by Liz McMullen
Unspoken
unspoken
liz mcmullen
Sapphire Books
Salinas, california
Unspoken
Copyright © 2016 by Liz McMullen. All rights reserved.
ISBN EPUB- 978-1-943353-36-1
This is a work of fiction - names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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 written permission of the publisher.
Editor - Nikki Busch
Book Designer - LJ Reynolds
Cover Designer - Michelle Brodeur
Sapphire Books Publishing, LLC
P.O. Box 8142
Salinas, CA 93912
www.sapphirebooks.com
Printed in the United States of America
First Edition – July 2016
Find out how you can get a FREE ebook at the end of this book!
This and other Sapphire Books titles can be found at
www.sapphirebooks.com
Dedication
To my dear friend Sandra Moran, thank you for inspiring me to live my life #moranstrong. This book wouldn’t have happened without you.
Author’s Note
I was a Mount Holyoke student in the ‘90s, and loved my time in the Pioneer Valley. The novel is set in a combination of actual places, as well as those I have made up for the purpose of this series. I have blended locations as they existed in both the past and present to suit the story. The characters that inhabit this book have been crafted for the novel and don’t represent people that I have known as a student or alumna. They are real to me and I wish I could hang out with them, but they only live between the covers of the novels in this series. I hope you enjoy Unspoken and fall in love with the Pioneer Valley as I did long ago.
Acknowledgments
Adrian Blagg: Thank you for taking one for the team and copy editing my Unspoken submission. You did a bang up job and forgave my flagrant use of commas. You are a wonderful friend.
MC Henrichon: You were an invaluable resource and helped me find the right French sayings to zing one very deserving character.
Barbara Winkes: Goddess of the French language. You not only braved through my rough draft as a beta reader, you dropped everything to help me iron out the French in my manuscript. Thank your wife for her help as well.
Jody Klaire and Em the Awesome: You both are a-maz-ing! Thank you for being there when I needed guidance and a good laugh.
MJ Williamz: You are a total rock star! Thank you for dropping everything to read my rough draft. I knew if it gave you the feels, then I was on the right track. Your thoughtful feedback gave me the confidence I needed to finish the manuscript. Thank you my friend.
The video work I did as a member of the Golden Crown Literary Society’s Education Program, has taught me a great deal about the craft of writing and has helped me take my own writing to the next level. I am forever grateful to be a part of this great literary organization.
I want to thank my family and awesome pup Quinn for sharing me with my writing, and cheering me on as I worked. I love you all!
A big thank to Nikki Busch, my editor from Sapphire Books. You taught me so much and helped me refine my manuscript into a novel worth reading.
Chapter One
“See. Why can’t I see? The smell of gasoline and smoke curled up Rowan Knight’s nostrils.
“Sir, there appears to be a victim still trapped in the car.” Sirens blared, making it hard for her to hear him. “We…jaws of…you ha…ETA?”
The terrifying whooshing sound and intense heat were followed by the screech of metal rending metal. Fire, fuck. I gotta get outta here. My fucking seatbelt. It won’t open. Rowan Knight’s heart rate kicked up when she realized she was trapped. She tried to scream but couldn’t breathe. Her mouth filled with smoke as tears streamed down her face.
The passenger side window shattered. Cold air stung her face, and a rip and a jerk later, she was dragged out of the car. Rowan felt woozy. Someone picked her up and ran, and in her fog, she thought idly, he has to be pretty damn strong to carry me.
The explosion knocked them down, and the rescuer covered Rowan’s body with his own. An evil snarky idea crossed her mind: my hero.
“Chance, you okay?” a second man asked.
“Piece of cake,” her rescuer blustered. “And the others?”
There was a long pause. “No, Jackson, she’s the only one.”
Consciousness released her and she passed out.
aaAA
“Rowan, baby, can you hear me? Speak to your mama.” Her mama’s voice was strained. She was never much on patience.
Rowan started coughing and regretted it immediately. Each cough tasted like ashes, and the pain in her chest made her nauseous. She tried to open her eyes, but the lids refused to respond. Her reaction to the inability to see made the machines around her blip and beep bloody murder. “Nurse!” her mama shouted.
“On it.” Her brother’s voice was followed by the squeak of his sneakers. That was loud, really loud. Everything was so damned loud.
There was a flurry of activity, and people moved her around like a rag doll.
“She’s all right Ms.…”
“Never mind what my name is…”
Rowan felt a shift in the air, and the smell of her mother’s perfume. Uh-oh, hope Mama doesn’t knock out the nurse.
“Susan, give the patient a sedative. And maybe one for the mother, too,” the doctor teased.
Whatever they gave Rowan hit her hard: the pain was softer and she felt sleepy. The machines stopped their racket, but what was more surprising was her mother’s silence. She figured her mama was going to let that cheeky doctor have it.
“Ms. Knight, your daughter’s eyes are swollen shut. If it were me and I woke up and couldn’t see, I’d panic too.” Cool hands checked her pulse and gently examined Rowan’s body. The compassionate touch put her at ease; the mickey they slipped her lulled her back to sleep.
