As the Light Fades (ARC)

by Catherine West

  “We’ve got someone else coming to look at it tomorrow,” Mia put in, her stare dipping below zero. “They’ll probably take it. Isn’t that what you said, Uncle Matt?”

  “Not exactly.” He glared at Mia, and Liz tried not to smile. The kid was clearly lying through her teeth. And her uncle was not amused.

  Liz waved a hand in hopes of putting out the impending fire. “I promise I’ll make a decision by Wednesday. If you want to rent it to someone before that, fine.”

  “Okay.” He gave an easy smile and elbowed his niece. She huffed and slammed out the door, and he gave a muted groan. “Sorry. Again.”

  “Sounds like you’ve got quite the handful there. How’s your car?”

  “Exhibit A.” He nodded toward the door, and Liz spied the Jeep at the curb, the front fender bent out of shape, right headlamp smashed. “Could have been worse, right?”

  “Yes. I’m very glad there were no other vehicles or people on the road.” Liz swallowed and shook her head. “So Evy didn’t get the police involved?”

  “Thankfully not.”

  “You don’t think she’ll pull the same stunt again without repercussion?”

  His dark look was answer enough. “I am punishing her. And, as you heard, she’s going to make things right.”

  “Indeed. Well, then.” Liz knew when to shut up. It wasn’t her business.

  He shoved his hands in the pockets of faded jeans, and she watched a vein pulse in his neck. A shadow of scruff skirted his jawline, light brown hair curling toward one thick brow as he assessed her with unsure eyes. “I’m doing the best I can.”

  “I’m sure you are.” Now he was on the defensive, and Liz wanted to backpedal. “Teenagers are rarely angels, Mr. Stone. I’m sure your niece has her good days.” Perhaps on Christmas or her birthday.

  His expression softened. “We just heard on the weekend that her mom is up for parole. The hearing could be sometime this week.”

  “Oh.” She’d almost forgotten about Mia’s mother. “That would be good, wouldn’t it?”

  “I’m not sure.” An air of hopelessness wove around him, and Liz found it hard not to be affected. She noticed Evy watching them and pushed the door open so they could make their way outside. “What did she do, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “Embezzlement.” His sigh was short and held a hint of judgment. “She was looking after an elderly woman, tucking away a bit here and there when she was given cash, then convinced the old lady to start signing checks over to her to deposit . . . until her charge’s family got wind of it and the gig was up.” He exhaled and pulled on a pair of shades. “Rachel’s pulled a lot of crap, but this one tops all.”

  Liz had to agree. “Stealing from the geriatric population is rather frowned upon. First offense?”

  He kicked the curb with the top of a beat-up sneaker and looked away. “She’s done time before.”

  “How long did she get?”

  “A year and six. She’s served nine months, but apparently her good behavior has earned her an early hearing.” He shrugged, fiddling with a set of keys. “I guess we’ll see.”

  “Can we go already?” Mia shuffled back toward them. “Why is it freezing? It’s not even October yet. This place really sucks.”

  “Mia, give me a break, huh?” Matthew spoke through clenched teeth. Liz felt sorry for the man. Still. That didn’t mean she wanted to live beside them. “Have a nice night, Miss Carlisle. Call me when you’ve made your decision.”

  “I will.” She watched them go, watched the way Mia slammed the car door, watched Matthew get in the Jeep, turn to her and say something, and the girl shake her head and slouch in her seat. When he turned his attention to starting the engine, Mia gave him the finger. Liz let out a low whistle.

  Teenager or not, that young lady was a piece of work.

  Matthew Stone was in way over his head.

  The sad thing was, she suspected he knew it.

  five

  Later that night, Liz put clean plates away and scanned the kitchen for anything else to do while Josslyn finished sweeping.

  “I don’t think we’ll ever see the end of this dust.” Her sister-in-law shook her head, dumped the dustpan, and put the broom back on the hook behind the door.

  Liz took the whistling kettle off the stove and fixed two mugs of tea. She joined Josslyn at the banquet and watched her inhale the spicy aroma of jasmine green tea.

