The Return: Death, Runaways, and Romance (Ocean Mist Book 3)

by Brenda Maxfield

  The Return

  Ocean Mist Book Three

  Brenda Maxfield

  Tica House Publishing

  Anderson, Indiana

  Dedicated to my friend, Dalanie.

  Copyright © 2014 by Brenda Maxfield.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.

  Tica House Publishing

  www.brendamaxfield.com

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Cover Design ©2014 www.forthemusedesign.com

  TheReturn/ Brenda Maxfield. -- 1st ed.

  ISBN 978-1-62840-035-9

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter One

  I perched on the edge of the dining room chair and held my breath. If I moved even an inch, I would crack and break into a million pieces. So I didn’t move. I stayed fixed as if glued by cement.

  “I can’t leave you,” Aunt Marge blubbered. “Jean would want me to stay.” Her tears carved rivers of mascara down her face.

  The furnace kicked on, blowing hot air over the room. On the couch, Denny shivered and snuggled closer into Courtney’s side. His eyes were red and swollen, but dry.

  “Mom would want you to go back,” Courtney said, her words slow and deliberate. “There’s no reason for you to stay. I’ll quit college and come home.”

  “No, you can’t do that,” Aunt Marge said, wiping her cheeks and smearing the black further down her face. “You mustn’t.”

  “I can, and I am. Case closed.” Courtney peeled Denny from her side and got up. “You’ll miss your flight.”

  Aunt Marge pulled herself to a standing position and smoothed her wrinkled blouse over her huge chest. “The accountant will help you organize the money. I already paid him his fees.” Her features softened. “Now you call me anytime. Day or night. I’ll hop on a plane immediately.”

  Aunt Marge cast her laser eyes on me. “Tiffany, you’re too quiet. You all right?”

  She wheezed all the way to my chair and then bent down to squash me in a flabby embrace. I kept my head up and sucked air like a person drowning.

  Could someone die from choking on perfume?

  “I’m fine.” My tone was hard, bordering on mean.

  Aunt Marge backed up and blinked. “Well then, okay.” For a moment, she looked confused, more wobbly than usual.

  “Here’s your coat.” Courtney held out the heavy bundle of fake fur.

  Aunt Marge clucked her tongue and hoisted on her coat. Reaching down, she patted Denny’s head. “Dennis, if you need your old Aunt Marge, you call me, you hear?”

  Denny nodded.

  “All right, then. I’m off.” She touched the doorknob, took one last look at the three of us, sniffed, and left.

  At her departure, the condo itself breathed a sigh of relief. We sat in the silence, as if suddenly unsure what to do. We stared at each other.

  “What now?” Denny asked, his voice small and tired.

  “We make plans,” Courtney said. She sat back down by Denny and put her arm around him. “I’ll move my stuff home from Brecken this week.”

  As she spoke, her eyes teared up and her voice caught.

  “You’re not leaving the university,” I said.

  “Someone has to look after you and Denny.”

  “For God’s sake, Courtney, I’m sixteen. I don’t need looked after.” I shifted in the chair. My collar felt too tight, like it had all week. I jumped up and went into the kitchen for a glass of water.

  Courtney followed. “There’s Denny to be considered.”

  “Denny and I get along fine.”

  He approached us, his thin shoulders braced. “I’m eleven. I don’t need looked after.”

  “And the bills? You’re going to organize and pay all the bills, Tiffany? Buy the groceries? Pay for gas in the car? Check on the insurance?” Courtney’s voice rose in pitch with each word.

  “What about Mom’s life insurance? Won’t it pay everything?” I didn’t have a clue, but I’d heard Aunt Marge talking it over with some minister. A guy we didn’t even know since we weren’t church people.

  Courtney leaned on the counter. “I don’t know. And there should be social security. I don’t know how much any of it will be.”

  “You really coming back home?” Denny looked at Courtney, cautious eagerness on his face. “For real?”

  Courtney swallowed, and tears threatened to spill. “Yes. I have to.”

  Denny’s expression closed up, and Courtney pulled him into a hug. “No, I mean I want to. It’ll be like old times, right?”

  “Yeah, and the old times were so great,” I snapped.

  My phone buzzed on the counter, and all three of us stared at the screen flashing the name Doyle.

  “It’s Dad,” Denny said. “Answer it, Tiff.”

  “He’ll call back.” The last person in the entire galaxy I wanted to talk to was him.

  Courtney snatched my phone. “Hi, Dad.” She paused. “Yes, it’s Courtney. It’s over. Aunt Marge went home.” Another pause. “What? Really? You would?”

  Courtney’s face relaxed, and she fell against the counter, letting it support her. My stomach tightened. This couldn’t be good.

  Courtney held her hand out toward Denny and me like we were going to tackle her or something. She stumbled into the half-bath and shut the door. Denny and I looked at each other.

  “You think Dad’s coming to see us? Or you think we’ll have to go live with him?”

  Fear squeezed my insides, and my breathing went shallow. “No, no. That will never happen.”

