by Sophie Moss
Jimmy’s eyes narrowed, but he snatched his hand free and turned, weaving as he made his way back toward the door.
“Get the keys out of his truck,” Dave murmured to Joe.
Joe nodded, walking after him.
As soon as Jimmy heard him coming, he scrambled into the driver’s seat, threw the truck into gear, and gunned the engine out of the parking lot. Gravel spun out from under his tires as he turned the corner too sharply, ripping out a neighbor’s fence post.
“Mom,” Luke said shakily, clutching onto Courtney’s side.
“It’s okay, baby,” Courtney said, fumbling through her purse for her phone. Becca watched, her heart still pounding, as Courtney punched in the number for 911. “Yes,” she said when the first responder answered. “My name is Courtney Faulkner. I live on Heron Island. I need to report a drunk driver.”
Crossing the Chesapeake Bay Bridge to Maryland’s Western Shore the next day, Becca glanced down at the phone in her lap. What was taking Tom so long to call her back? She’d left him three messages and he hadn’t even bothered to send her a text. She’d waited around at home for as long as she could stand it that morning, hoping he’d call her back so they could set a time to meet. When she still hadn’t heard from him by ten o’clock, she’d simply walked out the door, got in her car, and started to drive.
She needed to see him. She needed to talk to him. She needed to know if what they had was worth saving. If he told her he loved her, that he still felt the same way that he had when they were teenagers, she would put her feelings for Colin aside and go ahead with the wedding. But she couldn’t keep pretending that everything was fine. She’d been letting too many things happen without taking action, without taking control, without facing the truth.
It was time that changed. It was time a lot of things changed.
What had happened at Rusty’s the night before had rattled her. Jimmy had been pulled over a few miles outside St. Michaels and charged with a DUI. The cops had confiscated his license, and she could only hope the reality of that, when it finally sank in, would be the wake up call he needed to clean up his act. But all she’d been able to think about after they’d gotten word on the island that he’d been picked up, was how much worse it could have been.
What if Luke had been in the car with him? What if they’d gotten in an accident? What if something had happened to one of them? She should never have let it go on so long without telling Courtney the truth, without sharing her own story. After what Annie had told her in the café yesterday, that her own mother had been an alcoholic, she couldn’t help wondering, now, how many others were out there? How many others were hiding it? How many others were suffering through it alone, trying to protect the ones they loved by pretending everything was fine?
She was done hiding it, done trying to pretend it was fine.
She had spent several hours at Courtney’s house last night, after Luke had gone to bed. She’d told her everything about what had happened the year after her mother’s death. She’d given her the name of the rehab center her father had finally checked himself into to get clean. And she’d told her she could call, anytime, at any hour, if she needed anything.
The biggest mistake she’d made when she was in Courtney’s shoes was trying to hide her father’s problems from everyone else. She’d been embarrassed. She hadn’t wanted anyone else to know how bad it had gotten. She had hoped—prayed, even—that one day she’d wake up and it would have just gone away. But alcoholism wasn’t something that just went away. It took an enormous amount of strength from the person who was falling into that hole to pull themselves out. And she knew, as well as anyone who’d been down that road with a loved one, that waiting for that to happen was usually a lot harder for the one who was watching than the one who was doing the drinking.
Following a sedan full of teenage girls off the bridge and onto the first stretch of highway of Anne Arundel County, she thought back to the year she’d lost her mother—the year she’d almost lost both of her parents. Tom had been the one she’d called, the one she’d gone to when anything had happened, the one who’d helped her carry her father to bed when he was too heavy for her to lift. She had gone to him because he’d been grieving, too—because that shared tragedy had linked them together in a way she’d thought no one else would understand.
But what would have happened if she’d let more people in? If she’d asked for help? If she hadn’t tried so hard to hide it?
Would it have ended sooner? Would it have been a little easier, just knowing she had the support?
When her phone buzzed and Tom’s picture flashed on the screen, she reached for it, expecting to see the face of the boy she’d fallen in love with so long ago. But the face staring back at her was older…different. She felt the strangest sensation as she glanced back up at the road, almost as if she were seeing him for the first time. Shaking it off, she plugged in the earphones connected to her phone and answered the call. “Hey,” she said, forcing an upbeat note into her voice. She didn’t want him to know anything was wrong yet. She wanted to hash things out face-to-face, not over the phone.
“Hey,” he said back, his tone not at all friendly.
She frowned, glancing in the rear view mirror as she switched back into the right lane after passing a tractor-trailer. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. You called me.”
She blinked, taken aback. She’d been waiting for Tom to return her call for hours. He didn’t even have the courtesy to apologize, to explain why he hadn’t gotten back to her yet? “Did you listen to my messages?”
“No. I haven’t had time.”
I haven’t had time? It was Saturday. What could he possibly be doing that he couldn’t take a two-minute break to listen to her messages? “I’ve been trying to reach you all morning.”
“I know. I’ve been busy. What do you need?”