  “Thanks, Liz. This is absolutely needed right now.”

  “No problem.” Liz sipped carefully, put down the mug, and managed a smile. She usually preferred a glass of wine to unwind at night, but tea was fine. Probably better for her anyway. Her brother was upstairs putting the twins to bed, allowing his wife a bit of quiet time. Liz looked around the yellow kitchen, memories dancing.

  Mom and Cecily always made a good team. Cecily, who’d been cooking and cleaning for them before Liz was born, knew how to give Diana just enough work to make her feel useful, but not enough to make her feel overwhelmed. Their mother was no Betty Crocker, but she always insisted on being involved. At least once a month they’d pick at an inedible casserole or a burnt loaf of bread. All of Cecily’s careful instruction never did much good.

  With Dad in the nursing home and the work going on here, Cecily had gone back to looking after her grandson after school. But she still dropped by a few times a week to see how they were doing, brought food, and often took the twins to the park with her grandson.

  “How’s it going to work, you guys being here once they start demolishing the kitchen?”

  “I’m told our new wing will be ready by then.” The first thing they’d agreed to do was to build David and Josslyn’s living quarters. This meant closing off a couple of rooms at the back of the house, putting in a new staircase that connected to two upstairs bedrooms, and they would put in a new bathroom. It all sounded rather complicated, but so far Liz was impressed with the speed of the construction crew. “They’re saying the next couple weeks for sure. I suppose if it isn’t ready, the kids and I could spend some time with my folks. Been thinking about heading over for a bit anyway, just for a break. But I hate to leave David on his own.”

  “I’m sure David will manage.” Liz studied the pretty woman sitting across the table. She didn’t know Josslyn all that well. They’d had a better relationship in the early days, when they all lived in New York, before the twins came along. Liz would go to their place for dinner on occasion, sometimes spend the night. But then she met Laurence, and he was all-consuming. David didn’t like him. After a few attempts to get them all together, she’d given up. And the twins took up most of David and Josslyn’s time anyway. Liz found it better to steer clear. But perhaps she should make more of an effort with Josslyn. It might be nice to have a friend.

  “How are you doing, Liz?” Josslyn’s eyes were kind, the question sincere. “I know we haven’t had much chance to talk with everything going on. But I wanted to say I’m sorry, you know, for everything you went through with Laurence.”

  The awful weight of regret and leftover fear pressed down once more. Liz blinked and looked away. “Thanks.” She stared at all the old magnets her mother used to collect still stuck on the fridge and wondered what would become of them. Wondered what her mother would have said about Liz’s involvement with a man like Laurence Broadhurst. Well, she knew the answer to that. “I’m just glad to be out of that situation. Glad to be home.” She actually meant it. Perhaps for the first time.

  “Such as it is.” Josslyn smiled. “I’m sorry it’s such bedlam. Probably not what you need right now.”

  Liz shrugged. “I suppose I’ll have to take Matthew Stone’s place.” There wasn’t a choice, really. Other rentals she’d seen online were beyond her means. She’d done the math again that evening. She could afford it. And even if she’d had a place to sleep here, stepping around drills and hammers and tripping over electrical cords and toolboxes every few minutes seemed silly. “It’s a nice little cottage, and he’s
giving me a good deal. Except . . .” Liz sighed and pulled fingers through her hair. “He’s got this niece. Remember the kid I told you about the other day? The one driving the Jeep?” She told Josslyn about Mia in a few short sentences, watching concern creep across her sister-in-law’s face.

  “That poor kid. Can you imagine what she’s gone through, having a mother in jail? No wonder she has an attitude.”

  Liz raised a brow. She hadn’t thought of it that way. Maybe Josslyn was right. Still. “Josslyn, feeling sorry for her is fine, but you haven’t met her. She’s got trouble written all over her. I’d rather not spend any more time with her than I have to.”

  “Maybe she needs a friend, Liz.” Josslyn’s smile said she knew exactly what Liz would think about that.

