Small Town Secrets

by Allie Harrison

  “I try not to,” was all Mac could say. It was another understatement. It wasn’t a lie by any means. He wished he could forget it and not have to think about it all.

  It probably haunted all of them.

  “Too bad Stuey Reynolds isn’t in town—yet,” Gary said. “We’d have most of the starting lineup for our senior football team here.”

  They all let out their own chuckles. And the new subject was a good change. Mac was going to have to be more subtle, he supposed. More than a decade may have passed, but the black cloud, the fear, and uncertainty hadn’t faded. And of course, questions hung in the air like a dense fog. Were they questions where no one knew the answers, or was everyone just afraid to answer them?

  “Stuey’s coming, isn’t he?” Mac asked.

  “He said he was,” Gary replied.

  “Before the weekend of the reunion is over and everyone leaves, we need to come back up here, hold our own reunion here,” Stan suggested. “In fact, why don’t we make this a planned event? Every year, or every five years, we meet again and climb up here. Let’s just plan it.”

  Kyle agreed. “Yeah, I forgot how much we used to come up here. Why did we ever give it up?”

  Mac shrugged. “We all chose a different path, that’s all.”

  “Stan and I didn’t,” Elliot said.

  Mac gave him a grin through the dark. “You and Stan are special.” Everyone in town knew Elliot was special. “You stayed to keep an eye on the town and make sure everyone was safe.”

  Elliot laughed heartily. “No, we didn’t. We stayed because Dad skipped town, and Stan took over the shop. Besides, Stan lost his football scholarship when he hurt his knee right after that.”

  “You eat like a pig. Someone had to work to pay to feed you,” Stan said, his voice filled with laughter.

  Mac knew it wasn’t funny, knew that it bruised Stan’s ego, even though Stan laughed along with his brother. Hell, it probably burned a hole that never healed in that ego. While Stan’s dad’s body shop paid the bills and put bread on the table when they were kids, Mac knew—just as the entire football team knew—there was more going on in that household than what the world saw.

  It was no secret Stan’s dad spent more than a few nights drying out in a cell at the police station before he packed up and left in the middle of the night. It was also no secret that Stan, his brother, and their mother at one time or another had to cover bruises they sustained when Mac’s dad didn’t get the handcuffs on Randy Gresden quick enough. He also knew that scholarship had been Stan’s ticket out of town, a ticket that had blown away in the wind in the form of a knee injury that happened at practice just after the old man skipped town. It had to bite, especially after Randy somehow got his own ticket out of town. There were rumors he took up residence in Florida or California and found himself a new woman to slam around. Mac thought that had to bite, too, like he got a new start on life when Stan, his brother, and his mom stayed here.

  “You know,” Stan said, “that old injury was a blessing in disguise.”

  “How so?” Mac asked without thinking.

  “You guys all know I could never leave Elliot in the house with my dad, anyway. No matter how much he and my mom said to go.”

  “Yes, you could,” Elliot argued, again sounding almost as if he might cry through his stutters. “We did tell you. I even said I’d help you pack. Don’t blame this on me. I can take care of myself. Besides, right before you hurt your knee, Dad left. And Mom got her teaching certificate.” Elliot’s mood swung back to the sad side again. His voice was so filled with emotion he stuttered every other word.

  “I know you can take care of yourself, buddy,” Stan said, speaking with patience like he usually did—the patience Mac recognized. “Besides, if I had gone, I might never have come back. I wouldn’t be where I am now. I own the shop. I like the work, and it does well—with Elliot’s help.”

  “I sweep the floors every day,” Elliot put in, his happy outlook returning.

  “Yes, and you do a great job of it.”

  “You wouldn’t believe how messy Stan makes the floors even though everything else and all the tools have to stay in the places where they belong,” Elliot said. “Still, he’s a greasy slob when it comes to the floor.”

  “I’ll bet,” Mac said.

  “He was that way in the locker room as I recall. Always hanging his clothes in a certain order in his locker,” Kyle put in.

