Close to Home

by Lisa Jackson

  “Clint,” he corrected quickly and seemed amused that Sarah was so flustered. What was that all about?

  “He’s our neighbor,” Sarah added, then kept right on talking, “We grew up next door to each other. His place and ours share a fence line.”

  Jade narrowed her eyes as she looked at her mother. Why was she making such a big deal out of it, explaining so much?

  “Mr. . . . Clint was friends with your uncles. They were in the same class in school,” she went on, then introduced, “These are my daughters. Jade, my oldest, just had her first day at Our Lady.” She pointed to Jade, then quickly motioned toward Gracie. “And this is Gracie. She’s at the junior high.”

  “Nice to meet you, girls,” he said, his gray eyes crinkling at the corners, as if he really meant it.

  Jade mumbled a stilted “hi” while still trying to size him up. In beat-up jeans and a work jacket, he was more than six feet tall, she guessed, his hair deep brown, the shadow of a beard darkening a strong jaw. He was kind of a cowboy type, with sharp, pronounced features, and he looked like he spent a lot of time outdoors; he naturally fit into the whole Western theme. His smile when he flashed it was a little crooked, kinda sexy cool. For an old dude.

  “I see you’re planning to renovate,” he said to Sarah. “The plans came across my desk. Just today.” He glanced at the girls and explained, “I’m the building inspector for this part of the county, so you might see me walking around and checking things.”

  “The place should be condemned,” Jade blurted, and when her mother turned horrified eyes in her direction, she decided not to back down. “Come on, Mom, it’s a wreck, barely has running water, for God’s sake. Don’t act like you don’t know it.”

  “You’re living in the house?” He seemed taken aback.

  Mom launched into her story about the guesthouse and making it livable, as if that were possible.

  The whole situation was really awkward, but a couple of teenaged boys whom Jade didn’t know, each holding a skateboard in his hand, came through the front doors and broke up their little weird group. For once, Mom seemed anxious to wrap up the conversation and said, “We’ve got to go; the pizza’s getting cold.”

  “Good to see you again, Sarah.” He actually touched her, and his gaze met Sarah’s for the briefest of instants before skating to Jade and Gracie. He dropped his arm and nodded. “See you all around.”

  And then Mom hustled them outside and into the Explorer, which was just fine with Jade. Sarah threw the SUV into reverse, nearly scraping the behemoth of a pickup parked near them, then took off, tromping on the gas a little harder than usual.

  “That was kind of weird,” Jade said.

  Sarah glanced at her daughter before checking the rearview mirror, as if trying to catch a final glimpse of the guy. Or maybe just checking traffic? “It’s been a while,” she said.

  “He seemed to be glad to run into you,” Jade observed.

  “And that’s weird?”

  Jade couldn’t really explain it, the vibe she’d sensed. “He just didn’t seem the type to hang out with Uncle Joe or Uncle Jake.”

  “Mainly Joe. He and Jake didn’t get along.” Sarah’s hands were holding the steering wheel in a death grip as she pushed the speed limit, which in and of itself was odd, as if running into the neighbor had set her nerves on edge.

  “I think he likes you,” Gracie piped up from the backseat.

  Sarah laughed, but it sounded forced, and she actually blushed. Jade noticed the color crawling up the back of her neck. Really? Sarah and that Clint dude? Jade twisted in the seat to catch another glimpse of him out the back window, but the pizza parlor and strip mall were long out of sight.

  “Clint and I were friends, because he hung out with my brothers,” Sarah said.

  “Nuh-uh. You liked him too,” Gracie insisted.

  “So now you’re an authority on people’s love lives?” Jade asked, sending her sister an “I don’t believe it” glance before settling into her seat again.

  “I just know.”

  “Great. Maybe you can add psychic love expert to your abilities,” Jade muttered.

  Gracie sniffed. “Make fun all you want, but that guy really likes Mom. A lot more than Cody likes you.”

  Jade whipped around so fast her seat belt restrained her. “Cody loves me.”

