Return to Emmett's Mill

by Kimberly Van Meter

  “Tasha?”

  Turning away, she closed her eyes, but the action only squeezed out the tears she was trying to hold back. “I need some air,” she managed to say before bolting from the room. Flying past Nora, who was just returning with more empty plates, she stepped into the darkness and embraced the frosty air as it penetrated her clothing and caressed her skin.

  Sinking to the front porch step, she wrapped her arms around herself, more for reassurance than warmth, and fought to stay focused. Her breath came in painful stops and starts as she willed the hurt away. She was too old to keep saying it’s not fair, but that didn’t keep her from thinking it over and over. Wiping at the tears that felt frozen to her cheek, she stared up at the sky and wondered if her mother was up there somewhere. And if so, was she looking down at her eldest daughter with a sad frown on her face? Wondering how her brightest star had winked out within a heartbeat?

  She dropped her head to rest on her knees and tried curling into a ball. I’m sorry I didn’t come home earlier. I would’ve been here for you. Fresh tears slid down her cheek and her gaze was lost on the darkened landscape of her parents’ home. She drew a shaky breath and buried her face into her arms.

  Oh, Mama…I’m so sorry.

  JOSH GRABBED A POT HOLDER and pulled the smoking mess out of the oven just as Christopher’s lanky form rounded the kitchen corner to lounge against the wall. Damn.

  “Another one bites the dust?”

  Pot holder covering his mouth as he coughed and sputtered, he gave his son a short nod. “Looks like pizza again. Sorry, buddy.”

  “Fine by me.” Christopher sent a dubious look toward what had started out as Tater Tots casserole but had ended charred and dangerous, and said, “Did that even start out worth eating?”

  Josh wrinkled his nose at the concoction and pursed his lips. “Dunno.” He swung around to give his son a grin. “But I get points for trying, right?”

  “Sure, Dad,” Christopher said, cracking the first grin Josh had seen on his son’s face since they moved. Christopher pivoted on his heel and Josh followed him out of the kitchen, glad to leave behind the burning wreckage and needing to see how Christopher was adjusting.

  “So, you getting used to the new school yet?” he asked, rubbing at the sting in his eyes and blinking hard until his vision cleared. “Everything okay? No one’s giving you any trouble?”

  “It’s fine,” Christopher answered, his cheeks reddening when his adolescent voice cracked.

  “You’d tell me if it wasn’t, right?”

  “Dad, stop stressing. I’m fine. One school’s no different than the other. They all suck.”

  His hopes sank at Christopher’s revealing comment. He’d hoped Emmett’s Mill would be a fresh start for the both of them. At the last school, Christopher had been bullied incessantly. It wasn’t the same as when Josh was in school. These kids weren’t just stealing lunch money or tossing nerds in trash cans. With the last incident, a group of punks had cornered Christopher, flashing a switchblade.

  Josh felt sick all over again at the thought of what might’ve happened if a teacher hadn’t come upon them. Suspensions had been given to the boys from the school’s side, and after Josh filed a complaint with the police, felony charges had been levied. By that point, he’d already packed his bags, finished with everything associated with the city of Stockton. Including his wife.

  Speaking of. He withheld the grimace and tried to keep his voice neutral. “It’s your mom’s weekend. She’ll be here Friday after school. Make sure you have your stuff ready.”

  “What’s the point? She won’t come.”

  Josh winced inwardly at the hurt couched inside his son’s belligerence. Since moving, Carrie hadn’t made much of an effort to see Christopher. He knew the reason, but he’d hoped Christopher didn’t. “She’ll come,” Josh said. “She promised.”

  “She promised last weekend, too,” Christopher reminded him, his young face darkening. “She’s too busy spending her new boyfriend’s money.”

  Josh should’ve known Christopher would catch on to the real reason Carrie found one excuse after another to reschedule her visitation. He was a smart kid. But as Josh struggled for some sort of reason to give his son this time, he needn’t have bothered. Christopher wasn’t interested in listening.

  “Who cares? I don’t,” Christopher said, slouching against the wall as if he really didn’t care if his mother came to see him or not. “She can’t stand me, anyway.”