She didn’t need anything, Becca thought, feeling the first pinch of frustration. She wanted to talk to him. She wanted to have a conversation with him and not be squeezed into a block of time like one of his clients. “I’m on my way to D.C.,” she said, cutting to the chase. “I’d like to see you.”
“Today?”
“Yes,” she said, feeling her own patience begin to give. “Today.”
“I’m busy today. I’ve got a million things going on at work.”
Becca took a deep breath, counting to three. He always had a million things going on at work, but she needed to talk to him today. And she didn’t want to begin a conversation this important on a bad foot. “How about lunch?” she suggested, searching for a compromise. “I could pick up some sandwiches and we could meet at one of the parks near your office?”
“I’m not in D.C. today.”
“Where are you?” she asked, surprised.
“Baltimore. I’m meeting a client.”
“Okay,” she said, glancing up at the green sign over the highway. She was only a few miles from I-97, which would give her a straight shot up to Baltimore. “I could come there instead.”
“No,” he said quickly. “I mean…that’s not necessary. I’ll be back in D.C. tonight.”
Tonight? Frustration shifted to irritation. She couldn’t wait until tonight. “I need to talk to you today. Soon.”
“About what?”
“I’d rather talk to you about it in person.”
He sighed. “Is this about the wedding?”
Yes, Becca thought. It was about the wedding…and a lot more than that. But she didn’t want to have this discussion over the phone. “Yes.”
“Fine,” he said, not bothering to mask the annoyance in his voice. “I’ll be back in D.C. this afternoon. Meet me at home at four.”
“Four?”
“Yes. That’s the best I can do. I have to go. I’ll talk to you later.”
Becca’s mouth fell open when he hung up on her. Was this how he’d been talking to her all along? Had she been so desperate to make things work between them that she
’d let him believe it was okay to talk to her like this? To treat her like this?
Had she gotten so used to justifying his behavior as stress that she hadn’t even noticed that it had become a habit?
Her fingers curled around the steering wheel. She wasn’t just angry at Tom. She was angry at herself. She should never have let him think that it was okay to talk to her like that. She was his fiancée. She was the one person he should be willing to drop everything for. Instead, for the past several months, he had made her feel, over and over again, like a nuisance.
She had told herself it was the wedding, that he shouldn’t have to be dragged into the planning when he had so much else to do. But he was the one who’d insisted on inviting everyone from his firm. He was the one who’d blown up the guest list. After everything she’d done over the years to accommodate him, after all the time she’d spent driving back and forth to D.C. so they could spend their weekends together, he didn’t even have the decency to give her an hour for lunch on a Saturday? To listen to her messages before returning her call?
She saw the exit for I-97 a mile away and was tempted to take it. She didn’t care if Tom was meeting with a client. She was tired of being nice, of being understanding, of always accommodating everyone else.
When was she going to learn to stand up for herself?
Veering toward the interstate, she felt the phone in her lap buzz with a text message. A tiny glimmer of hope lit up inside her. Maybe he’d realized what an ass he’d been after he’d hung up the phone. Maybe he was texting to apologize. She glanced down and shook her head as the last flicker of hope faded away. She should have known better. It wasn’t Tom. It was Shelley.
Just stopped by your house. Where are you?
It was uncanny how Shelley always seemed to know when something was wrong. She wasn’t even her real mother, but somewhere along the way she’d developed that same sixth sense that a mother would have for her biological child. There were times when Becca appreciated it and times when she wished she wouldn’t try so hard to step into a role she’d never be able to fill. Right now, was one of the latter times, but she hadn’t told anyone on the island where she was going, and she didn’t want Shelley to worry her father if she started asking around. Checking the lanes behind her to make sure there was room to move over, she took the last exit before the interstate. As soon as she came to a stop at the traffic light at the bottom of the ramp, she sent her a message back.
In Annapolis…on my way to D.C.
To see Tom?
Yes.
Everything okay?
No, but I’m dealing with it.
Okay…
The light turned green and Becca prepared to make a U-turn to get back on the highway when another message came through.
I heard back from Lydia this morning.
Becca paused, her foot hovering over the gas pedal. Lydia, like Tom, hadn’t bothered to return a single call she’d made over the past week. She and Shelley had both left multiple messages asking to set up an appointment to talk about the school, and specifically Taylor, and they’d gotten nothing, not even a hint of a response. Nor had Lydia bothered to reply to any of the emails they’d sent. Pulling into a gas station instead of continuing onto the highway, Becca slid into an empty parking spot and put the car in park.
What did she say?
She said if we have concerns, we should raise them at the public hearing on Friday.
Becca gazed down at the screen, waiting for Shelley to write more. When several moments passed and she didn’t, Becca typed back:
That’s it???
That’s it.
Unbelievable, Becca thought, as coils of anger sprouted inside her. She typed back another message:
Can you get me her address?
Why? What are you going to do?