  They all chuckled again. Mac smiled at the sibling and friend banter, for the moment missing home, missing his own brother, Gabe. He planned to spend some time with Gabe while he was here. It had taken a while for all of them to fall back into the groove, but he knew his friends. He knew with a little more time, they’d be talking locker room talk. Taking in the scene before him, his home town, the lights, the few people below him milling about, he wondered why some people—even him—were so eager to escape this. It was home. It welcomed him as no other place really did. Hell, if he listened hard enough he thought he could hear it calling to him.

  “I wouldn’t be with Lizzy.”

  Stan’s words grabbed Mac, caused his breath to catch in his chest. At the same time, the cop in him rose to the surface. There was just something in the lame way Stan spoke them, as if having Lizzy were nothing more than an afterthought, or something he didn’t necessarily want, or perhaps it was as if he needed to say it so others believed it. Mac couldn’t put his finger on it. He just recognized the words were a bit off kilter. He glanced down to the end and met Tony’s gaze.

  “You’re quiet tonight, too, Tony,” Kyle said.

  “I’m just listening to all of you. It’s nice to hear so many familiar voices. Before the week’s over, we should go to the school field, climb the fence, and toss a football around. Make it really like old times.”

  “I’m in,” Kyle said.

  “Me, too,” Mac added.

  “Count me in,” said Gary.

  “And me,” Stan added.

  “I don’t know, Stan, you’re fatter than you were in high school,” Elliot said. “You probably can’t climb the fence. I can bring some water.”

  “Hey, I managed to climb the ladder all the way up here, didn’t I?” Stan protested.

  They all laughed lightly. “I think all of us except for maybe Tony are carrying around some extra baggage,” Mac noticed.

  “Speak for yourself,” Gary insisted.

  “Speaking of Lizzy,” Kyle changed the subject, “isn’t that her car down there parked at Kennedy’s Storage Units?”

  “It looks like it,” Stan put in.

  Kennedy’s Storage Units were lit up like an airport runway, obviously to ward off any intruders, although Mac wasn’t so certain that would be a problem in Mossy Point. From where he sat, he watched Lizzy, her hair shining under all the lights, exit one of the units. She set a box on the ground next to the door before she slid the door down closed. From this distance, Mac couldn’t see exactly what she did for the next several seconds, but intuition told him she was replacing a lock before she stooped, picked up the box, and carried it to her car.

  “What do you think she’s getting?” Elliot asked.

  “Probably something she needs at the bakery. Her dad keeps a lot of bakery stuff and equipment in the storage,” Stan answered. “Right, Tony?”

  “Right.”

  Mac didn’t speak, didn’t trust himself to even open his mouth. He again met Tony’s gaze. He saw knowledge in Tony’s expression. Tony knew as well as Mac knew what she carried to her car and placed on the front passenger seat.

  His letters.

  His mouth was suddenly dry.

  Considering the way she tried to tell him she hated him, he was surprised she didn’t forget his letters as easily as she’d escaped him up by the tunnel. Then maybe she was getting them in order use them to start the bonfire Friday night that started off the picnic.

  He shouldn’t want her. He shouldn’t care what she did with his letters. They were o
ld news anyway.

  Or were they?

  Thunder rumbled in the distance, as if in warning telling him not to go there.

  He drew in a deep breath and tried to squelch any thoughts of Lizzy. It was an impossible task considering all he had to do was look down and see her. He watched her leave the storage units and drive back in the direction of the bakery where her apartment was upstairs. He saw a group of kids in the high school parking lot. He saw a herd of what were obviously very little kids working to learn and play soccer in a small open area of the park, trying to get their practice in before dark settled in completely.

  Thoughts of Lizzy lingered.

  He saw Stan and Elliot’s mom, Kathleen, exit one of the storage units where Lizzy had just left. The one she’d just closed and locked was on the other side, a unit that cost extra because it provided electric.

  From up here, his world was clearer.

  He felt like he could see forever. He just wished he could see answers to all the questions that plagued him. He wished he didn’t want Lizzy. His pants grew tight just thinking about her.

