Home with You

by Shirlee McCoy

  They’d talked about that over the years, about the way silence and secrets had bound them together.

  Eventually, they’d learned to avoid being home. They’d spent hours wandering around town, finding more than their fair share of trouble to get into. And, while they were finding trouble, they were planning their escape. They might have been troublemakers, but they’d done well in school. They’d gotten jobs as soon as they were able, and they’d helped one another put aside enough money to leave town for good.

  The only one who’d stayed was Matthias.

  Stayed and married and had kids whom he’d loved and protected the way a good father should.

  Sullivan wanted to do the same for his nieces and nephews. He’d woken up every morning for the past week reminding himself that kids were kids and they sure as hell couldn’t help it if they were up half the night crying for their mom.

  The problem was, it hurt to hear them. It hurt to know that Heavenly was in her room, pretending she didn’t care, that Moisey was in bed plotting an escape to some far-off country where magical flowers could create healing potions. It hurt to see the boys struggle and Oya cry and Twila try to be perfect day after day. He felt helpless in the face of their sorrow, and he wasn’t sure what to do with that. Sure as hell not scream and rant and punch like his father had.

  “All right, son. That’s it.” Byron nudged his arm, pulling him back from the memories and from his worries.

  “That’s what?” Sullivan asked, glancing at Rumer. She looked about as bemused as he felt.

  “The end of the interview,” Byron responded. “She’s a perfect candidate for the job you posted in the Benevolence Times.”

  “My brothers posted it,” he explained, and Byron scowled.

  “Does it matter? She’s still perfect. A teacher.” He held up one finger. “Years of experience.” He held up another. “Hardworking, smart, knowledgeable, single.”

  “What’s single have to do with it?”

  “Nothing. Just wanted to make sure you were paying attention. I guess you were. So, how about we discuss terms?”

  “Byron,” Rumer cut in. “Sullivan and I already discussed terms.”

  “You did?”

  “Yes,” she said, standing and stretching to her full height. She wasn’t much taller than Heavenly, and she didn’t look all that much older.

  Although, if he could get Heavenly to scrub all the makeup off her face and wear clothes that didn’t cling to her skin, she might look like the twelve-year-old she was. If Sunday knew how her daughter was dressing . . .

  But, she didn’t.

  Which was the entire problem. She didn’t know about Heavenly. She didn’t know that Maddox had nearly been suspended three times since Matthias’s funeral. She didn’t know her husband was dead or that her family was falling apart.

  “And?” Byron demanded, getting to his feet and taking a cigar from his pocket.

  “The terms are good.” Rumer tucked a stray curl behind her ear and met Sullivan’s eyes. The salary he’d quoted was more than fair for the job, but he’d pay her more if it meant he didn’t have to deal with the kids on his own.

  “That’s what you think.” Byron clamped the cigar between his teeth and spoke out of the corner of his mouth. “Let me talk to him for a few minutes alone. I can probably get you more money. I’ve been in the business world for a long time. I know how to negotiate.”

  “More isn’t necessary. Sullivan’s offer was generous.”

  “Then, you plan to take the job?”

  “Well, I . . .”

  “You said the terms were good,” Byron reminded her.

  “I know but . . .”

  “And, with your grandmother being poorly, I’m sure you could use a little extra cash around the homestead. Plus, you said there were medical bills to pay.”

  “That was the reason I applied for the job,” she admitted.

  “Then, it’s settled. She’ll take the position you’re offering.” He grinned.

  “I think I’d better hear that from her,” Sullivan said, meeting Rumer’s eyes. They reminded him of summer skies and spring flowers, of cool rain on hot days.

  She reminded him of those things.

  Comfort. Warmth. Home.

  If he’d had a sketch pad, he’d have drawn her—the sharp angle of her cheekbones, the softer curve of her chin, the slight upward tilt at the corners of her eyes, her expression—the one that said she wasn’t sure if she should say yes, but she couldn’t quite make herself say no.

  “What do you think, Rumer? Do you want the job?” He pressed his advantage, and he didn’t feel a twinge of guilt about it. She’d walked into a chaos, and she’d created order. The kids needed that.

  He needed that.

  “You can have Saturday and Sunday off,” he continued. “If you can stay a few nights a week, that would be a big help. Especially if things don’t improve, and I have to spend more time here. If you can’t, that’s okay, too. We’ll work around it.”

  “Lu is fine at night,” she said, smoothing her hair and sighing. “And, I can’t pass up the money, so I’ll say yes to the job.”

  “Your enthusiasm is overwhelming,” he responded, and Byron laughed.

  “She’ll warm up to the idea. No one can resist those kids. They’re a handful, but there’s only ever been one sweeter bunch.”

  “Your granddaughters?” Sullivan guessed. He’d gone to school with the Lamont sisters. Every one of them had had red hair and bright eyes, freshly washed and pressed clothes, and an air of confidence that came from being loved and valued at home.

  “Who else?”

  “Not me and my brothers. That’s for damn sure.”

  Byron’s bark of laughter mixed with the sound of voices drifting in from the hallway.

