by Nicole Ellis
“I’ve known him for a very long time.” Tears pooled in her eyes. Shoot. Maybe I’d misinterpreted her feelings for Mr. Westen.
“Mrs. Hanson—are you ok?” I handed her a tissue from the emergency pack I always kept in my purse.
“Oh, yes. I’m ok now. In fact, the funeral provided the closure I desperately needed.” She took a deep breath and smiled through her tears. “Samuel Westen was my high-school boyfriend’s father. One day, Benton, my boyfriend, and his father got into a huge argument. Benton went out with friends to drink it off. The car he was riding in crashed on the way home and he was killed instantly.” She looked at me, as though seeing me for the first time, and gave a little laugh. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I’ve never told anyone, other than my husband.”
I smiled at her sympathetically.
“I’m so sorry for your loss. I just met Anna Westen a few days ago, and she told me about losing her brother at such a young age. I can’t imagine how difficult that must have been for you.”
“Yes, well, Samuel Westen made the situation even worse. You see, they were arguing over me. Benton wanted to enlist in the army as soon as he graduated from high school so we could get married, but his father told him he would disinherit him if he did so.”
“From what I heard, Samuel Westen liked to get his way. I doubt Benton even had a chance.”
“Samuel Westen took away the future Benton and I had planned together, as well as our chance to raise our son as a family.”
“Benton had a son? You were pregnant?” I paused. This was starting to sound like an episode out of a soap opera. “Excuse me, I don’t mean to pry.”
“I was two months pregnant when Benton died. He’d just told his father before the accident. But his father didn’t care about the baby. He wanted Benton to go to school and become a lawyer. He saw me and the baby as hindrances to his son’s bright future.”
“So what happened with the baby?”
“Benton’s father gave me fifteen thousand dollars to leave Ericksville. He threatened to make life miserable for me and my parents if I didn’t take it. My dad was just eking out a living as a fisherman, and Samuel Westen had the power to make things difficult for him. I went to live with my older sister in Portland, where I had the baby.”
“Why did you never say anything later? From all accounts, your son would have been an heir to a fortune.”
“I never wanted to see or speak to Samuel Westen again. And I never did.” Gwen laughed hollowly. “I used to dream about killing him for the way he treated Benton.”
“Does your son know Samuel Westen was his grandfather?” I couldn’t help but pry.
“No, and he never will. I rarely speak of his father, and he’s never asked about his father’s family,” Gwen said. “I didn’t come back to Ericksville until I was married and had changed my last name, so Samuel Westen probably never knew I was even here.”
She looked at her husband in the distance. He walked toward us and waved. “Harold and I’ve been married for thirty years now, and I couldn’t ask for a better man. We’ve been through a lot with his heart attack scares and truckloads of daily medications and treatments, but I wouldn’t trade our life together for anything. I’ve tried to forgive Samuel Westen for what he did, but I can’t seem to find it in me. Does that make me a bad person?”
I shrugged.
“He’s dead now though, and maybe I can finally close that part of my life.” She looked at me defiantly. “Benton gave me a wonderful child, and the past can now stay in the past.”
After my chat with Gwen Hanson, I went back to the car for the flowers I’d bought on the way to the cemetery. I reparked my car in the children’s section. I walked directly to a still-new headstone with a small angel perched on top. I lay a small bouquet of daisies in front of the headstone and ran my fingers over the marker. It said simply, “Ariana Torres, beloved daughter and sister.”
Memories flooded over me. The call from Tomàs notifying us that Desi was in the hospital. The prayers that their little girl could survive when she was born just shy of twenty-three weeks, and the devastation when she passed away soon after birth.
Tears rolled down my face before I could get to my emergency Kleenex pack. I would never forgive myself for not helping Desi out more. We knew she was having a difficult pregnancy and, if only she had taken it easier, maybe she could have kept Ariana inside longer. I was newly pregnant with Ella and suffering from morning sickness, along with taking care of Mikey, but I should have helped more. I wasn’t going to let anything happen this time.
