by L. B. Dunbar
“Amazing, huh?”
“Amazing,” he repeats, and then his lips come to mine, and suddenly, I’m not certain we’re still talking about Thanksgiving being the amazing thing.
23
Sisterly love
[Billy]
“You’re dating Roxanne McAllister?” my sister says as she enters my office for her locker.
“Not exactly, it’s just—”
“I thought you hated that woman.” She pauses for a breath. “Then again, hate is a rather strong word. You strongly disliked her.” Mati places a hand on her hip. She might be smaller for a Harrington, but she’s fierce, and her current body language imitates our mother, who is a force. “Is this one of those enemies-to-lovers things?”
“We aren’t lovers,” I choke.
“You aren’t enemies,” Mati corrects, hiking up a brow in question.
“No, we’re…friends.” It isn’t exactly how I’d describe us. She feels like more than a friend to me. Do friends kiss? Maybe friends with benefits. But do friends think about the other all the time? Do friends count down the minutes until friends can see each other? Do friends’ fingers twitch to touch wet folds again or do their tongues swell wanting another taste? “How did you hear such a thing, anyway?”
“When did this happen?” Mati asks, ignoring my question with her own. Her back is to me as she hangs her jacket in her locker and grabs her black waitress apron. Most of the waitstaff slip their order pad into a back pocket or memorize the order, but Mati likes the apron for her things.
Mati coaches the girls’ high school volleyball team for our alma mater, and she’s in the thick of state playoffs, which is a big deal for her. I’ve told her to take some time off, but she assures me she wants to work.
What am I going to do all day? Think about the playoffs? Work is a distraction, she told me.
I can think of other things more productive as mindful distractions. Roxanne comes to mind immediately.
“Mati.” I swallow, my throat dry. “Can I tell you something?”
My sister looks up at me with eyes that match mine. “You okay?”
I lower to my desk chair, not even realizing I’ve been standing this whole time.
“I need to tell you something, but I need you to swear to secrecy, Matilda.” Her brows rise at the use of her full name. She slips into the chair before my desk. “Not Cora. Not your boys. Not even Denton. No one.”
Mati crosses over her chest with a big X and then twists her fingers near the corner of her lip and tosses an imaginary key over her shoulder.
“Do you remember Theresa McAllister?”
Mati’s brows pinch. “I…I don’t think so.”
“Trixie,” I explain. “She went to school with Rachel and me.” I don’t often speak my ex-wife’s name. It isn’t that it’s difficult, only that it’s been a long time, and Rachel is long gone from the area.
“Didn’t she have a crush on you or something?”
“Yeah, something like that.” I’ve always thought you were so hot, Billy. Words I haven’t recalled in sixteen plus years come back to me. She was here for a girls’ weekend. I was newly divorced, feeling the sting of what I’d learned about my wife. Ex-wife.
“She was Roxanne McAllister’s older sister. Was,” I emphasize. “Trixie died a few months ago.”
Mati nods. “Oh, that’s sad.” It is sad, and Mati’s sympathetic because of her husband’s death and the recent loss of Denton’s mother. “But I don’t understand what this has to do with Roxanne and you suddenly being friends.”
“Trixie had a daughter.”
Mati continues to look at me with wide brown eyes.
“And she lives with Roxanne now.”
Mati curls her lips, understanding the connection.
“And the girl…is mine.”
Mati’s brow wrinkles.
“Mine as in you are mine?” Her fist rises in the air. “William, that’s disgusting. How old is she?”
For fuck’s sake. “For fuck’s sake, why does everyone think I’m dating a child? She’s sixteen.” I raise my hand when Mati’s mouth pops open. “And I mean, she’s mine as in…I’m her father.” Darth Vader’s voice rings through my head, and I want to laugh except I don’t find humor at the moment as I watch my sister’s face morph from disgust to confusion and then shock.
“She’s your daughter?” Mati’s voice is rising. “You have a kid?”
“She’s a teenager, and I—”
“Hey, boss. Just checking in and—” Clyde’s voice interrupts.