  Chapter Seven

  Patrolman Jake Swornson finished his coffee before gazing around the fast food joint. He put off getting a hamburger since he’d already had one for supper earlier in the shift. He needed to cut back somewhere; late-night burgers were a start. The smell of grease and French fries hung heavy in the air, battling the scent of disinfectant cleaner used to clean the floor. Plenty of cars waited in the drive-thru lane, but the dining room of his favorite quick eatery was empty. Just the way he liked it this time of the night. He glanced at his phone. Eleven fifty-five. He had five minutes left of his shift. And the drive-thru had five minutes left, too, until the lights of the menu speaker would go dark. Perfect.

  He needed desperately to end his shift. He’d seen motion from a distance at the ladder of the water tower. Just as he knew his former classmates were in town for the upcoming reunion, he suspected his former teammates were having their own reunion on the water tower. And because he had to work, he was stuck patrolling this one-horse town instead of enjoying some time reminiscing with his old buddies. The idea left of a sour taste in his mouth, and it had taken all his will power not to head out that direction and slap them all with a bit of a fine for leaving him out.

  The sight of Sally Hillsborough as she mopped the diner floor eased the resentment. He swallowed the last gulp of his coffee and burned his throat. He sucked in a deep breath and let the bitterness slide away as he stared at Sally. It was also perfect watching her sweet ass sway back and forth with the motion.

  Miranda Gray was back at the fryer, trying to finish up the few hamburgers of the drive-thru line. Sally was new, had only started recently. Until she’d started, Miranda always mopped. Jake liked watching Sally better. She had really great tits for a young girl, and her entire body swayed with a rhythm that would bring Mikhail Baryshnikov to tears.

  Ellen House worked the drive-thru window. Mousy and a little timid, Ellen wasn’t the prettiest by far. Damn, though, she could suck the bottle top off a beer bottle. In fact, he had yet to find anyone who could beat her when it came to a blow job.

  He was pretty certain he was in the mood for Sally. He’d yet to experience her and needed to know where she ranked with the others. The sweet sashay of her hips as she mopped told him exactly how well she could ride him. And that was what he was in the mood for. Besides, she didn’t show any contempt or disdain when she glanced his way. At least not yet. Perhaps the others had listened, heeded his threats, and kept their mouths shut, and she didn’t know his ways. He was, after all, protecting them. They should be grateful.

  Leisurely, he got up, hoisted up his gun belt and pants, and sauntered toward the door where he threw his empty cup into the receptacle before heading out to the patrol car. Damn, he loved his patrol car. No one else in town had a computer in their car. It relayed his importance. He was a figure of authority in Mossy Point. No doubt about that. It was his job to protect everyone in town. It was the job of every resident to respect him. Pure and simple.

  He climbed in, started it, and revved it a little, but not a lot to draw too much attention. Then he left the parking lot. He knew where Sally lived. He knew a convenient little spot between here and there. All he had to do was wait. He glanced at the digital clock. Eleven fifty-eight. He wouldn’t have to wait long. Anticipation touched him like a caress of fingertips sliding up his arms and making the hair there stand up. His heart was already beating fast in his chest. He sucked in a deep breath and forced himself to calm. It would be pointless if he shot his wad early and alone.

  After twenty-one agonizing minutes, he’d just about given up on Sally. Maybe those other two bitches told her about him and told her to take a different way home. She could always have gone Cemetery Lane, even though it would add time to her drive. Everyone knew there were less deer out that way to race out in front of you, so perhaps her parents had told her to go that way late at night. Hell, maybe her register didn’t balance and she was still sniffing grease fumes trying to work it out. After all, she was new and not the brightest bulb in the closet.

  Then he saw headlights.

  He let out his breath, unaware he’d been holding it. She drove past him. He doubted she even noticed him.

  Patrolman Swornson pulled out behind her on the narrow road and flipped on the roof bar, lighting up the darkness like a disco ball with an array of red and blue. No siren. He didn’t think he’d need one. She was young, a new driver on the road. The lights behind her would be enough to scare her. He had his plan down pat. Calm her initial scare. Then tell her she was, indeed, speeding—even though he was pretty certain she wasn’t. He didn’t have a radar gun to tell her the exact speed. It didn’t matter. That would raise her scare factor again. She wouldn’t want a ticket. Her parents were probably paying for her little used car. She was probably spending nights flipping burgers to pay the insurance. She’d do whatever he said.

