As the Light Fades
Catherine West
as the light fades
a novel
CATHERINE WEST
Copyright © 2019 Catherine West. All rights reserved. Except for brief quotations for review purposes, no part of this book may be reproduced in any form without prior written permission from the author.
Published in association with Books & Such Literary Management, 52 Mission Circle, Suite 122, PMB 170 Santa Rosa, CA 95409-5370
Cover Design and Interior Layout | Yvonne Parks | PearCreative.ca
To contact the author | CatherineJWest.com
ISBN (Print): 978-1-09-145323-4
“Owning our story can be hard, but not nearly as difficult as spending our lives running from it.”
BRENÉ BROWN
For all of us brave enough to own our stories, no matter the cost.
ACCLAIM FOR
catherine west
“Peeling back the curtain that shroud’s life’s messy corners, Catherine West has written a story that we all need. Where Hope Begins will take your breath and quite possibly your heart. West reminds us that even in the midst of heartbreak and loss, hope is never out of reach. Where Hope Begins will linger long after you close the last beautiful page.”
Patti Callahan Henry
New York Times Bestselling Author
“Catherine West gracefully braids together grief, humor, and longing in her newest book. Where Hope Begins is a beautiful and heartrending story of a marriage and the two people who must decide if it is worth saving. A story for anyone who’s had to start over—and those who wonder where others find the courage and strength to do so.
Lauren Denton
USA Today Bestselling Author of The Hideaway
“Emotionally gripping and stunningly honest, Where Hope Begins is a moving story that breaks the heart, then masterfully puts it back together, somehow fuller than it was before.”
Katie Ganshert
Award-Winning Author of No One Ever Asked
“. . . chock full of raw emotion and beautiful prose . . . wonderfully drawn characters and scenes pull the reader along on a rollercoaster ride of emotion.”
RT Book Reviews
41/2 Stars, Top Pick
“Catherine West’s writing always pulls me deeply into the story, engaging my heart. In Where Hope Begins, the characters’ struggles caused me to wonder, “What are they going to do?” and “What would I do if I were them?” West courageously wades into the turbulent waters of relationships—the struggles we all face. Rather than settling for easy or clichéd answers, she writes with realism, always choosing hope and grace.
Beth K. Vogt
Christy and Carol Award-winning author of
The Thatcher Sisters Series
“West’s compelling and heart-wrenching, rising-from-the ashes novel realistically delves into the tough issues of suicide, anger, and guilt with a touch of grace and hope.”
Library Journal
Starred Review for Where Hope Begins
“West is a good painter of atmosphere, making the foggy past ever so slightly sinister . . . [she] manages the central tensions well.”
Publisher’s Weekly
Review for The Things We Knew
“A beautiful exploration of the bonds that tie us together as family and the secrets that sometimes unravel those threads. Catherine West builds a world worth entering and characters that linger long after the last page is turned.
Julie Cantrell
Review for The Things We Knew. New York Times
and USA TODAY bestselling author of The Feathered
Bone and Perennials
“In The Things We Knew, author Catherine West captures the nuances of deeply rooted familial pain and its impact on those in its wake. Intriguing setting, realistic characters with all-too-familiar tensions, and a tangle worth tracing to its source make The Things We Knew as satisfying as a Nantucket sunrise.”
Cynthia Ruchti
Author of As Waters Gone By and Song of Silence
“West does an exquisite job depicting the complexity and messiness of overcoming trauma.”
Publisher’s Weekly
Starred Review for The Memory of You
BOOKS BY
catherine west
Yesterday’s Tomorrow
Hidden in the Heart
Bridge of Faith
The Things We Knew
The Memory of You
Where Hope Begins
CONTENTS
prologue
Chapter one
Chapter two
Chapter three
Chapter four
Chapter five
Chapter six
Chapter seven
Chapter eight
Chapter nine
Chapter ten
Chapter eleven
Chapter twelve
Chapter thirteen
Chapter fourteen
Chapter fifteen
Chapter sixteen
Chapter seventeen
Chapter eighteen
Chapter nineteen
Chapter twenty
Chapter twenty-one
Chapter twenty-two
Chapter twenty-three
Chapter twenty-four
Chapter twenty-five
Chapter twenty-six
Chapter twenty-seven
Chapter twenty-eight
Chapter twenty-nine
Chapter thirty
Chapter thirty-one
Chapter thirty-two
Chapter thirty-three
Chapter thirty-four
thank you!
About the Author
prologue
The man staring back at me looks old.
I painted his portrait once, which he wasn’t very happy with. His hair was a deep brown; raw umber, I’d call it. Used that color a lot back in the day. Streaks of gray look out of place, like they’re trying too hard to fit where they don’t belong. And the part is combed on the wrong side.
Though my memory is fading, wrinkles I know weren’t there before give new character and tell a thousand tales of a life well lived. Leathery skin pulls this way and that as he grimaces, equally perplexed by this new situation we find ourselves in. This place we’re supposed to call home isn’t. A long rectangular building that smells like a hospital on a good day and a sewer on a bad is filled with strangers who seem to know as little about themselves as we do. We’re given barely edible food; watery eggs for breakfast, soup and sandwiches for lunch, and whatever mush they decide to throw together for dinner. Board games or cards for the ones who can still think over the endless blather of the television. Some just sit where they’re put, suffering through endless days of doing nothing. Mindless routine for the mindless.
