Redemption Road: Jackson Falls Book 5 (Jackson Falls Series)

by Breton, Laurie

  Behind him, Annabel said, “Look, Dad, it’s Mrs. MacKenzie!”

  He double-checked the tailgate to make sure it had properly latched. “I can see that.”

  Casey noticed them, smiled broadly, and quickened her steps. “Good morning, Harley!”

  “Morning, ladies.”

  “Annabel, this must be your new dog.” Crouching to dog’s-eye level, she ruffled Ginger’s furry face and scratched behind her ears, while the dog rolled her eyes in ecstasy. “She’s beautiful. What’s her name?”

  “Ginger. The lady at the vet’s office said she’s part Airedale and part English sheep dog.”

  While Annabel and Casey made nice with the dog, he was left with nothing else to do but make nice with the Widow Berkowitz. That was how he’d decided to think of her, just in case those blue eyes made him forget, even temporarily, his vow to maintain his distance. Leaning against the tailgate, he folded his arms and said, “Beautiful weather.”

  “There’s a storm coming.”

  He glanced in surprise at the sky, a hearty blue, broken only by the occasional cloud. Turning back to her with interest, he asked, “What makes you say that?”

  Those huge blue eyes studied him coolly. Shoving her hands into the pockets of her jacket, the Widow said, “I grew up here. Trust me. By tomorrow, there’ll be snow.”

  “Hunh. Well, I sure won’t argue with you. I grew up in Georgia; what do I know about snow? Although I did spend a decade in New York City.”

  “It’s not the same thing at all. New York gets coastal winters. Lots of ice, not much snow. Jackson Falls gets the real thing.”

  “Yes. I’ve noticed that.”

  From her crouching position on the sidewalk, Casey MacKenzie said, “Rob and I haven’t had you and Annabel over for a meal in quite some time. How about tonight? There’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about.”

  He tried to think of an excuse. Not that he had anything against the MacKenzies. They were what his momma used to call good folks. Unspoiled by the money and the fame, they were just regular people whose shelves happened to be lined with Grammy Awards. Refreshing in this day and age. It was the blue-eyed ice princess he was hoping to avoid. He cast a quick glance at the Widow, who was pointedly ignoring him. “Fine,” he heard himself say. “What time should we be there?”

  Casey beamed. “Does seven work for you?”

  “Seven’s fine.”

  “Great!” Casey rose to her feet, gave the dog a final hearty pat, and flashed Annabel a warm smile. “We’ll see you both at seven.”

  As the sisters walked away down the sidewalk, Harley stood and watched them, glued in place like a bird dog on point. “Don’t go there,” he muttered to himself. “Don’t even go there.”

  “Go where?”

  The two women went into the five-and-ten store and Harley swiveled his head around to find Annabel studying him keenly. Heat raced around the back of his neck and flushed his face. He exhaled a hard breath.

  “Nowhere,” he said brusquely. “Just get in the truck.”

  Colleen

  It had been eons since she’d stepped inside the five-and-ten, and the familiar smells of dust and fresh-popped corn immediately transported her back to her teenage years, when she’d spent hours in here every Saturday with her best friend, sifting through the discount bins of Cover Girl and Maybelline and the stacks of 45 records. A wave of nostalgia washed over her, so strong she could taste it. Unsettled, she wrestled it into submission. Nostalgic feelings only led to trouble. Colleen raised her chin and said, “Why’d you do that?”

  Five paces ahead of her in the home goods aisle, Casey examined a bolt of blue and green calico print fabric with a frown of concentration. “Do what?” she said absently.

  “Invite that man to supper.”

  Casey looked up in surprise. “Harley? Because he’s our friend, that’s why.”

  “I don’t like him.”

  “What do you mean, you don’t like him? You met him once. You don’t even know him.”

  “I don’t trust him. There’s just something about him. And stop looking at me like I have two heads.”

  “You’re crazy. You do realize that?”

  “Right back at you, Sissy.”