“He has a kid,” Mati states, turning to Clyde while gripping one armrest of the chair and pointing at me as if I can’t see her. So much for keeping a secret under lock and key.
“Matilda Brooks Harrington.” I take on the tone of my mother.
Mati turns back to me, blinking. “I’m sorry.” She twists back to Clyde. “I’m sorry. I…”
“I know,” Clyde says, hugging the doorjamb. His big body looks ridiculous the way he’s holding the frame, and his dark eyes shift from business to thoughtful. “It’s crazy, right? But amazing.”
Good God. There’s that word again. Instantly, I think of the way Roxanne was looking up at me as I stood on the landing at the top of her back stairs. I felt like a teenager at the end of a date when you don’t want to say good night; you just want to stand at that moment and hold on forever. Her mouth against mine was amazing, although I didn’t spend the night as I had hoped.
“Mati,” I murmur her name, shaking my head.
“I’m sorry,” she says, eyes still wide as she stares back at me, confused and dazed, but smiling. “I didn’t mean to blurt it out.”
“It’s a good thing Clyde already knows.”
“Does Mama know?”
I shake my head.
“Clyde knows before the family?” Mati twists to Clyde. “No offense, Clyde.”
“None taken.” He dips his head, gazing back at my sister.
“He was here when Sadie told me,” I explain.
“Sadie.” Mati mulls over the name. “Sadie Harrington.” Her smile grows as she states her name.
“Sadie McAllister,” I correct, and my heart drops a little bit. I wonder if she’ll change her name now that she knows the truth. I don’t suppose I have the right to ask her to change it, but I really like the sound of Sadie Harrington.
“McAllister,” Mati drags out the name. “So this is why Roxanne and you... Are you dating her to get close to the girl?” Mati’s voice shifts, demanding and determined. “William Forrest—”
“And I’m out,” Clyde mutters, double tapping his hands on the doorjamb and disappearing down the hall.
“I am doing no such thing with Roxanne.” My voice rises, defending myself at the offense as I glare at my sister. Have I made a mistake by telling her everything? I love my sister, and I’m closest with her when it comes to the emotional stuff. I thought she’d be a good one to test my announcement on, but this is going all kinds of wrong. “Is this what you think of me?”
Holy fuck, people really think I’m a player. I mean, I am, to some extent, and I don’t care what people think, but people might be shocked to learn Kristy is the last woman I was with, and it was back in May. Not that it’s really anyone’s damn business. Note, it’s November, though. That’s six months of celibacy, which is a record for me.
“Billy.” Mati softens her tone. “Why don’t you start at the beginning?”
For the next half hour, I tell my sister everything. About Trixie and the one-night stand. The reasons it happened. Rachel. Meeting Sadie. And Roxanne.
“And then I just kissed her, and I don’t know…” My voice drifts as I rub up my throat and pause on my chin. I stare off toward my office door.
“Yeah, I know.” Mati’s voice sounds dreamy, and I turn back to her, finding her eyes on me. “It’s a nice feeling, isn’t it?” After her husband’s death, my sister was sad, really sad, and I understand because they’d been married for twenty-somet
hing years and then he died in a car accident. A deer in the road. Recalling Mati’s sadness makes me think of Sadie. She doesn’t mention her mother much. How is she dealing with her death? It isn’t the same as losing a spouse, and I get that. The relationship is different, but it must be even harder when you’re still a kid and it’s your parent. Roxanne told me how she lost her mother at roughly the same age.
Mati’s sappy tone comes from finding Denton and having a second chance at an old love, but Sadie isn’t really in that position either. It’s a different kind of love with parents. She’s not going to get a second chance. Then something niggles in my chest, squeezing at me, and I grip my shirt, hoping to loosen the pressure. Am I her second chance? I’m not her mother, but I am her father, the one she’s never known existed.
“And wow, about Rachel,” Mati says, interrupting my thoughts.
“Yeah. Look, you’ve already proven keeping a secret is difficult,” I tease, nodding toward the door where she blurted out about Sadie to Clyde. “So I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone about Rachel.”
