by Wendy Vella
He found a parking spot outside the Hoot. Jake and Buster were outside, leaning on the front window.
“Six and a half minutes,” Jake said, looking at his watch. Tall and dark, he and his mother were the doctors in town and ran the medical center. Buster was shorter and stocky, and where Jake had a ready smile, Buster had a scowl behind which hid a heart of pure marshmallow.
“Not a bad time for you, man, seeing as my great-aunt Delilah drives faster than you usually.”
“You don’t have a great-aunt Delilah, Buster.”
“But if I did, she’d be faster.”
“Whatever. Where did she go?”
“Who?” both men said.
“Are we really going to play this game?” Newman sighed. “You know I mean Hope.”
“She got off the bus, looked around, and then headed down the road,” Buster said. “You must have just missed her on your way in. Why has she got you so bent out of shape? Tex said he even saw you angry in Brook when she did a runner on you.”
“I told you why.”
“You found her drunk and alone. Yeah, I get that part, but not why you’ve been preoccupied for weeks,” Buster said. He’d taken out a cloth and was polishing the window of his café.
“You’re smearing it,” Newman felt duty bound to say. Willow, Buster’s girl, would be furious when she saw it.
“Men don’t say shit like that, Newman. Now focus,” Jake said. “What’s the deal with you and Hope?” He was eating a muffin. Newman took it.
“No deal. See you later.” He lifted his free hand and started down the street. While he ate, Newman looked in shop windows, but didn’t see her.
“I need a hand changing the light in the rear, Newman, if you have a minute?”
“I’m a bit busy right now, Mrs. Brack, but I’ll get Jake for you.” Stepping out on the street, he saw his friend still standing outside.
“Jake!” His head turned at Newman’s roar.
“What!”
“Mrs. Brack wants you!”
“You’re a dear.” She patted his cheek. “I can always rely on you, Newman.”
“That’s me,” he muttered, “the reliable one.” What the hell was the matter with him? He usually didn’t mind helping people, in fact he thrived on it. He must be coming down with something.
Leaving town on the road he’d just driven in on, he saw her up ahead. Long, determined stride. Something in his chest squeezed and then released. She was safe and home. Increasing his pace, he soon drew near.
“I’ve imagined shaking you quite a few times in the last few weeks.”
She shrieked, then turned, clutching her chest.
“My uncle Bevan called, he wants his poker shirt back,” Newman said, running his eyes over the long lime-green-and-orange checkered shirt she wore. It probably had once been a man’s, as the fit was loose and he could see nothing of her body, which he now knew was quite something. The fabric looked silky, and not in a good way. She wore a short black skirt and the shit kickers. Her hair was up on her head in a messy knot. The hell of it was he thought she looked beautiful, and how was that possible? Newman liked his woman polished and dressed in at least last year’s fashions.
“Christ, you nearly stopped my heart.”
“Payback’s a bitch.”
She dropped her gaze.
“You going to apologize?”
“No. I told you I didn’t want to come back here, so I left.”
“Without telling me. No note, nothing. I woke to find you’d run.”
Her teeth snapped together. “I don’t do that kind of thing.”
“You don’t do basic human courtesy?”
“No. I’m rude and belligerent, which I believe we’ve covered before.”
She eased the straps on her backpack, the weight obviously heavy.
“No one would blame me for shaking the shit out of you. Hell, I’d probably even get a medal.”
“I-I wasn’t ready to come back then.”
And just like that his anger fled. That one small stutter, the only hint of her vulnerability, and he suddenly wanted to haul her into his arms and kiss her.
“Let me carry that.” He reached for her backpack, but she stepped back.
“I got it… thanks.”
“Jesus, Hope, do you ever take a break?”
“From what?”
“Being independent and downright difficult. Plus, there’s the ungrateful side to your winning personality.”
She sighed, hard enough to part his hair.
“Look, Newman, don’t keep confusing me with your people. I’m not like them. I do things solo. Always have and always will. I’m sorry if my actions disappointed you, but get used to it, that’s what I do.”
“Do?”
“I truly didn’t think it would bother you,” she said, not answering his question.
“If you believed that you wouldn’t have run away.”
“Whatever. Now I have to go.”
“Where you going?” Newman wrestled her backpack off her shoulders, and slipped it onto his.
“What the hell?”
“It’s heavy, you’re tired, and I’m not. So I’ll carry it for you.”
“I don’t need you looking out for me, Newman, and I’m not sure why you would want to after what’s happened and the way I treated you.”
“I’m hoping my good manners will rub off on you.”
She didn’t argue again, which told him she was tired, and yes the backpack had definitely grown in weight since he’d last seen her.
“Where have you been?”
“Here and there.”
“My favorite places. Where are you going now?”
“To my mother’s house. I need to drop my stuff there.”
“Your home?”
“The very one,” she muttered. “Now give me my backpack and go away.”
“I’m not sure why the hell I bother with you.”
“Neither am I.”
She looked around them as they walked.