  “That’s not true,” Josh said. “She loves you.”

  “Actions speak louder than words, Dad,” Christopher said with a healthy dose of sarcasm before shoving off the wall and walking away, obviously finished with the conversation.

  Josh’s heart cracked just a little bit more for what his son was going through. The fact of the matter was, Carrie made it no secret that Christopher embarrassed her. She’d expected their son would be athletic and popular because his father had been, but instead, he was gawky and awkward, his body leaning toward scrawny. To make things worse, early-childhood asthma had made him unable to do many of the things other kids were doing at his age, and he wore braces and glasses. Add to the mix a healthy dose of natural shyness and he made a perfect target for bullies.

  Josh knew Carrie loved their son, but she was too wrapped up in things that didn’t matter to realize she was losing her only child. But Josh was the last person Carrie would accept parental advice from. The divorce was too fresh; the hurt and disillusionment too overwhelming—he wouldn’t even try. Either she’d wise up, or not. All he could do was to be there for Christopher.

  Awash with regret for choices he had made when he was young, he knew in his heart that somehow fate had made him and Tasha take separate paths for a reason. But right now, he couldn’t help wondering how things might’ve been different if they’d been able to make a long-distance relationship work.

  Stanford hadn’t seemed that far away. He’d been so proud of Tasha for getting into the prestigious school. Although the distance eventually tore them apart, he never stopped being proud of his smart girl—even if she wasn’t his anymore.

  Ah, hell. He scrubbed his hands across his face in annoyance at the wistful direction of his thoughts. There was no use in looking backward all the time, and he made a point to avoid it even though Carrie always accused him of holding a torch for Tasha. It wasn’t true and no amount of reassuring ever seemed to convince her. He’d given everything to his marriage. But his best wasn’t enough. A failed marriage was a helluva wake-up call.

  He’d come home to Emmett’s Mill to get his head on straight, and that’s exactly what he was going to do. When his older brother, Dean, had offered him a job at Halvorsen Construction, he’d gladly accepted, more than happy to bury himself in hard labor, to earn every bruise, scab and aching muscle.

  He hadn’t factored in Tasha. Didn’t think he had to. From what he gathered, she rarely came home.

  Until now.

  He grimaced at the weakness he felt slowly building when he thought of her. She still had the power to make his insides do weird, girlie things, and that was enough to make him realize it was best to steer clear.

  That shouldn’t be too hard, he thought, noting his sharp disappointment. He sighed softly. It didn’t look as if Tasha was itching to return for good.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  TASHA GAVE THE LIST in her hand a quick glance as she breezed through the double sliding doors of the small grocery market, intent on finishing the task as quickly as she could. She wasn’t thrilled with doing the grocery shopping, but both her sisters had plans of their own and couldn’t change them.

  Miner Market hadn’t changed much since she was a kid, she noted, going right to the deli counter for her father’s roast beef. In high school, she used to come here with her girlfriends for a hot burrito and a soda, which was often shared among them during lunch. She smiled at the memory and kept moving until she heard her named called.

  “Tasha Simmons!
Look at you! Goodness, girl, don’t you age?”

  Tasha stopped and a name filtered into her memory as the brunette woman ran over to her. “Crystal, wow. You look great, too. How are you?” she inquired politely.

  She patted a rounded stomach and beamed. “Can’t complain. Number three right here. Another boy. Jack said pretty soon we’ll have our own basketball team at the rate we’re going. Any kids for you?”

  “Uh, no,” she answered, struggling to keep her expression pleasantly bland, ignoring the void she felt in her heart. “Not yet.” Probably never. She lifted her basket. “Well, good to see you. I’d better get to this list or Natalie will kill me.”

  Crystal nodded and moved her cart as if to leave but stopped as a sudden thought occurred to her. “I heard Josh’s in town, too. Have you seen him?”

  “Actually, yes, he came to my mother’s funeral.”

  Crystal’s expression lost some of its sparkle. “Oh, that’s right. She was such an awesome woman,” she said, resting her hand on her belly. “You let me know if you guys need anything. Anything at all.”