What she should have done days ago, Becca thought, tossing the phone onto the passenger seat and throwing the car into reverse. Pay her a visit. She turned out of the parking lot, onto one of the heavily trafficked roads leading away from the mall. Colin had said his mother lived in Severna Park, so she’d head in that direction. If Shelley hadn’t sent her Lydia’s address by the time she got there, she would drive up and down every street and search every mailbox for the name, Vanzant, until she found it.
She wasn’t going to sit back and let a woman who knew nothing about them, who hadn’t even bothered to come out and visit their school, who wouldn’t even afford them the respect of returning their phone calls, roll right over them. This was her school. This was her island. These were her friends.
Taylor and the rest of the children might not be old enough to speak for themselves yet. The islanders might not have the polish, or the money, or the academic degrees to earn the respect of the board members. But Becca could speak for them. She could speak for all the children and all the parents who wanted to send their children to that school, who wanted to build a life on that island. She had spent her entire professional life helping make Heron Island Elementary a place any parent would be proud to send their child to. She wasn’t about to let it become another statistic in Lydia’s portfolio.
Fighting stop-and-start traffic for the next thirty minutes only fueled her anger, and by the time she got to the affluent neighborhood skirting the Severn River, her temper was ready to break. She was vaguely aware of the homes getting bigger, the yards getting wider, and the cars getting fancier as she tracked the numbers on the mailboxes, searching for the address Shelley had sent her. When she found it, she turned into the long, paved driveway, took in the stately brick mansion and the familiar black Acura parked out front, and slowly hit the brakes.
Was that…Tom’s car?
No. It couldn’t be.
That wouldn’t make any sense.
He’d said he was in Baltimore.
Easing off the brakes, she inched forward, but a niggling doubt crept in when she got close enough to see the plates. They were D.C. plates. Her gaze cut to the left fender, where a small L-shaped scratch was etched into the metal—the same L-shaped scratch Tom had gotten while parallel parking in Georgetown two weeks ago. She knew, because she’d been in the car with him when it had happened.
Slowly putting her own car in park, she sat in the driver’s seat with her hands on the wheel, staring at the black car in front of her. What was Tom doing at Lydia’s house? Why had he lied to her about being in Baltimore?
The front door to the house opened. Tom walked out, waved goodbye to the woman inside, and closed the door behind him. Becca got out of her car and Tom looked out at the driveway. He stopped short when their eyes met.
“Becca?”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Baltimore, huh?”
His gaze shifted left, then right. “What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing.”
He walked quickly down the steps. “I had to drop off some papers for a client. Did you…follow me?”
“How could I have followed you when I didn’t even know you were here?” she snapped, stalking toward him. “You said you were in Baltimore. What the hell’s going on?”
Tom glanced back at the door, as if he were afraid Lydia might come out and see them arguing. God forbid they make a scene in front of one of his precious clients. Becca shook her head, wondering how she had never seen it before, how she could have stayed with someone for so long who didn’t care about anyone or anything but himself.
Tom lowered his voice as he closed the rest of the distance between them. “Not all of our clients can go into the office during regular business hours. In some cases, special cases like Lydia’s, we need to respect their privacy and come to them.”
The lies came so easily to him, Becca realized. It was no wonder she’d been falling for them for so long. “What, exactly, are you doing for Lydia?”
“Just some basic contract work.” He took her by the elbow and started to lead her back to her car. “It’s not important.”
It was obviou
sly important enough that it needed to be hand delivered on a Saturday. How stupid did he think she was? Becca stopped walking, her eyes widening. “Oh my God,” she breathed.
“What?”
“You’re working together.” She took a step back. “You’re on her side.”
“What are you talking about?”
How could she not have seen it before? How could she have missed this? “Richard Goldwater,” she said, staring back at him—this man who she had spent half her life with, who she had almost walked down the aisle with, who she’d thought she’d known better than anyone.
She didn’t know him at all. “He works at your firm.”
“Of course he does,” Tom said, and had the nerve to look baffled. “What does that have to do with anything?”
Becca turned, walking back toward the house.
“Becca, wait,” Tom said. “What are you doing?”
She ignored him.
He jogged after her. “Is Lydia expecting you?”
What was he, her assistant now? “No.”
“Becca.” He caught her arm.
She winced when he grabbed her in the same spot where Jimmy had left a bruise from the night before. She stopped walking, looking down at where his fingers were wrapped around her forearm.
“Let it go,” Tom ordered.
She looked up at him, at those blue-green eyes she had fallen for so many years ago, during the weakest time in her life.
She wasn’t weak anymore. She wasn’t grieving. And she wasn’t going to let anyone tell her what to do.
“It’s over,” Tom said firmly. “You need to let it go, Becca—the school, the island, your father, everything. It’s the only way you’ll ever be able to move forward.”
No, Becca thought, shaking her head. There was only one thing she was letting go of, and it wasn’t the island, or the school, or her father, or her friends. She jerked her arm out of his grip and stalked passed him toward the door.