“You forget how beautiful this place is when you’ve been gone a while. It’s like you block it out, and then tell yourself it’s not all that you thought it was… but it really is.”
Newman made an agreeing sound, because she’d pretty much nailed how he felt when he left Howling.
“I’ve always thought of them as guards,” she said, pointing at the redwoods. “Protectors.”
“Me too.”
They didn’t speak again, and minutes later they walked into her street. Her house was down a driveway, tucked out of sight. He’d never been there before, but knew where she had lived.
“I got it now, thanks.”
“All good.” He ignored Hope as she reached for her backpack, and kept walking down the drive. He stopped at the end when faced with a pristine little white house. It had green trim, and flower beds running along the front. No weeds or leaves were in sight, and the windows were sparkling.
“Did your mom use a ruler to plant those?”
“You’ve met my mom, right? What do you think?”
“I’ve never been here before.”
“No reason to start now.” Hope grabbed the backpack and gave it a tug, sending him backward several steps.
“Hope?”
Both of them looked to the now open door, and there stood Militant Lawrence.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“ M om.” Hope walked to where her mother stood in the doorway. Not overly tall, her mouth was formed in its usual tight line. She wore black, also usual, and thick-framed black glasses. “They’re new,” Hope said.
“I need them for reading, and as I was just doing so, they are still on my face.”
“Well, it’s good to see you.”
“And you.”
She moved forward and kissed her mother’s cheek, then felt a hand pat her shoulder. That was as close as it got to a warm greeting in the Lawrence household. Very aware of Newman watching, she turned and motioned for him to hand
over her pack. Instead he moved to her side.
“When was the last time you saw each other?”
“Four years ago.”
“Then for the love of God, hug each other.”
He was angry, and that confused Hope. Why was he angry that she wasn’t hugging her mother? This was just how they did things.
“Not everyone has to have a three-act play just to go down the road for milk, Newman. Not every person is demonstrative like you and your posse.” She grabbed the straps of her pack, and this time gave them a really hard yank. “Now give me my bag and go away.”
For once her mother seemed happy to watch proceedings, standing upright on the doorstep. Leaning was not permitted for Millicent Lawrence.
He relented, but only because she was still tugging and he couldn’t stop her.
“That’s what normal people do.”
“Ah, I see what the problem is, Paul,” her mother surprised them both by saying. “We have never been normal, and it’s not our wish to be.”
Newman’s mouth fell open. Hope bit her lip to stop from smiling. Millicent Lawrence was a hard, tough woman, and while there were times in their childhood that they’d wished for another parent, she was always fair. Scrupulously so. But what people didn’t know was that sometimes, when she let down her guard, she could also be funny.
“Was that a joke?” he said, looking confused.
“It’ll do you good to work that one out for yourself, Paul. Too many people fall all over themselves to please you. Now take yourself off my property, young man. I wish to speak with my daughter.”
“Not a joke then, is my guess,” he muttered. Giving Hope a hard look that she tried to decipher, but couldn’t, he left, loping up the drive in that easy way of his.
“Always liked that boy.”
“What?” Hope spun back to face her mother.
“He’s sharp, kind, but has a bit of mean also. An excellent combination.”
Hope eyed her mother suspiciously, but she was already turning and entering the house.
“You got new carpet,” Hope said, following. It was beige, and softened the house. Entering the lounge, she looked out the windows at her mother’s gardens, lush and colorful. Gardening was something Millicent Lawrence was obsessed with. The other thing was the Lake Howling book club.
“Are you hungry?”
“A bit,” Hope said, passing through the lounge and into one of the rooms off it. Her room. Not big, it had been her haven as a child. She and Ryan had been allowed to do what the hell they wanted with their rooms, as long as they stayed clean. She’d gone for pale blue, with pictures of birds. Hope had always loved birds. Her bed was a single, covered in a neat white throw. Her books were still stacked on the shelves, and the rest of her things as she’d left them.
“You can use this room as you want, Mom. It doesn’t need to stay like this.”
“I know. I have no other use for it yet.”
She lowered her pack to the bed and sank onto it as she let the memories come and go. Firsts, frustrations, and loves. She’d had them all in this room.
“Why are you no longer working with Wildlife, Hope?”
Hope dragged her eyes from the trophy she’d got for photographs of the redwoods she’d taken for a school project.
“It was time to move on.” She wasn’t quite ready to come clean to her mother. The weight of disapproval over being fired from Wildlife would be heavy, especially as she would not be telling her the reasons.
“If that was the truth I would understand, but it is not.”
Her mother had always known when she was lying. Hope had just thought that with age and distance she may have gotten better and more convincing at it.
“I have no wish to discuss it now. What’s done is done. I need to move forward.” Hope looked down at her bare knees. Thinking about Wildlife still made her feel ill.
“I will make tea then.” She felt a brief touch on her head, and then her mother was gone. “And when the time comes I will be here to listen. I’m pleased you’re home, daughter.”
