Her Secret Son

by Hannah Mary McKinnon

  I crossed my arms and grinned at her. “I sense there’s some huge disadvantage coming, but I’m too intrigued to stop you.”

  “We used to rent the cabin out, but I haven’t done much to it since Al passed. Don’t worry, it’s clean and not in too bad a shape. Nothing elbow grease and a lick of paint can’t fix. How do you feel about that? Do you think you could help?”

  “Not a problem. What kind of rent are you looking for?”

  “Five hundred bucks a week.”

  “Woah. There’s no way I can—”

  She put her head back and laughed. “You should see your face right now. I’m joking. You help fix it, and you stay for free.”

  “Free? I can’t—”

  “Why not? It’ll give you a chance to decide if you want to move here. Why not bring your son, too, let him have a look around? What was his name?”

  “Logan,” I said quickly. “But, uh, for the time being I’ll go back to Albany at weekends. It’s more stable for him, at least for now.”

  I couldn’t stand who I was becoming. It was too reminiscent of the person I’d been when I drank, the guy who’d often lied, albeit badly, and continually let his sister down. The difference was back then I’d lacked a certain sense of direction—not the world’s best excuse—but now I knew exactly what I was doing, which made it about a million times worse.

  “Tell you what,” Ethel said. “I need half an hour to clear up here, then I’ll show you the cabin so you can make up your mind, if you have time?”

  “I’d love to.”

  “Want to wait inside till I’m ready?”

  “I’ll step out, work off that lunch.” I gathered my things and went outside, grateful to stop pretending for a few minutes. Back in the truck I dialed Lisa’s number, bracing for impact.

  “You’ve done what?” she yelled when I told her not only about the job with Bill, but the cabin and who it belonged to. “Have you gone completely mad? I know it was my idea to say you’re looking for work, but this is crazy.” She calmed down a little once I’d explained the size of the place and my cover story logic.

  “If anything I can get the DNA samples more quickly,” I said. “And come home.”

  “Okay, I get it, I think. What are you doing tonight?”

  “Depends on the cabin, I guess, but I’ll probably check out the town. There’s an Italian restaurant here that looks good. Casa something or other.”

  “No booze, right?”

  “How’s Logan?” I said. “Is he ready for tomorrow?”

  “I’ll take that as ‘I’m having none, sis, don’t worry,’ and Logan’s fine. He’s so excited for camp I keep thinking he’ll pee his pants.”

  “Text me tomorrow when he gets home. Let me know how it went, okay?”

  “About that,” Lisa said. “Don’t forget we said we’d keep our messages to a minimum and always open to interpretation. If you have to plead ignorance, you can’t be sending anything proving otherwise.”

  “Got it,” I said, before exhaling sharply. “I hate this. I really do.”

  “Then come home,” Lisa said. “If you leave now you could be back—”

  “Ethel’s waving at me,” I lied. “Kiss Logan for me. Tell him I’ll see him Friday night. Who knows, with the way things are going it might be before.”

  I stayed in the truck for another fifteen minutes, thoughts going through my head at warp speed. Was going to the cabin, intruding in Ethel’s life, really what I wanted to do? Clearly she was still suffering from her godson’s loss. Who was I to play puppet master? If I casually showed her a photograph of Logan, would she gasp and press a hand to her chest because she could see Felicia at the same age? I knew I couldn’t risk it, which was why I’d left my photos of Logan at home, and stuffed a picture of a brown-haired, green-eyed boy I’d found on the internet in my wallet, just in case someone asked. That had been Ivan’s suggestion, and although it was a good one, it made me feel as dirty as pond scum on the inside. Lisa said I should leave Grace’s photos, too, but I’d kept one hidden because I still needed her with me.

  When all the thoughts invading and colliding in my brain became too much to handle, I returned to the café, where Ethel had a green-and-white-striped cloth in her hand, wiping down the counters, humming a Rolling Stones song.

  “Bill called,” she said as soon as I walked in. “Asked if you’d stopped by. He’s very impressed and said you really know your stuff. He also warned you should, and I quote, mentally prepare yourself for a week of hell. I told him I know you’ll do absolutely fine.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence. I hope it works out.”