  “Please.” Liz groaned and drank some more tea. “I’m sure she’s got plenty of friends. But I need a place to live, and I need that job. I just wish both options didn’t involve a juvenile delinquent.”

  “Mmm.” Josslyn nodded, studied her wedding rings, then looked up at Liz, serious. “Sometimes we’re placed in the strangest of circumstances for the most important reasons.”

  ___________

  Matt sat on the deck with his coffee and watched the waves. The sunset was spectacular tonight. He reached for the expensive camera on the table beside his chair, a prized possession that he’d probably paid too much for, and snapped a few shots. So many different hues striping the sky. The scene before him looked like a painting and brought a measure of much-needed peace. He had to believe they’d get through this. Even on the crazy days. Even when Mia gave him that I hate you look that spoke louder than words and pierced his heart. He knew deep down she didn’t mean it. They just didn’t know each other all that well yet.

  Mia had been six when Rachel married Joe Giovanni, just turned seven when they’d moved to Arizona. Matt hadn’t seen a whole lot of them since then. He’d been busy with his first teaching job in Boston, jumped into that life, and avoided family functions at every opportunity. Not that Rachel and Mia would have been at any.

  If he’d known just how bad things had been . . .

  His cell phone rang and he put the camera down. Matt glanced at the number and groaned inwardly. So much for finding peace. Matt considered letting it go to voicemail, but guilt got to him and he put the phone to his ear. “Evening, Mother.”

  “Matthew, dear. I’ve been trying to reach you for days. Have you been ignoring my calls?”

  He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. That would be a yes. “Now what possible reason would I have for not wanting to talk to you?”

  “I can think of several, but never mind.” She sniffed and he heard ice clinking. He imagined her wandering the large pristine kitchen in their Beacon Hill townhouse, Dad probably out at some boring faculty function at the university, and, come to think of it . . .

  “What are you doing home on a weeknight? You are in Boston, right?” Between her numerous charities and his father’s speaking engagements, his parents were rarely home for dinner.

  “Matthew.” His mother’s sigh was a little on the shaky side, and he sat up, apprehension tightening across his shoulders.

  “What’s wrong, Ma?”

  “We need to talk.”

  “I gathered that. You called me. So talk.” Matt clenched his jaw and chided himself. Despite their strained relationship, she was still his mother. “Sorry. I’m just tired. What’s going on?” More clinking and a few sniffles. She was worrying him now. “Mom?”

  “We’d like to take some time away from the city. Your father suggested we come over.”

  Laughter shot out of him. An unbidden reflex, like the way his leg kicked when the doctor tapped his knee. Matt got to his feet, made sure the patio door was closed. Mia was inside watching a movie. She didn’t need to hear this conversation. And he didn’t need her to hear it. “You’re joking. My father hasn’t taken a vacation in years. And I seriously doubt he wants to spend any time with me.”

  His mother let out her classic sigh. He could picture her pinched expression, the look that screamed displeasure. The one she frequently wore around him. “Don’t be so dramatic. You saw each other last Christmas.”

  “And spoke for a whopping two minutes. Brought a tear to my eye.”

  “Stop it, Matthew. I need you to listen to me.”

  “I’m listening, but I’m having a little trouble comprehending,” he growled, exhaustion biting. The past few nights of little sleep were bearing down. Mia had been up with nightmares three times last night. He was seriously contemplating professional help. Neither of them could carry on like this.

  “We’re coming to the island for a visit. We’ve already made the arrangements.”

  He stopped in his tracks, his entire body rigid. “That’s impossible. You can’t.”

  “Of course we can.” She made it sound like the simplest thing in the world. “You’ve got plenty of room in that old house. The sea air will do us both good.”

  His parents really wanted to come here? What the heck was going on?

  Growing up, it never occurred to him that having parents he rarely spent time with, who showed little involvement in his schooling or life in general, wasn’t normal. Not until he was ten years old and, by chance or providence, met Patrick O’Donohue on the soccer field.

