The House Guests

by Emilie Richards

  Cassie’s own words surprised her. “We can’t take responsibility that was his, neither of us should, or it’ll sink us. I hope rehab worked better for you than it did for Mark?”

  Elana looked surprised that Cassie had asked. She gestured toward the baby’s room. “I have Jeremy. Falling apart isn’t an option. Every day gets a little easier, and I’ve made friends here. I go to meetings regularly. My parents live in a suburb of Buffalo, and they’re back in my life. They adore their grandson.”

  Cassie got to her feet. “I’m going to leave now.”

  Elana rose, blocking Cassie’s path. “I don’t know how to ask this.”

  “Go ahead and spit it out.”

  “Mark didn’t live long enough to earn back what he gave me, did he? And the money he gave me was yours before he put it in my account.”

  Cassie had imagined every possible scenario for the visit, but never this one. “Why are you asking?”

  “Sometimes reciting the twelve steps is the only thing that gets me through a day.” Obviously, they were ingrained in her memory because she began to recite. “We made a list of all persons we had harmed and became willing to make amends to them all. We made direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others.” She paused. “I also have my son to consider.”

  Cassie felt something welling deep inside her. Not tears. Not admiration, but the ragged beginnings of understanding. For one brief moment in his life, Mark had allowed himself to face the flawed, imperfect man who had always lived inside him. That night, this woman had helped him survive the terror.

  She didn’t know what Elana had meant, and she wasn’t sure Elana knew, either. But she met her gaze and didn’t ask for an explanation. “There were no drugs in his system when they found his body, but I can’t help wondering if he died by his own hand.”

  She had surprised Elana again. “Never. He would never have done that to you or your daughter. When he walked away from his son, he made it clear how much he loved you both. No matter what he was going through, how guilty and torn he felt, he would never have resolved anything with suicide.”

  They stood staring at each other, then finally Cassie moved past her. She opened the door and turned for one more look. “Take care of that little boy.”

  “He’s my life.”

  Cassie stepped outside and closed the door behind her.

  Epilogue

  CASSIE BECKONED TO ROXANNE, who was ready to haul one of the lighter loads to their new house. Her aunt had arrived with the sun, but the movers had arrived even earlier to take advantage of slightly cooler temperatures. Unfortunately, August in Tarpon Springs wasn’t even cool at midnight, and Cassie hoped they could get the worst of the move finished by noon.

  “Maybe Savannah’s party wasn’t such a bad thing after all,” Cassie said as Roxanne came to stand beside her. “At least I don’t have as much furniture to move.”

  The new house wasn’t new to Roxanne. She had sold Cassie her cheerful little bungalow, and in turn, Cassie had sold this house in Sunset Vista to a young family who was moving in next week. Two weeks ago, at the end of July, Roxanne had moved into the newly renovated apartment above the Kouzina, the first of several planned renovations for the old building. She was now literally on top of things, exactly where she wanted to be. In May Yiayia had officially turned over the restaurant to Roxanne, right before leaving to visit family in Greece with Buck. The two senior citizens had chosen to travel on a cruise ship, and the last Cassie had heard, Yiayia was making a killing in the ship’s casino.

  In the months since Darryl Hawken’s arrest, so many things had changed Cassie found it hard to keep up.

  “Right,” Roxanne said. “And if Savannah hadn’t found that money and spent it, you wouldn’t have met Amber. And if you hadn’t met Amber—”

  “Croville County, West Virginia, would still have its corrupt sheriff, and Amber and Will would still be running.”

  “Funny how things work out, isn’t it? Mama, for one.”

  When the story of Yiayia flinging hot grease at a killer had hit the news, Yiayia had instantly become a local celebrity, leading kitchen tours and filling the Kouzina with customers for weeks afterward. Roxanne said her mother had just been waiting for the right finale, and since nothing like that would ever happen twice, once the excitement died down, she released her grip on the Kouzina and turned the business over to her daughter, giving Cassie part ownership, too.

