by Brenda Novak
But it was easier for him. He hadn’t been there that night. He hadn’t heard the same sounds or seen their father sitting so empty-eyed and haggard at the kitchen table the following morning, looking like some vagabond who’d wandered in. Neither had Randy experienced the coldness she’d sensed in Ed when he’d sent her back to bed during the night.
By the time Randy had returned, almost two days had passed since their father had asked Staley’s parents if Randy could stay over another night. He’d also pawned Sloane off on the man’s wife who managed his car dealership the Saturday their mother “left.” Although Sloane had never stayed with Lee Martin’s family before and had been miserable in such unfamiliar surroundings—somehow sensing, as she did, that her whole life had changed in one night, and not for the better—her father had insisted that he needed to try to find her mother so he could “talk some sense into her” and turned a deaf ear to her entreaties to go with him.
After what she’d learned from Vickie Winters, Sloane wondered if he’d merely been covering his tracks. Two days would give him plenty of time to get rid of any evidence that might contradict his story—like the hole in the wall that’d been there Saturday morning but was patched by the time Sloane returned Sunday night, and the broken lamp that’d been cleaned up and disposed of, a new, almost identical lamp put in its place.
“Sloane?” Paige appeared at the opening to the kitchen. “Did you hear me?”
She swallowed with some difficulty but nodded. “Yeah. I’m coming.”
Paige stepped close enough to whisper, “Should I tell him you’d rather talk another day?”
Would that make it any easier? They didn’t agree on their father. She doubted they ever would. If Randy had changed his mind, if he was any more open to having a relationship with her, he would’ve reached out while she was in New York, wouldn’t he? So she’d be a fool to think more time would help.
“No.” Straightening her spine, she smiled as best she could and moved past her former best friend, who encouraged her with a squeeze to the arm.
When she entered the living room, she thought she saw Micah glance back at her. But that impression registered only a split second before she came face-to-face with her brother and everything else fell away.
“Can I speak with you?” Randy asked tightly and indicated the door, asking her to join him outside.
He’d changed. He was five years older than she was, so he’d been twenty-three, much more of a man than Micah, when she left. For the most part, he’d already filled out by then, but now he had a close-cropped beard she’d never seen him wear, a set of fine lines forming in the corners of his eyes and around his mouth and fifty or sixty pounds he could do without. He was also wearing a wedding band. Paige had told her he was married and had a three-year-old girl named Misty, but Sloane tried not to think of that. It was difficult enough not being part of his life. To know she was an aunt and had never even met her niece or her sister-in-law was almost unbearable.
He waited for her to go past him. Then he stepped into the puddle of the porch light with her. “So you’re back,” he said as he pulled the door and it clicked shut behind him.
“Yes.” That simple word sounded strangled even to her ears. “Did Guy Prinley’s wife tell you, too? Or did that come from our father?”
“Does it matter who told me? Did you think I wouldn’t hear?”
“No.” She pressed her back up to the porch railing, hoping to put what little space there was between them. “Not here in Millcreek.”
He studied her closely. “What is it you want, Sloane?”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. Why are you here?”
Animosity rolled off him in waves, putting a knot in the pit of her stomach. He hadn’t come because he wanted to see her, wanted to catch up with his baby sister. He was angry that she’d returned. “I can’t come home?”
“You have no reason to. You must have made plenty of money with as successful as you’ve been. You can live anywhere.”
Struggling to stand strong despite the negative sentiment, she lifted her chin. “I got the message that I’m not welcome when Dad told the Prinleys not to rent me the house, Randy. You don’t need to make it any clearer.”
He stepped forward. “Then maybe I need to make something else clear. I will not stand by and let you ruin our father or his good name out of spite.”
“That’s what you think my motivation is? Spite? You’re assuming this is an act of vengeance?”
“What else could it be? He wasn’t a perfect father. I’ll grant you that. He can be...aloof, at times. Strict, especially with you. But you were a girl.”
“Which means he should’ve been harder on me than you?”
“He was just trying to protect you, for God’s sake. He did the best he could.”
Sloane braced herself by putting her hands on the railing behind her. “If he has nothing to hide, you have nothing to worry about.”
“What does that mean?”
“You know what it means!”
“Then you are going to drag up the past.” He raked his fingers through his hair, causing it to stand up in front. “God, don’t you see what that will do?”
“Maybe it’ll enable me to find peace, at last! The doubt and suspicion that has nearly eaten me alive has never been significant to you, but—”
“That’s where you’re wrong!” he broke in. “I’ve tried and tried to tell you to leave it alone, to put it behind you and carry on, because I know that things will only be worse if you don’t!”
“I can’t simply forget what I saw and heard that night, Randy!”
“What you saw and heard was almost nothing. Certainly not enough to destroy a man’s life. You were only five years old. You were a young, frightened girl, and it’s been more than two decades since Mom left. Memories become distorted with time, Sloane. That’s a proven fact, and it means what you remember might not have happened the way you think it did!”