A woman a few gravesites over smiled at me through tears of her own. “You never forget the loss of a child. It hurts less over time, but it never completely goes away.”
I nodded and swiped at my eyes with a Kleenex. Walking past the woman, I read the gravestone above where she was planting a flower and noticed the child had been only two years old. When I got home, I was going to hug my babies tight. Although Mikey and Ella could be a handful, I was grateful for them every day.
19
In all the chaos surrounding Samuel Westen’s death and funeral, I’d almost forgotten I’d promised to start my new job the next day. Would there even be any marketing to do for the condo project? With the extent of the fire damage, I wasn’t sure the condo building project could be salvaged. Elliott must be devastated by the arson. I decided to call him to check if he still wanted me to come in.
“Hi Elliott, it’s Jill Andrews.”
“Oh, hello Jill, it’s good to hear from you. Are you planning on coming in tomorrow at ten?” He sounded as though nothing had happened.
“I wasn’t sure if you still needed me. With the fire and… um, everything.”
“Yes, well, it’s been difficult.” Elliott cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Jill. I need to take a call on the other line. I’ll see you tomorrow? We’ve temporarily moved into a construction trailer next to the building.”
“Definitely. I’ll be there with bells on. See you tomorrow.” I hung up the phone and hit myself over the head with it. With bells on? I spent way too much time with the under-five crowd.
The next day, I woke up early to get ready before I woke up the kids. For the second time in two days, I put on foundation, lipstick, and mascara. I wound my hair into a neat bun and added jewelry I normally wouldn’t dare to wear around grabby baby hands. I put on the gray slacks that had been a favorite in my past life as a marketing manager. I had to lay flat on the bed to fasten the button, and I prayed it wouldn’t pop off. It was time to cut back on chocolate.
Mikey wandered into our bedroom with pajamas still on and his face flushed from sleep. “Mommy, you look different.” He wrinkled up his face and stared at me. “Did someone else die?”
“No, sweetie, no one died. I’m just wearing nice clothes for work.” I did a pirouette in front of the mirror and was satisfied with my reflection.
I threw my bathrobe on over my dress clothes to keep them clean until we left and got both kids dressed and fed. I’d almost made it to the car without incident when Ella spit up all over her onesie. I got her changed into a clean outfit and put her in her car carrier. After getting both kids into their car seats and sliding into my own seat, I noticed I hadn’t escaped Ella’s mess. I used a baby wipe to clean off the trace of spit-up and told myself it was unnoticeable on the black fabric of my blouse.
The morning drop-off routine went by in a blur, and soon I stood in front of the Sunset Avenue condo project. The acrid scent of smoke still hung in the air. The fire had only affected the west end of the building. Seagulls sat on scaffolding, surveying the charred remains. It seemed like considerably more than a week ago that I’d seen Perry Winston stride confidently through the construction site. A trailer labeled “Office” had been set up in the parking lot.
It had been a long time since I’d worked in a professional setting. Before I reached the door, I gave myself a pep talk. It was going to be ok, and I was going to roc
k this job, out of practice or not. I wiped sweaty palms on my pants and gazed at the ocean for a minute before I knocked on the door of Elkins Development Group.
“Come in.” Elliott’s deep voice came through the door. I pushed it open. It smelled like air freshener in the trailer. I wrinkled my nose.
“I know. Awful, isn’t it? But it’s better than smelling smoke all day,” Elliott said.
He looked a decade older than when I’d seen him a week before. His tan had faded, and his skin looked sallow underneath. Even his clothes seemed to hang on his limbs. He strode over to me and shook my hand with limp fingers.
“Good to see you again,” Elliott said graciously.
“It’s good to be here.” I scanned the room. “This is actually pretty nice for a trailer. Did everything in the old office burn in the fire?”
“No, but the office reeked of smoke, so I had the construction crew move everything salvageable out here.”
