by Jenny Rabe
Something Old
Jenny Rabe
Contents
Dedication Page
1. Emilie
2. Dean
3. Emilie
4. Dean
5. Emilie
6. Dean
7. Emilie
8. Dean
9. Emilie
10. Dean
11. Emilie
12. Dean
13. Emilie
14. Dean
15. Emilie
16. Dean
17. Emilie
18. Dean
19. Emilie
20. Dean
21. Emilie
22. Dean
23. Emilie
24. Dean
25. Emilie
26. Dean
27. Emilie
28. Dean
29. Emilie
Epilogue
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What’s Next
1
2
Also by Jenny Rabe
About the Author
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
Cover design by Victorine Lieske. © 2020
Copyright © 2020 Jenny Rabe
First edition. April 20th, 2020.
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 9798632345590
To my witty and brilliant Aunty Sue, who has never missed a birthday and makes anyone in the room feel like a million bucks.
1
Emilie
The tiny ballerina figurine hanging from the rearview mirror danced and twirled as Emilie Carter turned right onto Prospect Street. She inhaled sharply. Though the street looked the same, the sight of the Victorian homes and willow trees that towered over the road took her breath away.
And not in a good way.
As she passed each neighbor’s house, she focused on the things she loved seeing—Miss Walker’s red tulips, Mr. and Mrs. Johnson’s old Chihuahua barking from behind the fence, and Mr. Raven’s porch chair where he kept watch over the neighborhood.
Emilie’s phone rang, startling her from thoughts of her hometown. She pulled over and answered the third call from her roommate.
“You called twenty minutes ago. Girl, I’m fine.”
“Are you in Danvers yet?” Bridgett asked. “It’s not too late to turn around and come back to Boston. Your bed’s still empty, and I have a fridge full of food.”
As far as Emilie was concerned, it was too late. “Already here, and I am not turning around.”
Bridgett sighed heavily into the phone. “Promise me you’ll come back before our next tour starts in six months.”
A stab of disappointment plunged into Emilie’s stomach. It was the first time in three years she wouldn’t be dancing with Elite, Boston’s top-rated contemporary dance company. No more costumes and rehearsals and performances. Freeing up her schedule should’ve given her relief, yet here she was, a complete and utter wreck.
She gripped the steering wheel and closed her eyes for a few seconds to think. There was so much to do that it made her head spin. Sell the house, get the old dance studio up and running, improve her technique, and most importantly, stop hiding from the past. “We’ve already talked about this. Chances are it’ll take longer than six months, but I’ll try.”
“At least you’ll be dancing. You’re too talented to let those skills go to waste.”
If she could dance again. Emilie’s confidence was as shaky as her legs after a ten-hour rehearsal. Her focus for dancing had crumbled in the past year, and she knew getting closure to her past was the key.
“I’d better go. The sooner I begin this process, the faster I can return to Boston.”
Bridgett gave another pathetic sigh. “I’ll be waiting on pins and needles.”
Emilie gathered her strength and mustered some enthusiasm. “Have fun tonight with the team. I’m sure they’re celebrating, now that they’re on break.” Her throat constricted as she said goodbye and turned off the phone.
Emilie counted to ten to calm herself. Everything was fine. She’d clean up her past and then go back a better, more stable person.
Mind made up, she put her jeep into drive and eased down the secluded street. Her spirits lifted when she passed Miss Gail’s house. Other neighbors she’d keep at a safe distance, but Gail had been a surrogate mom to her since middle school when her own mother fell ill. Emilie couldn’t wait to visit the charming woman after settling in and unpacking. Since she couldn’t slow the heavily loaded car any more without completely stopping in the street, she turned into the driveway of her childhood home.
The house looked exactly the same, like time had stood still. She’d hired Dean Wright, her one and only friend from high school, to put the place back into shape. It was only a year since they’d reconnected, but his phone calls and texts had given her the strength to move home and face her demons. He was the only part of coming home she was actually anticipating. Dang, he’d done an amazing job! Even the grass was trimmed and the bushes pruned.
But a fresh coat of paint and new shutters didn’t replace the uneasiness growing in the pit of her stomach as she stared at her old home. Whoever bought the house would create new memories, hopefully far happier than hers.
Her gaze swept up to one of the two large windows on the second floor. Her stomach roiled with nausea. The dark windows stared back at her, making her skin crawl. She focused on the key waiting in the ignition. After another second, she turned off the jeep and got out.
She checked her reflection in the car window and grimaced. Everything about Emilie was long. Her too plain brown hair tied back in a ponytail, her strong, graceful legs, even her face. She shook away her mournful thoughts and glanced up at the sky. The warm sunshine washed over her skin, giving her enough reason to stall.
After a good stretch, her legs relaxed, and she forced her feet to move closer to the house. The keys shook in her hand as she stretched to unlock the side door. The lock clicked, and Emilie turned the knob while keeping her free hand firmly on the edge of the door frame. She peered through the darkness, wishing the air could magically erase any bad memories.