I suppose our surroundings are comfortable enough. I have my own room and a few things I still know are mine, like books, and photographs on the wall, but I’ve never liked change and I’m not about to embrace it now.
“You have no choice, old man.”
His gravelly voice startles me. But he’s right. I stare back at him and nod. Names come and go with increased frequency these days. I try to recall his before it slips away. But I don’t need to remember it. It’s the eyes that give it away.
Eyes the color of dark toffee, flecked with gold, a hint of green on a good day. Eyes that have seen the passage of time, held laughter and tears, watched over loved ones, and reluctantly let them go. Eyes that still twinkle with mischief and a resolute determination that says this is not the end.
The man gives a sudden smile, and recognition flips a switch.
I think it might be me.
one
Liz Carli
sle never imagined she’d be back in this place. Certainly never dreamed she’d actually enjoy the simple act of walking the dogs around the Nantucket neighborhood she’d grown up in. Yet here she was.
Everything was different now. Renovations at Wyldewood, the rambling estate that Liz and her four siblings called home, were well underway. Her brother David and his wife Josslyn were overseeing the work on the house as well as running after their toddler twins, and her sister Lynette was still in Africa, so the task of trekking out with the family’s two labs had fallen to her. Truthfully, any excuse to get away from the noisy house, now more of a construction zone than anything, was most welcome.
She studied the mottled branches above her as she waited for Diggory and Jasper to finish sniffing around the tree’s roots. The leaves were showing off in a dazzling display of golds and reds, a shock of color that would inspire any artist. Not so long ago, Dad would have found joy in capturing the beauty of the scene on paper. These days he showed little interest in art. He showed little interest in anything.
Their father’s slow decline was just one more thing she had no control over.
Liz sighed and breathed in the crisp air. Fall had taken its time this year, but today the salt-kissed island breeze held a chill that hinted of first fires and frosty mornings.
Could she survive winter on Nantucket?
The cold she could handle. She’d grown up with it. But the dreary, dull days, nowhere to go, no city lights, no nightlife . . . well, maybe she wouldn’t miss that so much. She did miss her daily routine though. Rising at dawn to get in an hour at the gym before heading to work, being pulled along on the crowded sidewalks of the Financial District, the smell of smog and coffee and fresh bagels in the early morning air. The pinch of pride as she entered the shining glass building on Slate Street, riding the elevator up to the twenty-second floor to her corner office with a view of New York Harbor. Not that she’d ever really appreciated the view.
Liz shoved her hands deep in the pockets of her red leather jacket and put those thoughts away. That life was behind her. Time to move on.
She’d had little choice.
“Come on, guys.” Liz urged the dogs forward and turned in time to see a black Jeep crest the top of the hill. Late afternoon sun filtered through the trees, and she squinted as the Jeep approached, weaving a little too dangerously for her liking. Her pulse picked up and set her on immediate alert. Somebody might have had a bit too much to drink this afternoon. Odd for an off-season Tuesday, but not unheard of.
The vehicle jerked left, veered across the road and back again.
Liz scanned the area for children or unsuspecting cyclists. Thankfully, the roads weren’t that busy now, most of the island’s summer residents and tourists having reluctantly made their way back to the mainland.
A striped cat suddenly scooted out from under the wild rose hedge to her left, and Liz held her breath. “Seriously?”
Sure enough, the small animal raced for the road, straight across the Jeep’s path. Tires squealed and skidded, sending sand, crushed shells, and small stones every which way as the vehicle lurched off the road onto the nearest lawn, finally coming to a crunching stop at the base of an old black oak.
“Stay.” Heart pounding, Liz hastily tied the dogs’ leashes around a low hanging branch, not terribly confident of their obedience, but they were close to home. She raced down the hill, glanced back to see the two dogs settled under the tree, then pressed on toward the Jeep, hoping there wouldn’t be blood. She hated blood.
There was no sign of the cat, so she assumed it was safe. The Jeep didn’t look as bad as she feared. She hoped the driver was okay. Liz stepped over tire marks embedded in the grass and the bedraggled remains of what had been the last of summer’s magnificent display of roses. Evy McIntyre’s prize-winning roses, to be precise.
The door on the driver’s side opened with a slow creak. Liz stopped a few feet away and watched a pair of skinny legs clad in tight jeans and clunky black boots emerge. And then a young girl stood before her.
A kid. Barely sixteen, if that.
Great.
Liz swallowed her first response and stepped closer. She gave the vehicle a cursory inspection and saw the airbag hadn’t released. No blood on the kid. No bruises that she could see. “Are you all right?”
“Uh huh.” The girl was a wisp of a thing, big dark eyes rimmed in heavy makeup and shoulder-length jet-black hair framed an almost ghostly-white face.
Liz stepped closer and put her game face on. “Have you been drinking? Drugs?”
