I went.
“How is Walt?” I asked as she led me in the front door.
“Stubborn, opinionated, and loud.”
“So basically the same.” I kicked off my shoes and lined them up against the wall, promising myself that I’d remember them this time.
“People don’t tend to change without good reason, and the Lord’s never given Walter one, that’s for sure. Plus he’s still as good-looking as ever, which doesn’t exactly seem fair. Now, let’s get you something to drink and have us a little chat.”
I followed Dorothy down the hallway I’d taken my first steps in, pausing when I noticed Xander’s and Sullivan’s senior pictures hanging in the hallway.
There was a frame-size rectangle of darker-colored paint where mine had hung. Not that I had to wonder where it had gone. I’d found it earlier today in one of the boxes Willow had salvaged from my exorcism, along with my baby box, where Mom had kept my first lock of hair, tooth, all that stuff.
Willow, who’d never broken a damned rule in her life unless I’d been the one pushing her, had rescued my childhood from destruction. A little spark of…whatever lit in my chest with that thought, and I quickly shut it down and shoved it as far away from me as possible. Willow was so untouchable that she didn’t even go on the untouchable list. She went on the unthinkable one.
And yet, here I was…thinking.
“Well, are you coming?” Dorothy asked from the kitchen.
“Yes, ma’am.” I glanced down the hall to the living room, where I heard Walter’s boisterous laugh, then made my way into the kitchen.
Mom’s cherry cabinets were faded in places from sunlight, and the apple wallpaper she’d hung peeled at the corners, but other than that, it looked exactly the same.
“Coffee?” Dorothy offered, motioning to a steaming pot under the ancient coffeemaker.
“No, thank you.” I pulled out the chair closest to the wall and sat at the table.
“Suit yourself.” She poured herself a cup and sat down across from me. “What happened out there with your father—and his gun—was unfortunate.”
“That’s putting it mildly.” I set my notebook on the table, covering the unfinished splotch on the wood where I’d spilled Mom’s nail polish remover twenty years ago.
“I would say that I’m sorry, but if I apologized for every inappropriate thing your father did or said, I’d never shut up.” She shrugged, then sipped.
My lips turned up at the corners. “You’re funnier than I remember.”
“I’ve always been this funny. You were never mature enough to appreciate it.”
“I wasn’t mature enough to appreciate a lot of things.” The admission was easy because I’d never hurt her with my actions. The chances of me saying that to Dad? To Xander? To Willow? I wasn’t quite that mature yet.
Dorothy’s eyebrows shot up. “And now you’re home to help.”
“I am.”
She nodded slowly, assessing me in a way that made me take my elbows off the table. “Okay, then.”
Tension unraveled in my chest, easing a burden I hadn’t realized I was carrying.
“Tell me what he needs.” I clicked the pen and opened the notebook to a fresh page. “What I can do and what he won’t let me do.”
Dorothy smiled and began.
He needed a night nurse, since there was no telling if he’d kick me out at any given moment and Xander deserved to sleep at his own place. She could handle days, but hiring someone to pick up the slack was a good idea, too.
I swallowed, realizing Dad needed around-the-clock care.
“I gave Xander a list of names from Dr. Sanderson, but he said they were too expensive.”
Halting my pen, I looked up at Dorothy. She had to have misspoken.
“I know.” She waved me off.
Unless Dad had gone on a spending spree in the last decade, there was zero chance he couldn’t afford it. We’d grown up knowing the financial worth of our family and how to spend responsibly so that worth didn’t diminish.
“I’ll talk to Xander,” I said with a curt nod.
Dorothy continued, and my little list became not so little anymore.
“Xander does his best,” she assured me. “That boy is a saint.”
“Sure is.” Guilt sat in my stomach like a rock, but I managed a nod. Alexander’s sainthood wasn’t exactly news to me.
I’d just finished writing down her last recommendation when Walter’s and Dad’s voices drew closer.