  Ethel winked. “Bill’s got a ton of work coming up for the summer. You could be at my old cabin for a while.” She picked up a burgundy tassel with a single key dangling from it, held it up toward me. “Ready?”

  “Yes, definitely.”

  “Great. Bill’s meeting us there to see what kind of tools you might need to borrow if you stay. Oh, and—” she passed me a paper bag “—I almost forgot your gift.”

  The smell of fresh bread invaded my nostrils, making my stomach rumble again despite the fact I’d just eaten. “Ethel, are you trying to bribe me with a homemade loaf?”

  “And some lemon drizzle scones.” She lowered her voice to a stage whisper. “You haven’t seen the state of the cabin yet. I’m hoping those will stop you from running away.”

  I wondered if rescuing whoever happened to stumble upon her café was something she did on a regular basis. Had she always been this way, or was it since the Faycrest boys had disappeared? Could the point of her kindness be more about easing her own pain than helping me? I thought of Grace and the injured bird and stray cat she’d taken care of. Had that been to quieten her guilty conscience, an attempt at erasing one terrible deed with a multitude of smaller, good ones? And could one act define you, make you a despicable person for the rest of your life, even if nobody else knew about the original sin?

  “I’ll get my car from around the back.” Ethel’s voice drowned out the impossible thoughts, got rid of the tortured souls screaming for attention. “It’s the red one with the caterpillar bumper sticker. Follow me and we’ll be at the cabin in no time.”

  We drove out of town, past Bill’s, and another two miles beyond, where Ethel took a left turn up a dirt track so narrow, it would have been easy to miss. We kept going another mile or so until we came to a dead end and a small clearing surrounded by pine trees and dense brush. I spotted Bill’s truck immediately, and when Ethel parked her car and got out, I looked around, wondering if she’d got the wrong place.

  While the wooden cabin was small, it was bigger than the dinky little shack with a leaky roof and broken windows I’d imagined. Although tired and somewhat neglected, the place was almost charming with its small front deck and tin roof sitting on top, a well-worn, lopsided hat. Its shutters had been a dark blue once, but had since chipped and faded, the wood gnarled and worn. The matching, centered front door bulged slightly in the middle, and the first three letters of the word WELCOME lay in a brassy heap on the leaf-covered mat. The grass, shrubs and bushes at the front threatened to overtake the pathway, thorny monsters reaching out, clawing at our clothes as we walked by.

  “Hey, guys,” Bill said, coming round from the back of the cabin. “Good to see you again already, Josh. Ethel told me you might patch this place up.”

  “I have my tool bag with me,” I said as we walked up the steps, the deck creaking underneath our collective weight. “Rumor has it you can lend me the rest, Bill?”

  “You bet.”

  “Sounds like the perfect plan,” I said, vowing I’d at least do some of the work to repay Ethel for her generosity before running off.

  “You ready?” Ethel unlocked the door and gave it a good shove, and as she swung it open it let out a loud groan. “Gosh darn it, I keep
meaning to oil those hinges,” she muttered.

  “It’ll be the first thing on my list,” I said, and followed her inside.

  We stepped directly into the living room, which was about the size of the den in Albany. I took in the wooden floor, the lumps in the faded floral sofa, and hoped there weren’t any dead animals buried underneath the cushions. A dented pine coffee table stood on a pale paisley rug, and the dilapidated chest of drawers in the corner had a vase of dusty plastic roses on top. The walls had probably been light pine once, and had turned to a burnt yellow over the years.

  I wondered if I’d send bats or birds to their fiery deaths by lighting the little wood-burning fireplace nestled between the two windows on the left wall, and decided I wouldn’t chance it. I squinted down the short, narrow hallway leading to the back of the cabin, realizing the whole place had a musty smell, as if I’d walked into a room with a year’s worth of unwashed gym kits.

  On cue, Ethel gently opened a window, then pointed at another that went almost from the floor to the ceiling. “Al insisted on putting that thing in after the doc told him to slow down. Loved to sit and observe the wildlife going by. Be careful with it. The caulking’s brittle. I should have replaced it already.”