  “If you say so.” Gracie actually smiled in that secretive way Jade found kind of scary.

  “Girls! Don’t.”

  Mom was obviously jittery, so Jade let it go. “Yeah, what does she know?” she asked and went back to staring out the window. But she was bugged. Gracie’s barb about Cody had hit her where she was the most vulnerable. Deep down, she sometimes wondered if she loved Cody way more than he loved her. Closing her eyes, she decided not to think about it and wouldn’t give her sister the satisfaction of knowing she’d hurt her.

  Instead, she said to Sarah, “You dated that guy or something?”

  Sarah cranked the wheel and hit the accelerator again as the county road wound upward through the surrounding hills. “Or something,” she said in a voice meant to shut down the conversation.

  “Told ya!” Gracie nearly crowed over the whine of the engine.

  Jade ignored her. God, Gracie could be so irritating. Sometimes Jade wished she’d never had a sister. “So what happened?” she asked her mother. “He dump you?”

  Mom was gazing out the windshield, driving as if by rote, as if she were thinking of something else. “We kind of . . . drifted apart. He headed back to college in southern California.”

  “And that was the end of it?” Jade asked and saw how tight her mother’s face was.

  “Yeah. Just about.”

  “Sounds like a dick.”

  Sarah’s mouth opened and closed, as if she were really going to defend the loser who had left her in this godforsaken town while taking off for the bright lights of L.A. or wherever. “It . . . was mutual.”

  Didn’t seem that way, and Gracie was all over it. “Mom, I thought you weren’t going to lie anymore.”

  “It’s not a lie, Gracie,” Sarah said, and Jade wondered about that conversation, but before she could ask, as her mother turned the Explorer into the lane for the old house, Jade heard her phone again. Quickly, she slid it out of her pocket and her heart did a triple axel.

  Cody was texting her again, which just went to prove how wrong Gracie was about him.

  Dead wrong.

  He loved her. As much as she loved him. Maybe more . . . she hoped.

  CHAPTER 11

  You’re an idiot,

  Pure and simple,

  Tossing the empty pizza carton into an open bag of trash in the kitchen, Sarah berated herself for the hundredth time. She’d told herself she would be prepared, that running into Clint Walsh was inevitable, that it was no big deal. What else could she expect in this small town? She’d heard he was the building inspector, and of course, he’d lived on the neighboring property most of his life, so naturally she’d come face-to-face with him.

  But she hadn’t expected it to happen so quickly or that she would react like a teenage girl with her first damned crush.

  “Ridiculous,” she muttered under her breath as she walked into the old woodshed with the wood carrier, pulled on a pair of gloves that were far too big, and began stacking chunks of oak and fir into the same leather tote her father had used for years. Split and stacked neatly decades ago by her father and brothers, the wood was bone-dry, dusty, and infested with spiders, their webs and egg sacs clinging to the bark and heartwood.

  Fortunately she wouldn’t have to make too many more trips out here as, according to the contractor she’d hired, the smaller but more modern quarters of the guesthouse would be ready for occupancy soon despite several construction delays.

  Which didn’t solve the problem of Clint Walsh.

  Somehow she’d have to find a way to deal with him, especially if he would soon start showing up at the house to check the progress of the
renovations, probably unannounced.

  “Great,” she muttered, hauling the load from the woodshed, along a short path and up the back stairs to the mudroom.

  She hoped she’d looked and sounded a lot cooler than she’d felt when she’d nearly stumbled into him at the pizza parlor, because being that close to him was akin to being thrown into some strange time warp in which she’d once again become a tongue-tied adolescent.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid!

  Somewhere in the middle of her sophomore year of high school, she’d overcome her shyness and her feelings of being different or odd, she thought as she carried the wood through the kitchen. That’s when she’d come into her own and decided it was okay if she wasn’t what people expected her to be. Her mother hadn’t liked the “new,” stronger Sarah, and neither had Dee Linn, who had considered her younger sister an embarrassment of epic proportions. Sarah hadn’t cared. By the time she and Clint had started dating, during her senior year, she’d found herself.