“Thank you,” I said to Dorothy, getting to my feet quickly.
“—and you know there’s no telling—” Walter’s eyebrows rose toward his salt-and-pepper hairline. “Welcome home,” he said softly, reaching for my hand. Dorothy was right—Walter hadn’t aged much. His dark skin was unwrinkled with the exception of the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes, and his brown eyes still held a ready smile.
“Thank you,” I replied, shaking his hand. He stood between the exit and me, making the kitchen window look like a good option if not for the thirty-foot drop to the ground below. Damned walkout basement.
“He looks good, doesn’t he, Walt?” Dad asked, slapping his best friend on the back.
We both turned to stare at him in shock.
Dad’s grin only widened as he held my gaze. “So young to be so accomplished, too. Definitely a man to be proud of.”
“He is,” Walt agreed.
My breath paused, as if sucking in any of the air would pop this moment like the little bubble it was.
“I’m so surprised to see you here,” Dad went on.
“I just stopped by to see if you needed anything,” I said carefully.
His smile softened. “Such a good kid. Dorothy, why the heck didn’t you tell me Rich was home from college?”
Air gushed from my chest like a deflated balloon. Rich was ten years older than me and owned Alba’s only auto body shop. Which meant not only did Dad not know who I was, he didn’t know what year it was.
“Art,” Walter began, his tone dropping.
I caught his eye and shook my head. It wasn’t worth it.
Walter’s shoulders sagged, but he nodded.
“I never quite know what the boy is up to.” Dorothy patted me on the back as she walked to Dad. “He’s just headed home now.”
Taking the cue, I grabbed the notebook and headed for the door. I couldn’t ask Dad about the voicemail now anyway. I needed him lucid and not hating me. Hell, I would have taken either at the moment.
“It really is good to see you,” Dad told me with a warm smile.
For that millisecond, I let myself pretend he was actually talking to me. That he had missed me and wanted me home.
“You too.”
I exited quickly, grabbed my shoes, and took them out on the porch, sitting on the steps to get them on. The door opened and shut behind me as I finished with the second one.
“That must have been tough,” Walter said as he sat beside me, resting his forearms on the knees of his dress pants.
“Which part? Him not knowing who I was? Or him being happy to see me?” I looked over the driveway to the break in the pines where the mountains showed through. “It’s all fine.”
He looked at me and sighed. “You know, I think it doesn’t matter that we’re grown men. There’s always a part of us that looks for our father’s acceptance, his approval. Even if we don’t recognize it or even fight it, it still stings when it doesn’t come.”
“I gave up on that a long time ago, Walt.”
“Even so, I’m glad you’re here, Cam.”
“That makes one of you.”
“Art is happy, too. He just can’t always show it.”
“He literally shot me the day before yesterday.” My chest ached like hell.
He cringed. “Okay,
well…” His eyes met mine. “Honestly, I’ve got nothing.”
“It’s okay.” I stood, savoring the chill in the air as the wind kicked up. “I’d rather he treat me like he did just now. I can help him a lot more if I’m not dodging bullets.”
“He’s pretty hit-or-miss these days, not going to lie. Half the time I’m up here, he knows who I am but might confuse what year it is, like you just saw.”
“And the other half?”
“Those days are tougher. If you’d told me a decade ago that Arthur Daniels would lose his mind to early-onset Alzheimer’s, I would have laughed you off the mountain. Not as stubborn and strong-willed as he is.”
There was a lot about this last decade I wouldn’t have believed. Losing Sullivan was at the top of that list.
“How’s Simon?” I asked, trying to remember my manners and change the subject at the same time.
Walt grinned. “That boy is something else. He’s practicing family law in Buena Vista now.”
“That’s great. You have a lot to be proud of.” Simon had always been one of the straight shooters, from what I remembered.
“You do, too, Cam. I mean that. It took a lot to come back here.”
