by Lori Wilde
Confused, the Watcher shifted in the darkness. The beard of the Santa costume was itchy, and the wind was especially cold. It was nearly midnight. Lots of cars in the parking lot. Probably many would stay until closing time. Another two hours spent in icy blackness.
But the Watcher didn’t mind. It was the only way to see her. In the wee hours of the morning. From the shadows. Watching over her as she went to her car.
Sadness weighted lungs heavy with regret. Sorrow and longing and shame and remorse. So many things done wrong. So much lost. Time. Health. Youth.
It felt stupid now. This waiting. Watching. To what end? For what purpose? Best to just disappear for good. But the old heart beating beneath the red-and-white suit was reluctant to let go.
Useless. These impulses.
The Watcher tugged down the beard and ran a hand over the savage scar. The irregular edges of grafted skin were still achy and raw. Every look in a mirror revealed the monster.
No hope of a normal life. No hope of repairing the past. No hope of forgiveness or redemption.
No hope at all.
After the last patron left, Chap came to stand in the doorway of the office where Raylene sat paying bills. Not for the first time, she thought about selling the bar. But that would feel too much like giving up. Yet without Earl, the joy she’d once gotten from running and owning the bar was gone. It had been his dream, after all. She’d just been lucky enough to share it with him. Why not throw in the towel and walk away?
Why not?
Because she stupidly kept hoping against hope that somehow Earl would find his way back home.
“I’m about to head out,” Chap said. “Shannon’s already gone upstairs. Would you like me to walk you to your car?”
She glanced up from her computer. “I’ll be here for a while, but thanks for the offer.”
“Somebody’s got to look out for you,” Chap said. “Since Earl left.”
“I can take care of myself.” Raylene bristled, even though she knew Chap hadn’t meant to get her dander up.
Chap raised his palms. “I know.”
Her irritation boiled off, and she felt a small pinch of pain in the region of her heart. “Sorry. The holidays are getting to me.”
“No need to explain. Goodnight, Ray. You be careful going home.”
“Thanks, Chap. I do appreciate you.”
He gave a slight smile and sauntered away, leaving Raylene to balance the books in peace. Except the minute he was gone, she dropped her head onto the desk and squeezed her eyes closed.
How long before the pain went away? How long before she stopped missing Earl? The main problem was that she’d had no closure. Had no idea if he was dead or alive. No way to make amends. She was frozen. Gridlocked.
Overhead, footsteps sounded. Shannon going about the business of getting ready for bed. She was quiet as a church mouse, but in the empty bar, late at night, Raylene could hear her moving about. Shannon had only been here a few days, but she was quickly catching on to her duties. Which surprised Raylene.
Shannon got along well with both the staff and the customers. She was pleasant, a hard worker, and she didn’t stick her nose into anyone’s business, but Raylene couldn’t shake the feeling that the woman was hiding something. Then again, who was she to point fingers?
She liked Shannon. More than she expected to. She reminded Raylene of someone, but she couldn’t put her finger on who it was. Sometimes, she caught Shannon watching her with an odd expression that unnerved her.
Raylene also hadn’t missed the attraction arcing between her new waitress and Nate Deavers. That surprised her, too. In all the time he’d been coming into the Horny Toad, she’d never seen Nate flirt with anyone, and plenty of women had tried to snag his attention. She had often wondered why, but seeing the way his face lit up when Shannon walked into the room let her know that he’d simply been waiting for the right one to come along. A patient man who knew what he wanted and wasn’t afraid to wait for it.
They made a good couple. Polished Shannon smoothed out Nate’s rough edges. Nate’s down-to-earth nature balanced Shannon’s detachment. She was more open when she was around him. Smiled more. Even laughed occasionally.
Raylene had never been much of a matchmaker like her friend Belinda Murphey, but she enjoyed watching the romance bloom between her employee and her loyal customer.
Thinking about Shannon reminded Raylene that she needed to ask for her social security number, so she could pay her. Paychecks went out the following Friday.
Yawning, she rubbed her eyes. The bills could wait until morning. She logged off the computer, got up, stretched. The thought of going home to that big empty house had her wishing she had a cot in the corner to curl up on.
Raylene slipped on her coat and took her purse from the bottom desk drawer. She heard a sharp thump. Like the whap of a newspaper being tossed against a door or a bird flying headlong into a clear glass window.
Was someone knocking?
She paused, canted her head, but heard nothing else. She walked to the rear door. Hesitated. Was someone out there?
Never one to back down from trouble, Raylene crept forward. She pressed one eye to the peephole and stared out at the alley beyond. Empty. No one around. But someone could be hiding behind the Dumpster.
She waited a long moment, then thought briefly about calling Shannon and asking her to come down. But she didn’t want to put the younger woman in jeopardy.
You’re being an old fool, Raylene. Hell, you were probably just hearing things. Get the hell out of here and go home.
She might be old and foolish, but she wasn’t stupid. Raylene took the Glock from the bottom of her purse and clutched it in her right hand. Heart skipping a beat, she eased the door open with her left hand while a litany of Clint Eastwoodisms rolled through her head.