  Cassie signaled one of the movers, who was carrying a potted plant, and pointed toward her car. The young man nodded and changed course. “Are you looking forward to the rest of the Kouzina renovations?”

  “It’s going to be a mess, but I’ll be right there to make sure my part’s done right.”

  Next week the restaurant was closing until the end of October. Roxanne would get her open kitchen and enhanced storage, and Cassie her bright little shop and party room. Cassie’s sale of the house in Sunset Vista had helped raise the cash for her portion of the renovations. She, Roxanne and Amber had worked with a local architect and builder, gotten necessary permits and were ready to begin.

  “I’ll be close enough to be there every day, too,” Cassie said. “Savannah and Will can walk to school if needed.”

  “When the weather cools maybe. Be sure you take some time to settle in. The first week of renovation will be demolition.”

  “We’re keeping most things the way they are at the house. Our furniture’s not nearly as bright as yours, but we like the color on the walls. I emailed Savannah, and she and Will said to keep it the way it is.”

  Roxanne’s house was going to work out well. All the bedrooms were tiny, but there were four. Everyone was looking forward to settling into their own space. Best of all, there was room off the back patio for a real garden and fruit trees. Cassie could hardly wait to get to the nursery.

  “It’s going to feel small,” Roxanne warned.

  “Not for long. Will’s off to college in a year, and between us, I’m guessing Amber will move in with Travis once Will goes.”

  “You mean Dallas Johnson?”

  As far as the Kouzina was concerned, the Sun Sentry’s new food critic had been redeemed, giving Roxanne’s updated, innovative menu a happy shout-out in the paper two weeks ago. Afterward Travis had confided his real identity and promised that once the restaurant reopened in October, he planned an in-depth review. Travis had to be fair, but no one was worried, because so far Roxanne’s innovations had only drawn raves.

  Savannah and Will weren’t yet back from their month in Africa, although they would be home tomorrow or the next day, depending on the first leg of their flight from Nairobi to Geneva, which had been rescheduled twice. Cassie had hoped they would be home in time to help turn the empty little bungalow into a home, but it didn’t matter. Furniture could always be rearranged. She and Amber planned to wait before putting pictures on the walls and decorating. They still wanted the teenagers to feel they’d had a part in the move.

  “I’ve got a full carload, so I’m heading out. See you over at your house.” Roxanne raised a hand and headed for the curb where her Miata was parked.

  A minute later Amber drove up and parked where Roxanne had been. She wasn’t alone. Will jumped out of the passenger seat and Savannah emerged from the rear. In a moment Savannah was in Cassie’s arms.

  “We got an earlier flight! They just squeezed us on. We wanted to surprise you. We cleared customs and took a shuttle to Roxanne’s, and Amber was there.”

  Cassie hugged her tight. “Wow, the best surprise ever!” She held her away a moment. Savannah was wearing a white cotton skirt that swirled at her calves, a pretty striped blouse and bright beaded bracelets on both arms.

  Savannah held up her arms and the bracelets slid to her elbows. “I brought some home for you, Roxanne and my friends. Aren’t they gorgeous?”<
br />
  “And so are you! I love your hair.”

  Savannah’s hair just touched her shoulders now and she lifted it in both hands. “It took too much time and water to wash it when it was long. We were so busy. But the whole thing was great. I’m going to be a doctor.”

  “Well, it’s in the genes.”

  “But I’m going into public health. I want to work with communities to stop problems before they begin.”

  Cassie and Amber were keeping a mental list of all the things their children planned to be someday. Savannah’s enthusiasm was a joy to watch. “Your dad would be proud,” she said. “Does it feel strange to see everything being carried out?”

  Savannah surveyed the house. “This never felt like home, did it? I hope it does for the new people. But we need a new start, and Roxanne’s house has character. We’re going to be happy there.”

  A month in Africa had been exactly what Savannah needed. Getting out of the country into a completely new environment might not cure the heartache she was working through, but it had given her a different perspective that could only help.