  “In the name of all that’s holy, do not call me Sissy. Nobody’s called me Sissy since I was twelve. And I’d just as soon it stayed that way.” Casey tilted her head and studied Colleen’s face. “How can you not like Harley? He’s a great guy. Is it because he bought Dad’s place?”

  “I don’t know.” Irritated, she fingered a swatch of red velvet. “Maybe.”

  “Don’t you think that’s a little unfair? Not just to Harley, but to Dad?”

  She swung around and demanded, “How’s it unfair to Dad?”

  Her sister’s eyes met hers squarely. Casey said, “You moved on. Shouldn’t he have the right to do the same?”

  For an instant, all the breath left her. It was like being socked hard in the diaphragm. She’d forgotten how bossy, how self-righteous, her sister could be. This was a lousy time to remember why she hadn’t wanted to come here in the first place. A lousy time to remember that whenever they were together, they regressed to a pair of squabbling eight-year-olds. It had been that way ever since Mama died. Before that, they’d been friends. Now, they could barely tolerate each other.

  The wave of nostalgia returned, stronger this time, accompanied by something even worse: regret. She gathered her resolve around her like a cloak. “It’s probably better,” she said, “if we drop the topic of Harley Atkins altogether, and concentrate on what we came here for.”

  “Fine by me.”

  After that, their interaction was polite but distant as they selected, from the limited assortment available in this rinky-dink establishment at the far end of the earth, the household items she would need to get her apartment up and running. Because it had been designed as temporary living quarters for visiting musicians, the place was furnished, the bathroom stocked with soap and towels, the closet with bed linens, the kitchen with the essentials. But she still needed other items: a broom and dustpan, household cleansers, sponges and cleaning rags, a mop and bucket. A set of matching potholders and kitchen towels to dress up the kitchen. An alarm clock for the bedroom. Coat hangers to hold the designer clothes that would be useless here in rural Maine. Maybe a picture or two she could hang on the walls to make the place seem less like a hotel room.

  She even picked up a winter coat and boots. Neither made a fashion statement of any kind, but this was Maine in winter. The state might be in the middle of a January thaw, but winter in Maine was capricious. She still had February and March to get through, and the light jacket and Ferragamos she’d worn from Florida just wouldn’t cut it.

  She still felt like a beggar, ever cognizant of the fact that it was her sister’s money she was spending. It might be coming from her own wallet, but it had originated as a cash loan from Casey, taken directly from her sister’s bank account a half-hour earlier. While she realized the loan was necessary, and she intended to pay back every cent, it still stuck in her craw, the knowledge that she was dependent on her sister, obligated to her in a way that was far too discomfiting.

  The trip home was mostly silent, the tension between them palpable. Turning the car onto Ridge Road, Casey said, “Did you talk to Rob about the job?”

  “Not yet. I didn’t get a chance. He disappeared right after breakfast.”

  “But you are planning to ask him.”

  “I don’t have much of a choice, do I? I have to eat.”

  “You’re not in any danger of going hungry. You know better than that. You’re welcome to stay in our guest room indefinitely if that’s what you want. I just thought you’d rather be independent. Maybe I was barking up the wrong tree.” Casey wheeled the Explorer around a curve. “You know, I’m doing this for you out of the kindness of my heart. I’m not asking you to be grateful, but gracious would be nice.”

  Like invis
ible spiders, the tiny beginnings of a tension headache crawled around her temples. “Thank you,” she said stiffly. “I realize you’ve gone out of your way to accommodate me.”

  “You’re missing the point. I’m not accommodating you, like you’re some stranger who got lost on a back road to nowhere. I’m helping you out because you’re my sister, and you’re in a bind, and I love you!”

  She let out a hard breath. Said, “I love you, too.”

  “Then why are we fighting?”

  “We’re not fighting. I just…don’t want to be obligated to you.”

  “Oh, for the love of God. You’re not obligated! If I never see a penny of that money back, I won’t care. I’m not exactly hurting for money.”