Total silence greeted her.
A flurry of snowflakes drifted from the sky. They wouldn’t stick. It had been too warm the last few days. None of the weather forecasters had predicted snow. But there in that quiet moment, the soft white falling looked like a miracle.
Raylene glanced down. On the back steps sat a pot of white poinsettias, the base of the pot wrapped in red foil.
All the air left her body.
“Earl,” she whimpered. Tucking the Glock back into her purse, she bent to pick up the flowerpot.
She took the flowers inside and locked the door behind her. The bright foil crinkled as she set the plant onto her desk. Carefully, she dusted the melting snowflakes from the vibrant green leaves.
Raylene had always loved red poinsettias. Way back in high school, when she and Earl were dating hot and heavy, and they’d both been poor as church mice, he’d waited until Christmas Eve to buy her flowers, knowing they’d be cheaper. By then, only the white ones were left. When he’d given them to her, his eyes full of apology because he hadn’t gotten her red poinsettias, she announced that she liked the white ones much better. And she had ever since. Now, whenever she saw white poinsettias, she automatically thought of Earl.
Gooseflesh spread over her body. Could Earl have left the poinsettias for her?
She bolted from the office, unlocked the back door and flung it open. “Earl!” She ran into the alley. “Earl, where are you?”
Nothing. No one. Dead quiet.
And a swirl of white snowflakes that would not stick.
On Saturday, Shannon came down to start her shift. She still couldn’t get Nate out of her head. They’d come back from lunch and finished putting up the Christmas decorations, but the easy camaraderie they’d shared before had vanished.
Things had changed between them, and there was no going back. Yet she could not regret kissing him. He made her feel desirable, wanted.
Nate had come into the bar every night since, sitting where he always sat. Keeping his distan
ce, saying very little, watching her cautiously. Space. He was giving her space.
She would glance up from delivering drinks to find his gaze on her. Sometimes he looked puzzled, as if trying to decipher why he was attracted to her, but at other times the expression on his face was so raw and hungry that her body heated instantly.
And when she lay in bed at night, the memory of his kisses haunted her. His taste was a tangy sweet memory that kept her awake long past the time she should have fallen asleep.
“Shannon,” Raylene called from the office door. “Could you come in here a moment?”
Tying a bar apron around her waist, she stepped into Raylene’s office. Anxiety gnawed at her and she couldn’t help wondering if she’d screwed up somehow. She’d had a big learning curve, but she was trying her very best to be a great cocktail waitress. Honestly, it surprised her how hard she tried. Then again, Shannon never did anything in half measures, and that included screwing up.
“Is there a problem?” she asked, trying to keep her tone even and calm.
Raylene rearranged a pot of white poinsettias that was sitting on her desk, moving it off a book of anagram word-find puzzles. “No problem.” She smiled. “In fact, you’ve been doing a great job.”
“Thank you.”
“The customers like you.”
“I try to go out of my way to make sure they’re happy.”
“Your maturity makes up for your lack of experience. Those young girls I get in here as cocktail waitresses.” Raylene shook her head. “Wild as March hares. Always running off with guys or getting pregnant. Undependable.”
“No March madness here.” She ran her hands down her thighs.
“Listen,” Raylene said. “I need your social security number.”
“What?” Shannon gulped. She’d been so wrapped up in Nate, so busy playing waitress that she’d forgotten she’d given a fake last name. She couldn’t tell Raylene her social security number. Not unless she was ready to reveal who she really was.
“Your social. I need it in order to pay you.”
“Mmm.” Shannon moistened her lips. “Is there any way that you could pay me cash?”
Raylene narrowed her eyes. She didn’t say anything for a long time. The clock on the wall ticked loudly. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”
“How about this,” Shannon said. She simply could not bring herself to say, hey, I’m your daughter. Not yet. Not until she’d figured out how to handle the situation or what it was she really hoped to gain from confronting her mother. “Don’t pay me until the end of the month.”
“I thought you were broke.”
“By allowing me to stay here rent-free and feeding me, all my current needs are being met.”
“Something’s going on,” Raylene said, “but I’m not one to pry in other people’s business. Folks got all kinds of reasons for keeping the secrets they keep. So, okay, I’ll pay you in cash.”
“Do you?” Shannon asked.
“Do I what?” Raylene looked wary.
“Have secrets.”
Raylene’s eyes met hers. “Everyone has secrets.”
Shannon’s heart rate quickened. This was the perfect time. Just come out and tell her. “I . . .” She blew out her breath. “Thank you for understanding.”
“If you ever feel like unburdening yourself,” Raylene said, “I’m a good listener.”
“Same here.” Shannon’s breath was coming in rapid little puffs. “If there’s anything you’d like to confess.”
“Me?” Raylene flicked her gaze over Shannon’s face. “What makes you think I have anything to confess?”
“Everyone’s got secrets. You just said so yourself.”
They stared at each other. Shannon didn’t know how long they would have stood there like that, before a woman’s voice cut through the chain of their linked gazes.
“Well, hello, you must be Raylene’s new cocktail waitress.”
