Before We Were Strangers

by Brenda Novak

“What? No! Don’t quit!” Trevor said. “I hardly ever get to play with you.”

  Micah checked his watch. “But it’s getting late. We’ll have to play another time. We don’t want to wear out my welcome, do we?”

  “You’re not wearing out your welcome! Mom’s busy.”

  “Which is why I should make you turn this off so she can relax with her friend and won’t need to worry about you.”

  “Her friend? Isn’t Sloane your friend, too?”

  Micah cocked an eyebrow at him. “Do you mean Ms. McBride?”

  “She told me I can call her Sloane.”

  “She did, did she?”

  “Yeah. She’s really nice. I can’t believe her brother did that to her. You can’t push people.”

  “That’s true.”

  “So isn’t he going to get in trouble?”

  “He will if he does it again.” Micah didn’t care to explain that there wasn’t a lot he could do for a shove like that, which could be construed as somewhat of an accident or unintended overreaction, especially given the fact that Randy was the mayor’s son. There was no such thing as a lost recess for an adult.

  And yet the next encounter could leave Sloane far more seriously injured.

  “Just one more game!” Trevor pleaded.

  “No more games,” Micah clarified.

  Trevor dragged his feet as he snapped off the console. “O-kay...” he said, drawing out the word as much as possible to reveal his disappointment.

  It would’ve been easy to give in. Micah felt so bad for being the reason their family was no longer a complete unit that he tended to overindulge Trevor. But he knew that wasn’t what was best for his son and was hoping to avoid such a common pitfall.

  He tousled Trevor’s hair. “You’re okay now, right?”

  “You mean about Spaulding? No. I can’t believe he’s taking Jeremy Schwimmer! Last week he told me he didn’t even want Jeremy to come to his birthday party.”

  “Then it’ll be a long weekend at Disneyland, and he might regret he didn’t invite you, but in order to be a good friend you need to let him have other friends, too. You understand?”

  Trevor hesitated. He wasn’t quite ready to admit that.

  Micah dipped his head to catch his son’s gaze. “Do you understand?”

  “I guess,” he said grudgingly.

  “So you’ll let it go? You won’t be mad at him on Monday?”

  “Yeah, I’ll let it go. But I’m not going to invite him to come along the next time I get to do something fun,” he added in a sulky voice.

  “That’s okay,” Micah said with a chuckle. “At that point, it’ll be your choice, and it’ll be his turn to respect it.”

  The slider opened and Paige and Sloane carried their empty dishes into the house.

  “I’m taking off,” he told his ex. “Thanks for letting me hang with Trevor tonight.”

  “Of course.” Her lips curved into a warm smile, one that seemed engineered to cause Sloane to assume she’d been much friendlier during and after the divorce than she really had. She was putting on an act. He knew her well enough to understand that she was a master manipulator. But what was her game now?

  He hoped to hell whatever it was had nothing to do with him.

  Micah bent to hug Trevor. “Night, kid.”

  “Bye, Dad,” he said and trailed Micah to the door, obviously reluctant to let him go.

  Sloane didn’t say anything to him, and he didn’t say anything to her as he walked out. He nodded in Paige’s general direction, which could’ve been interpreted as a nod to both of them.

  But long after he returned home, forced himself to expend all his excess energy unpacking a portion of the boxes piled up in his living room and climbed into bed, he couldn’t sleep. He kept thinking about the concern Paige had shown Sloane following the confrontation with Randy. Right after Sloane’s brother had left, and both women had come into the house, he’d heard Sloane say, “I have no idea how he even knew where to find me! Guy Prinley or his wife must’ve alerted him to the fact that I was coming to town, but how’d he know I’m staying here?”

  At which point Paige hadn’t mentioned her own trip to city hall. She’d said, “I’m sure he just assumed. We were inseparable as kids. Where else would you stay?”

  * * *

  Once Sloane said good-night to Paige—Trevor was in bed by the time they retired—and went to her room, she closed the door, leaned against it and breathed a huge sigh of relief. Tonight had been difficult in so many ways. Having Micah in the house had brought back the devastation she’d felt after she left, had reopened a wound she’d hoped had healed.

  And then there was seeing her brother for the first time since she’d graduated high school.

  She fingered the bump on her head. It was tender, and she had a headache. But that was nothing compared to what was going on with her otherwise. Randy’s unwavering faith in their father shook her confidence in what she was doing, caused the old self-doubt to spring up again; it was being unsure and unwilling to fully embrace what Ed might’ve done that had made her want to escape Millcreek in the first place.

  She was tempted to drive out of town tomorrow and spend another ten years trying to ignore the past. Maybe her mother’s remains would surface eventually and the police would be forced to open an investigation.

  But after so long, what were the chances? If she left, she’d only be procrastinating the inevitable, would have to come back and deal with this at some point, because she wasn’t wrong. What Vickie Winters had told her convinced her of that. And by then it would only be harder to find any evidence that remained. She already had twenty-three years working against her.