The girl’s eyes widened, her pale cheeks pinking. “What? No!”
“Are you old enough to be driving?” Liz had to ask. “Do you have a license?”
“What are you, a cop?” Defiance flashed in the dark eyes and Liz scowled. She had no time for teenagers, especially not ones looking for trouble.
“I’m a lawyer, and I can smell a lie a mile away. So think carefully and answer the question.”
“Um . . .” The girl scuffed her boots on the grass and lowered her gaze.
Liz knew what was coming. “I’ll take that as a no. Does this vehicle belong to you?”
“Not exactly.” The teen twisted her neck from side to side, glanced at the front of the Jeep and then at the desecrated garden, turning back to Liz with a dramatic eye roll. “Well, that freakin’ cat should have stayed put.”
Before Liz could reply, the front door of the house flew open and Evy McIntyre stood on the wraparound porch of her impressive three-story home. It was one of the larger houses in the area. Evy came from old money and owned an art gallery in town where she showed, and sold, many of Liz’s sister Lynette’s paintings. Lynette and Evy had formed an unlikely friendship over the last year, but Liz hadn’t seen much of the eccentric older woman since Lynnie left for Africa.
“What in heaven’s name happened here?” Evy quickstepped it toward them in high heels, sequins on her teal blouse sparkling, a bright pink silk scarf flapping behind her. “Elizabeth?”
“Hi, Evy.” Liz pulled her cell phone from the pocket of her jeans. “I was walking the dogs and this . . . happened. We should call the police. She doesn’t have a license and the vehicle might be stolen.”
“No, please, no cops!” The girl’s eyes flared. “And it’s not stolen.”
Evy scanned the surrounding area and her garden, what was left of it, eyes widening at the sight of the crushed rose bushes. She took a slow breath and set a steely gaze on the girl. “Are you responsible for this tragedy, young lady?”
The girl stepped back a bit. “I guess.”
“You guess. Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“You, Elizabeth? She didn’t run you over along with my poor roses?” Evy’s thick eyelashes batted dramatically and Liz squelched a smile.
“Fortunately, I was on the other side of the street. She swerved to avoid a cat.”
“Really?”
“Yes!” The girl nodded vehemently. “I swear that’s what happened! I’m a good driver. I wouldn’t—”
“You can’t be a good driver if you don’t have a license!” Liz sputtered. She caught herself before totally going off on the girl. She could see the kid was shaken and a little scared, despite her bravado. “Do you even have a learner’s permit?”
“Uh . . .”
“Just as I thought. You know—”
“A moment, Elizabeth.” Evy held up a hand to Liz, then turned back to the girl. “Name?”
“Mia Stone.”
Liz gauged the fear in the teen’s eyes. “Evy? Shall we call the police?” She waved her cell phone at the older woman.
“Please don’t call the cops!” Tears formed and her bottom lip began to tremble. “I’ll do whatever you want to make it up, pay you back, just . . . no cops.”
“Are you kidding me?” Liz stared. She was a good little actress this one.
Evy tightened her lips, ignored Liz, and focused on the girl. “Young lady, you’d bett
er come into the house. We will call your parents. And then I will determine your fate.”
Oh, come on, Evy. She’d be making the kid hot chocolate in a few minutes. Liz stifled words she really wanted to say and put her phone away. “Evy, do you want me to stick around?” Liz didn’t think the kid was capable of doing the older woman any harm, but these days one couldn’t be too careful.
Evy simply smiled and shook her head. “We’ll be fine. Thank you, Elizabeth.” She ushered the girl toward the house without so much as a backward glance.
“You better call the cops on her,” she huffed, half-tempted to do it anyway. But Evy wouldn’t appreciate that, and the less involved Liz stayed the better. And maybe the kid deserved a break. Liz rolled her eyes. A few months ago that thought wouldn’t have occurred to her. But these days she was more aware of the importance of second chances. So she left the girl’s fate in Evy’s hands, went to retrieve the dogs, and headed home.
___________
Liz stepped over planks of new wood and two toolboxes on her way through the house to the kitchen. Wyldewood was a hive of activity, the construction crew making good headway on the renovations that would convert their childhood home into a B&B. In a way, she was sorry to see the transformation. But that was life. Things changed.
Her life certainly had.
She’d hoped to have a plan in place by now, to know what her next move would be. Maybe even a new job. Yet here it was, the last week of September, and she still didn’t have a clue what the future held.
The crew was packing up for the day and she waved to a couple of the guys as they left. She found David and Josslyn in the kitchen, wrestling the twins, Brandon and Bethie, into the banquet eating area for supper.
David slid in beside Brandon and gave him a stern look. “Eat. No more fussing.”
Liz could have sworn the almost three-year-old gave an eye roll. She grinned and took the plate Josslyn offered. Meatloaf, mashed potatoes with gravy and peas. That was a few extra pounds staring her in the face. “Thanks. Looks great.” She longed for a slab of salmon or tuna with organic greens, but since she’d never mastered any culinary skills beyond ordering off the menu in her favorite restaurants, she couldn’t complain. She grabbed a bottle of water and joined her family.
As the Light Fades (ARC) Page 1