“Maybe I’m not remembering everything perfectly. I hope I’m not. I don’t want to be right. But that doesn’t mean I can continue to ignore the fact that we know little to nothing about our mother’s disappearance.”
“We have the word of our father. That should count for something.”
“Don’t you realize there are other men out there who have killed their wives, who come up with a plausible-sounding story to cover up such a terrible act? How can you be so convinced our father isn’t one of them?”
“He has a track record of living a decent life, being a good parent—at least as good as he could be, given his own temperament and limitations. He isn’t some drug abuser or...or ex-con!”
“That’s why I’ve had such a hard time stepping forward! He isn’t a likely culprit. I agree. And yet...”
“And yet? What else could matter in light of that?”
“There are too many unanswered questions—which you seem perfectly willing to ignore indefinitely.”
“Because, unlike you, I love him!”
“I love him, too!” she cried. “That’s what makes this whole thing so gut-wrenching.”
“If it’s so gut-wrenching, back away. Let it go.”
“I can’t. Don’t you understand? I’m not the only one who suspects he’s not telling the truth. There are other people out there who...who have had the same question in their minds for all these years.”
“Who?”
“I can’t say right now.”
“That’s convenient!”
“It’s not convenient, it’s the way things are. I’m not lying. He’s the mayor. Everyone’s afraid to take him on.”
He shook his head. “You do him such a great injustice.”
“What, he’s too fine a man to question?”
“On this level? Yes.”
“I was there that night
, Randy.”
“So? Like I said, you were five. What if you’re wrong? Do you think Dad will ever be able to forgive you for accusing him of murder? And not just any murder—of murdering the woman he married? The mother of his children? Do you think I will?”
“What if I’m right?” she countered. “Have you ever thought about that? What if he did kill her? What then? You don’t care?”
“I don’t see any reason to even consider the possibility. He told us what happened.”
“When?”
He waved a dismissive hand. “We’ve heard bits and pieces over the years.”
And yet their father had never been willing to speak about the incident openly and honestly. He’d always answered any questions they’d had with short, clipped sentences, which revealed almost nothing. “Sometimes we have to face harsh truths. You can’t stick your head in the sand and assume everyone around you speaks only the truth.”
His jaw hardened. “You’re crazy! Our mother abandoned us! That’s the harsh truth you’re trying to avoid—and you’re willing to risk sending our father to prison in order to achieve it. Why? How will tainting Dad’s reputation or getting him embroiled in a police investigation help you or me or anyone else?”
“Our mother deserves justice!”
“And our father deserves more thanks than to have his daughter return to town only because she’s bent on destroying him.”
Sloane felt those words like a cup of cold water in the face. She gaped at her brother. “You don’t know or care about me at all,” she said. “And you don’t care about the truth. You’re only worried about yourself and how this might embarrass you or harm your status in this town.” Tingling with hurt and anger, she tried to step around him so she could go back into the house, but he caught her by the arm.
“Don’t you dare walk away from me. We’re not finished yet.”
“We’re not finished because I won’t agree to do what you want—which is essentially nothing.”
She struggled to wriggle out of his grasp, but he wouldn’t let go. He grabbed her other arm, too, his fingers biting so deeply into her flesh she was convinced he’d leave bruises. “You need to go back to New York or wherever else you live. Tomorrow. You have no reason to stay.”
She winced beneath the lash of those words. As much as she’d been prepared for the worst, a part of her had still been hoping for the best. “You’re hurting me,” she ground out. “Let go.”
“Tell me you’re leaving town,” he said, giving her a little shake.
“You have no right to lay a hand on me.” She jerked back, hard, and managed to break his grasp.
He hadn’t expected her to be that forceful, but her escape made him angrier. She understood just how angry when she turned to go and, with a muttered, “You stupid bitch!” he shoved her from behind, sending her headfirst into the front door.
Sloane struck the thick wooden panel so hard white streaks of light burst across her vision and she nearly fell. She hadn’t quite righted herself when the door swung open and Micah filled the opening, wearing a dark glower.
“It’s time for you to go,” he said to Randy, his voice velvet over steel.
Slightly disoriented, Sloane touched the knot forming on her forehead. She staggered between the two men and tried to say something that didn’t quite reach her lips, but dazed as she was, she could discern the expression of regret and then frustration that flitted across her brother’s face. He hadn’t meant to hurt her. He just didn’t know his own strength.
At least, that was what she told herself.
“This isn’t what it looks like, Micah,” Randy said. “You have no business getting involved. Go back inside and let me finish talking to my sister. We’ll work it out between us.”
“Like you were working it out a moment ago?” Micah responded. “We could hear you shouting from inside the living room—and now this.” He gestured to Sloane’s injury, but Randy merely sneered.
“That was an accident. I didn’t mean to push her so hard. She’ll be fine.”
Micah seemed tense. He was obviously reluctant to get involved, but the violence gave him little choice. He was a police officer, after all. “She doesn’t look fine to me,” he said.