“How’s Perry doing? He seemed rather upset last time I was here. This must be so difficult for both of you.”
“He hasn’t seen the fire damage.” A sad expression crossed Elliott’s face before he regained composure. I couldn’t imagine how painful it must be to have your life’s work go up in smoke.
“Perry flew to Baltimore the night before the fire to meet with his ex-wife. He was so invested in the project, it will just kill him to see it.” He sat down behind his desk.
“I’m sure,” I murmured sympathetically
“Nothing to do now but move on. The insurance money should cover everything, and we can rebuild.” He shuffled papers around on his desk.
“Would you like something to drink before we get started?”
“That would be great,” I said.
He stood and I waved at him to sit back down.
“I can get it myself. Remember, I work for you now.”
Looking around the room, I found the beverage station. Whereas in Elliott’s office in the condo building, the drinks had been in their own little alcove, here they were crammed into a corner. Six water glasses were stacked in front of a crystal pitcher and the beveled crystal Scotch decanter with matching glasses.
I poured myself a glass of water from the crystal pitcher and turned to him. “Would you like anything?” He shook his head. I motioned to the Scotch. “This set is beautiful. Where did you get it from? My husband would love it.”
He held his fingers to his lips. “Shh. Don’t tell anyone, but I got it from Bed Bath & Beyond for half off. I wanted a little something new to make the place cheerier. What do you think of the painting over there?” He pointed at a landscape of the Ericksville Lighthouse at sunset. The pink and orange sky was set off nicely by the freshly painted peach-colored walls of the trailer.
“It’s beautiful. Was that from the same store?” I asked. A satisfied smile replaced Elliott’s sad expression.
“It’s from the Ericksville Art Gallery. Also on sale. I learned the art of savvy shopping from my mother.”
Who would have thought Elliott Elkins was a closet bargain shopper? Had he been the decorator for the original office space? I asked him and he replied in the affirmative. Elliott was full of surprises.
“Does your mother live in this area?” I gestured to the picture of his parents he’d shown me on my first visit. I moved closer to the picture to get a better look at it and did a double take. I sucked in my breath. It was the same picture I’d found in the hidden compartment in Benton Westen’s room. Either it was a very popular stock photo for frames, or Elliott Elkins was Benton’s son. But Elliott had said his father was killed in an accident in the army—which sounded as if he didn’t have a clue about who his father really was. I glanced at the other photo, a recent shot of Gwen and Harold, which confirmed my suspicion about his parentage.
“Yes, she and my stepdad live in Ericksville. We moved back here when I was fairly young to be close to her family. My father’s family had all moved away by the time we returned to Ericksville. My mother met Harold when she was his waitress at a Denny’s.” He gestured to the picture of them. “They’ve been married over thirty years now. In fact, they just returned from an anniversary trip to Hawaii.” He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a tray of chocolate-covered macadamia nuts. “Would you like one? Mom brought me some back to thank me for housesitting while they were gone.”
“Thanks, I love these things.” I took one and hoped he’d offer another, but he closed the box and returned it to the drawer. Too late, I remembered my vow to eat less candy. The desk drawer full of candy reminded me of his grandfather’s candy drawer. Anna had a nephew and her son had a cousin. I had a feeling they would be overjoyed to know they had more family. It was too bad Elliott didn’t know the truth about his father, and if his mother hadn’t ever told him, it certainly wasn’t going to be me who spilled the beans.
I pointed to the photo of Gwen and Harold. “Sometimes I can’t believe what a small town this is. I think I may have met your mother. I was at the cemetery yesterday for a funeral and there was woman named Gwen there who looks exactly like her.”
Elliott looked up sharply. “Yes, my mother’s name is Gwen. What a coincidence. I didn’t realize she’d experienced a loss. I’ll have to call her later.” He then looked at me, as though realizing that I too had been in attendance at the funeral.