  “But then we wouldn’t have to worry about the bills and stuff.”

  I shook my head. “I’d rather worry. Besides, it will never happen.” I walked to the bathroom door and pressed my ear against the hollow wood.

  “I’ll tell them,” I heard Courtney’s muffled voice.

  I took a giant step back as she opened the bathroom door. She wouldn’t look me in the eye, and the fear inside took another bite.

  “There’s going to be a change. Everything’s going to be all right now.” Her breath whistled out. “Let’s go sit down.”

  “No thanks,” I said. “And don’t think for one minute that I’m moving to gross Chicago. Been there, done that.” Memories threatened to surface, but I crammed them back into oblivion.

  Courtney walked toward the living room. I clenched her arm. “Did you hear me? I’m not going to Chicago.”

  “Let go.” Courtney shook off my hand. “And I never said you were.”

&nb
sp; I gulped. Courtney took Denny’s arm and guided him to the couch. He gazed up at her with complete trust. “Am I going?” he asked. “Do I have to live there?”

  “No.” She smiled and patted Denny’s spiky hair. “Neither of you are going anywhere. Dad’s moving to Ocean Mist. He’ll be here in a week.”

  My stomach lurched to my throat. “What? He’s coming here? Are you insane? Where’s he going to live?”

  I stepped to the couch, towering over the two of them. “He can’t stay here.”

  Courtney glared at me. “Well, he is. He’s going to live here with you two.”

  “No. He can’t. You’re completely selfish. You just don’t want to quit college.”

  Courtney slowly stood and faced me. “Yes, it was all part of my evil selfish plot. I’ve been waiting for Mom to drop dead of a heart attack so I could put it into action.”

  Denny gasped and started coughing. Courtney’s eyes bugged, and her hand flew to her mouth. She knelt in front of Denny.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Denny. I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just upset. We’re all upset.”

  Denny was crying now.

  “Denny, stop. I’m sorry.” Courtney’s eyes shot daggers at me. She took Denny in her arms and patted his back. “It’s going to be okay. You like Dad, don’t you? Remember the fun trip we had when you first met him?”

  I watched Courtney comfort him, and the anger inside me stretched wider than the ocean. This was just like Courtney, always thinking she knew everything. Always deciding everything.

  I stepped back and leaned against the edge of the recliner. But then, why should I care? None of it affected me. I would do whatever I wanted. Like always.

  Courtney let go of Denny and stood. “I’ll contact my professors and tell them I’ll return in a week. After Dad moves in, I’ll have to go back right away or I’ll lose my credits.”

  “So you’re not staying?” Denny asked.

  She looked down at him. “Now that Dad’s coming, I don’t have to. But no worries. Dad will be here to take care of you.”

  As if he’d ever in his life taken care of anyone.

  Denny sniffed and scooted back on the couch. He pulled the afghan down and put it around his shoulders. “It’s freezing.”

  Courtney moved to the thermostat and adjusted it. “Tiffany, you’ll have to watch the heat. The bill will be way high if you don’t turn it down at night.”

  I strode over to her, my eyes cold. She blinked and jerked back a step. My voice was ice. “You’ve been at college two years. Notice we’re fine.”

  We stared at each other, but she couldn’t hold it. She turned to fuss with the thermostat again as if it needed it. We both knew it didn’t.

  She moved to the table and picked up a huge casserole her friend Amara’s mom had brought over. “I’ll drive you to school this week.”

  “Don’t bother. We take the bus.”

  She paused. “Oh yeah, I forgot. I was still thinking our route was discontinued.” She put the casserole in the fridge. “Denny, I’ll be upstairs if you need me.”

  She climbed slowly, her shoulders slumped. My throat tightened, and I ignored the burning sensation behind my eyes.

  “Denny, you okay?”

  He had already turned on the TV and was watching cartoons he hadn’t watched for over a year. He nodded, his gaze glued to the screen.

  I pushed open the study door. The study had been Mom’s bedroom for over five years — ever since her fibromyalgia had gotten bad. She’d slept downstairs because climbing upstairs to the master bedroom hurt. I stepped inside the room and stood in its emptiness. It had been five days since she died, but the room still smelled like muscle rub.

  The curtains were shut, throwing shadows over everything even though it was still daylight. I walked to the heavy velvet drapes and yanked them aside. The sudden light made me flinch. I surveyed the room. Mom’s bed wasn’t made, and a pair of dirty trouser socks lay in a ball under her bed stand. Mom had used a metal rack for a closet and her clothes bulged on it, ready to explode. I never knew why she kept so many outfits — she rotated between three worn-out cotton suits.

  I moved to the bed and looked at the jumble of covers. Her pillow still had a dent in it as if she’d gone to the bathroom and would be coming back any second.

  Tears stung my eyes.

  I hadn’t been nice to her. I hadn’t been nice at all.