  Tasha accepted Crystal’s offer with a nod but knew she wouldn’t call.

  She detoured down the bread aisle when she saw someone else she’d gone to school with and exhaled softly in relief when she didn’t hear her name called at her back.

  For a fleeting, selfish moment, she wished she was already back in Belize, away from the groups of well-meaning folk who had no idea why she wasn’t in the mood to reminisce.

  Her coworkers knew she treasured her private time, and since she’d never established herself as the social type, they left her to it.

  She drew a deep breath against the sudden tightness in her chest and looked down at the few items she’d managed to grab and groaned. The list was a page long. How much food could one old man eat? She had a sneaking suspicion Natalie had loaded the list in the hopes that she’d run into a friend or two. She sighed. Her sister wasn’t as sly as she thought. Tasha’s problem wasn’t Emmett’s Mill or the people; it was the memory. She’d seen countless counselors, psychiatrists and even a shaman or two in the hopes of dealing with that one incident, but her own brand of therapy prescribed avoidance. And it worked. She didn’t see the point of messing with a method that wasn’t broken.

  Almost finished and grumbling under her breath about retribution, she rounded the corner and almost swallowed her tongue when she came face-to-face with someone she’d hoped to never see again.

  Diane Lewis, Bronson’s wife, stood not more than four feet in front of her, an uncomfortable expression on her pinched face. For a paralyzing moment, Tasha thought Diane knew what had happened, but when she calmed, she realized Bronson would never have admitted his guilt. Still, Diane’s reaction to her wasn’t kind, which made her wonder what story Bronson had given for her sudden departure.

  “Hello, Diane,” she ventured, offering a smile.

  “Natasha.” Diane returned with her given name instead of the shortened version everyone else used. “You look well.”

  “Thank you.” She struggled to find neutral ground but her insides were trembling. A condolence was in order for Bronson’s death but she couldn’t find the words. When Natalie wrote to tell her, Tasha had read the letter multiple times and crumpled it to her chest as she allowed grim satisfaction to roll through her. It wasn’t right, certainly wasn’t Christian-like, but she hoped he rotted in hell. And it wasn’t something she could tell his wife. Diane solved the dilemma by speaking again first.

  “I heard about your mother. Give Gerald my best.”

  Tasha nodded, and Diane, stiff-backed and elegantly coiffed, kept moving. It was several moments before Tasha could breathe without great effort. Wiping at her eyes, she glanced quickly to see if anyone had caught the uncomfortable exchange. Once satisfied she’d suffered alone, she hastened for the checkout lane.

  TASHA RETURNED TO HER dad’s place and heard her sisters’ voices, one raised and one exasperated.

  “What’s going on?” she asked, and placed the groceries on the kitchen counter. Nora immediately crossed her arms and sent a stony look her way, while Natalie simply exhaled, the breath lifting her bangs as frustration laced her features. “What now?” She followed her sister’s gaze outside. Their father was on the porch swing without benefit of a jacket or sweater and the wind was kicking up. “What’s he doing? It’s freezing. Someone needs to get him to come inside.”

  “What a novel idea. Why didn’t we think of that?” Nora quipped sarcastically, continuing with a snort. “Like we haven’t already tried. He won’t budge. It’s like he’s gone crazy or something.”

  “Cut him some slack. He just lost his wife,” Tasha reminded her sister sharply, and moved past them. What was Nora’s problem? Everyone in the family was hurting. Was it asking too much for her to be a little more sensitive? Bracing herself against the cold, she stalked out the side door to the porch swing, still annoyed at Nora for her callousness but not quite sure what to say to her father. They’d pretty much avoided each other since she returned, and while it hurt to be treated like the plague, she didn’t have the courage to push it.

  As she came closer she saw his eyes were bloodshot and softly swollen from tears, and her heart stuttered. She slowed her step and gingerly sat beside him.

  “Dad?” She tried to discern what he was looking at, but she saw nothing except pine trees and bracken. She turned to him. “What’s going on? You need to come inside. It’s too cold.”