  She peeled off her clothes and dropped onto the mattress. She didn’t have the energy to bother with her nightgown. She wanted to pull up the blankets and pretend she was in her bungalow in the Hamptons, with Clyde still alive in the big house.

  “I should’ve come here while I had you to talk to,” she whispered to him.

  * * *

  Paige paced in her bedroom. The effects of the alcohol she’d consumed earlier had worn off, so the buzz was gone. She was glad Sloane was in bed, so she wouldn’t have to continue to pretend that Micah’s visit hadn’t left her feeling empty—no, desolate—inside. She’d been like this since the divorce and had no idea how to recover, how to get over him.

  He’d tried not to look at Sloane or speak to her tonight. Paige had witnessed the struggle. And although he’d largely maintained his indifference, that it required so much effort was revealing in its own right.

  What was it about Sloane that made her so much better than Paige? Sure, Sloane was beautiful, more beautiful than most women. Paige knew she couldn’t compete there, but that couldn’t be all Micah cared about. Paige was willing to do anything for him. Besides, she was the mother of his son, whom he adored. Why couldn’t he accept her love, crave being with her the way she craved being with him?

  She’d asked herself that question so many times it had become a constant echo, not only in her head but in her soul.

  Tonight’s going to be another long night, she thought as she opened the drapes and peered out the window, into the backyard. Part of her hoped that Randy would come back and really punish Sloane—beat her to a pulp or at least permanently mar that gorgeous face so she’d be less of a temptation to Micah. Paige felt so much hatred at times. She couldn’t believe she was capable of such negative emotion. But the other part of her, the part that loved Sloane, even admired her, felt instantly guilty. What kind of a woman was she becoming?

  Whatever the answer to that question, she had Micah to blame. It made her crazy to think he might never come back to her. God, she missed him—missed cuddling up to him while he slept, missed seeing the beauty of his tall, muscular body as he stepped out of the shower, missed the envious glances she’d re
ceived from other women when they went to dinner or to a movie. But most of all, she missed making love. She hadn’t been with anyone since, and twelve months was beginning to feel like an eternity.

  She stepped away from the window, listening to the sounds in the house. Silence. Everyone was asleep. Still, she tiptoed when she moved to the door and attempted to turn the lock without making the characteristic click. Then she crossed to her nightstand and withdrew the vibrator she’d purchased several months ago. It wouldn’t be as fulfilling, but if she turned off the lights and closed her eyes, she could pretend it was Micah.

  * * *

  As soon as she woke up the following morning, Sloane checked her phone for texts and voice mails. She was dying to hear back on the house, but Leigh Coleman hadn’t sent her any type of confirmation.

  Deflated, she dropped her phone on the bed beside her. “Shit.” Her family was probably trying to block her from getting that house, too. She attempted to tell herself they had no idea which property she might be making a run at, but, with only a small amount of effort, they could figure it out. All they had to do was call on the houses that were available, exactly as she’d done.

  Would Leigh tell Ed she’d applied for the River Bottoms mansion? Sloane hadn’t mentioned it was a secret, hadn’t wanted to alert Leigh that there might be a problem.

  With a groan, she sat up. Her head hurt from when she’d plowed into the front door, and she was afraid the knot on her forehead was even bigger.

  She’d find out when she went to the bathroom, but she wanted to make sure she didn’t get in Trevor’s way, if he was getting up, too. So she sat there, listening to see if anyone else was moving around while scrolling through some of her final texts with Clyde. He’d been in the main house and she’d been in her bungalow, trying to get a bit of cleaning done before she took him to yet another appointment when they’d had the exchange.

  They’re offering twice your normal rate.

  I don’t care. I’m on hiatus, remember?

  You’re not on hiatus. You’re committing professional suicide by refusing to work while I’m sick. I don’t expect you to take me to every doctor’s appointment, especially now that I practically live at the hospital. It’s too much. Call one of my kids. Have someone else stand in.

  She’d already called his kids. She’d actually been interested in taking the job he was encouraging her to take. It was for Badgley Mischka. She admired many of their designs, but she’d turned down the offer because she felt Clyde needed her and another model could handle the shoot.

  I want to be with you while I can.

  I don’t have long, Sloane.

  That could be true. That’s why I’m going to drive you today.

  I’m saying you need to let go sooner or later. It might as well be now.

  Let go? I will never let go of you.

  I love you as much as my real daughters. I hope you know that.

  Her eyes began to burn. Then her vision blurred as tears welled up. She’d saved that text because it was the only time Clyde had ever expressed his feelings toward her in words. He was the type who showed how he felt instead, which was what made him so trustworthy, dependable and safe. Her real father did the opposite: he might say the words, and even then very rarely, but there was no real depth of feeling there. So many times growing up she’d wondered if the man he pretended to be was only a facade.

  Leaving Millcreek had been vital for her, the best thing she’d ever done. If she hadn’t broken away, she never would’ve known what the love of a father felt like. But that meant she’d had to give up Micah. And now that Clyde was gone, she had to deal with the mess she’d left behind, not only with her former boyfriend but with her father and brother, too.