Mati’s brow pinches. “How long have you been keeping that quiet?”
“Since the day she left.”
“Billy.” The softening of my name and sympathy in my sister’s tone force my eyes to prickle and sting. I blow out a breath and don’t respond. It felt good to tell someone.
“So Roxie, huh?”
“It’s the damnedest thing.” My own lips curl, imitating my sister’s grin.
“I’m so happy for you. For Sadie and you. For Sadie, Roxie, and you,” Mati adds.
“Well, it’s nothing official,” I state. Leaning forward, I place my arms on my desk and cup my fingers together.
“But it could be.” Mati’s brow tweaks, and I stare at her.
“What do you mean?”
“Oh Billy, you really aren’t that dense, are you? All that screwing around knock a screw loose?” She stands, continuing to chuckle as she knocks on my desk. But I must be that dense because I don’t understand what she means about the three of us.
Mati pauses at the door and then turns back to me. “I really am happy for you. I can’t wait for Thanksgiving.”
A mischievous gleam comes to her eyes despite her kind words. She knows Thanksgiving is going to be a shitshow when my parents learn everything.
24
Break-ins and broken gratitude
[Roxanne]
There’d been another break-in down the street from BookEnds.
“I swear it wasn’t me,” Sadie tells me as her breaths came ragged, and her face is pink and sweaty.
“Then where have you been?” I scold, as Sadie hadn’t been in the apartment when I came up the stairs. I’d never had reason to doubt her, but I’d also assumed she remained home when I took the closing shift for the shop. From her attire, a black fleece and leggings plus running shoes, it’s apparent she hasn’t been home, but she did not tell me she was going anywhere.
“I went…out. For a run.” Her hesitation adds to my suspicion, and I don’t like that I’m suspicious. Sheriff Barne wanted to interview Sadie earlier in the evening, and I intervened, saying she was upstairs doing her homework.
“You certain of that?” June interrogated me.
“I have no reason to doubt Sadie,” I said, but I level a glare at my niece now that I know something. I put myself on the line for her, and she better come clean if she did something she shouldn’t have done.
When I call Billy to tell him about what happened, I express my concerns. “Do you think this is a cry for help? Is she trying to get my attention?”
“There’s no one more attentive to her than you,” he teases, but I’m not certain it was me she sought attention from.
“I don’t like this feeling of doubting her. She’s always been a good kid. I want to think this is just some phase. There’s so much happening all at once for her, and then with Thanksgiving…” My voice drifts.
“What about Thanksgiving?” he asks.
“I just don’t know if it’s such a good idea to introduce her then. The holiday will be difficult. It’s the first one without her mom.”
“And what she needs most is family to surround her,” he argues. Yes, but family she doesn’t know and knew nothing of her? Plus, I’m her family.
“Look, I’ve gotta go. We just got a shipment. Stop worrying. Leave that to me.” He chuckles before saying goodbye.
That was on Monday. Today is the holiday, and Sadie woke up telling me she wasn’t feeling well.
“I have my period and a headache,” she says, her voice groggy from sleep. I understood her discomfort, but I worry it’s an excuse to back out of the big reveal. I make her call Billy and explain herself, stressing over the dichotomy of wanting to protect her and allowing her to handle things on her own. I’d already given her another lecture about trust: how I wanted to trust her until she proved me wrong. It was the kind of statement I imagined Theresa saying to Sadie, but it’d didn’t feel right coming from me.
I didn’t have anything in preparation for a feast. Thanksgiving was typically a casual affair with my sister, my niece, and me. We’d make a big breakfast, watch the parade on television, and then play board games. It was a rare day my sister let her hair down and revealed a spark of who she used to be. She’d laugh. She’d cheat at the games. She’d tease. My heart pinches with my own memories of Theresa in the past few years, and I’m melancholy. I can only imagine how Sadie feels, so when she says she’s going to take a nap, I search for an open grocery store, and then an open restaurant with delivery service. When I don’t find either in Blue Ridge, I resort to a journey down to Elton at the base of the mountain and return prepared to start a new tradition.