  Until today, when she’d dissolved into the kind of insecure teenager she’d once been. “Just because you were blindsided,” she told herself as she wended her way through the blankets and sleeping bags still strewn across the floor and set the carrier near the hearth. At least now the ice had been broken, and she wouldn’t have to run into him again for the first time.

  But that’s not what’s worrying you, is it? You knew you could handle facing him again, didn’t you? It’s Jade that’s the problem,

  “You say something?” Gracie asked as she appeared near one of the matching pillars that separated the parlor from the entry hall.

  “Just talking to myself.”

  “That’s the start of it, you know,” her youngest informed her. “Insanity.”

  “No start. Already there.” Yanking off her gloves, she straightened. “That’s what having two daughters does to a sane woman.”

  “I heard that!” Jade called from somewhere near the dining room. She appeared, phone in hand, texting with the dexterity of those who grew up with electronics.

  “It’s true,” Sarah said.

  “Should I ask Grandma?” Gracie asked. “About you and Aunt Dee driving her crazy?”

  “Go ahead. She’ll confirm it.” Sarah said, dusting her hands as bits of bark dust had worked through the ancient gloves. “Though she’ll probably tell you that the boys did their part as well. Sons are no picnic.”

  Without looking up, Jade said, “I don’t think Grandma can confirm anything.”

  Sarah stared at her daughter, head bent, dyed black hair falling over her face, and her throat tightened. Running into Clint had brought everything to the fore.

  What had she been thinking?

  That Jade wouldn’t ask again?

  That her eldest didn’t have the right to know about her father, her heritage, and her genetic makeup? That Clint Walsh would never know he’d fathered a child?

  Sarah had acted like a scared rabbit, and now she was paying the price, which was only going to get steeper. Like it or not, she owed Clint Walsh and Jade the right to know they were father and daughter. Each would probably ice her out. Completely.

  She should have been forthright from the get-go, the first time her daughter had asked about her father.

  Sarah still remembered the day Jade had come home from preschool with the question. “Everybody else has a daddy,” she’d announced at the dinner table. “Where’s ours?”

  And so the lie had started, one that had grown over the years and now wasn’t going to be just a simple answer, but would have to come with all kinds of explanations and, most likely, accusations.

  Though she had been adopted by Noel McAdams, Jade had known that he wasn’t her biological father and had asked for the truth. Sarah had hedged, admitting only that her real dad didn’t know that he’d fathered a child and that she hadn’t wanted to burden him with a family, as they’d both been young. That much had been true, but she’d never really named Clint because she’d seen no point. They’d broken up before Sarah had realized she was even pregnant, and by the time she’d worked up the courage to tell him, he’d already moved on and was dating someone else. No way would she have ever tied him down or burdened him with a child.

  So she’d guarded her secret, even though her mother had said to her once, “You can lie to everyone else about this, Sarah, but you can’t lie to yourself. That Walsh boy has the right to know he’s fathered a child. You’re cheating yourself and him and, most of all, your own daughter.” Arlene had guessed the truth, but kept it to herself; all the rest of her family thought Jade had been fathered by a boy she’d met soon after entering the university.

  That argument with Arlene had been the last time Clint Walsh’s name had ever been brought up, and as the years had passed, the secret had grown until it had seemed to have taken on a life of its own. When Jade had asked about meeting her biological father, which hadn’t been often, Sarah had always said, “We’ll contact him when the time is right.”

  The last time they’d had that conversation was when Jade was about twelve. One of her friends had discovered by accident that she was adopted and had been shattered. Jade had demanded answers, but since Sarah and Noel were splitting up around that time, Sarah had once again decided to keep Jade’s paternity to herself.

  However, she had known then that everything would come full circle, and now the “right time” appeared to be at hand. Whether she liked it or not.

  First she would tell Clint. She owed him that.

  And then, after gauging his reaction, she’d confide in her daughter. After Jade had settled into her life here.

  As if sensing her mother staring at her, Jade looked up. “You okay?” she asked.