People thought Millicent Lawrence was a hard, prickly woman. And for the most she was, but she had been the best mother she could be to her two children, although the general populace of Howling believed otherwise.
“Tea would be welcome, thank you.”
Hope spent the first four days of her return to Howling at home. On day two, she built up the courage to open her computer and search for the pictures that Jay “limp dick” Herald, as she was now calling him thanks to Newman, had stolen from her. This was the first time she’d allowed herself to look at the catalogue of photos she’d taken of the whooping crane. Those shots had been two years of work on her part. She’d given much of herself for those pictures, ignoring exhaustion and cold and hot conditions. Looking at them now, she realized they were some of her best work. Seeing his name attached to them made her go cold.
Rage took her breath as she thought about what he’d done. It wasn’t the credit or the accolades, it was the fact that he’d deliberately set about to manipulate her into trusting him so he could inevitably steal from her. She’d been slow to trust him too, but he’d persisted and eventually she’d relented, believing he cared for her. It had all been a lie. The intimate dinners he’d cooked for her. The hugs and kisses, and yes, the lovemaking. His plan to ruin her life had been an elaborate one, and she’d been a naïve fool.
She hadn’t known that she was worthy of such an attack, but looking at her pictures now, objectively, she realized she had been. They were good… better than good. Now, however, she would never have a chance to work for an organization like Wildlife again, because it was a small community, and word spread. Hope now had a large black mark against her name. Casey Rae Linear and Jay Herald would have seen to that. Her ex-boss and ex-lover.
Helping her mother garden and doing simple things around the house had given her focus. Helped center her. She wasn’t sure what was next for Hope Lawrence, but what surprised her the most was that she was happy to be back here. Even more surprising was that she and her mother were cohabitating without strenuous argument.
This morning, however, her mother had had enough.
“I need you to get some things for me today, Hope. It’s time you left the house.”
And that, as far as her mother was concerned, was that. So here she was, walking down the main street and back into town, praying she didn’t run into anyone who wanted to talk about her work, or even talk to her. Which of course was a faint hope at best. This town was full of people who knew her, after all. Even knowing she was introverted didn’t stop people from wanting to talk to her. Friendly courtesy, Newman would call it.
“Hope Lawrence. Well it’s about time you returned home.”
Her shoulders shot back as she looked at the one woman she could term a friend, loosely, of her mother. Henrietta Roberts Haigh—HRH, everyone called her, when she wasn’t listening. Big, rawboned, and intimidating. She had terrorized the students and young people of Lake Howling for many years. Hope, however, was raised by an equally intimidating person, so she coped better.
“Good morning, Ms. Roberts Haigh.”
“I imagine your mother was pleased to see you after so long. I hope you have returned for good, or at least an extended period?”
“As yet the length is undetermined.”
“Why anyone would leave here is beyond me.” The woman’s eyes narrowed as she glared down at Hope.
“There’s an entire world out there, Mrs. Roberts Haigh. Some of us like to experience it.”
She harrumphed, nodded, then walked away without another word.
Passing the church where she had spent many Sundays, Hope enjoyed the beauty of Howling. She’d brought her camera as she always did, and snapped photos as she reacquainted herself with the rustic buildings and shops that carried names like the Hoot and the Roar. The streets were immaculate as always, and heading into summer the locals were gearing up for a busy season. Not tha
t it wasn’t always busy; this place collected people all year.
“Hey there, Hope.”
Short with honey-colored curls, the immaculately dressed woman before her was nothing like she had once been, brittle and cold. This one was warm and radiated happiness. Macy Reynolds.
“Macy, how are you?” Hope looked at the sign on the window of the shop Macy stood in. “This your store?”
“It is, and if you want anything you let me know, and I’ll give you the discount I do for friends.”
“Ah, sure.” Hope looked down at her clothes. They’d been from a thrift store. Friends? Not likely.
“You staying with your mom?”
“I am, yes.”
“Well, if you want another place, I have the cottage free at the moment. It’s yours if you want. In fact, come in for a sec.”
Macy disappeared, leaving Hope no choice but to follow. She found a big man lounging against the counter.
“Hope, this is Brad, also known as TJ, depending on who you’re talking to.”
Muscled, tanned, and good-looking, the man straightened and gave her an easy smile. His dark hair cut short, he wore a faded T-shirt and denim cutoffs that came to his knees.
“Pleasure to meet you, Hope.”
His drawl told her he was Texan. She kept her distance from him. Hope had always been highly suspicious of men who were too handsome, especially now, after Jay.
She nodded and looked for Macy, who’d disappeared out the back of the shop. Looking around, she saw racks of clothes, and shelves of shoes and accessories. The place made her itch. Hope didn’t frequent these types of stores.
“So, Hope. You’re a local, right?”
“Yes.”
“You been away for a while?”
“Yes.” She concentrated on the glass cabinet that was filled with jewelry.
“Back for long?”
“No.”
“You got a problem in general, or just with me?”