  “I’ll take care of it, no problem,” I said.

  “Thanks, Josh. Now, the kitchen is to your left,” Ethel said. “The bathroom is on the right, and both bedrooms are at the back. Tiny, but enough for one or two.”

  “We used to hang out here as kids,” Bill said. “Got up to all kinds of trouble.”

  Ethel laughed. “Bill’s mother and I went way back. Believe me, Josh, I don’t think I want to know what our children did in here. My hair is already gray enough, thank you very much. Anyway, Al used it as a base for hunting before we rented it out a few summers.”

  “It’s great, really,” I said.

  “Great might be a bit of a stretch,” Ethel said with a smile. “The more I look at it, the more I see wrong. I won’t be offended if you don’t want to stay. The Travelodge—”

  “No, it’s perfect. More than perfect.” Not only could I be away from prying eyes out here, but staying at Ethel’s cabin meant even more opportunity to mix with the locals, especially Felicia. Maybe this way we’d be introduced.

  Ethel was still observing me. “Are you sure you really want to take this on?”

  “Positive. Do you have a list of everything you want me to do?”

  “Buckle up,” Bill said. “I bet you it’s as long as your legs.”

  “He’s right,” Ethel said. “But I don’t expect you to do it all.”

  “Really, it’s no problem,” I said. “Tell me, and I’ll do whatever I can while I’m here.”

  “Okay... I’ve got floorboards to fix the broken ones—”

  “Check.”

  “The bathroom and kitchen need painting. The bedroom carpets should be replaced. The new ones are rolled up at the back. Al bought them before he died. I hope they’re still okay.”

  “Consider it done. What about electrical and plumbing?”

  “Checked them and they’re fine,” Bill said. “The roof is, too, but out back the trees and bushes are trying to climb in through the windows.”

  “I’m sure I’ve seen worse, believe me,” I said with a grin.

  “You don’t scare easily, do you?” Bill said.

  I looked at Ethel, kept the smile on my face. “What you’re doing is very kind.”

  “Same as you. The way I see it, there’s nothing wrong with people helping each other out,” she said. “Alright, why don’t you have a proper look around? Really make sure you want to take this project on.”

  “I’m already sure,” I said. “Really.”

  “Excellent,” Ethel said. “There’s a cupboard in the hall where I packed away the linens. They’re in bags, but let me know if they smell funny. In the meantime, here’s the key, and enjoy making yourself at home.”

  Bill shook my hand and whispered a “thanks for doing this” in my ear, and I watched them go back to their cars, laughing and chatting as longtime friends do. I closed the door and rested my forehead against it, listened to them back up and drive away, holding my breath until the sound of the engines faded into the distance.

  “This is it,” I whispered, my throat tight. “You’re in the dragon’s den now.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  I brought my bags in from the truck and dumped them in the bedroom before heading outside to the back. Bill hadn’t exaggerated; those trees and shrubs alone would be enough work to keep my mind off things for a while. I decided I’d prepare whatever I could for kindling and firewood, a goodwill gesture of sorts for Ethel. It was the least I could do.

  Back inside I located the paint supplies and rolls of carpet, retrieved my tool bag, measuring tape, pen and notepad, and jotted down calculations. By the time I’d finished planning and roughly scheduling the work, I’d developed a literal case of cabin fever.

  The mid-June sun was still warm, although not quite enough for a T-shirt as evening drew near, so I grabbed my jacket, jumped in the truck and drove toward Casa Mama. Ethel and Bill had mentioned it, too, said it had the best tomato soup they’d ever tasted, apparently a recipe handed down for generations. “Rumor has it they add a tin of Campbell’s,” Ethel said. “But whatever they do, it’s delicious.”

  The restaurant wasn’t too busy, and I settled at a table at the back, taking in the red-and-white gingham tablecloths, fake green plants, multitude of Italian flags and old-fashioned family portraits on the walls. A curly-haired waitress bounced over, introduced herself as Wendy, handed me the menu and offered me a drink. What I really wanted was a large beer, but I asked for a Coke instead, half of which I gulped down as soon as it arrived.

