by Tia Louise
A flash of fear hits my chest. My mother is speaking words I’ve never heard before. She’s talking about deep secrets, things that have been buried a long time.
I’m ready with my shovel.
“How did his mother ruin our family?”
“I’m not discussing this with you.” She starts for the door, but I dash across the room and cut her off. She tries to step around me, but I catch her wrist, accidentally knocking the papers from her hands.
“I’m sorry,” I say, squatting down to gather them. She slaps my hands away, pulling the sheets fast to her chest, but I have one.
“Drunkenness, revelry, and the like are displeasing to the lord…” I read aloud.
“Give me that!” She snatches the page out of my hand. “That is none of your business.”
I know exactly what she’s holding, and I’m sick of the lies. “Whose business is it, Momma?”
“God’s,” she says, again attempting to leave.
My hand shoots out to grip the doorframe, my arm blocking her progress. “I know you write Reverend Green’s sermons. You can stop hiding it from me.”
“I do not!” Her eyes blaze at me, but I’m not interested in that revelation. I want to get back to the bomb she almost dropped.
“How did Jackson’s mom ruin our family?” I know how his dad did it—or how everyone thinks his dad did it, by developing Oceanside Beach and taking all the tourism dollars away.
I also know Jackson has never gotten along with his dad, which is why he prefers Cane, his mother’s maiden name, to Lockwood.
“When Jack went to school, his father and I agreed your relationship should follow the normal course of high school relationships. It should end.” She isn’t answering my question about Jackson’s mom, but I’m distracted enough by what she is saying to let it go.
“What did you do?” My insides are quaking. I’m not sure if my hands are shaking from fear or anger, but I have to know the answer to this question.
“We simply agreed to encourage you both to see other people.”
“Jackson said his father showed him a picture of me with Mason Green. His father told him I’d been promised to Mason, and we were getting married as soon as I graduated and were heading to the mission field together.”
My mother’s eyes flutter and she looks to the ceiling. “If only the lord would grant me such a noble daughter. Instead I have you—willful and unworthy of my love.”
The knot in my throat twists so tight it’s physically painful. “Did you tell Jackson’s dad I was engaged to Mason Green?”
Her eyes narrow, and she steps closer to me. “Randall Lockwood came to me with a proposition. If I wouldn’t block his attempts in the city council to get approval for his new development, he would see to it Jackson never came back here for you again. He’s a liar just like his son. He traded you for the right to destroy this town.”
“And you gave it to him.”
She glares at me a moment longer before striding from the room, Sunday’s sermon clutched tight in her hand.
Idolatry.
Greed.
Lies.
I feel like the wind has been knocked out of me. I take two steps backwards before finding my footing and going to the front door. I’m having trouble breathing, and all I can think is I have to get to Coco. I want to find my daughter and take her home. I’m not leaving her in this house another second.
The wind swirls around the wooden structure, captured by the series of pillars, rails, and awnings. It’s a natural wind tunnel. I look up the road at the unsuspecting people working in their yards like it’s any other day and not the most significant day in almost eleven years.
For them it’s not.
It’s just another Saturday.
Looking across the street, I see Betty Pepper still huffing around her yard. She bends over and straightens a garden gnome. His pointed red cap extends past her shoulder as she grunts. I know all about you and your family…
I’m off the porch and hustling across the street again as the old woman stands and sees me.
“What do you want?” she grumbles, jerking her blouse down to cover the straining button on her Bermuda shorts.
“You’ve lived here, across the street from my parents’ house since before I was born?”
“I’ve lived here for fifty-one years, Emberly Warren, and you’ll do good to remember that.” Her pale face is pink around the edges, and wisps of grey hair fly in the breeze.
“I was talking to my momma just now… she said something about Beverly Cane destroying my family the same way Randall destroyed the town.”
“She did?” The old woman’s eyes flash round, and I know I made the right decision coming here. “I can’t believe she’d dredge up that old baggage.”
“What did she mean?”
“You know very well what she meant. Randall Lockwood developed Oceanside Beach, and all the tourists left here. They all went to the strand, and our economy dried up.” She walks along the inside of her picket fence.
I follow along the outside. “And Beverly Cane?”
She sniffs and lifts her chin. “I’m not one to go around spreading dirt about the dead. It’s disrespectful.”
“It’s still my family.” I give a little smile, hoping she’ll soften.
“Speaking of disrespectful, you need to learn to respect your elders. Attacking me when I was simply asking if you’d seen Bucky…”
“You’re right,” I nod, doing my very best to look apologetic. “I had no right to speak to you that way. I think the heat is making me tired.” Tired of the bullshit.
“You could work on your temper.” She jerks on her waistband. “Your father never acted that way. He was as helpful as he could be before… Well, he was helpful, and your mother—”
“Before what?” I smile and blink up at her.
She looks side to side, checking for eavesdroppers, and I know I’ve got her. Betty Pepper wouldn’t be worth her weight in busybody gold if she could resist a blatant plea for gossip. “I can’t believe you don’t remember this, though I suppose you were only a child at the time.”
“I barely remember my father at all,” I say in a sad way I’m hoping she can’t resist.