  Colleen studied her sister’s profile. “You do understand that this is temporary? That I won’t be staying here for long? That once I have enough money saved up, I’ll be leaving again?”

  Casey’s mouth thinned, and her fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “Of course. Running away seems to be your default setting.”

  “Isn’t that a little like the pot calling the kettle black?”

  “I didn’t run away. I got married. It’s different.”

  “Oh? Just how is it different?”

  “Because I didn’t run away from something. I ran to something. And I didn’t leave anybody behind.”

  “That’s not the way I remember it. I seem to recall that you left Jesse behind.”

  “And you certainly took advantage of that situation, didn’t you?”

  The two sisters glared at each other. It was Casey who capitulated. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I can’t imagine what made me say that.”

  “You didn’t want him. I did. Why are we dredging up old wounds?”

  “I don’t know. This isn’t like me. I’m usually calm and agreeable.”

  “I think maybe it’s time we called a truce, before one of us has a stroke.”

  Casey clicked the blinker switch and turned into her driveway. “You’re right. No more squabbling. I can’t believe we’re fighting over a man neither of us wanted, so long ago we barely remember.”

  Colleen bit her tongue, hard, to keep from blurting out the truth. It was better that nobody know. Not even her sister. Besides, she’d been lying for so long that even she couldn’t really remember what the truth was. At least, that was what she kept telling herself.

  “You’ll talk to Rob?” Casey said, turning off the engine.

  “I’ll talk to Rob. Just as soon as I get things settled.” She studied her sister’s face. “Are you okay? You look pale.”

  “I’m fine. Do you need help carrying your bags?”

  “I can handle it.” She examined her sister more closely. She hadn’t seen Casey in several years, but she was still familiar enough with her to recognize that something was a little off. “You sure?”

  “I’m sure. Maybe I’m coming down with something. There’s been a bug going around.”

  Colleen unlatched her door. “Look, I’m sorry. I really don’t want to fight with you, and I do appreciate everything you’re doing for me. If not for you, I’d be sleeping in my car.”

  “You wouldn’t be sleeping in your car. If I wasn’t here, you’d have gone to Bill and Trish’s house.”

  “Trish hates my guts.”

  “No, she doesn’t. I don’t know where you got that idea.”

  “It seems pretty self-explanatory to me.”

  “You know what I think? I think you’re laboring under several misapprehensions. But I won’t try to change your mind, because I know it’s pointless. You’re going to have to learn the truth all by yourself.” Casey opened her door and exited the car. Turning, she gave Colleen a last, searching look. “I’ll see you at suppertime,” she said, and slammed the door shut.

  ***

  She’d finished unpacking her clothes, and they now hung neatly in the surprisingly large closet. The cleaning supplies were stored, the handful of groceries she’d picked up at the IGA safely put away, the picture she planned to hang lying on the kitchen table, awaiting a hammer and nails. Colleen sat on the foot of the queen-size bed and bounced on it a couple of times. The mattress was firm, but still had some give. Not too hard, not too soft. Like Goldilocks, she seemed to have serendipitously hit upon the perfect place to sleep. Except that in her case, it probably wouldn’t matter if it was comfortable. She hadn’t slept—really, truly slept—since Irv died, and she suspected it would take more than a comfy mattress to change that.

  She glanced around the room and grimaced. The décor was tasteful, but bland. Generic, like a hotel suite. Home, sweet home. If she didn’t do something to make it hers, she’d never last those three months. Picking at the soft chenille bedspread, Colleen sighed. The real problem wasn’t the décor. The real problem was that she didn’t want to be here. She wanted to be home, in Palm Beach, in her own house, with Irv. But that wasn’t possible. Irv was gone, and life as she’d known it had come to a crashing halt. Without Irv, home no longer existed. She’d tried to hold on for as long as she could, because sometimes, she could still feel him there in the house, his love surrounding her like a soft, warm blanket. But in the end, a house was just a house, given meaning only by the bonds between the people who lived there. Until death do us part. It had parted them, all right. Suddenly, inexplicably, and irrevocably.