“Sadie,” I call out, keeping my tone cheerful despite my internal mood. “Come help me make dinner.”
I’ve bought a small turkey, potatoes, boxed stuffing mix, and fresh corn. When Sadie, doesn’t come to the kitchen, I listen for the shower, which I don’t hear running and then stand outside her bedroom door.
“Sadie,” I whisper, pressing open the barrier she keeps closed, and my heart begins to race before her room is fully exposed. The bed is made, the shades are drawn, and Sadie is gone.
When I reach the one-hour mark, I can hardly breathe from the panic inside my chest. My ribs are crushing my insides, and I can’t take a deep breath. I call Billy repeatedly, but there’s no answer. I send him texts in hopes Sadie went to the Harrington’s after all. Maybe she felt better. Maybe she changed her mind. Maybe she wanted to go without me.
When Billy doesn’t respond after another hour, I call Grace.
“I’m so sorry to interrupt your holiday, but I can’t find Sadie.” The words bring a rush of tears, and through sobbing breaths, I try to explain how Sadie didn’t feel well, and we cancelled going to the Harrington’s.
“You should have come here,” Grace sweetly admonishes. “Neither of you should be alone.” Grace understands grief, and it becomes clear I’m not processing the day well myself.
“But what do I do?” I cry. “I don’t know anyone she’d be friends with. She never mentions kids from school other than the issues she’s having. I hate to call Hetty as she’s upset about the break-in and I think she questions Sadie’s involvement.”
“What about Billy?”
“I’ve tried, but there’s no answer.”
“Are you alone?” Grace asks with concern. “You shouldn’t be alone.”
“I don’t want to leave in case she returns. She told me she runs sometimes at night, but it’s the middle of the day, and it’s been two hours. I just don’t know what to think.”
“Don’t think the worst,” Grace warns. “Let me call Clyde. Maybe he can come over.”
“I don’t want to interrupt anyone else’s holiday.”
“Don’t you worry, although that’s a natural instinct as a parent. I’ll call back soon.”
I’m ready to renounce Grace’s words, remindin
g her I’m not Sadie’s mother, but for all practical purposes, I am now.
Within another fifteen minutes, Butch Marshall and June Barne rap at my door.
“Heard your girl is missing,” June addresses me, wearing a suspicious smirk on her face.
“I’m not certain what you’re doing here, but if you’ve come to throw more slander on Sadie, I don’t need it right now.” I’m a hot mess as I’m certain my face is pale, and my cheeks are stained from tears. I haven’t felt this empty since I got the news of my sister’s death, and seeing these officers is a reminder of that moment.
Miss McAllister, we regret to inform you…
“Grace Eton gave us a call,” Butch explains. I should have called the sheriff myself.
“Well, I apologize for interrupting your holiday,” I snark, sarcasm not a pretty sound from me.
“Do you suspect foul play? Kidnapping? She’s a minor, and we can run an Amber alert.”
“Like a missing person?” The concept hits me hard, and I lower to the chair in my kitchen. My hands tremble as I reach for my forehead, pressing at the dull ache that’s been present all day.
“Do you think she ran away?” June asks, and my eyes leap up to hers, expecting judgment but instead finding sympathy.
“I don’t think so,” I answer, but taste the hesitation in my mouth, the bitterness of disbelief on my tongue. Could she have run away? Where would she go?
“Let me ask a few questions while Butch sends out the alert.” June sits across from me, firing formulaic questions about when I last saw Sadie, what was she wearing, how was she feeling, and is anything missing from her room.
“I didn’t investigate. When I opened the bedroom door and found her gone, I waited. I wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt that she’d decided to go running or out for a walk and forgot to leave me a note.”
Butch glances over at me from his standing position by the back door. He’s been typing information into a tablet in his hands. Then he locks eyes with June a minute. The unspoken conversation makes me feel like I’ve done something wrong. I waited too long to act. I didn’t follow an order I should have taken. I wasn’t Sadie’s mother. I didn’t know these things.
