at all. He didn’t want it to get ugly, so he gave me everything I asked for.”
Sloane hesitated before taking another sip of wine. “And you asked for the house?”
“I asked for everything—the house, the furniture, our savings, the car. Why not? He was the one who wanted the divorce. I didn’t deserve it, hadn’t done anything wrong. He had no reason to leave me.”
So why had he? “He had to start completely over...”
“Yes, and he’s still struggling to do that. He just barely moved back to town a few weeks ago after living above the barn on his parents’ ranch for the past year.”
Divorce was so difficult. Sloane had no right to pass judgment. She had to acknowledge that immediately, but the self-satisfaction she heard in Paige’s voice bothered her. Paige had been out to punish Micah, to hit him as hard as she could and right where it counted, and he hadn’t even put up his hands. “You’re a good mom. I’m sure Trevor and Micah both realize that,” she said, so she wouldn’t have to comment directly on what Paige had just said. It made her cringe; she couldn’t bring herself to act supportive.
“Yeah, well, I was a good wife, too—not that it made any difference in the end,” Paige muttered and started setting the table.
“I’m going to wash my hands, okay?” Sloane set her glass down before crossing to the bathroom. She thought stepping out of the room for a moment might help put an end to the conversation. She’d come to Paige’s house mostly because she’d missed her old friend and hoped to reestablish some of what they’d once had. But now she wasn’t so sure she could salvage even that. It got awkward every time Micah’s name came up.
He would probably always stand between them.
When Sloane returned, she again asked if there was anything she could do to help, but Paige insisted she had everything under control. To avoid picking up the same subject they’d been discussing before, Sloane lifted the lid to see what was bubbling in the Crock-Pot while Paige cut up an avocado. “Soup?”
“Yeah. Chicken tortilla. It’s one of Micah’s favorite recipes.”
Micah again. Sloane replaced the lid. “Look, Paige, if you think I had anything to do with what happened between you and Micah, I didn’t, okay? I haven’t had any contact with him—not until we bumped into each other while he was trying to get that permission slip for Trevor this morning.”
“I know that,” she said.
“So am I just being self-conscious about the fact that Micah and I have a past? Because I’m getting the feeling you resent me, but I don’t know why.”
“Of course I don’t resent you! I wouldn’t have invited you here if I did.”
“That’s what I’d like to believe. Micah was with me first, after all. I’ve never tried to steal him from you.”
“And I’ve never tried to steal him from you. You were gone before anything happened between us.”
But they must’ve slept together very soon after she left in order to have had a child only a year later. And what Paige said about not trying to steal Micah wasn’t true. Even before graduation, Paige had done everything she could to gain Micah’s attention. One time she texted him in the middle of the night when Sloane was with him, watching a movie, to invite him over. Another time she got drunk at a party and gyrated all over him.
For the sake of the friendship, Sloane had ignored those instances and others, so Paige probably didn’t realize just how aware Sloane had been. Sloane had only been able to pull that off because she’d been so sure of Micah, which was another reason she was surprised—and stung—by what happened so soon after she was gone.
Instead of holding Paige to the truth right now, however, she continued to act as if she hadn’t noticed. She was trying to put the past behind them, not create a fresh rift. “I’m sad things didn’t work out with your marriage. I can only imagine how painful a breakup like that must be.” If it was any worse than the pain Sloane had felt having to leave Micah behind, she couldn’t have withstood it. She’d almost called him so many times, would’ve done it if she hadn’t been absolutely determined not to be that selfish. She’d loved him too much to ask him to choose between her and his family and the town they’d grown up in.
“The divorce was tough,” Paige said. “But I’m not trying to make you feel as if it was your fault.”
Then why had she told Trevor otherwise? “I appreciate that.”
“How’d it go at your father’s?”
Sloane wasn’t sure they’d cleared up anything. What Paige felt seemed so different from what she said, but Sloane was eager to talk about something else, even if it was her father. “It was strange to see the place.”
Paige scraped some sour cream into a small bowl. “Hasn’t changed much, right?”
“You’ve been there lately?”
“I haven’t been inside, but I’ve driven past it. My folks still live one street over.”
“The old toy box is there in back,” Sloane said. “So is the tire swing.”
Paige got out a ladle for the soup. “We had such great times on that tire swing, didn’t we?”
“We sure did.” But Sloane’s favorite memory included Micah and not Paige. He’d kissed her for the first time while pushing her on that swing.
Paige jerked her head toward the counter. “Can you grab the tortilla strips and the cheese?”
“Of course.” Sloane carried both to the table while Paige brought the chopped avocado and sour cream—all garnishes for the soup.
“This looks delicious.”
“I love making soup in the fall.”
Sloane went back for her wine and carried Paige’s over, too, since Paige had grabbed both bowls of soup. “I appreciate you taking me in. It’s been nice to feel I still have a friend here.”
“It’s no problem. Really. I’ve told you that before.” Paige chose the far place setting, so Sloane took the seat across from her.
“How do you think you’ll like living so close to your father?”
“I don’t expect to like it,” Sloane said. “But I think it’s smart.”
Paige was sprinkling cheese in her soup when she glanced up. “In what way?”
Sloane took a deep breath. Maybe if she told Paige what she was doing in town, Paige would relax. Until she felt secure in the fact that Sloane hadn’t returned for Micah, they wouldn’t be able to connect with each other, to trust each other. “I’m here to find out what happened to my mother, Paige.”
“You mean you’re searching for her?”
“In a way. I don’t think she’s alive. I’m afraid... I’m afraid my father might’ve killed her.”