  Her flashers came on. She obviously saw him behind her. She didn’t slow down or move to the shoulder of the road. Not yet. What the hell was she waiting for? The grass was cut and soft, it would be a perfect place to take a little ride. Rain was holding off for now, but it would come soon, and the last thing he needed was to get his rocks off in the rain. He hated a wet uniform.

  She didn’t stop. She slowed and kept driving. What the fuck?

  He kept following.

  Anger heated through his blood and mixed with the need and anticipation that already flowed freely there. Perhaps she simply planned to pull over under a street light. Others did. The light didn’t bother him, didn’t worry him in the least. He knew how to work fast, he knew how to stay hidden behind the car and still get her to give him what he wanted—what he needed.

  She didn’t stop under the next street light. Between his rage, his need, his anticipation, his hard on, he felt like he might explode. He slammed his hand against the wheel. “Pull over, Sally!” He decided then he was going to make her hurt, maybe not a lot. He’d show the little bitch who was boss.

  She drove slow, three miles under the posted speed limit, not that he was really paying attention. He just thought if she drove much farther without stopping, he would make her do more than fuck him and he would give her a ticket. This was becoming ridiculous.

  She went left at the next cross street. He followed, his rage now clouding everything. The anger boiled through him like lava, taking his need for sex to the stars. He forced in a few breaths, knowing he needed to calm down. He couldn’t hurt her, couldn’t leave a mark on her. No one had ever crossed the line with him like this. They all did as he expected—as his uniform required. And only once did one take the ticket instead of giving him head as he’d requested. She’d been a well-known loose woman who frequented Timbo’s Tavern where she could get a cheap high. So when she’d reported his request, he’d merely been given a “strict” talking to by the chief. No big deal. After all, he was working an extra twelv
e, sometimes two, every week because the department was so shorthanded. They needed him.

  So why wasn’t she stopping? He felt the muscles of his neck, tight, almost painful. And he gripped the steering wheel so tight his hands appeared white in the green glow of the dash and the red and blue spots that shone through the windshield from the lights on top of his cruiser.

  Oh, when he got his hands on her…

  He noticed for the first time they drove among trees, branches over the narrow lane covered them. Then she stopped in an open area. And he recognized for the first time where she’d led him. He’d been so keyed up with what he planned to do with her he hadn’t really paid attention to where he was.

  “Oh, shit…”

  ****

  Mac drove the lane to the orchard, fighting the urge to turn around and find Lizzy. All this time he’d planned to close the door on that part of his life. Close the door and let her go. He could go back to doing his job and never thinking about her at all like he’d done for perhaps the last eight years or so. It seemed like since he’d kissed her again, or since he’d met her gaze in her bakery, or perhaps since the first bullet slammed into this thigh, she’d been reeling him in like a fish caught on a line.

  No, he wouldn’t go to her apartment above the bakery. No, he wouldn’t. He didn’t want to see her with his letters. He didn’t want to read them with her, hash over his own words from the past. They should leave the past buried. Now he couldn’t seem to take a step forward, either.

  The rain that threatened and sent him and his friends down from the water tower in a hurry turned out to be just enough drops to smear on his windshield.

  Then when he saw blue and red lights reflecting off the trees of the lane, he didn’t quite forget about Lizzy, but his worry jumped a hundred-fold on the worry meter as he raced the few yards around the bend to his parents’ house in the orchard. A police cruiser was parked, lights flashing, behind a little blue sedan.

  Jake Swornson climbed out of the cruiser just as Mac stopped alongside him and killed the ignition. His worry deflated like a blown-up balloon released into a room when he saw his parents both standing on the front porch, appearing fine, although sharing his worried expression. Ozzie, the golden retriever, sat at attention obediently next to Mac’s dad. He climbed out. “Dad?”