Strangely, I have no memories of my father, even though I was a little older than Coco when he and my sister died.
“You’re old enough,” she says as if giving herself permission. “It’s only right you know the truth.”
“The truth?”
“Beverly Cane was your mother’s best friend… until she started sleeping with your father.” My jaw drops, and even though the attachments are long gone, I still feel shock. “Your mother insisted they break it off, but that sort-of backfired on her. They decided to leave instead.”
“My father was going to leave us?” I’m trying to decide if I’m devastated or if I blame him, especially after my last conversation with my mother.
The old woman’s brow softens, and she touches my hand. “No, love. Your father would never leave you behind. He took you and your sister, and he and Beverly drove out of town. Or, they tried to.”
Her voice moves away, becoming distant. The memory of my dream rushes in on me. Water is pouring in all around us, clear arcs coming in through the windows, black water rising up from the floor.
“It was a car wreck,” I say in a whisper.
“Your father was driving when that car went off the bridge. You were the only survivor.”
Seventeen
Jack
“I’m not going back to the firm.” Watching my father, I brace for the explosion.
It doesn’t come.
He leans back in his chair and exhales deeply. “I had a feeling you might say this. I had a feeling it was coming when you bumped into that little girl again.”
“Ember isn’t a little girl.”
“You realize you’re making a mistake.”
“The only mistake I ever made was not coming back here to verify your story.” My words
are angry, but my demeanor is calm.
I walk to the wall of windows in his penthouse office and look out over the vast stretch of ocean. Tiny sailboats are dotted throughout the expanse of blue. It’s all so serene and beautiful, such a contrast to how I feel.
“So you’re not going back to your firm.” My father ignores my jab. “What will you do instead? Paint houses?”
The chuckle in his voice fuels my defiance. “Maybe.” I continue looking out at the water, thinking about life with Ember, the life I’ve always wanted.
“Be serious, Jack.”
I study him sitting behind the large mahogany desk. The gleaming wood and sturdy brass all project an image of importance. My father in his sleek charcoal business suit, his gray hair neatly trimmed along with his close-cut white beard. He’s the picture of superiority.
I think about Brice Wagner and his façade of importance, his lies.
“I am being serious.” My voice is quiet, contemplative. “I’m not interested in competing in the same way as Wagner and Bancroft.”
“Bullshit,” my father growls. “You can compete in any arena. You’re a shark. You’re built for speed, a natural born killer.”
His assumptions actually make me laugh. “I’m not a killer, Dad. I never have been.”
“Well, you’ve done a fine fucking imitation of it up to now.”
With an exhale, I sit in the lower, quilt-stitched leather chair across from his desk. “I buried myself in the work, but I uncovered something. They’re dishonest. They—”
“Ahh!” My dad holds up his hand in a stopping motion. “Don’t tell me anything. You’re not thinking clearly right now, and you might regret sharing it later.”
Leaning forward, I prop my forearms on my thighs. I study my palms and think about how the only person who has ever seen me for who I am is Ember. She’s the only person who has ever cared to know the real me, not the guy they want me to be.
“I’m thinking clearer than I have in a long time,” I say, still studying the lines in my palm as if reading the future. “I’m moving back to Oceanside Village permanently. I’ll paint. I’ll consider taking on small cases, but only because I’m going to marry Ember Warren. I’m going to help her achieve her dreams, and we’ll live our life. The life we dreamed of having together ten years ago.”
He laughs and the derision is like sandpaper against my skin. “Ten years ago, you dreamed something you never would have had if you’d stayed there.” He pushes out of his chair, and walks around the desk, leaning against it. “So you’ll do what? Wills and estates? You’ll paint and marry the town baker? What about her kid?”
My jaw clenches, and I cut angry eyes at him. “I’m warning you. You interfered in our lives once. Don’t do it again.”
Both hands go up this time. “I have no interest in interfering. I’m only asking the obvious questions.”
“Her daughter is a beautiful little girl. I want her to like me and think of me as a father.” Rising from the chair, I start toward the door. “I’d like to give her brothers and sisters as well.”
“Jack,” his voice changes, becomes placating. “Stop… don’t leave angry. You haven’t been home in years. Let’s get lunch.”
My throat is tight, and I’m frustrated with his attitude toward my plans and Emberly, but at the same time, it’s been just Dad and me ever since the accident.
“I came to you for advice. You’re in the business world. I’m facing a serious decision, and I need to do the right thing. I’m not sure how.”
“You always do the right thing, Jack. It’s who you are.” He pats me on the shoulder. “Come, let’s have lunch.”
* * *
The task ahead of me weighs on my mind the entire drive back to Oceanside. Perhaps Dad was right about not telling anyone yet. Perhaps I should wait on telling Ember what I’ve planned to do.
In his mind, waiting means not burning bridges for when I “wake up” and return to my life in the city, return to the firm. In my mind, I simply don’t want Ember to worry. I shouldn’t be implicated in what happened, but it’s possible I might have some liability if I can’t prove I didn’t know about the hidden files.