  “Sure. Why?”

  “Cuz you seem worried or something.”

  If you only knew,

  Jade had so much potential. She was smart—as proven by intelligence tests, if not by grades—and she was beautiful, though she didn’t seem to know it yet. With wide hazel eyes, even features, high cheekbones, and thick hair, the girl was stunning, though she tried to hide it with oversized clothes, heavy makeup, and hair dye that had turned her natural light hair a flat black color.

  “I’m fine,” Sarah lied as she bent to the fire again and added some logs. “How about you?”

  “Okay.” Jade slid her phone into her pocket, then threw her sleeping bag onto the couch and flopped onto it.

  “And you, Gracie?” When her younger daughter didn’t look up from her tablet, Sarah repeated, “Gracie?”

  “Huh? What?” she asked as she moved a page on the electronic reader. She settled herself cross-legged on the floor in front of the fire.

  “Did you call your dad about your first day of school?” When there was no immediate response, she said, “Gracie? Put that thing down while we talk, okay?”

  Her daughter reluctantly slid the tablet onto the table. “What?”

  “Your dad wanted to talk to you,” Sarah reminded.

  “I texted him.”

  “I think he’d really like to speak to you.”

  Gracie reached for her tablet again. “I will.”

  “It’s later in Savannah. Maybe you should take care of that now.”

  “Okay, fine,” Gracie snapped, searching through the pile of blankets surrounding her. She finally found her phone and began to call.

  Sliding a glance at Jade, Sarah asked, “What about you?”

  “I already texted Dad,” Jade said, her gaze following her sister as Gracie, phone to ear, walked out of the living area. “And don’t tell me ‘it’s not the same’ like you did with Gracie. I know it’s not, but it’s what we do now.”

  “I know.”

  “Good. Because I don’t need a lecture.”

  “I wasn’t lecturing,” Sarah said.

  “You were going to, though, right? And I’ve heard it all before.” There was a pause as if Jade expected an argument. All that could be heard was the crackle of hungry flames consuming th
e dry wood, and Sarah let the moment pass.

  Jade’s phone beeped, indicating she’d gotten a text. “I’ll call him when there’s something to talk about,” she assured her mother. “Something good,” she added, a touch of irony in her words as if she didn’t expect that to happen anytime soon.

  Rosalie heard the rumble of an engine before she saw the wash of headlight beams high overhead, barely permeating the dirty glass.

  Oh, God, he was back! The perv who had captured her had returned.

  She almost threw up.

  For a second her tiny room was illuminated, and of course, there was no place to run, nowhere to hide.

  Her heart hammered wildly, and she wished there was some way she could escape. Her hands were still cuffed in front of her, which allowed her to eat and clean herself clumsily, but that was about it. She’d fantasized about somehow getting the drop on him, leaping onto his back when he’d turned away, and wrapping the short chain linking her handcuffs over his head and neck. Then she’d squeeze and pull hard, using all her weight as he frantically tried to buck her off. If she were lucky and strong enough, she might be able to crush his windpipe and cut off his air supply, strangling him as she’d seen on TV and in the movies.

  It was all she could think of to save herself.

  After her failed attempts at trying to climb over the stall wall, she’d searched the enclosure for a weapon. She was certain this stall had once held horses; it still smelled of dung and urine. She’d hoped there would be something like a nail from a horseshoe wedged into the floorboards or a forgotten currycomb tucked into a corner. She’d spent hours scouring the stall, running her fingers over the floor until they were raw and testing any crack in the flooring or walls to see if there was something that would inflict bodily harm.

  The fruits of her labor had been puny at best: A small pebble with sharp edges that had been overlooked in the corner under her cot and a hook for hanging tack. It was within her reach, but it was screwed tight to the thick board on which it had been mounted. She’d tried to dislodge it, using her broken fingernails as a screwdriver, to no avail, then pulling hard against the smooth curve of the hook and yanking with all her strength. She’d even hung from it, hoping her hundred and ten pounds would loosen it.