Her Secret Son

by Hannah Mary McKinnon

  “But it is. She’s had a rough time these past few years,” Emily said. “It’s nice you can give her a break, and Bill, too, of course. I ran into his wife, Clara, at the store this morning. Have you met her?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Well, she’s singing your praises, too.” She smiled. “You’ve made quite the impression.”

  “No pressure then,” I said, and she laughed.

  I didn’t want our conversation to end, didn’t want her to tell me she had stuff to do, places to be, and disappear into the house. I opened my mouth again, about to ask if Faycrest had changed much since she’d moved there. At the very last second I remembered I wasn’t supposed to know anything about her, and quickly said, “Did you grow up here?”

  She shook her head, refilled both glasses again. “My husband and I are from Portland and moved here when we got married. Secretly I think there was always a small-town girl inside me, desperate to get out. I hardly go back to the city now.” She touched her wedding band, spun it around her finger with her thumb. “Are you’re moving here? Ethel said you might.”

  “I’m considering it, yes.”

  “If you love a strong sense of community, you’ll feel right at home. Do you have kids?”

  My stomach lurched, the iced tea churning around my gut, threatening to come rushing up my throat like a tidal wave. “Logan. He’s seven,” I said, not wanting to reciprocate the question because I knew how much it would hurt her.

  She seemed fragile, a china figurine on a shelf. I knew Lisa would have kicked me for thinking something so macho, except it had nothing to do with gender. I was broken, too, smashed to pieces by my grief, trying to slowly put them all back together again, knowing the cracks would always be there. It was as if my soul could sense the fragility in hers, was reaching out, wanted to offer solace. Or maybe it was a case of pure guilt. I didn’t mention any of this, of course, for fear she’d think me insane and ask me to leave.

  “You have a lovely house,” I said instead. “Your garden’s amazing.”

  “Thanks. It’s still a work in progress. I’m not a hundred percent happy with it, but I can’t figure out why.”

  I looked at the perfect symmetry, the symphony of colors all expertly placed. “Really?”

  “Yeah. I guess I wish the path was more of a feature. I mean, it goes to the back and then it’s kind of, I don’t know—” she waved a hand “—blah.”

  “Ah, the most technical of landscaping terms.” I grinned and rubbed my chin, thinking it was a good job I’d made an effort with the razor that morning before immediately kicking myself and sprinting back into yard-pro territory. “You know...you could line the path with lavender.”

  “Would that look good?”

  “Definitely. It’ll go well with the colors you already have. The stuff’s practically indestructible, too, and it’s deer resistant. I hear there’s quite a few of them around.” I pulled a face. “At least I hope it’s deer. There were some peculiar noises outside the cabin last night.”

  “Could’ve been a b—”

  “Please don’t say bear,” I said. “Or I’m off.”

  “In that case I was going to say Bambi.” Emily laughed.

  She gave no indication she was in a hurry to be somewhere else. Neither was I, and I hadn’t expected to meet Emily so soon, certainly not speak to her alone for so long. Yesterday morning I’d have jumped at the chance, but getting her DNA now almost felt too rushed. Unlike Jennifer Abbott, I wanted to spend time with her, find out more.

  “So you think lavender is the way to go?” Emily said, forcing me to regroup.

  “We could build an archway for you,” I said. “Let morning glory grow over it. It’ll really draw the eye to the back. You mentioned books. What if we built a bench to put at the far end?”

  “Long enough to lie down on? With thick pillows?” She tapped her lip with her finger as she looked toward the tree line. “I love that. Why didn’t I think of it?”

  “I could discuss it with Bill, do some drawings?” If I’d been a dog, I would have wagged my tail, jumped around and barked for her, too. Getting myself in check I added, “Maybe your husband would use a reading bench, too?”

  She finished her iced tea and popped her glass on the tray with a clunk. “Tyler won’t care.” Her eyes widened slightly and she cleared her throat. “I mean because he travels so much, he doesn’t have time to enjoy the yard nearly as often as I do.”

  “He’s a cop, right?” I said, feeling a complete fraud.