“I’m okay.” Sloane just wanted the conflict to be over, wanted to go inside and hide away in her room so she could sort out how this encounter had gone bad so quickly. She’d merely been holding her ground, trying to let her brother know that she wasn’t going to back off simply because he didn’t like what she was doing.
She hadn’t expected him to be quite as adamant as he was.
She’d also hoped he’d missed her the way she’d missed him, and that love would soften his heart enough to make him listen to her and maybe commiserate a little even if he couldn’t agree. She was his baby sister!
The men ignored her. They reminded her of two rams, locking horns. Nostrils flaring, muscles tense, they were hyperaware and particularly watchful of each other.
“We’ve always gotten along, Micah,” Randy said, his statement coming off like a warning or threat of sorts. “I’d hate to see that change.”
Sloane was tempted to reach out to her brother, to beg him to leave without causing any more trouble. She wasn’t Micah’s problem. He shouldn’t have to do this. But she was slightly afraid of Randy, which was new to her and something she’d never expected. She’d known their relationship might be strained, but she’d never dreamed his disappointment and resentment would manifest itself like it had.
Micah’s gaze never strayed from Randy’s face. “Then you’d better leave.”
“Fuck you,” Randy snapped and stalked down the walkway to his truck.
Sloane was trembling by the time he peeled away from the curb. “I—I’m sorry,” she mumbled to Micah and to Paige, who’d joined Micah at the door as Randy was walking away. “I didn’t mean to bring trouble here, or to have something like this happen in front of Trevor. I signed the lease for my own place today.” Paige already knew she’d found a place so Sloane stated it mostly for Micah’s sake. “I should be able to take possession after the weekend.”
Micah didn’t say anything. He pivoted and went back inside. It was Paige who stepped out and pulled her into a hug. “I have a bad feeling about what you’re doing,” she whispered, as though stating it out loud would only make the situation worse.
Sloane did, too. But she’d made up her mind.
There was no turning back.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Micah couldn’t forget the encounter he’d just had with Randy McBride. He’d never been a huge fan of Randy’s. He was known around town to be a bit of a hothead, someone who felt he deserved more consideration than other people, probably because, thanks to who his father was, he usually got it. But Micah had never had any trouble with him personally.
Until now.
He played a few more video games with Trevor, trying to stay long enough to reestablish a sense of calm, but he was having trouble concentrating and had been ever since he arrived. After they’d gotten back from pizza, when Trevor had insisted he come in and check out the new game, Micah had known Sloane would be there. Her car was parked out front. But Trevor had been having such a rough time lately that Micah hadn’t been willing to tell him no, which meant overlooking his own discomfort.
He’d planned to ignore Sloane, to do what he felt he should for his son and then get the hell out of there. But he couldn’t turn a deaf ear to the raised voices he’d heard out on the porch or the sickening thud that’d caused the door to reverberate. Lord knew Micah wasn’t excited to have Sloane in Millcreek, either. The sight of her yanked him back ten years, made him remember what it’d felt like to be so innocent that he’d fallen in love without the slightest comprehension of the devastation it could bring. She was a reminder of that devastation, of the hell he’d been through with his diffi
cult marriage and subsequent divorce. He was still battling the guilt he felt over letting his son down because he couldn’t love Paige enough to make her whole and happy. He didn’t want anything to do with the memories Sloane evoked, especially now, when he was trying so hard to put it all behind him and get back on his feet.
But it was a free country. She had the right to move to town if she wanted and, as a police officer, he would defend that right.
He allowed himself another glance at the back window. Paige and Sloane were sitting outside. He could see Sloane rubbing the bump on her forehead. She’d hit the door hard. He couldn’t believe Randy would be bold enough—or impulsive enough—to push her like that, especially when there were people nearby. What if her brother had waited to visit her until she’d moved into her rental house and was alone, with no one to intervene? How would that encounter have ended?
“Dad! You just died!” Trevor said with a groan. “Didn’t you see that drone coming at you?”
Micah mumbled that he hadn’t seen the drone and waited for his avatar to rejuvenate.
When he got killed again before he could even move the damn thing, Trevor laughed. “Man, you suck at this game.”
“I’m tired tonight,” Micah mumbled, but that wasn’t true. He was bursting with adrenaline from his encounter with Randy, still wanted to punch the dude for acting like such a bully. Even worse, he was filled with an awareness he hadn’t felt in a long while—sexual awareness. He couldn’t help the hormones that flooded his body whenever Sloane was around, couldn’t turn that off, which felt so defeating. After the past ten years, he’d assumed he’d beaten most of what he’d felt for her out of his heart and his brain.
His brain remembered. His heart was more stubborn.
He played for another fifteen minutes. When they couldn’t get past the second level—a level Trevor insisted should be “easy”—because he couldn’t keep up his end, Micah put down the controller. “That’s enough for tonight. You’d better get in bed.”