  His bottom lip, blue from the frigid mountain air, trembled as if he were about to answer, but nothing came out. Instead, he lifted his chin just a bit higher as he focused on a point just beyond the pines.

  She tried again, ignoring the goose bumps rioting across any exposed skin and the rush of memories that threatened to rob her of her ability to speak coherently. Once, this man had been her hero. Until the day he failed her when she needed him the most. Not the time. Focus on the now before the man froze to death. “Dad, please come inside. Natalie’s made your favorite for dinner. Meat loaf, I think.”

  “Not hungry,” he retorted hoarsely.

  Stubborn man. “What are you doing? Trying to die of exposure? Don’t be like this. Mom’s gone. We don’t need to lose our father in the same week because he was too foolish to come in before a storm.”

  “Don’t talk to me about losing your mom,” he said, startling her with his sharp, angry rasp. His mouth tightened and his hand trembled as he lifted it to wipe away a sudden glint in his eye. “You weren’t here when she needed you. You don’t know what she went through.”

  Stricken by the vehemence in her father’s voice, she tripped on her own words as she tried to defend herself. “Dad, I—”

  “Bah!” he spat. “Go save a goddamned tree. It’s all you seem to care about.”

  “That’s not true and you know it,” she gasped. “Why would you say that? I came home as soon as I found out.”

  “She was already dead!”

  Tasha sucked in a sharp breath and tears sprang to her eyes. Once again her own father was against her. How could he possibly believe she wouldn’t have been here if she’d known sooner? “I came as soon as I could,” she said, trying her best to keep her voice level when she wanted to scream.

  “She cried your name over and over, wanting to know why you weren’t here.” He buried his head in his hands, raking his fingers through the wild knot of white hair on his head, his breath catching as he continued. “And there was nothing I could do. Nothing! Natalie called and left messages with your supervisor. She wrote letters…Why would you hurt your mother like that? She needed you so much,” he ended with a bereaved moan, his shoulders shaking silently as he cried into his hands.

  She’d never received any messages. A million different things could’ve happened to them, none of which were anyone’s fault specifically, but the communication gaps were wider in underdeveloped countries. She squeezed her eyes shut and hated her sisters for sending her outside to be cr
ucified. But she couldn’t argue the facts. Tasha hadn’t been here when her family needed her the most. She risked rejection and gently placed her hand on her father’s shoulder. “I’m sorry it wasn’t good enough. Sorrier than anyone will ever know,” she added in a whisper. “I can’t take it back. I’d do anything if I could. Deep down somewhere, you have to believe that, Dad. I loved her, too.”

  His throat worked convulsively as he raised his head, searching for the truth in her eyes. Please believe…

  After a long moment he nodded and tears of relief sprang to her eyes, but she choked them back for her father’s sake. He was drowning in a sea of his own heartache, and she wouldn’t do anything to further drag him under, but she yearned to hear something else from him—something she was not likely to get.

  “Oh, Tasha…My Missy…she died in so much pain.” He looked away, but not before she caught the open anguish in his heart. Fresh guilt washed over her. She tried to speak, to offer something to ease the burden he carried, but nothing short of a watery croak came out. Say something, her brain urged, but she didn’t know what to say. She knew nothing would ease his sense of loss, because she knew nothing anyone could say to her would mend the jagged hole in her heart. So it was better to just sit there and freeze your ass off? “Dad, please come in out of the cold. Everyone is worried you’re going to catch pneumonia out here. Please.”

  A long moment passed before her words reached that closed-off space blocked by his grief, then he turned slowly, a measure of his old personality asserting itself in his gruff voice. “You go on. I’ll come in when I’m ready,” he said, dismissing her.

  She blew a hard breath in mild frustration. “Dad, Nat and Nora sent me out here to bring you in. If I go back in there without you, either they’ll just send me out again or Nat will send Nora, and trust me when I say that girl is not big on saying things nice. She’s likely to have you declared mentally unfit and put in one of those old-folk homes where they feed you nothing but Jell-O and Ritz crackers. You don’t want that, do you?”