“Emilie? Is that you?”
She turned to see Miss Walker jogging down the street. New fear rippled through Emilie. Not ready to face anyone, she forced a smile and waved before shutting herself inside. The door slammed into place with only a slight touch. She flipped on the kitchen light and spun around, breathing hard.
The room smelled of cinnamon, nothing like the potent rose perfume her mom used whenever she burned a meal. The kitchen walls remained a happy yellow, and the furniture in the sitting room was in place. Everything was still and perfectly fine. At least that’s what Emilie told herself over and over as she stared at her childhood home.
Not all the memories of this place were bad. The home had been filled with laughter and happiness for many years. Only the last few months had been heart-wrenching as her mom’s mental illness wreaked havoc in Emilie’s life.
Thoughts of those years fell to the back of her mind as she took in the aroma of the room again. The cinnamon was a nice touch and gave her the courage she needed.
She dropped the keys on a tiny corner table and glanced around the tidy house. Nostalgia settled in, and suddenly she wanted to see everything. Taking a small tour, she peeked into the sitting room to see the velvet couches and pictures of roses on the walls. Beyond the sitting room was the dining room, where her mom’s antique red dishes sat in the china hutch.
Her mom’s bathroom was in impeccable condition with all its pink fixtures, but Emilie avoided going into the adjoining bedroom. Dean had said the downstairs didn’t need a lot of repair.
Only the upstairs needed
a major overhaul. Emilie moved slowly through the hall until she reached the old playroom filled with her childhood toys. The adjacent room was her bedroom, a place filled with happy childhood memories.
And the place where her mom’s life ended.
She peeked in, hardly believing it looked the same. Her room was just as she left it, but the air smelled of window cleaner and old linens. Two small twin beds, one for her and one for her best friend, Ava, who frequently stayed the night. Correction: ex-best friend. Her pain vibrated inside, spreading its vicious blackness. When her mom was diagnosed with schizophrenia and her dad left them, she’d pushed everyone away, including Ava.
If Emilie had told more people, it would’ve helped her to better cope, but her mom made her promise to keep it a family secret. Over a period of eight years, her mom deteriorated before her eyes. In the last few months of her life, the episodes had increased until the relentless voices in her mom’s head convinced her to end her life. Somehow, Emilie had prevented most of the gossipy little town from knowing the truth about her mom’s death.
Emilie shook away thoughts of the past, not ready to deal with those emotions. Instead, she continued her scan of the room. A small wooden dresser still stood in the corner, and a mirror hung on the back of the closet door. Her gaze darted up to the window, the one place in the room she used to love. The outlook provided a view of the whole street and the corner of the next street where Dean lived.
Finally, her eyes fell to the floor where a dark bloodstain still remained. All the scrubbing in the world couldn’t remove it. After a full day of trying, she’d left it there as a fresh reminder of what she’d lost.
She closed her eyes and images of her mother filled her mind. Her old room was still too familiar and seeing it picked at the secure Band-Aid she’d left on her heart. Her throat tightened, the collar of her shirt too constricting. She pulled at her shirt, whisking it away from her skin like a fan. That Band-Aid was not ready to come off.
She had to get out and fast.
Emilie hurried down the stairs, grabbed her keys, and headed for the door. Even though the better part of the morning had been spent in her car, she needed to go for a drive. She couldn’t stay in that house a second longer.
2
Dean
Dean Wright whistled as he prepared the boat for an early morning of fishing. Three in the morning and not another soul in sight. Perfect. His bones told him it was going to be a good day.
He patted Snapper, the boat he’d inherited from his father, then started the engine. It sputtered to life in the unusually quiet morning, giving him a little thrill. The water was his favorite place to be.
Dean maneuvered through the dark, shallow waters leading to the Porter inlet. His boat stayed docked in Beverly, a town fifteen minutes from Danvers, well worth the drive. His fishing business supplied most of the restaurants and grocery stores in Danvers and surrounding cities. Work kept him busy and doing well financially. Fishing all day was his dream job, and he figured life couldn’t be much better.
Until Emilie had shown up.
Water sloshed underneath the boat, splashing and gurgling as the boat accelerated into open waters. After an hour, Dean turned on the boat spotlights and trawled for his next catch. The method of dragging a net across the water as he moved was faster than waiting for fish to swim past the net but still time consuming. The brackish water rocked against the rope. If he found a good spot, the net would only take a few hours to fill. He looked out over the water. Too dark to see much, but the sound of the waves lapping against each other set him at ease.
It wasn’t long before his thoughts drifted back to Emilie. For the first time since high school, she was coming home to stay. His insides rocked like the moving boat at the possibility of seeing her every day, her long brown hair shimmering in the sun and that smile that always brought him a sense of peace. Her looks were only a bonus. She had a compassion he’d never found in any other woman. Her teenage years had been stripped from her, and yet, she’d served her mother faithfully until the end, doing more than she should have at her young age.