Shannon turned to see a woman about Raylene’s age. Her body was fuller, her blond hair cut short and curled around her face. She extended her hand, came across the room. “Hello, I’m City Councilwoman Patsy Cross, soon to be Patsy Crouch, and I own the Teal Peacock. It’s a boutique just off the town square. You ought to drop by sometime.”
“Shannon Du . . . Nagud,” she said, stumbling over the fake last name and shaking the older woman’s hand.
“Patsy’s getting married to her high school sweetheart on Christmas Day,” Raylene explained. “How goes the wedding plans?”
“Craziness, but that’s how wedding plans are, right?” Patsy blushed prettily as if she was all of sixteen instead of sixty. “Hondo and I took a long time getting here.”
“That you did.” Raylene caressed the white poinsettias.
“I just dropped by to tell you that we’re moving the venue for the Christmas cookie swap. The roof of the Baptist church reception hall sprung a leak.” To Shannon, Patsy said, “The First Love Cookie Club holds an annual Christmas cookie swap party. Women only. You should come.” Then she cast a glance at Raylene. “Bring her with you to the party, Ray. The more the merrier.”
“First Love Cookie Club?” Shannon asked.
Patsy waved a hand. “Our little local legend at work. Everyone in the First Love Cookie Club has been reunited with their first loves. Well, all except Christine Noble, but she’s the local baker and her cookies are the best, so we made her an honorary member.”
“And me, of course,” Raylene muttered. “My first love flew the coop.”
Patsy cleared her throat. “Earl will be back.”
Raylene’s eyes took on a wistful haze. “Maybe,” she whispered so low that Shannon couldn’t be sure she’d heard her.
“So anyway, the cookie swap party is going to be at Rinky-Tink’s, next Friday night. It’ll be our version of a send-off, since the ice cream parlor is closing up shop. One last hoorah. The end of an era.” Patsy clicked her tongue. “Such a shame.”
“A lot of things are falling by the wayside,” Raylene said.
“Well, not the First Love Cookie Club, and not our traditions.” Patsy placed a hand on Shannon’s shoulder. “I do hope you’ll come. It’s always a pleasure to have visitors.”
“I’ll bring her,” Raylene said.
Shannon slipped toward the door. The opportunity to confront Raylene had passed, but as she stepped into the hallway she heard Patsy Cross say, “Ray, that girl’s legs look just like yours did at that age.”
That’s why she was really here, wasn’t it? To catch hold of memories that she’d never known. To find her pattern. The imprint that had never taken.
The mother she never knew.
CHAPTER SIX
“Are we ever going to talk about what happened last Wednesday?” Nate murmured as Shannon sat the mug of beer in front of him when he came in that evening.
“Nothing to say.” She put on a cheerful smile.
“Oh now that’s where I disagree,” he said. “I think we have a whole lot to talk about.”
She shrugged, her heart thumping harder underneath her shirt. “I’m not . . . This isn’t the time or place.”
“I concur. That’s why I’m asking you out.”
“Nate, I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“I’ve got a lot of things I’m dealing with in my life.”
He shrugged. “So tell me about them. Maybe I can help.”
What was the deal? Everyone wanted her to talk. People were inviting her to things . . .
Just like you’re part of their community.
But she wasn’t a part of their community. She was a fraud, and she could not forget that. It wasn’t smart to start feeling comfortable here.
All she had to do was tell Raylene who she was, demand an explanation for
why she’d abandoned her, and get the hell out of Twilight.
Except she did not want to leave Twilight, and it wasn’t just because of Nate. Although the intriguing man with the dark eyes was certainly a contributing factor. Shannon liked it there. She liked the people. She liked the town. She even liked being a cocktail waitress. Apparently Raylene’s blood did run through her veins.
In Twilight, she’d shed her previous life. Let go of old expectations. Become someone new and different. She felt free.
Don’t grow accustomed to it. This is all a lie. It’s not your life. You belong in New York. You were raised in a milieu of money and privilege. You don’t belong here.
Yet, as long as she kept her mouth shut, she did belong.
It was only in that moment that Shannon realized how out-of-step she’d always felt in her life. From the time she was a small child, she always felt like an outsider in the world she grew up in. She thought it must have been because she had no mother, but now she knew it was more than that. She’d been searching for where she belonged, and, as strange as it sounded, Twilight felt like home.
Nate laid his hand over hers. “The town puts on an annual Christmas play. At the Twilight Playhouse. I thought you might like to go.” He pulled two tickets from his front shirt pocket. “It’s tomorrow night.”
“I don’t know if I can get off—”
“She can get off,” Raylene said as she passed by on her way to the kitchen.
Nate’s eyes brightened. “Your boss said you can go.” He waggled the tickets. “I’ll even treat you to dinner at The Funny Farm beforehand.”
“The Funny Farm?”
“You’ll see what I mean if you say yes.”
“She’ll go,” Raylene told him on her return trip, a tray of cheesy nachos in her hand. The smell of cumin scented the air. “Shannon, go.”
Shannon held up her hands. “Apparently it’s been decided.”
