by Brenda Novak
“She mailed me all her recipes, you know,” Grace said. The package that had arrived from an attorney’s office about a week after the funeral was what had finally convinced Grace to come back. That, and George’s insistence that she deal with whatever it was that was causing her reservations about their marriage. Although she and George were speaking again, he’d given her a three-month ultimatum. He said he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life waiting for something he was beginning to think would never happen.
Clay shifted the gun to his other arm as though he felt awkward still holding it. “Folks around here think those recipes went with her to the grave.”
“No.” They’d been a parting gift—the only package Grace had ever received from Evonne.
“She probably chose you because you helped her so much when you were a teenager,” he said.
Grace thought it was because Evonne had an inkling of what had gone on at the farm, knew without ever being told.
Grief mingled with the guilt, regret and confusion Grace already felt, and the lump that swelled in her throat made it difficult to speak. “Nothing’s easy, is it, Clay?”
“Nothing’s easy,” he agreed.
She took a step down the drive. “It’s late. I’d better go.”
“Wait.” His warm hand curled around her wrist for a moment. Then he let go as if he feared she might take exception to his touch. “I’m sorry, Grace. You know that, don’t you?”
She couldn’t stand the tortured expression on his face. She preferred to imagine him as indifferent, didn’t want to know he was suffering as much as she was. She couldn’t bear that, too.
“I know,” she said softly and slipped away.
You have to make your own choice….
Clay’s words ran through Grace’s mind like a litany—all night and all morning. Her brother had implied that he wouldn’t blame her if she came forward. He hadn’t pointed out the very serious consequences, nor did he mention the people who’d be hurt. He’d simply shoved the decision right back in her lap.
Somehow she both loved and hated him for that.
God, what she wouldn’t give for one clearly defined emotion….
The doorbell rang. Shoving the box she was unpacking to the right, she climbed to her feet and crossed the hardwood floor. Evonne’s sisters and cousins had claimed most of the furniture in the house; they planned to have a yard sale with what remained. But Grace had contacted Rex Peters, the town’s only real estate broker, and rented the house just in time to save the last of the dishes, kitchen utensils, cleaning supplies, an odd table here and there, gardening rakes and hoe and a few pictures. Now she was expecting George to deliver her bed, dressers, sofa, chairs and dinette set from Jackson. She was staying in Stillwater for three months—she had only that long to “make peace with her family,” as George put it—but she needed furniture all the same. It made no sense to rent when it would have to come from Jackson, anyway.
For one second, she hoped George would be in a hurry to get back home. Since their sort of reconciliation, relations between them were awkward at best, and although she should’ve been eager to see a friendly face, she felt far less anticipation than she should have. She couldn’t deal with the pressure of knowing he wanted something from her she couldn’t yet give. And she was afraid he might want to make love. She struggled in that area more than any other.
The doorbell sounded again.
Apparently, he was pressed for time….
“Coming.” She swung the door wide, but it wasn’t George who stood on her step. It was a darling little boy with gray eyes, a patch of freckles across his nose, and tufts of blond hair sticking out from beneath a baseball cap.
“Hello,” she said in surprise.
He wrinkled his nose as he gazed up at her. “Hi.”
She waited, but he didn’t say anything else.
“Can I help you?”
“Want me to mow your lawn? For five dollars?” he asked.
Grace raised her eyebrows. “Are you old enough to handle a lawn mower all on your own?”
His expression told her he didn’t appreciate her doubting his ability. “I used to do it for Evonne,” he said indignantly.
For years, whenever Grace came by on her bicycle, Evonne would offer her some small job. Grace doubted Evonne ever really needed the help. She’d managed on her own for a long time. She only provided the opportunity as an excuse to send home some of the peaches or pickles Grace loved, and maybe a few dollars.
Lord knew Grace’s family had needed the money, especially after Irene insisted Clay go away to college.
“I’m saving up,” he added.
Grace couldn’t resist a smile. “For what?”
He hesitated. “It’s a secret.”
“Oh.” She eyed his muddy sneakers, his blue jeans, which were worn through at the knees and his oversize T-shirt. He definitely wasn’t clean, but he looked as though he might have started out that way this morning. She couldn’t decide whether he was well-cared-for or not. “How old are you?” she asked.
“Eight.”
Even younger than she’d thought. From his build, she would’ve guessed nine. Poking her head outside, she glanced up and down the street, but she didn’t see anyone who might be with him. “Are you a neighbor?”
He nodded.
“I see. Well, since a lawn mower wasn’t one of the items left behind by Evonne’s family, I think you’ve got yourself a job.”
Instead of beaming at her, as she’d assumed he would, he turned and scrutinized the yard, thoughtfully scratching under his cap as though he was at least twenty years old. “You want me to do it today?”
“Probably not. Seems pretty short to me.”
He scowled, obviously less than pleased with the loss of an immediate opportunity. “I could pull weeds,” he suggested.
“For five dollars?”
“Not if you want me to do the garden in back.”
She didn’t blame him. The garden sprawled over a quarter of an acre and was entirely overrun. “Okay, how ’bout you do the front and back planter areas?”