  Matt couldn’t remember the details now, but somehow they’d wound up on the same team and become friends almost at once. Patrick’s large boisterous family had taken Matt in as one of their own from the moment he walked into the crowded kitchen of their two-story walk-up in the South End. The full to bursting home was always filled with warmth and laughter and jokes and hugs—things he was not familiar with. He lived with untouchable antiques, pristine rooms, and the unspoken rule of be seen but never heard.

  Matt slumped into the Adirondack chair he’d vacated a moment ago and watched the sun sink low. In a few moments it’d be dark. Nights were always the worst. Nothing to do but stare at the stars and wish for a less complicated life.

  “You hate Nantucket.” He couldn’t remember the last time his parents had been here. From around the time he was nine, he and Rachel were sent every summer. They spent at least a month on the island with their grandparents, and he’d looked forward to the trip each year. Rachel, two years younger, grew tired of the visits when she got older. She wanted to go off to camp with her friends, while Matt always wished he could stay longer. By the time he turned thirteen—thanks to his sailing prowess, which impressed his parents, added to the fact that they wouldn’t have to deal with him at home—he was spending his entire vacation here. Sometimes Pat and a couple of his brothers would come too. Those had been the best times. “You seriously want to come to Nantucket? Summer’s over. Nights are starting to nip.”

  “Matthew, I can’t get into this over the telephone. I don’t want to argue. We’re scheduled to arrive on Friday. Can you meet us at the ferry?”

  He blinked and stared at his socked feet. A cool breeze came up, made him shiver. “Mia’s living with me. Did you forget about that?”

  The frosty silence that followed told him all he needed to know.

  “Mother, did you hear me?” He pressed fingers against forehead and waited.

  “Yes. I heard you.” Her usually stiff and in-complete-control tone cracked just a tad. “We didn’t know if she’d still be there.”

  “I’m her legal guardian. Where did you think she’d be living?”

  “So, Rachel . . .?”

  Matt searched for the right words, but there were none. “Is still in jail, yeah. But apparently there’s a parole hearing soon.”

  Another long, uncomfortable silence spoke volumes. “I see,” she said at last. “And if she is released?”

  “Great question.” Matt sat forward and rubbed his head. He’d been pondering the dilemma since Rachel had called him early Saturday morning. She was over-excited, expecting too much, expecting Mia to be overjoyed at the possibility of living with h
er again. “I don’t have an answer.”

  “You sound exhausted, Matthew. I told you taking on that girl would be too much.”

  He bit back a word she wouldn’t want to hear and glared at the darkening sky. “I’m fine. And ‘that girl’ is your granddaughter.”

  “Really? I’d forgotten.” Phyllis Stone’s classic cutting sarcasm rang in his ear. “So are you telling me we’re not welcome? That you don’t want us to come?”

  If only he could.

  Matt ran a hand down his face and kicked his heels together. “Mia’s been through a lot. I’m not sure you and Dad showing up right now is best.”

  “We would really like to come.”

  “He knows Mia’s here?” This was the most bizarre conversation he’d had with his mother, ever.

  “Yes, he knows. Look . . .” Her tired-sounding sigh shook him a little. “I can’t explain right now. Let’s just say some things have happened recently, and your father is making some changes. We want to come to Nantucket. To see you. And meet our granddaughter.”

  His eyes smarted and blurred his vision. He wanted so badly to grab hold of those words, pull them in tight, and truly believe them. But years of rejection and hostility still sat front and center and snatched hope away.

  Matt blinked and gave his head a shake. “Why now? You never gave a crap before. She’s almost sixteen years old. And he has never, not once, laid eyes on her.”

  She clucked her tongue, a habit she only resorted to when tamping down anger. “You know the history between your sister and us, so why even go there?”

  “Because it’s relevant. What am I supposed to tell Mia?”

  “Tell her that her grandparents are coming to visit. Simple.”

  “Right.” Matt shook his head. There was nothing remotely simple about it, and she knew it.

  “I still don’t understand why you left Boston and moved to Nantucket. Do you really think that was a wise decision? Why didn’t you just sell that old, drafty place?”