  She supposed she had to go downstairs now, track down her brother-in-law, and ask him for a job as a glorified gofer. It wasn’t something she could put off indefinitely. She needed to work; for each day that she spent living on a MacKenzie grant, it would grow increasingly difficult to meet her own eyes in the mirror. At least if she was working for Casey and Rob, she could delude herself into believing she was earning her keep. But asking for the job would be painful. One more thing that made her feel like a beggar. One more mortifying hit to her self-esteem.

  Colleen got up, threw on the new winter coat, and headed down the outside staircase to the studio on the ground floor. Inside the studio, musical notes floated on the air: a single acoustic guitar and a man’s soft voice. She followed the sound, past the reception desk, piled high with stacks of paper and other clutter, to the door of her brother-in-law’s office. Guitar in hand, Rob sat on his tailbone, sneakered feet propped on the desktop and bony ankles crossed, his fingers creating magic from those six strings. He was singing some vaguely familiar song from her childhood, and she just stood there, mesmerized, because she’d had no idea the man could sing like this. Danny Fiore had always been the front man, the singer, the star, and he’d been brilliant. Who knew that Rob MacKenzie had this sweet, slightly husky tenor that could more than hold its own?

  The sad truth was that she knew very little about Rob. She knew he was Casey’s songwriting partner, and that he’d spent years playing second banana to Danny Fiore. That was pretty much the sum of her knowledge about her sister’s second husband. As he segued into the guitar solo, making those strings resonate so sweetly she almost wept, she wondered why he’d done it. Why he’d remained Danny’s silent partner, a shadowy figure in the background, when he was so visibly talented. Had Danny simply steamrolled over him, or was there more to the story? She’d seen the way he and her sister looked at each other. Had that been part of the reason? Had he made that sacrifice, remained in Danny’s shadow for years, because he was in love with her sister?

  The idea intrigued her. Colleen had dearly loved Irv, and he’d loved her. They’d had a good marriage. But they’d never come close to having the kind of relationship her sister had with Rob MacKenzie. There was something between the two of them, some connection that was palpable. When she’d heard that her sister had married her late husband’s best friend, she’d assumed they had simply been longtime friends who grew close after Danny died. But there was much more to it than that. Watching them, seeing the way they were together, it was impossible to miss seeing the truth: these two people had loved each other for a very long time.

  She tried to imag
ine her sister cheating on her husband. Sleeping with his best friend behind his back. But it was impossible. Casey wasn’t that kind of woman. If she knew nothing else about her sister, she knew that. Casey hadn’t been carrying on with Rob while Danny was alive.

  But there’d been something between them just the same. Something stronger, deeper, and more far-reaching than simple friendship.

  He finished the song, looked up, and saw her standing in the doorway. “Hey,” he said.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. But the music sounded so nice, I just couldn’t walk away.”

  “Not a problem. Whether it’s an audience of fifty thousand people, or just one, it doesn’t faze me. There’s not a shy bone in my body.”

  Her attention was snagged by the huge framed poster on the wall behind him, of the three of them, Casey, Danny, and Rob, set against a plain white background, shot from above as they gazed up into the camera. Even in two dimensions, the bond between the three of them was clear. They all looked so very young. “Good God,” she said. “You were just babies.”

  He craned his neck and eyed the poster. “In our twenties. Now that I’m almost forty, with a sixteen-year-old daughter of my own, it feels like a million years ago. How is that even possible?”

  “Tell me about it. Can I have a minute of your time?”

  “Come on in. Sit.” He swung those long legs off the desktop and carefully set down the guitar. “You want to talk to me about the job.”

  A wave of relief flowed through her. He’d brought it up first, making her feel a little less like a beggar. And she’d bet dollars to doughnuts that her brother-in-law knew that, and had deliberately introduced the topic at the onset, to oil the wheels of this conversation and make it less painful for her. For that, she was willing to give him a few Brownie points.

  “Casey told me you just need somebody temporarily, until Ali’s maternity leave is up.”