  “Have you decided what to eat?” Wendy said. “The pesto linguine’s my favorite, if you’re looking for a recommendation.”

  “Sounds perfect.”

  “Are you the guy staying at Ethel’s cabin?” She laughed at my startled look. “Bill Langham’s my uncle. And we don’t get many British people here.”

  “News travels fast,” I said, hoping my voice didn’t betray me.

  Wendy leaned in. “Everyone knows what everyone’s up to around here,” she whispered, and as she retreated to the kitchen, the galloping of my heart grew as loud as thunder in my ears, culminating in a deafening crescendo when the front door opened and a couple walked in. I slid down in my seat a little, grateful for the low lighting and fake ivy partially obscuring me as I watched the people I’d never met, yet instantly recognized. Tyler and Emily Rhodes.

  As they were escorted to their table, I couldn’t help but stare. It was almost as if I knew them, that’s how hard I’d studied their faces and gestures as I’d played and replayed the press conferences, scoured the articles online for clues.

  I could see their profiles perfectly from my vantage point, and Tyler was far more imposing than he appeared on television. He was tall, trim and fit, his brown hair short and neat. He wore a dark suit, the sleeves of his blue shirt rolled up, his tie slightly askew. The way he’d casually slung his jacket over his shoulder made me think he’d come back from a long day at work, fighting crime and helping to chase down the bad guys. Intimidated didn’t even begin to cover how he made me feel.

  His wife, Emily, was breathtakingly beautiful in an effortless girl-next-door kind of way. Strands of her golden-brown hair had loosened from her ponytail and fallen past her shoulders. Her pastel dress, long and flowing with large blue tulips, skimmed her curves. I couldn’t take my eyes off hers, almond-shaped and filled with melancholy so deep it would take years to get to the bottom.

  Was Grace the cause of Emily’s sadness? What would she say if I could show her the look on Emily’s face? Had she already seen it? During my research, I’d read somewhere perpetrators sometimes returned to the scene of their
crimes, so I’d zoomed in on each photo, paused the footage every few seconds to study the crowds, held my breath in case I came across Grace’s face, tried to imagine what I’d do if I did. I hadn’t, but that didn’t stop me from examining everything again, and then a third time.

  Wendy came over to ask about my food. “It’s delicious,” I said, taking a forkful to demonstrate, pushed my plate away once she’d left.

  This was another fight-or-flight situation, except I’d voluntarily put myself here, and already felt way, way in over my head. I had to stay, which left me no real choice but to spend the week in Faycrest. No longer, I told myself. A week had to be enough for me to get what I needed and prove the nagging possibility Logan was Alex King or Hunter Rhodes a hundred million times wrong.

  When I looked over at Emily again she turned her head, her eyes staring straight into mine. I didn’t look away, found it impossible to drop my gaze, and she didn’t, either. For the briefest moment it felt as if we were the only ones in the room, the only people who mattered. Neither of us blinked, smiled or moved until Wendy reappeared in front of me, blocking my line of sight with another glass of Coke. After she left I glanced at Emily, but she and Tyler were silently perusing their menus. The spell—or whatever had happened between us—broken.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  I practically crawled back to the cabin, exhausted from the long day and the sugar crash induced by the peach cobbler à la mode Wendy insisted was on the house. While sitting on the deck with a bottle of water, I tried to identify the source of the strange noises around me but couldn’t decipher where all the squeaking, rustling and some kind of light snorting came from.

  I hadn’t asked Ethel about the animals in the woods, not wanting to appear too much of a city slicker. Now I had what were—hopefully—unrealistic images of me waking up to a ravenous, toothy bear on the deck, or a pissed-off moose outside the window. The cabin had electricity, but no phone or internet, and the cell reception was spotty. If I needed help with pesky four-legged visitors, I was very much on my own. Still, it wasn’t an unpleasant sensation, sitting in the dark, letting it settle over me, an unfamiliar but surprisingly comforting blanket.