“Will you throw in a cookie with that five bucks?”
She wanted to laugh but squelched the impulse. She suspected he’d be offended if he knew she wasn’t taking him as seriously as he expected. “You drive a hard bargain, my friend.”
“It’s only a cookie.”
“But I’m just moving in. I don’t have any cookies.”
He frowned, considering. “Can you get one by tomorrow?”
“You’re willing to work on credit?”
“Sure.” He smiled for the first time, revealing the fact that he was missing two front teeth. “A cookie tomorrow’s better than none at all, right? Maybe you’ll even give me two, since I had to wait.”
Clearly, he was a bright boy. “What’s your name?” she asked with a grin for the devilish glint in his eyes.
“Teddy.”
“I’m Grace, Teddy. And it sounds like we have a deal.”
“Thanks!” He dashed over to the flower bed and began pulling weeds just as a moving van rambled down the street. George, driving the rental truck.
Her on-again, off-again boyfriend smiled and waved when he saw her, then pulled into the drive.
“This is quite a house,” he said as he got out.
She motioned him up the walkway. “Come see. It’s old, but I love the high ceilings and heavy-paned windows, the wallpaper, the floors. It’s so…her, you know? I close my eyes and I can practically smell the spices she used. It’s almost like she’s still here.”
“Who’s ‘she’?” he asked.
“Evonne.”
“The woman who died recently? The one who used to sell things in her front yard?”
Grace nodded and held the door for him.
“How’d you manage to get her house?”
“I told you on the phone when I gave you the address, remember?”
“I’m sorry. I was preoccupie
d with the Wrigley case. It’s going sideways on me.”
She closed the door behind him. “The intruder rape?”
“Yeah.”
“That is a problem,” she said. But she found it difficult to really empathize. She’d seen the evidence stacked against his client, knew in her bones that the thirty-year-old bricklayer was dangerous and violent. She certainly didn’t want to see this guy walk away from what he’d done just so George could win the case.
“Yeah, it is. But tell me again how you got this house. You seem happy with it.”
“It was just a matter of timing, really. Evonne’s family wanted to sell. But real estate isn’t moving very fast around here, so I convinced them to collect three months’ rent before putting it on the market.”
“You’re not going to get too comfortable here, are you?” he asked.
“In Stillwater?” she replied. He was the one who’d pressed her to visit, to finally resolve the situation between her and her family. Now he wasn’t pleased that she’d taken his advice?
“Oh, yeah.” He wiped the bead of sweat rolling down from his dark hair, which was beginning to thin on top. “Guess not, huh? You hate this town.”
It really wasn’t that clear-cut. But he’d been raised by two affluent, doting parents and had a younger sister who adored him. He didn’t understand how complex her background was, how literal the skeletons in her closet. As a result, he preferred to dismiss her reservations about marriage. Can’t you just…get over it? he’d asked before their last breakup.
She wished she could.
“I have no problem with the countryside, the slow pace of life, the architecture,” she said as he looked around. It was the memories that plagued her. And, today, the heat. But she had to contend with the heat in Jackson, too.
“You’re right. There’s something classic and dignified about this place,” he said.
“Let’s go into the kitchen. I’ll get you a cold drink.”
He jerked his head toward the front. “Who’s the boy weeding outside?”
Teddy had rocked back on his knees and silently appraised George as he walked by, but Grace could see through the window that he was back at work.
“One of the neighbor kids.”
“He’s a handsome boy. Good thing he’s not twenty years older. I’d worry that he might steal you away.”
Grace hesitated, easily recognizing the subtle plea for reassurance. She cared about George. Even if he didn’t always understand her needs, he’d been a loyal friend. Once her heart was whole, she planned to marry him and start a family.
“You’re not going to lose me,” she said.
He caught her hand and leaned in to kiss her forehead. “I’m glad to hear that. When you come home, we’ll forget about everything and move on.”
We’ll forget… He often tried to encourage her with such talk, but he had no scars to worry about. He simply didn’t want to hear anything that wasn’t a “yes.”
“Of course we will,” she said, because she needed him to maintain his faith in her.
He studied her as though he wasn’t quite sure whether or not to believe that. Then he kissed her.
Grace slid her arms around his neck and enjoyed the kiss—until he deepened it. Then she felt that old stubborn resistance rise inside her like bile. Pulling away, she smiled to cover her less-than-enthusiastic response. “Let’s get you something to drink, okay?”
“Sounds good.” He followed her, stepping around the few boxes she’d brought to Stillwater in her car. “What’re you going to do with yourself here, day after day?” he asked.
“I’ve been thinking about that.”
“So have I. Why don’t I bring your computer, so you can act as a paralegal for me?”
She cocked an eyebrow at him. “You’d jeopardize your clients by allowing a prosecutor access to your files?”
“My gosh, Grace, would you relax? You’re off for three months. You won’t be handling any of these cases.”