She faded in and out of consciousness for days, and when she was fully awake, she regretted it. Her shiners had finally healed enough so that she could see. The hospital room was too bright and focusing on anything for more an a few minutes gave her a headache. On top of that, she had guests. The cops looked nervous, but that was because of her mother—007 would get the jitters around Maggie Knight.
A sick feeling gathered in her gut, and she knew she didn’t want to hear what they had to say. She closed her eyes briefly, hoping they would go away, but they were still there when she opened them.
“Rowan, had Nicola been drinking the night of the accident?” The cop was working too hard to be all business. His posture was too rigid, and he had a white-knuckled grip on his notepad. Something was wrong, very wrong.
She tried to remember something, anything. “I don’t know.” Her migraine started at the back of her head and was creeping toward her temples. She winced.
“Officers, maybe you should come back another time.” The edge in Maggie’s voice made the cops stand up even straighter. “You’re giving my baby a headache. She can’t remember a thing.”
“Ma’am, we’ll be as brief as we can.” The cop with a salt-and-pepper flattop spoke softly, but he stood firm. “We need to ask a few questions. Then we’ll leave her be.”
Mama remained silent. Her intense focus was making Rowan nervous, even though this time, that look was not for her.
The cop let his notepad rest on his thigh. When he spoke to her agai
n, his tone was more compassionate. “Rowan, do you remember anything from that night? Was Nicola upset? Had she been drinking?”
Rowan searched her memory, but all she could recall was the green dress Nicola wore for her birthday. “It was her birthday, but I don’t think she was drinking.”
Nicola rarely touched the stuff. Being around too much alcohol made her nervous. She didn’t like how people acted when drunk, even the happy drunks like her brother.
“Last thing I remember was her blowing out the candles.” Nicola hated turning thirty. “I teased her about the bonfire…all those candles.”
The odor of gasoline and smoke made her shake. Nicola’s face was blurry. Rowan tried to clear her eyes, but the image of her cousin faded like the memory of the wreck.
Her mother took her hand, the tremor in it making Rowan even more nervous. “Mama, why hasn’t Nicola come to visit me? She okay?”
Maggie’s eyes were glassy. A few tears escaped her lashes, leaving wet trails in her makeup. This was the first time Rowan noticed how red they were. “Mama, why you crying?”
The older cop reminded Rowan of Pappy: strong, reserved, resolute. He was reading his notes. Notes on what, Rowan had no idea. She hadn’t said much of anything.
Her mama cupped her face. The bruises were gone, but she still shrank from the touch. Tender wasn’t her mama’s style. “She’s with Ma now.”
Rowan sucked in a breath, the ache in her heart so intense she grew lightheaded. “No.” The words not much more than thin air escaping her lips. Nicola was her best friend and only female cousin. She’s only thirty… “She can’t be dead—she’s just banged up. Mama?” Rowan’s voice took a pleading tone.
The effort to suppress her sob released a fresh wash of tears. Mama didn’t cry. Not since Grandma died last fall. She and her mother had been close, and it broke her mama’s heart when cancer took her.
Rowan looked at the cops, the young cop staring straight ahead and the older one more brave. He looked her right in the eyes. He must have kids, she thought. He was fighting the desire to scoop her up and make it all better. There is no all better when someone’s dead.
“She’s really gone?” Rowan rasped. The smoke from the fire had done a number on her lungs.
“Yes.”
Rowan took a deep breath and coughed so hard stars speckled her vision. She thought the tears would come, but her eyes were dry. “Why’d you ask me if she had been drinking? You have tests for that.” An ember of anger sparked to life. How dare they speak ill of the dead?
Maggie’s expression hardened. “I think it’s time you left.” This time, it wasn’t a suggestion, it was an order.
The older cop nodded and turned to walk away with as much dignity as he could muster. His partner couldn’t get out of the room fast enough.
“Mama, why didn’t they run the tests?” Her mama wouldn’t look at her, even when she tugged at her hand. “Why are they asking me about drinking? You know Nicola don’t drink.”
Her mama gripped her handkerchief, the one she hadn’t bothered using. She stood and stared out the window. Rowan didn’t know what she was looking at. The parking lot was pure concrete. Even the weeds gave up on it.
“Mama?”
“Sh…he, baby you don’t need the details. She just passed.” Her mother refused to look at her. She wasn’t in the habit of lying.
“Mama, please. I loved her like a sister. What happened to Nicola?”
Her mama looked at her then. The pain in her blue eyes stole Rowan’s breath away and she knew she would regret asking.
“She burned baby. They couldn’t get to her.” Tears welled in her mama’s eyes and spilled over.
“Why did they save me? They shoulda saved her, Ma.” Rowan’s knuckles were white from gripping the metal bar.
Mama was at her bedside, resting a gentle hand above Rowan’s tense one. With the other, she cupped Rowan’s face. “She was gone the moment the car crashed. There was no saving her, love.” She laid a soft kiss on Rowan’s forehead. “I thank God they didn’t take you from me too.”