  But then, Mom had never liked me. She’d made that clear a thousand times in a thousand ways. Had she’d ever once liked me? My eyes latched onto the photos sitting on her dresser. There was one of each of us on the day we were born, Courtney, Denny, and me. I was the scrappy-looking kid, face bright red, screaming. Probably at the doctor. Or the nurse. Or Mom. What difference did it make anyway?

  I brushed my cheek with the back of my hand and was surprised to find it wet. I never cried. Why had I come in here anyway? It was stupid.

  Would Dad sleep in Mom’s bed now that she was dead? She couldn’t fight him off anymore. The irony of it twisted my lip and made my stomach hurt worse. Would Dad try to take the master bedroom upstairs and dump my stuff here, in the Death Room?

  I’d like to see him try.

  Why did he have to come? I didn’t want him and didn’t need him. I’d never needed him. Besides, at sixteen, I was plenty old enough to take care of things.

  I pressed my hand flat on the end of Mom’s bed, leaving an imprint in the blankets. I turned on my heel and fled the room, slamming her door behind me.

  “Denny, I’m going out.”

  He looked up from the TV screen but said nothing. I grabbed my jacket from the arm of the recliner and ran outside into the cold vacuum of March. A few spindly daffodils had pushed through the wet dirt at the condo next to ours, looking like teetering flagpoles. I pulled the collar up around my chin and stared at the yellow buds, almost weeping at their courage.

  Oh. My. God. What was happening to me? It was the third time that day I’d had to fight back tears.

  I crammed my right hand in my pocket and felt the pack of cigarettes Serena had hidden there. If her mom caught her smoking again, she was a goner. So I became her carrier. No big deal. It wasn’t as if Mom would check my pockets. She never paid attention to me.

  And even if she had checked, nothing would’ve happened. Mom was scared of me. I saw it in her eyes every time she looked at me.

  I’d never see that fear again. And she wouldn’t have a chance to check my pockets now.

  I pulled my cell from where I’d squished it into my jeans pocket and punched Serena’s number.

  “You free?” I asked.

  “Where are you?”

  “Heading for the dunes.”

  “The Hang?”

  “Yeah. You coming?” I was walking west, toward the ocean. The wind had picked up, and the air grew colder.

  “Be there in fifteen.”

  I hung up. Our condo was a ways from the ocean, but I didn’t mind. The chill sank into my lungs and felt good. It numbed me, and I let it do its work. Ahead, there was a group of white-haired tourists standing on the corner, gathered around a flapping map.

  More and more tourists would start pouring in now that spring had supposedly come. Only thing was, Ocean Mist was never notified about spring, and the cold, soppy weather continued, and would continue until July.

  I put my head down and skirted the jabbering group.

  “Wait, honey, could you help us?”

  Great.

  I stopped and faced them.

  The old lady who’d asked me frowned, and her watery blue eyes widened as if wanting to peer inside my brain. The ancient man next to her stepped forward. “We seem to be a bit lost. It says here there’s a boardwalk running next to the ocean, and we thought we parked the van at the approach.” He gave me an apologetic smile. “Seems we were mistaken.”

  “You’re on the wrong street.” I sighed and pointed to the next corner. “Turn right, then left. That’s Main. W
alk west and you’re there.”

  I didn’t tell them I was going that way. Wasn’t much in the mood for a bunch of grandmas and grandpas tagging along, jabbering my ear off.

  “Thank you, miss,” the old guy said as he folded up the map.

  “You’re welcome.” I hurried on, eager to be on my way. Serena would probably beat me to our place, which we’d dubbed The Hang three years ago. Courtney never had found it even though she used to search for me plenty.

  By the time I reached the parking lot for the boardwalk, I was running. The Hang was about a quarter mile north, and I had to zigzag through the dunes and trees to get there. The tall grass grabbed at my legs as I started across the beach. The sand was damp so I didn’t sink much as I raced over the wind-made mounds. A stand of fir trees bordered our spot. I slowed to a walk, my lungs heaving from the effort.

  I shouldn’t have to gasp so hard since I’d stopped smoking a few months earlier. I pressed my hand over my chest and saw a flash of orange ahead.

  Serena.

  “Hey girl!” she called when she spotted me coming over the last dune. “Beat you.”

  “Yeah, but you have wheels, so, no fair,” I answered, flopping down in the stubby fir needles at the base of a tree.

  The branch covering was thick, so even in the rain, we were fairly protected. Serena sat cross-legged beside me.

  “You surviving?”

  “Dad’s coming.”

  Her eyes went buggy. “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  “Hand me my cigs, would you?”

  I dug in my pocket and handed her the pack and lighter. She promptly pulled a cigarette out and lit it. She shook the pack and offered me one.

  “I quit. Remember?”

  She blew out a stream of smoke. “Hmm. Let’s see. Your mom dropped dead. Your jerk-face dad’s coming to live with you. Courtney’s home.” She shook the pack again. “Take one.”

  I was still panting from the run. “No. I’m good.”

  “You’re not good. Checked a mirror lately?” She stuck the pack back into my pocket.