It would still be a huge breach of ethics. Grace wasn’t interested. “Thanks, but no thanks,” she said. “I left my computer behind for a reason. I want a clean break from anything to do with my job.” She was determined to finally face her demons, not anesthetize herself with more of the same routine.
“Then what?”
In the kitchen they were surrounded by tall, painted cabinets and elaborate crown molding. “I’m going to use the recipes Evonne sent me.”
His expression turned condescending. “Make homemade soaps and lotions and stuff like that?”
“Exactly.” Removing a pitcher of raspberry iced tea from the refrigerator, she poured him a glass.
“Now I’m not worried at all,” he joked.
Grace handed him his drink. “Why not?”
“I can’t see my talented little prosecutor sitting outside, peddling homemade foodstuffs. At least not for very long.”
Grace tucked the wisps of hair that had fallen from her ponytail behind her ears. Maybe it wouldn’t be as mentally challenging as the work she was used to, but it wouldn’t be as hectic, either. An assistant district attorney was always cleaning up other people’s messes, trying to put things right—or as right as they could be after a violent crime. Now, she yearned to forget the burglary, rape and murder cases she’d prosecuted and create something simple and pure. “It’ll pass the time while I’m here,” she said instead of arguing.
“And make you desperate to get back to a real job.”
“Possibly.”
“I give it a week.”
Grace thought she might last a little longer than that. Maybe she wasn’t too excited about what lurked at the farm. But—she glanced around the well-loved kitchen—here in Evonne’s house, she felt at home for the first time since she could remember.
2
Grace’s cell phone rang early the following morning. Expecting it to be someone from the office, she bolted awake and scrambled to answer before the caller could be transferred to voice mail.
A second later, she remembered helping George lug her bed up the stairs to what had been Evonne’s bedroom.
She wasn’t even in Jackson, she realized. She was in Stillwater. And she was staying here for some time.
“No one’s going to steal me away, George,” she muttered, and pushed the Talk button, thinking he might want to let her know he’d made it home safely last night. Fortunately, he’d been eager to get back to the Wrigley case and hadn’t pressed her to sleep with him.
“Hello?”
“You’ve got to call Mom. And Madeline.”
It was her younger sister, Molly, who worked for a clothes designer in New York City. As a teenager, Molly had been almost as eager to get out of Stillwater as Grace. She’d spent her first year after high school helping their mother move from the farm and get settled in town. But after that she’d obtained a grant from the federal government that allowed her to attend the Fashion Institute of Design and Merchandising in Los Angeles. Except for a few visits to Jackson each year to see Grace, and to Stillwater to see Irene, Clay and Madeline, she’d been gone ever since.
Grace rubbed a hand over her face in an attempt to revive herself. “Why?”
“They know you’re in Stillwater.”
“Clay told them already?”
“From what I heard, you stopped by the farm night before last. How long did you think he’d wait?”
“Until I was ready, I guess.”
“Did you ask him to keep your presence a secret?”
“No. I knew he’d tell Mom anyway.”
“There you go.”
Stifling a yawn, Grace kicked off the sheet that served as her only covering. Six-thirty in the morning, and it was already hot and sticky. The open windows and the fan whirring softly in the corner seemed to make little difference. But there wasn’t any more Grace could do, except maybe sit in a tub of ice cubes. Evonne’s house had no air-conditioning. “Okay, I—I’ll call them later this morning.”
&
nbsp; “Did you know Mom’s seeing someone?” Molly asked.
The sleepiness Grace had been fighting suddenly evaporated. “After all these years? You’re kidding.”
“No.”
“When I talked to her a few weeks ago, she didn’t mention anyone.”
“The relationship—if that’s really what it is—is pretty new. When I called Clay on Saturday, he said she’s been gone a lot, and that she’s been acting very secretive. So we’re guessing she’s involved with someone.”
“Do you think he’s from around here?”
“If so, I can’t imagine who it would be. You know how poorly the people of Stillwater have always treated her.”
“It’s not as bad as it used to be, is it?”
“Of course not. But there are still plenty who’ll never accept her.”
“Not while they suspect what they do,” Grace added.
Molly ignored the comment. “Anyway, if she’s found someone special, I say it’s about time. Considering what she’s been through, she deserves a good man.”
“What if he isn’t good?”
“The odds have to work for us at some point, don’t they? Surely she couldn’t get three bad ones in a row.”
Nothing was certain. Even if Irene was seeing someone special—a good man—did he deserve to get mixed up with their family? Not that he’d even know the worst of it. That was part of the problem Grace faced with George—her inability to be completely honest with him. “I don’t see how she can do any worse than she did with our father and the reverend.”
“Our father had his moments.”
“Before he ran off.”
“My point exactly. It was more like one big mistake, not two. Mom wouldn’t have married the reverend if she hadn’t been so desperate. She was only trying to keep all of us together.”
“I know.” Grace didn’t blame Irene for buying into the dream the reverend had represented. He’d seemed like a solid family man, someone who’d stand by her, as well as her children and his own daughter, instead of shirking responsibility the way their real father had. No one would’ve believed that Barker, a well-liked hardworking preacher, could possess such a dark side.