“Would it be better to reschedule our meeting for another day? Was the funeral for someone you were close to?”
“No, just a neighbor. In fact, I believe you knew him—Samuel Westen.”
“I can’t say I knew him well. We’d spoken a few times over the years, but not recently,” Elliott said. I looked at him oddly.
“I thought you were working with him on a new multi-home development? Mr. Westen was selling his house and a few acres. Up on Cedar Street?”
“No,” Elliott shrugged. “Must have been someone else. I know the property you’re talking about, but no, I haven’t been up that way in years. It would be a great property though.” He looked deep in thought and dollar signs formed in his eyes. “It could be developed with several houses on the parcel while still keeping the manor feel for the main house. If I put in some tall hedges surrounding the English gardens, it wouldn’t even feel like it had been subdivided into smaller lots. The manicured gardens and stone benches are a great selling feature for the house. Do you know if his heirs plan on selling?”
“No, sorry, I don’t know. I thought Brenda Watkins said you’d spoken with her about being the listing agent for the houses once they were developed, but I must have been mistaken.” I knew I hadn’t misunderstood Brenda, so why was Elliott lying?
“Must be. I’ve got my hands full with this project right now. But I’d love to develop that property after this one is complete. Have a seat here.” He rotated one of his two computer monitors toward me and pointed to the screen. “I want a website like this one. And,” he pushed a brochure toward me, “something like this to send to prospective clients and have on hand for walk-ins.”
I nodded, picking up the brochure and opening it. “I think this will work really well for you. I can put together some copy and have a photographer take some pictures of the view. I don’t think now is a good time to take pictures of the building.” I shuddered a little thinking about the fire-ravaged structure. Not something you wanted prospective owners to see. “Do you have an artist’s rendering of what the completed condo building will look like? Maybe something with landscaping too?”
Elliott nodded. “We have this.” He pulled a file folder out of a cabinet and spread the contents on the table.
“It’s beautiful,” I said truthfully. The drawing reflected decidedly Northwest-style architecture with exposed wooden beams, mature landscaping, and pathways. The first floor offered small shops and restaurants, with parking underground. Families with small children sat around wrought-iron tables at an outdoor patio café, licking ice cream cones. A golden retriever that could have been Goldie’s brother waited p
atiently for his owners to finish their treats. Everyone was smiling and happy. Behind the condo, the Willowby Island ferry chugged in to the dock.
“I want to live here,” I said, admiring the drawing.
Elliott smiled. “I know. I do as well. This is why we have to move forward with construction, even with everything that’s happened. I realize this building isn’t popular, but it could be the future of the downtown area. We’re not trying to push out the small businesses. In fact, we’re providing affordable spaces for people to lease.”
“Well, we’ll definitely have to focus on that, but it’s going to take more than ice cream to convince people that it’s worth blocked views and the additional traffic the condo complex will bring to downtown Ericksville.”
“That’s what you’re here for. To make people realize this is a step in the right direction for the revitalization of downtown.”
“Do you mind if I stay here for awhile to look over these images?”
“You can have a seat right over there.” He pointed to a small table against the far wall.
I scooped everything we’d been reviewing off the desk, brought the materials over to the side table, and pulled up a chair.
“Just let me know if you have any questions,” Elliott said.
“Thanks.” I took a notebook out of my bag and jotted down a few notes. A little thrill shot through me. I wasn’t completely convinced that this condo complex was the right step for Ericksville as I was rather fond of the current cozy feel of downtown. But progress would happen whether I approved or not, and it was exciting to be a part of it. And, this was one hundred percent better than creating marketing materials extolling the virtues of antibacterial toilets as I had done in my previous job.
I was in the middle of sketching out a marketing framework when Elliott tapped me on the shoulder.
“I’m going to Donna’s Diner for lunch. Do you want me to bring you back anything?”
“Oh, no thanks, I’m good. I brought something to munch on.” I patted my satchel. “I think I should be finishing up here pretty soon.”