Chapter Two
Five years later
Haymarket Cafe
Northampton, MA
The woman behind Rowan was speaking French in double time. Even though the rapid-fire conversation was hushed, the energy the young woman was putting out was enough to short-circuit the entire basement. Rowan unplugged her laptop and stowed her electronic devices. She wasn’t expecting anything paranormal but decided to err on the side of caution.
The young woman was so adamant that her brown curls seemed to come alive as she made hand gestures that the person on the other end of the call could not see. Rowan was enjoying the show until a pair of unusual eyes, the color of dark honey, focused on her. The look the woman sent Rowan’s way would have made Mama Maggie proud. Rowan had to resist the desire to genuflect and confess her sins.
Before Rowan could apologize for eavesdropping, the woman picked up her purse, added her dirty dishes to the bus station, and was on her way, though not in the way Rowan had anticipated. There was nothing hurried in her gait. She was smooth as melted chocolate, just like the color of her hair.
Jodeci MacIntyre, Rowan’s best buddy, was as butch as the day is long. Rowan was happy to meet someone tall and built enough to share clothes.
“Rowan Knight, as I live and breathe.” Jodeci pitched her voice a good octave higher than usual and wrapped the words around a Southern accent. Rowan was glad she had finished swallowing when her buddy fanned herself as if she had the vapors.
“Did you get the part?” Jodeci had an audition earlier that day and Rowan wanted her to get it. Otherwise, her roommate would be insufferable until the next season.
“Stella!”
Rowan got goose bumps, and more than a few people turned around to gape. “I’ll take that as a yes. Shouldn’t you be workin’?” She gestured to the cooking station behind the counter.
Jodeci’s ebony eyes were alight with mischief. She knew exactly what that meant. “I see you have experienced the lovely Desiree Chevalier.”
Rowan blinked once, then twice. Her studiously blank expression barely concealed her suspicion.
Jodeci put her hands up and pleaded her innocence. “You can’t call it a fix up. I didn’t know she would be here. Besides, did that look like a love connection to you?”
Jodeci’s young Elvis hairdo and charming smirk didn’t work on Rowan. Jodeci was always trying to hook her up, but she couldn’t really blame her for that floor show. “Now tell me the real reason why you took a break.” Rowan was getting the stink eye from the counter girl. She wasn’t sure if the teen was pissed to have to do both jobs or if she thought Rowan had a thing for Jodeci. “Hurry up. ‘Sweet sixteen and never been kissed’ is going to bore a hole in my head if you don’t get back to work soon.”
Jodeci chuckled. “She’s only fourteen, the boss’s niece.” A lock of hair escaped from her pompadour, resting on her forehead. Elvis to a T. Rowan wondered if it was by design or if Jodeci was just that cool.
“She’ll be sorely disappointed to find out you’d be more interested in her teachers than her.”
Jodeci sighed like a boy on his first crush. “She still hasn’t said yes.” The high school music teacher was not falling all over Jodeci and had barely acknowledged her the other night at The Crooked Arrow. “Maybe she was just busy, you know, thinking about lesson plans.”
Being rejected was new to Jodeci, but changing the subject wasn’t lost on Rowan. “Are you going to tell me what you came over here to say?” Rowan gestured at the books littering her table. “I have things to do.”
“Just don’t count Desiree out. She’s only like that with her mother. Otherwise, she’s a real peach.”
Rowan did have some homework to do. She picked up the slimmest volume of the bunch, Plato’s Apologia. She was actually looking forward to that class. She cracked it open and started reading.
“Fine, I’ll let you go back
to reading. You’ll just end up bumping into her anyway.” Jodeci slid out of the booth and left after a parting shot. “She was reading the same book before her mother spoiled her mood.”
Rowan’s head jerked up. Damn it, if she didn’t know you were interested before, she sure knows you are now.
Jodeci gave her a crooked smile, then swaggered back to work. The counter girl brightened considerably, her sour mood forgotten. That was until Rowan returned her coffee cup; she got an extra eye roll for politely saying good-bye.
“See you on the flip side,” Jodeci called out. “Oh, and give Desiree a hug and kiss for me.”
“Sure thing, honey bee,” Rowan mimicked Jodeci’s Southern drawl from before. She swore she saw steam shooting out the cashier’s ears and had a chuckle. Talk about hostile working environments. Apparently she hadn’t been around long enough to recognize sarcastic flirting when she heard it.
Rowan passed a pastry shop on the way to her apartment. The smell of chocolate croissants made her mouth water. French pastries made her think of Desiree Chevalier. She wasn’t sure what kind of chocolate Desiree was. Sweet and smooth or dark and bitter. It didn’t matter either way: she wasn’t hungry.
Chapter Three
Turning Leaves Bookshop
South Hadley, MA
Desiree Chevalier locked the front door of the shop, turned the door sign to closed, and released the burgundy curtain for privacy while she closed down the bookstore for the night. She liked this quiet time. As she walked through the aisles, tidying displays and returning books to their rightful shelves, she made sure all the books of one title were next to their friends and all the spines were facing in the right direction. She had been caught doing the same thing in other bookstores, but she couldn’t help herself. Though for time’s sake, on those occasions, she kept her sorting and reshelving activities to the lesbian fiction section.