I nodded and lifted my notebook. “I guess I’ll get on this. Or at least what he’ll let me do.”
“Do you need anything? I doubt your dad or Alexander asked.”
“I’m okay up at Cal’s. Or I guess it’s not Cal’s anymore. It’s mine.” Not that it hadn’t always felt like more of a home than this one, but it was weird without Cal there.
“Okay, well, if you change your mind or if you need a job or anything, just let me know. This town isn’t always the easiest to come back to. Believe me, I know.” He stood, tucking his thumbs into the belt loops of his jeans.
“Thank you for the offer.” I had pretty good savings, so I wasn’t worried just yet. But I appreciated it, knowing the fine people of Alba wouldn’t support Walter offering me a job at the Rowan Inn, given that it was the largest hotel in Alba. Then again, there weren’t a lot of job openings for a civil engineer around here.
“And you should come to the Historical Society meeting next week,” he urged. “I know you didn’t have any interest when you were younger, and of course Alexander has been exercising your dad’s vote, but nothing reminds Alba that you’re a local more than showing up to a Historical meeting. Just a thought.”
Xander exercised Dad’s vote? What else did he take care of?
I was taking a risk, opening my mouth, but Walter was Dad’s best friend and had been since they were kids, so he’d find out eventually anyway.
“Does Xander oversee Dad’s medical care, too?”
The skin between his eyebrows puckered. “Yes. He holds his medical power of attorney. Why?”
“Just trying to get the lay of the land. Plus, I have a couple questions.” My thumb rubbed over the canvas spine of my notebook.
“Alexander takes him to all his appointments, but now that you’re home, I’m sure he’d be happy to share that duty with you. Might free up his time. You are home, right? For good?”
“Seems like it. I can’t really help him if I’m not here, whether he wants me or not.”
“Fair enough.” He glanced at my tattooed arms, bare to the elbow from where I’d pushed up the sleeves of my shirt. “One word of advice?”
I didn’t answer, and I didn’t have to. Walter was going to give it to me even if I didn’t want it.
“I know I’m not your dad or even your uncle, but let’s pretend you give a damn what I think. Keep out of trouble, Camden.” If his voice hadn’t been so soft, I would have scoffed.
My muscles stiffened, but I held his stare as he continued.
“I know you’re a good man, not because of who you were as a teen but because that reckless boy grew into the man who came back when his family called. You knew what you were walking into, given what happened when you were here last, and that speaks volumes to your character—to who you are now. But some people in town, namely ones named Hall, aren’t going to give you a fair shake. He’s still counting every mark you’d racked up from a decade ago, if what he was saying this morning at Earl’s was any indication. He’s looking for the first reason to lock you up or throw you out.”
The warning was oddly touching, even though my inner teenager wanted to throw it back in his face and tell him to mind his own business.
“You all still meet up at Earl’s?” That old barbershop was on the receiving end of more gossip than Ivy’s Salon.
“Haven’t you noticed that nothing changes around here?” He grinned.
“Yeah, I’m beginning to catch on.” I started down the steps and turned as I reached the hood of the Jeep. “And thank you. I appreciate the warning.”
His eyebrows rose a fraction. “You’re welcome. And if you need anything, you know where to find me. Just don’t make me post bail, okay?” His lips quirked up in a failed attempt to keep a straight face.
“Hey, that was only once. Twice, if you count the time—”
“I do. Everyone does. It’s good to see you, Camden.”
My lips pressed into a line, and I offered a nod. Then I got the hell out of there.
…
“When I said ‘let’s get together,’ I didn’t mean it had to be tonight or at the bar,” I said to Xander as we held down the back-corner table at Mother Lode, Alba’s only bar, a few days later. “It’s Saturday night. I’m sure you have better things to do than hang with your little brother.”
Xander leaned back in his seat and loosened his tie, his suit coat already draped across the back of the chair. “I haven’t seen you in years. Of course I’m going to jump at the chance to have dinner with you twice in a week.”