  “Looks like my backup is here. Better hide this.” Byron shoved the cigar back in his coat pocket. “There’s always a snitch in every crowd.”

  “Afraid one of your granddaughters will find out?”

  “You’re damn right. Those girls won’t leave me alone about the cigars. They think I should quit for health purposes.” He snorted. “As if a man my age could be any heathier. I fish. I boat. I hike. I even went horse riding a couple of weeks ago.”

  “If you want to go again, you should come out to the homestead. I’m sure Lu would love to show you around,” Rumer offered, her gaze jumping to the doorway.

  The people they’d heard in the hall were there, filling the doorway, bustling into the room.

  “I may take you up on that, kid, and for the record, I haven’t actually smoked a cigar in over a year. I carry them around. Just in case I decide I need one,” Byron said, waving at one of the women who’d walked in. Maybe in her fifties, with short dark hair and hazel eyes, she tapped her watch and smiled.

  “That’s Laurie Beth. She drove all the way out here to see my granddaughter. I can’t keep her waiting. See you two around.” He hurried away, taking the woman’s arm and escorting her from the room.

  “An old-fashioned gentleman,” Rumer murmured. “Or someone who pretends to be.”

  “What you see is what you get with Byron,” Sullivan responded. In all the years he’d lived in Benevolence, he’d never heard anything different. Byron played by the rules. He conducted his business in a way that benefited his family and the community. If he had a problem with someone, he said so. No gossip. No whispering behind people’s backs. No undermining new business or bad-mouthing old ones. Over the years, he’d earned a solid reputation and made a lot of good friends and staunch allies.

  Sullivan’s father hadn’t been one of them.

  Then again, Robert Bradshaw hadn’t been friends or allies with anyone. He’d grown up in town, left to get a degree, returned with a wife and four young kids after he’d earned a fortune in software development. He’d bought a huge old house right off Main Street and fixed it up to be the most impressive property in town—the best materials, the best fixtures, the most expens
ive appliances and furniture. Lawn-care crews to keep the yard beautiful. Flashy cars to park in the driveway.

  He wasn’t the kind of guy who explained anything to his kids or his wife, but Sullivan figured Robert had had something to prove. Maybe that he hadn’t turned out to be a drunken bastard like his father.

  Yeah. He hadn’t been a drunk.

  The bastard part? Sullivan was pretty damn sure he’d qualified.

  “That’s good to know,” Rumer responded. “I’m tired of being surprised by the men in my life.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, and she offered a quick, hard smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

  Obviously, she had some baggage.

  Who didn’t?

  He might have asked her about it, but Kane Rainier had crossed the room. The sheriff of Benevolence, he’d been the first responder to the accident and had pulled Sunday from the burning wreck of the car. He hadn’t given Sullivan many details. Based on the conditions of the two vehicles involved, there was probably a reason for that.

  Not much had been left.

  Just burnt-out metal carcasses sitting in a state police impound lot.

  “How’s she doing?” Kane asked, his gaze shifting to Rumer and then back to Sullivan.

  “They stabilized her. I haven’t heard anything since then.”

  “I was hoping the last surgery would be it.” He swiped moisture from his hair. “She seemed to be improving when I was here yesterday.”

  “She looks better, that’s for sure.”

  “But?”

  “Her brain was swelling again. The neurosurgeon wasn’t sure why. Hopefully, they can relieve the pressure and get her back on track. I’m sorry Byron had all of you come out here. There’s really nothing anyone can do but wait.”

  “Byron didn’t ask anyone to come. He called the church and got the prayer chain started. I got a call from someone who wanted a ride out here. Next thing I knew, I had four people in my SUV.” He nodded toward four women who were sitting a few feet away. Hand in hand, heads bowed, tight-curled white hair tinged with blue, they were obviously praying.

  He was struck by the beauty of that, by the sharp contrast of arthritic hands and smooth polyester fabric, powdered cheeks and red-rouged lips.

  Another thing he would have sketched if he’d had his sketch pad: those gnarled hands linked together. Those heads bent so close bluish curl touched bluish curl. Those four sets of legs, ankles crossed just so, boots pulled on to cover nylon-clad legs.

  Friendship.

  That’s what he’d have called the sketch.

  Or, devotion.

  “It would have been safer for them to stay home,” he commented, oddly touched by their presence and by the fact that they’d braved the storm to come and pray.

  “Sunday never stayed home,” Kane responded. “Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, she brought a meal to each one of those ladies. Always hot. Always home-cooked. It didn’t matter what the weather was. Snowstorms. Rain. Wind. She never made a big deal about it, but she enlisted my help a couple of times when one of the kids was sick and Matthias was out of town. I’m sure there were other people who helped. People don’t forget those kinds of things. Deeds done without any expectation of repayment.”

  “Obviously, she was well liked by the community,” Sullivan responded, watching as a few more people joined the prayer. He counted fifteen men and women praying or talking quietly with one another. He recognized most of them either from his childhood or from the funeral.

  He could have done the rounds, said hello, thanked each and every one of them for coming. It probably would have been the right thing to do, but he didn’t want to look in their eyes and see their sorrow. He already knew how deeply Sunday was loved and how desperately she’d be missed.