The two of them had been inseparable since middle school, when she was assigned as his biology partner in seventh grade. He stayed by her side when her mom fell sick. They drifted apart some after she’d dated Finn in high school, but his feelings remained the same. For him, she had been the only one he ever wanted to date. If only he could work up the courage to tell her…
Before long, the ropes wriggled and shook against the boat, indicating the net was full. He checked his watch. Less than two hours. A new record. Maybe getting on the water earlier was the way to go.
After he pulled up the net and plopped it into the boat’s belly, he went through the tedious task of sorting the fish. He stuck the bigger ones in a cooler of ice, threw the other fish back, and moved locations. After dropping the net twice more, the cooler was packed to the brim. By the time he pulled into the dock a couple of hours later, his team was packed and ready to pull out in their other boat.
The sun rose, blinding him momentarily. He pulled his old, worn ball cap over his shaggy hair. When he blinked back the floating spots in his vision, a happy sight met him. Sammy, his fishing partner, waited on the dock, his arms crossed and a silly grin on his face.
Sammy Seo had moved from Samoa to Massachusetts four years ago. He was the fastest fish cleaner in their little community. He’d caught Dean’s eye in a fish market out in Boston, right along the wharf. Dean would never forget that day. The islander had moved his knife with lightning speed, a big smile plastered on his face the whole time.
As Sammy helped him tie up the boat, his ribs poked out at odd angles, showing off how skinny he was. His long dreadlocks covered his long face as he moved.
“Hey, tagata malie,” Sammy said in his deep voice. “Tagata malie” was the Samoan word for “funny man” and was Sammy’s nickname for Dean. “Why you go out so early? The little fishies are still sleeping.”
“Check out my catch, and then you’ll really have a reason to laugh.”
He led Sammy to the boat’s stern to show off his work. The cooler door opened with a loud hiss, and Sammy leaned over to get a better view.
His friend’s dark eyes widened as he stared at the fish. “Where did you go, man?”
Dean scratched the side of his head and readjusted his hat. “I think I took a right,” he teased. Every fisherman knew the area even in their sleep.
The islander laughed loudly, slapping him hard on the back. “You funny, man.” For such a skinny guy, he was mighty powerful. Dean rubbed his back where Sammy’s hand had been.
“Good thing you caught so much. A big order came in last night.” Sammy grabbed the handle of the cooler and wheeled it toward the dock. “Better start chopping.”
“By the way, I’ll be doing earlier shifts for a while.”
Sammy paused and eyed him. “Oh, that’s right. Your girl comes back today.”
Dean’s voice was husky as he shot back an answer. “She’s never been my girl.”
“That’s because you gotta man up and tell her you like her.”
If only Sammy knew how much Dean had tried to convince Emilie to stay and finish her senior year of high school. He’d never forget the haunted look in her eyes when she told him she was moving in with her dad in Pittsfield. Short of telling her how he really felt about her, he tried everything, but she was dead set on leaving.
Sammy swiped at the sweat on his forehead. “It was a coincidence you met up with her a year ago.”
More like luck. A year ago, he’d been delivering fish to the same restaurant where she happened to be eating. “Right place at the right time. I’m just glad she asked me to help on the repairs for her house. Thanks for that again, man.”
Sammy wiped more sweat from his face with the back of his hand. “Think she’ll like the renovations on the basement?”
Dean worried the most about that. He and his team had spent weeks renovating the ‘du
ngeon’ in hopes it would allow her to make new memories. “We’ll have to see. If not, I’m not changing things back to what they were. That basement was a disaster.”
His friend chuckled. “We finished the job months ago. What’s taken her so long to move back?”
The truth was it had taken her a year to even decide to move back, but that was not his story to tell. Dean studied his friend and decided to tell him a half-truth. “She was on tour with her dance company, and I’ve been fixing up the other parts of the house. I really only have one room left, but I’m waiting for her approval. Now, come on. Talking about this makes me anxious to see her.” He grabbed the keys and headed to the docks, pausing only as Sammy lifted the cooler onto the cutting table with his strong arms.
“I’ll make sure the boys don’t party too much when you’re not around.”
Dean gave him a sly smile and laughed. “You a boss? Do you ever stay on task when you’re not cutting up fish?”
“Never.” Sammy’s grin widened. “Now, go shower. You smell like seaweed.”
Usually, when Dean drove home from work, he took a detour down Emilie’s street. It was a roundabout way to get to his house on the corner of Prospect, but the route helped him feel close to her when she wasn’t around.
Today, he had to claw the side of his leg with his free hand to keep from driving past her house. If she were home, he wouldn’t be able to pass up the opportunity to stop and see her. The last thing he wanted was for her to get a whiff of the fish on his hands and clothes.