“You could have jumped at Bigg’s,” I offered. “Man, I’ve missed those burgers.”
“We can grab them tomorrow if you want. It’s not like we’re on a time line anymore, right?”
“Right.” Because I was never leaving this little slice of anachronism. “Are you sure you can hang at the bar, Mr. Mayor?” I looked out from the corner and noted at least twenty people, all doing their best not to look like they were staring at us.
One of those people was Tim Hall, who didn’t bother hiding his glare. At least the jukebox blared a rotating selection of eighties rock, keeping the bar loud enough that our words weren’t fodder for gossip.
Xander laughed, drawing even more eyes. “It’s not like I’m the mayor of New York City. Besides, it makes me approachable. At least that’s what I tell myself.”
I shook my head. “Born politician.”
“I’ve been keeping the peace pretty much since you were born, so why not do it professionally?” He sipped at the bottle that held his microbrew. “You just waiting to get adjusted to the altitude?” He motioned at my water.
“Nope.” I watched the ice move as I swirled my glass. “I don’t drink anymore.”
Xander’s eyes widened. “Since when?”
“Since the day we buried Sullivan.”
He flinched and set the bottle on the table. “Because…”
“Because bad things happen when I drink, and to be honest, I’m too good at killing people to lose control. Look what I did to you.” I rubbed my eyebrow, and his mouth tightened. “I never told you how sorry I was. How sorry I am.” How fucking sick I felt every time I saw the scar.
“No. This was not your fault.” Xander shook his head and leaned forward, keeping our conversation private in the noisy bar. “I grabbed your shoulder. I knew how messed up you were from Afghanistan. I knew better. You reacted. That’s on me. Not you.”
“I was beating the shit out of Oscar Hudgens in the snack aisle of the gas station. You stopped me, and I threw you through a damned window.” My grip tightened on my glass. “Don’t excuse my fuckup.”
&n
bsp; “Oscar deserved it.” He shrugged, dropping his voice low. “I heard what he said about moving in on Willow, since Sully was gone.”
Rage, as unsettling as it was comfortingly familiar, locked my jaw for a moment, and I sucked a breath in through my nose, noting that Oscar held down a seat at the bar. Even all these years later, I wanted to bash his head into the bar top. Unlike all those years ago, I’d learned how to control my temper…for the most part.
Willow was the only woman I’d ever gone to blows over. That night hadn’t been the first time, either.
“I don’t think I would have stopped,” I admitted and turned my baseball cap backward so he could see my eyes. See that I meant it.
“I know.” His thumbnail pushed under the beer’s label. “You know Charity owns this place now, right?”
“I didn’t,” I answered, thankful for the change of subject.
He nodded back toward the bar, so I leaned to the left and saw a pretty brunette talking to our waitress.
“Never thought I’d see the day that Judge Noah Bradley’s daughter owned this place. Did he have a heart attack?”
“Nah,” Xander replied. “Doesn’t talk to her much, though. Not since Rose was born, I guess. That all happened while I was gone. You know how he gets when he feels like he holds the moral high ground.”
“His daughters—and granddaughter—be damned, I guess,” I muttered. The news of Charity’s pregnancy hit right before I left for basic, ripping through the town like a machete, dividing the population into Team Charity and Team Noah. No one sided with Gabe, who’d abandoned both his high school sweetheart and his unborn kid for a few years.
My fingers rubbed together, as if they still rolled that little onyx rook I’d left on Willow’s windowsill that night so she wouldn’t miss it. Not that she’d needed me when she had Sullivan. She’d been far better off.
“Fathers.” Xander sighed, tipping back his beer.
“Speaking of fathers,” I jumped in, only to pause when our waitress brought two orders of eggs and bacon.
“Thanks, Jenny,” Xander told the young woman, who looked to be about five years younger than I was.
She tossed me a skittish glance, and I thanked her, which earned me a shy smile.
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