  What he didn’t know was why he’d insisted on staying away for so long. Why he’d refused so many of Sunday’s invitations to birthdays, Christmases, adoption finalizations.

  How many times had she called and asked him to come?

  How many times had he said no because he hadn’t wanted to return to Benevolence?

  It was the place he’d escaped, and he’d never planned on coming back. Once a year, though, he’d trekked up the Oregon coast and across Washington State. A two-day drive and a three-day visit. He’d always arrived the day after Christmas, handed out a couple of gift cards to the kids, and stayed up late chatting with Matthias and Sunday, filling them in on his life and letting them fill him in on theirs.

  He should have listened more closely. Maybe he’d have learned a little about the kids before he’d become their guardian.

  He grimaced, rubbing the tense muscles in his neck.

  “Sunday sounds like a wonderful person,” Rumer said, cutting into the conversation and pulling his attention away from the regret that had been eating at him since he’d learned of the accident. “I’m looking forward to meeting her once she recovers.” There was a hint of censure in her words and in her tone, and he realized they’d been discussing Sunday like she was already gone.

  “She’ll be happy to meet you, too. She’ll probably want every detail of everything the kids have done while she’s been in the hospital.” He tried to lighten his tone. He thought he was mostly successful.

  She smiled. “I’ll keep a notebook. She can read it when she’s ready. Photos would be nice, too. Did you take pictures of Twila’s cake?”

  “I probably should have.”

  “Of course you should have. Things have been crazy, though. You’ve had a lot on your mind. Now you’ve got help. I’ll make sure we document the kids’ important events.”

  “Like the choir competition?” Kane asked, his gaze on Rumer. He seemed curious. Sullivan could understand why. Rumer was a stranger who’d suddenly appeared in the middle of a tragedy.

  “Is there one?” she asked.

  “Benevolence is hosting the regional choral festival at the high school two weekends from now. A thousand or so competitors from fifth grade up to twelfth. Heavenly is performing with the middle school choir. She’s also singing a solo.”

  “She is?” Sullivan had heard nothing about that.

  “I take it she didn’t mention it to you?”

  “She doesn’t mention anything.” Except her desire to go back to wherever she’d been before she’d joined the Bradshaw clan.

  “Things have been a little difficult for the family,” Kane reminded him. “She probably forgot.”

  “I’d think something like that would be difficult to just forget. Assuming she has a choir director or music teacher who’s prepping her, she has to have been reminded of it every day at school.”

  “Supposed to be prepping her. Heavenly hasn’t shown up for the last four rehearsals. I only know because I got lassoed into providing traffic control during the event. April Myers is the middle school choir director and music teacher. She’s also on the board of directors for the festival. She’s obviously concerned about Heavenly and doesn’t want to put pressure on her or your family, but she’s mentioned it to me and probably just about anyone else who has anything to do with the competition. I thought I’d mention it to you. From what I hear, Heavenly has some real talent. Maybe that’s her key to staying focused on where she is rather than where she’s been.” He smiled to take any sting out of the words.

  “I’ll talk to her,” Sullivan said. As if that would really happen. As if the taciturn, irritable kid would suddenly want to have a nice, friendly conversation about anything.

  “No pressure,” Kane responded, his gaze shifting to Rumer again. “I just wanted to mention it since you were discussing documenting things. I’m Kane Rainier, by the way.” He offered a hand, and she took it.

  “Rumer Truehart. I’m the Bradshaws’ new housekeeper, nanny, cook, and—”

  “Jack of all trades,” Sullivan offered, and she laughed, the sound reminding him of the summer brook that used to run through the backyard when he was a kid.

  “That�
�s as good a title as any.”

  “You live in Benevolence?” Kane asked.

  “I’m in River Way. Or, right outside of it.”

  “One of my deputies grew up there,” he said. “Susan Brenner? She was probably a few years ahead of you in school.”

  “Then, I probably didn’t know her. I didn’t move there until I was a teenager.” She smiled, but Sullivan thought she was finished answering questions.

  She glanced around the room, gestured to a coffeepot that sat empty near a coffee maker.

  “How about some coffee?” she asked, completely ignoring the fact that there were two cups of it sitting on an end table nearby.

  She’d set them there when she’d arrived, fished money from her purse and thrust it into his hands along with the two pastries he’d abandoned her with.

  He wasn’t sure what he’d done with those or the money.

  “I’m good,” Kane responded.

  “Sullivan?”

  “Actually, I think I’ll see if there’s any news.” He was walking before either of them responded, weaving through the small group and making his way into the hall.

  He didn’t realize Rumer was behind him until he reached the nurses’ station and she nearly barreled into his back.

  “Sorry,” she mumbled, moving up beside him, head down as she typed a message into her phone. “I wanted to let Minnie and Lu know I wouldn’t be home tonight.”

  “Kane can probably give you a ride back,” he responded, his attention on the nurse. She was typing something into a computer, studiously avoiding him. Probably because she knew he wanted an update that she couldn’t give.

  “If I go anywhere, it will be back to your place,” Rumer responded, and the nurse looked up, her gaze shifting from Sullivan to Rumer.