  Since she hadn’t heard anything indicating Trevor was up, she slipped into the bathroom. When she came out, Paige’s door was still closed. Apparently, Paige and Trevor were sleeping in. Sloane considered going back to bed herself, but she figured she might as well get started on what she’d come to Millcreek to do. Why waste any time? The sooner she satisfied the questions she had about her mother, the sooner she could move on to friendlier climes.

  She was about to grab her robe and her makeup bag so that she could go back into the bathroom and get showered for the day when she heard a ping. She’d received a text.

  Hoping for good news, she grabbed her phone off the bed. Hold out, she silently admonished the leasing agent. Don’t let those bastards scare you away from letting me have the house.

  But the message wasn’t from Leigh. It was from a number she didn’t recognize.

  It’s Micah. Rich Coleman just called me. You might not remember him, but he went to high school with us, was a year younger. He’s married to Leigh Coleman now. Said your father called the owner of the house and convinced him to reject your application.

  “No!” she whispered as she read those words.

  Why would Rich call you and not me? Leigh has my number.

  Leigh gave your number to Rich, who gave your number to me. Neither one of them wanted to be the one to rat out your father.

  They left that up to you? I guess they don’t know how badly you hate me now. Or maybe they do and thought you’d enjoy delivering the bad news.

  I’m not taking any pleasure in this, Sloane. Just passing along the word. Rich doesn’t want any trouble with your father. He called me to see if they should tell you your application was refused without an explanation so you didn’t have to know your own father is out there, working against you.

  I already know he is.

  Which is why I decided to be so transparent. This shows he’s not going to back down. I think that’s important for you to know.

  Yeah, well, neither will I.

  If her father made it impossible for her to get a house in Millcreek, she’d move into the only motel in town, The Wagon Wheel, and pay by the night. It wasn’t the kind of place she cared to live in, but she wouldn’t let her family—or Micah, for that matter—chase her away. Last night, Randy had hurt her feelings more than he’d hurt her head, but the more she thought about his behavior, the more indignant she became.

  How dare he show up and act like such an ass? She had as much right to be in Millcreek as he did. He and Ed didn’t own the whole town.

  You need to think carefully about staying, Micah wrote.

  I already have.

  Your father is a powerful man here.

  You want me to leave, too.

  No response.

  Thanks for that, old friend.

  We were never friends, Sloane. But I am trying to do you a favor.

  By telling me to beat it.

  If that’s how you want to put it.

  Thanks, but I’m not going. Not yet.

  Because...

  Because I plan to find out what happened to my mother whether my father likes it or not.

  Shit. I thought that must be what’s going on. You’re asking for trouble.

  Oh well. Consider me warned. You don’t have to look out for me anymore. I understand what I’m up against. I’ve got it from here.

  I don’t think you do, or...

  What? she wrote when he ended with ellipses and didn’t immediately add anything more.

  Or you wouldn’t be staying where you’re staying, came his belated response.

  What are you talking about? Paige was my best friend.

  She was also my wife. Think about it.

  She frowned as she considered his last text. He was trying to confirm what her gut had been telling her since she arrived. Paige wanted to be friends again, but jealousy made true friendship impossible—at least right now, while the divorce was still fresh. Got it. I’ll make other arrangements.

  She told herself to delete their exchange as well as his number. He obviously didn’t want anything to do with her. You real
ly screwed up my life, he’d said.

  But she sat there for over fifteen minutes and couldn’t bring herself to hit the delete button. She actually did the opposite and added him to her contacts. Although she promised herself she’d never call him, somehow she found it comforting having him back in her phone.

  CHAPTER NINE

  When Sloane finished packing and came out of the bedroom, she found Paige sitting at the dining room table in her robe, sipping a cup of coffee while reading on her phone. Sloane had heard her get up, had heard Trevor turn on the TV, too. He glanced over as she moved past him with her bags, but he didn’t say anything. He was too engrossed in his movie.

  “You’re leaving?” Paige said. “You got the house?”

  Sloane set her luggage in the entryway. “Sadly, no.”

  The chair squeaked as Paige scooted away from the table. “So where are you going?”

  “Since my father and brother are acting up, I figure I’d better get out of here. I wouldn’t want there to be any more trouble, especially with Trevor around.”

  “You’re expecting it to get worse?”

  “Weren’t you the one who was worried about that last night?”

  “Yes, but somehow, now that he’s gone and that bump on your head looks a little better, expecting the worst seems overly dramatic.”

  “Maybe it is, but I can promise it won’t get any better. The battle lines have been drawn, you know?”

  Paige got up and walked over. “But you didn’t get the house, so what are your other options? You’re not going back to New York...”

  “No.”

  “Will you base out of Dallas or what?”

  “I won’t do that, either. I’m not leaving Millcreek. It’ll be too hard to drive back and forth all the time.” She needed to become part of the community again, to get people to open up to her. They wouldn’t do that if they didn’t feel they could trust her.

  “So where are you going?”

  “To the motel.”

  Her forehead crumpled. “What motel?”