  I’d read so much about her and Tyler, I could practically recite their life stories. She was thirty-four, Tyler thirty-eight. He was the only son of a highly successful, now deceased investment banker, and a schoolteacher. Her parents had retired to Miami, both of them already too old and too sick to travel far when Hunter had been taken, and his disappearance had almost killed them. Knowing all these things was dangerous, and I had to be careful not to divulge anything someone in Faycrest hadn’t told me. It was as if I had to play a gigantic game of chess, constantly be on the defensive, think ahead, plan my next ten moves.

  “He used to be a state police officer,” Emily said, exactly as I’d expected her to. “He consults for the police now—for the last few years, actually.”

  “What about you?” I said, wondering how professional con artists manipulated people for a living and still managed to sleep at night.

  “Me?” she said, sounding surprised. “I paint. My studio’s in Gorham.”

  “Not in Faycrest?”

  “No. I’d have loved to open one here, but the place is too small, you know? Not enough clients. I teach art classes to kids, too. If you move here, maybe your son would be interested. Does he draw?”

  I thought of the stacks of pictures Logan had brought home, how Mr. Shapran had praised him and gone out of his way to mention Logan’s budding talent. Were those kinds of traits hereditary? I wasn’t sure. Neither of my parents had been handy, much to Mom’s dismay. Until I’d been old enough to wield a hammer and a screwdriver, she’d usually asked a neighbor whenever she needed DIY work done.

  “Yes, he loves drawing,” I said. “Dogs mainly. They’re his favorite thing in the world.”

  “I love dogs,” Emily said, and I worked hard not to flinch. “But Tyler’s allergic, so we’ve never had one.”

  “Me, too,” I said. “So what do you paint?”

  “Commissioned portraits.” She smiled. “Humans, though, not dogs, unfortunately. Sometimes I think they’d be far more patient. I paint landscapes, too, but they’re usually more abstract, especially my trees.”

  “Trees? Are the ones at Ethel’s yours?”

  “You’ve seen them?”

  “Yesterday. They’re spectacular, very...enchanting.”

  A blush crept up Emily’s cheeks, and for a few moments she looked away. “Thanks.”

  “So...why trees?”

  “Well, most people see the same thing depending on the season, you know, a birch is a birch, a maple is a maple, buds in spring, bare in winter. But for me, how they evolve and change and grow each year...it represents strength and wisdom. Harmony, peace.” She laughed. “See? It’s a bit abstract.”

  “I understand what you mean,” I said. “I think that’s why I enjoy landscaping so much. You can come back the next day and notice something new.”

  “Exactly,” Emily said. “You should visit my studio if you have five minutes to waste. It won’t take longer than that to look around, I promise.”

  “I’d like that,” I said, and when she smiled and glanced at her watch, added, “I’d better finish up before Bill gets here and finds me slacking off on my first day.”

  Emily chuckled, both of us reaching for my empty glass, our fingers brushing lightly. She pulled her hand back, her cheeks taking on another rosy hue.

  “Thanks for the
tea,” I said quickly.

  “My pleasure,” Emily said quietly before picking up the tray, slipping into the house and closing the patio door softly behind her.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  When Bill picked me up twenty minutes later, he showered me with more praise than Leila and Ronnie had given me in all the years I’d known them. After visiting another couple of his regular clients, we drove back to his barn and pulled up next to my truck.

  It was a few minutes before seven o’clock, and my stomach growled. I needed to pick up some food, decided it could wait until I’d had a shower, then I’d pop to the store, get some grub, kick back on the deck in the peace and quiet, and call Logan. I felt like a total ass. I’d been so busy, he’d barely crossed my mind all day. Maybe it was some sort of self-preservation mechanism, my brain’s way of extricating itself from his life with the minimal amount of damage. I berated myself for being defeatist, for deciding the battle was lost before I was certain there’d be one to fight, or knowing who my opponent would be.

  “See you in the morning?” Bill said when I got out of his truck. “Seven fifteen?”

  “Absolutely. Looking forward to it,” I said. “Thanks.”