  Will had needed a different perspective, too. From his emails, Amber thought he was coming to terms with his father’s death and his uncle’s betrayals.

  Billy’s body had been discovered where an old chicken coop had stood on the Hawken farm. The gun that had killed both him and the store clerk was buried beside him. Apparently in all the intervening years, Darryl Hawken had been so sure of himself, he hadn’t bothered to move either. It was unlikely he would ever see freedom again.

  Billy’s remains were now in a local cemetery beside his mother’s, but Will didn’t know. Amber wanted to tell him in person. Eventually, when they were both ready, they would visit Betsy Garland in Chaslan and pay their respects at Billy’s grave.

  Will came over now to give her a hug. He seemed taller, and his shoulders broader. The gawky adolescent was disappearing, and the man was emerging.

  Amber joined them. “Will looks more like his dad every minute, and I have proof. Betsy rounded up some photos from the high school archives and made copies. Of both of us. He can admire his dad and laugh at me.”

  “You two must be exhausted,” Cassie told the teens. “And no beds yet for naps.”

  “We slept a lot on the planes and in airports,” Savannah said. “But I’m starving.”

  “Will, why don’t you take the Mustang, and you two grab something to eat. Then you can park it at the new house.” Before Savannah could complain, Cassie gave her another swift hug. “We’ll get your learner’s permit next week, I promise. I already hired an instructor. You’ll be driving yourself before too long.” She paused. “Legally.”

  “I might start with the Corolla. I probably need to learn to steer and stop before I focus on the clutch.”

  “Wise.”

  The teenagers headed for the garage, arguing about where they wanted to eat and who would call Helia and Minh to tell the girls they were home. Cassie knew Helia had news to share. Her adoption was going to be finalized next month, and all of them had been invited to attend the proceedings at the courthouse and the party afterward.

  “Will seems more sure of himself,” Amber said. “He wants to go back to Africa next summer. For the first time he doesn’t have to worry about me.”

  Amber was now the new manager of Yiayia’s Kouzina. Roxanne and Cassie were determined to pay her every cent she was worth. Even in the short time since she’d taken on her new role, everything was running more smoothly. She was helping plan the renovations, too. The three women were working together on decor, configuration and business systems to bring the restaurant up to date. Amber was delighted to finally be settling into the role she deserved.

  Cassie slipped her arm around her friend’s shoulders. “Somehow they both survived the past year. They’re making their way through all the lies to the other side.”

  “Have you decided whether to tell Savannah about the baby?”

  Cassie had spent weeks looking for the right answer until she’d realized that she didn’t have to decide alone. Savannah had two parents.

  “I managed to get through to Gen late last night, and I told her everything. She’s coming here at Christmas. We decided that when the three of us are together, we’ll tell her. Savannah needs to know she has a brother. Then she can decide if she wants contact. But no more secrets.”

  Amber squeezed her closer for a moment. “That’s a good solution.”

  “When I said I told Gen everything, I mean it. I told her about the missing money. And I told her that Elana’s lawyer and mine are working together to come up with a strategy to divide it.”

  Gen had been surprised, but not as surprised as Cassie when, weeks after her trip to Western New York, Elana’s attorney asked to be put in touch with hers. Discussions about funds that remained in Mark’s joint account with Elana were in progress.

  “A fair resolution’s going to take time,” Amber said.

  “We both want to find the right one. In the end I’m betting she’ll get most of what’s left, but I’ll get enough to make everyone feel it was fair.”

  “You’re doing okay, aren’t you?”

  Cassie thought she was. Knowing the truth meant she could now see Mark for the man he’d been, and she could finally begin to let go. She was meeting regularly with Lawrence Steele, Mark’s former psychotherapy supervisor, who was helping her come to terms with everything that had happened. Savannah had agreed to see him, too, and Will was thinking it over. Amber had joined a group for survivors of sexual assault. They were all determined to move on.

  Then there was Nick.