Also, there are the circumstances of the case. I don’t want to dredge up painful memories for her. We’ve never talked about her sister and how she died. Ember was so young, I’m not even sure if she remembers. She was about the same age as her daughter when it happened…
Her bike is parked outside the bakery, so I stop there first. It makes me laugh she doesn’t own a car.
“Did you even learn how to drive?” I ask, pushing through the old door.
She’s across the room at that massive wooden table in front of her shelves of ingredients, and I swear, every time I see her, I forget everything clouding my mind.
A spot of flour is on her cheek—at least I think it’s flour. Her long dark hair is swept up on top of her head, and she’s dressed in those cut-offs again, which reveal her sexy legs. Ember isn’t tall, but she has great legs and of course, those curves.
I want to lift her onto that table and taste everything she’s hiding in those shorts then sink my cock…
“What?” She’s pouring something white into a bowl of more white, and when she looks up, I see she’s troubled.
Shaking away my dirty thoughts, I go straight to where she’s standing and lean beside her. “What’s wrong?”
She’d planned to confront her mother today, and her mother is one powerful force. My girl is pretty powerful, but locking horns with someone like that still takes the wind out of your sails.
She shakes her head and continues pouring. “I’m just… thinking about this recipe.”
I’m not convinced it’s the whole truth, but I’ll let it go for now. “What is it?”
“Tabby called about an hour ago. A couple in Oceanside Beach need a gluten-free birthday cake. I saw this on a TV show—it’s called a Hazelnut Dacquoise.”
My eyebrows rise, and I look down at the bubbly white foam rising in the bowl as the silver beater turns. “What’s in it?”
“Hazelnuts, of course.” She quickly switches off the mixer, and I stand back as she removes the bowl and steps down to where a clear blue plastic bag with a large, cone-shaped tip waits beside three white mats. “I’ll alternate three meringue layers with a coffee-flavored mousse between them…”
“Sounds delicious.”
She scrapes the white mixture into the bag. “I hope so.” Her brow lines as she begins squeezing the white stuff into a spiral the size of a dinner plate.
“You’re really good at this. Is that like divinity?”
“Sort of, but crisper.” Her eyes never leave her work. She keeps going until the large spiral is finished. “Once it’s all together, I’ll pipe chocolate ganache peaks around the edges then top them with hazelnut pralines.”
“Damn…” It’s the best I got. “I want one.”
Her lips press into a smile, but whatever is bothering her doesn’t allow her to laugh. I don’t like it, but I’m still pretty fascinated by her new talent. I imagine piping chocolate ganache on Ember’s naked body and licking it off.
“You can have this one if it doesn’t come out right.” She moves to the next white sheet and starts the second plate-sized spiral.
“What would make it ‘not right’?”
She proceeds to spiral number three without looking up. “If the meringue is chewy instead of crisp…” She turns and opens the large oven. “If the custard is runny. If I overcook the hazelnuts and the praline is bitter.”
“Wow. I just thought you meant if it was lopsided.”
Her brown eyes meet mine. “It can’t be lopsided either! I’m charging money for this.”
Catching her around the waist, I pull her to me. “When did you learn to make these amazing desserts?”
She rests her hands on my chest, playing with the lapel of my shirt. “I took a few classes, but mostly by watching videos, TV shows. Then just practice, pra
ctice, practice.”
Reaching beside us, I swipe a bit of meringue off the side of the empty bowl and touch it to her bottom lip.
“Jackson!” She pulls her head back, but I lean forward and lick it away, pulling her lip into my mouth.
She immediately relaxes in my arms. I dip my chin and kiss her deeper, sweeping my tongue inside to find hers. Her soft lips part, melting against mine as she kisses me back.
Just as fast, she pulls out of my arms. “I’ve got to start the custard. Tabby said they need this for tonight. It’s going to take at least another hour.”
Looking around the bakery, I see the plastic bucket and little pots of play-dough abandoned on the other end of the table. “Where’s Coco?”
“Tabby took her.” Ember pours cream and breaks eggs into a medium-sized pan. She exhales a little laugh. “Now that I’m paying her, she’s pimping out my child to sell fine baked goods.”
I smile and watch her work in silence several minutes longer. I’ve waited as long as I can, so I just ask.
“How did it go with your mom today?”
Her dark brow clutches. “It was… interesting. It was what I expected, but I learned some things I never knew.”
“What kind of things?”
She shakes her head. “I’m still sorting it out, but I know one thing. I’m not leaving Coco with her again. She’ll stay here with me.”
“It’s too hot here.” I go to her, sliding my hand down her back. “You’ll both stay with me at the cottage.”
Her eyes flicker to mine and just as quickly return to the pot she’s stirring. “Is that a good idea?”
“Have you changed your mind about us?” My throat tightens at the possibility she could say yes.
Her chin is still down, but she says what I want to hear. “I haven’t changed my mind.”
I have an idea. “I need to take care of some things before tonight. Bring Coco home when you’re done.”
Brown eyes flecked with caramel flash to mine, and relief floods my veins when I see happiness shining in them. “Home?”
“Yes.” It’s settled, no discussion.
“Okay,” she replies, and it’s all I need for now.