  “No, thank you.” His phone beeped and he pulled it out of his pocket. “Text from Emily. Says she’s thrilled with your work and excited to see your yard designs.” He grinned at me again. “Let’s go over them when you’re done, and price them out. Then you can show her and let her decide.”

  “Sounds good, Bill. And thanks again. You know, for giving me a try.”

  “Don’t thank me. We’re not out of the deep, dark woods yet. Today was the easy stuff. Wait until you see what I’ve got lined up tomorrow. Better get a good meal down your gullet. Shoot, that reminds me...gimme me a second.” He jogged into the house and returned with a tinfoil-covered dish a minute later, and pushed it into my hands. “Clara texted before she took the kids to soccer practice. She made shepherd’s pie. Saved you some.”

  Inhaling deeply, I let the smell of beef and potatoes take over my nostrils as my stomach growled again. “This is amazing. Will you thank her for me when she gets back?” I shook his hand and got into my truck, and as I drove I almost, almost convinced myself being in Faycrest was normal, a feeling that stuck with me only until I arrived at the cabin.

  I first noticed the box when I parked the truck. The unmistakable red-and-white case with twenty-four cans of Budweiser, a silver bow stuck on top. My pulse quickened as I sprinted to the cabin, leaped onto the deck and snatched up the booze, holding it in my hands, staring at it from all angles. Had Ethel left the beer for me as a thank-you gift? Or Bill? Wouldn’t he have said something?

  I scanned the area slowly, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. As far as I could tell, nobody lurked in the shadows, or behind the bushes and trees. There were no strange sets of eyes—animal or human—observing my every move. The booze was now a deadweight in my hand, but I could taste the liquid slipping down my throat. Nobody needs to know, the little voice in my head whispered. You’ve had a long day. A long few weeks. A can or two will help take a load off.

  Loneliness and alcohol had never been a good combination. Right now it was a downright dangerous one. I closed my eyes, silencing the urgent whispers of how good I’d feel, how relaxed. Only one thing would keep me on track. I pulled my phone from my pocket, quickly dialed Lisa’s number, frustration growing when I had to repeat the process three times to get an adequate signal, and told her about the gift.

  “Come home, Josh,” she said, and when I heard her voice, high-pitched and emotional, a tone I hadn’t heard her use in a long time, I wished I hadn’t called. She had enough going on with the pregnancy, work and Ivan moving in. Lisa was strong, yes, but it wasn’t fair that she was always the one watching out for me, cleaning up my mess.

  “Josh?” she repeated. “Did you hear what I said? Pack your stuff and leave.”

  I stared out of the huge window, the one with the dodgy caulking I’d promised Ethel I’d repair, looked at the thick foliage, watched the leaves moving gently in the breeze, a hundred thousand waving hands. Maybe they were a signal for me to do as Lisa said, and despite it being light outside, I pulled the curtain shut, but it did little to convey any reassurance.

  “It’s just someone welcoming me to the area.” I sat down on the lumpy sofa before leaping up again, deciding to check the doors and windows in case I’d missed something. “We’re being paranoid. Nobody knows I have...issues.”

  “Can you be absolutely sure? What if it’s Grace’s accomplice and they still live there? What if someone in that town took those kids and passed them on to desperate families? Think about it, Josh, what if they sold them?”

  “That’s crazy,” I said, rubbing a hand over my face in an attempt to rid myself of the possibility. “First of all, Grace didn’t have any money—”

  “Not when you met her,” Lisa said quickly. “What if she spent it all on getting Logan?”

  “I can’t see it, Lisa. Can you?”

  “I don’t know.” She sighed. “But I’m so bloody glad you didn’t take Logan with you. I mean...what if there’s some kind of organized crime going on in that village?”

  “You mean the Mafia?” I laughed. “Yeah, maybe Ethel’s place is a front for a billion-dollar money-laundering business. I bet you she’s hiding blow in her scones. And it’s a town, by the way. Don’t let anyone hear you call it a village.”

  “This isn’t funny, Josh.”

  “Sorry, but if you were here you’d know how ludicrous it sounds.”

  “You’re sure there wasn’t a note?” Lisa said. “Something from one of these friendly neighbors of yours? Could it have blown away?”