  A year had passed since Mark’s death. More time had passed since the death of Nick’s wife. Neither of them were ready for another serious relationship. In the meantime, they were spending more time together every week. Nick listened, and he didn’t evaluate every thought she expressed, the way Mark had. She liked his commitment to justice, his sense of humor, and his friends. As odd as it seemed, after all her years in Manhattan, Tarpon Springs was home again, and she was sinking roots into the sandy soil. She was even learning to scuba dive.

  “I am doing okay,” she said. “Even better. Do you feel like a door closed behind us after everything happened? The rest is just cleanup. Even moving out of this house feels like a beginning.”

  “My daddy always said you can’t keep a bird from flying over your head, but you can keep it from building a nest in your hair. That’s what we did.”

  Cassie burst into laughter.

  “I feel like I got my life back.” Amber’s smile was genuine and relaxed, a pleasure to see. “After all those years, it’s my own again.”

  “Here’s to new lives. We need champagne.”

  “Or ouzo.”

  Cassie raised an imaginary glass. “Here’s what my daddy always said. Opa!”

  Amber raised her imaginary glass, too, and pretended to clink it against Cassie’s. Overhead a pair of sandhill cranes gave their signature shrill cry as they flew toward the rising sun. Maybe they were flying back to their nest, or maybe they were looking for a place to build a new one. Wherever they landed, Cassie wished them peace and a safe homecoming.

  * * *

  Acknowledgments

  I haven’t taken the opportunity in many years to thank all those who have supported me and my career, so please indulge me now.

  So many people have helped throughout my writing career, but first I want to acknowledge my family, who were at my side through all the years. My husband, Michael, has been unfailingly supportive, most recently on this book. This time around he managed everything possible to give me time to wrestle with this story at what turned out to be a difficult time in our history. He joined me in Tarpon Springs for research and scouted the best places to watch their annual Epiphany ceremony unfold and then took photos as it did. We ate fabulou
s Greek food together and later cooked it at home. We took a sponge boat tour, hung out on the docks, visited the Tarpon Springs Train Depot—home of the city’s historical society—where we had the pleasure of talking about the city with the depot’s helpful coordinator, Renee Sousa. Nothing we learned there led to my changing a few vital facts, most notably adding a high school that doesn’t exist to improve my story.

  We planned to return several more times, but the need to quarantine made that impossible. Through it all, Michael remained upbeat and cheered me on. I couldn’t have done it without him.

  My four children thought my writing career wasn’t such a bad thing. Having Mom around during the day was handy, especially when she was so immersed in her books she didn’t notice everything they were doing. As happily launched adults, they have thoughtfully ended up in cities we wanted to visit or revisit. My four delightful grandchildren put up with my propensity to give them books as gifts and read to them whether they want me to or not. They’ve all enriched my life and my writing immeasurably. For the record, when I had teenagers I was never as patient as Cassie is with Savannah in this story, but they love me anyway.

  While my mother didn’t live to see even the beginning of my writing career, I thank her for her deep love of books and of me. She is the original Emilie Richards, and I love seeing her name on my covers. She would love it, too. Thanks, too, to my wonderful aunt, Laura Coleman, who did live to read my work and was absolutely delighted, and to my brother and sister-in-law who always ask what’s coming out next.

  I’ve had wonderful writer friends from the beginning of my career. The incomparable Jennifer Greene has been my pen pal for decades, and we’ve lived through multiple changes in the publishing industry together. Karen Young was a tried-and-true buddy right from the beginning. Casey Daniels/Kylie Logan and I start each weekday with catch-up emails. She’s my friend and consultant and I can’t start the day without her. Casey’s a treasured part of my brainstorming group along with Serena B. Miller and Shelley Costas (Stephanie Cole), two talented, delightful writers I’m glad to call friends and colleagues. Diane Chamberlain has been my confidante and advisor for years, and Patricia McLinn, Judith Arnold and Kathy Shay have all given me more wonderful advice. Through the years and many lunches, Jasmine Cresswell reminded me that writing wasn’t the be-all and end-all of life—even if sometimes it felt like it.