  “Maybe. I’ll check, okay?” I ran a hand through my hair, noticed the sweat on the back of my neck despite the cool temperature from the rickety air conditioner. “If anything else happens, I’ll let you know. How’s Logan? Is he really bummed out I’m not there?”

  “Uh...sure,” she said, and we both laughed at her blatant fib. “Speak of the devil, he just walked in. Hey, Logan, guess who’s on the phone?”

  I heard footsteps charging over and the phone exchange hands. I imagined his goofball grin as he stood next to my sister with the new Spider-Man backpack she’d bought him for camp firmly clenched in his hand. “Dad! Dad! Camp was so cool!”

  I smiled. “Tell me everything. Did you make friends?”

  “Yeah, loads. This girl Brittany picked up a frog and pretended to eat it. It was so funny and Jack said he was going to be sick. We went swimming, and Brittany showed me how to dive properly. Her dive is the best.” He sniffed, sneezed twice.

  “So now you’re a big fish?”

  “That’s what Brittany said.”

  “Sounds awesome, kiddo. So you’re having fun with Aunt Lisa and Uncle Ivan?”

  “Lots and lots and—” Logan’s third sneeze muffled his words.

  “Is your hay fever bothering you again?”

  “Uh-huh. I sneezed a million times today.”

  “A million, huh? I bet that sucked. Did Aunt Lisa give you your antihista—”

  “Yep, and I have to take more before camp tomorrow.” He paused, a little of the excitement draining from his voice. “Aunt Lisa said you’ll be back on Friday. Can you be here before? I miss you.”

  “I miss you, too. I promise I’ll try, but I’m not sure. I might be late on Friday night, so—”

  “Wake me up when you get back, please, Dad. I don’t care.”

  “You will the next morning. How’s Cookie?”

  “Great and—uh-oh. She’s got the remote. No, Cookie, stop.” The phone clattered to the floor. When Logan picked it up again he said, “Gotta go. Aunt Lisa wants you. Love you, Dad!”

  “I love you, too,” I said, but he’d already gone.

  “If my kid turn
s out half as brilliant as him, I’ll be all set,” Lisa said when she got back on the phone. “He’s fabulous.”

  “How’s that tiny tot of yours behaving?” I asked. “Are you still feeling sick?”

  “Not today although yesterday afternoon I thought I’d bring up a kidney. I tell you, whoever named it morning sickness and said it lasts only for the first trimester was full of crap.” She lowered her voice a little. “I’m worried about Ivan, though. I caught him watching a nappy advert three times in a row last night.”

  “That’s true love,” I said. “You’ve got nothing to worry about there.”

  “I know,” she said, after a few seconds added, “Josh, what will you do with the beer?”

  “Throw it away.”

  “Promise me?”

  “All of it. I promise.”

  “It’s really freaking me out. You’re there, all alone. You still haven’t spoken to a new sponsor, have you? Could you find a meeting close by—”

  “No. I don’t want anyone around here finding out. I’ll be okay.”

  “Will you? You’ve always been a good person—”

  “Except when I was a lying drunk—”

  “Stop,” Lisa said. “You lost your direction for a while, and you got back on track. But all this lying, the secrecy, snooping around. I’m scared it’s going to derail you again.”

  “Don’t worry.” I picked up the beer and headed for the kitchen, opened the first can and, after a moment’s hesitation, emptied it down the sink. “Everything’s going to be alright.”

  After we hung up and I’d disposed of the rest of the booze, I thought about her advice to pack up and leave, knowing I’d be no closer to the truth if I did. I had to stay strong, stay on track, and although Grace had started all of this, it was now very much mine to finish.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  Another day of working with Bill sped by. I didn’t see Emily again, and I hadn’t yet met Felicia, despite popping into Ethel’s café, hoping I’d run into her. Unless she was one of Bill’s clients—and so far I hadn’t had the opportunity to ask without it seeming odd—I wondered if orchestrating a believable encounter would mean bringing Cookie back with me after the weekend, and taking her to Felicia’s animal clinic.