by Lyz Kelley
“Dempsey?”
Fear, anger, and frustration tangled into a monkey’s fist, the kind of knot she used to make for her sailboating grandfather before he died, her mother left, her father got angry, and her life imploded.
She banged a spoon on the dog’s empty bowl. “Dempsey! Dinnertime.”
The deception only worked half the time. She didn’t blame the brindled French bulldog for wanting his freedom.
Even after she’d been unleashed from her family, she hadn’t run.
Danger was still looming.
The FBI had warned her to stick close to home in case they had more questions.
Like her sweater, she didn’t dare pull at the string, otherwise her whole life would unravel. She slipped into the pair of worn clogs she scored for a dollar at a garage sale and walked down the steps. Dempsey rounded the corner with a stick in his mouth just as she touched the last stair.
“You want to play, and I never have enough energy to keep you out of trouble.”
He dropped the stick by her foot.
“Okay. We’ll play, but only for a few minutes. Deal?”
He tilted his head and looked at her with those big, brown eyes. He nudged the stick with his nose when she reached down, but then turned and readied himself like a racer in the starting blocks.
“Fetch.” She tossed the stick, but Dempsey stopped after a few feet to stare down the road, his ears perked, his eyes focused, his nostrils pulsating in and out. He barked once in warning at the Jeep driving around the bend.
Her stomach muscles clenched. “Great.” Could her day get any worse? She swallowed a giant wad of humble pie.
“Hey, Rachelle.” Jenna Graden slid out of the passenger side of the blue Jeep with a sugary sweet smile. The forced expression made Rachelle’s teeth ache.
Rachelle put her hand up to shade her eyes from the setting sun. “Jenna. Grant.” She nodded her acknowledgement. “Are you here to gloat?”
Jenna paused. “You don’t know me very well if you think I’m here to gloat.”
Rachelle had met Jenna when she ordered baked goods from her bakery, but didn’t know her. In fact there were very few townspeople she’d been allowed to associate with. Her father wouldn’t allow her to socialize in the ’hood, as he liked to call the people living in Elkridge.
“You lived in this cabin once.” She pointed at the structure only fit for overnighters. “Now you’re married, and have a beautiful home and a precious little boy. I bet townspeople find me living in this place quite funny.”
“I told you this was a bad idea.” Jenna turned to go, but Grant caught her arm. Jenna eased back from her husband. “What? She’s mad as a fly stuck in frosting. She’ll never accept our help.”
Grant turned to Rachelle, his eyes narrowing. “Rachelle, retract your claws. We only came to help—not judge.”
Help? “Why? Neither one of you have any reason to help me. I’ve been nasty to you both. I don’t deserve your help.”
The local baker retrieved a brown cardboard box with an orange bow on top from the front seat of the Jeep. “This is for you. I boxed your favorites. There are some magic bars and brownies and a few ginger cookies.”
Her favorites? Not even close, but she extended a tentative hand and accepted the gracious offering.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
The familiar sting plaguing her eyes had returned. She only nodded, because anything more would cause a full-blown, bawling mess.
“I also wish to thank you, Grant, for giving me a job reference for the Reyes remodel. Without it I wouldn’t have been able to pay Maggie back for allowing me to stay here.”
Grant took a step closer. “If there’s anyone in town who knows what you’re going through, Rachelle, it’s me. My mom was arrested along with your dad, but neither one of us is responsible for what happened. Both of us got caught in the rockslide of bullshit.”
Jenna glared at Grant. “What my husband is trying to say is no one knew the extent of the illegal operation. It was way bigger than anyone imagined. Drugs. Trafficking in sex and babies. Who knew?”
Rachelle knew, only she had been too scared to say anything. And a lot of people got hurt. Hindsight had sliced a notch in her soul that still festered.
“I appreciate you both stopping by. I do. It’s just my dad hurt a lot of people. I don’t blame anyone for hating me. I don’t. It will take time to make things right, and you’re not doing yourselves any favors by being seen with me.”
“Would you just stop feeling sorry for yourself?” Jenna marched up into her comfort zone. “Sure, you weren’t always the nicest person to deal with, but today is a new day. I’ve seen the good side of you. It’s in there, hidden by glitz and glamour, but it’s still there.”
Rachelle’s mind clogged with denial. “How would you know?”
“You had nothing to gain by coming to my shop and telling me I should trust my husband—that he wasn’t guilty of what I accused him of doing. You defended him when everyone, including me, believed him guilty. Without you, I wouldn’t be married, or have a healthy, adorable son.”
Grant stepped forward placing a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “She’s right, you know. There are other people in town willing to help, too. All you need to do is ask.”
What was she supposed to say? She’d never needed to ask for help before.
The old Rachelle would have blown them off, but the new Rachelle didn’t know the protocol of friendship. Before, her friends had been handpicked and were required to like her.
How did one go about making friends?
How did one make a life? Funny how only having a couple of suitcases full of clothes and a car desperately needing an oil change made you feel insecure.
“Several months ago, I was the one wanting to help this town. I was looking into purchasing that old, abandoned house by the high school.”
“You mean the old Winner place?”
“That’s the one. I thought it would be perfect for an after-school program. Kids get in trouble and start using drugs when they’re bored.” She turned to Grant. “You remember what it was like. The only place we had to hang out was the cemetery. I thought maybe if we could get everyone behind it, we could put in some computers, maybe a pool table, and I could teach some art classes.”
“And maybe I could organize a baking class or two,” Jenna’s eyes lit up.
“How about finding someone to give skateboard lessons?” Grant added.
Jenna grabbed Grant’s arm. “Karly over at Helper Shelter has been wanting to teach kids how to train dogs.”
“And in the summer, I thought we could plant a vegetable garden. Some kids in the area aren’t getting enough fresh food to eat.” The building excitement fizzled. “Now I don’t have that kind of money.”
“It’s still a good idea.” Jenna grew quiet, contemplative. “Maybe if enough people come together, we can still make it work.”
Bolstering her courage, she asked, “Would you like to come in for some coffee? These amazing treats need to be eaten.” She held up the box of goodies.
She held her breath, waiting for a rejection.
“We’d love to,” Grant put his hand on his wife’s lower back and headed for her front door.
Excitement skipped though her veins as she raced up the stairs. This friendship thing might not be as hard as she thought. “Come on, Dempsey. Come on, boy.”
The bulldog lumbered up the steps and inside like the obedient little dog he wasn’t.
“Have you heard from Brad?” Jenna asked.
“No, and I don’t expect to.” At least that was the truth, but a change of subject was required.
She didn’t want to talk about her brother or father or the dozens of other people in town who were arrested.
Grant squeezed his broad body into the tiny space between the kitchen table and the potbellied stove while Jenna settled on the other side of the small table by the counter. Both looked oversized in the small spa
ce.
“How’s the bakery business?’’ Rachelle asked while she got out a set of mugs she found at a local garage sale. She avoided using the more formal china she hadn’t been able to part with, and which had cost more per place setting than her monthly bills. Rent. Food. A lightbulb went on. Maybe she could sell the entire set! On eBay or something.
Now if she could only find a coffee pot. The small metal one that came with the cabin overflowed on the even days, and on the odd days it didn’t work at all.
Jenna accepted the vintage creamer Rachelle handed her. “The shop is doing well since the ski slopes are staying open a bit longer this year.”
The antique creamer had been her grandmother’s, and looked out of place, but pouring cream from the carton still didn’t settle quite right.
“It seems people are still managing to find their way into town,” Rachelle dropped a couple of antique spoons on the small oak table, hoping no one would notice they were quality silver, and took a seat on the bed as the four walls started closing in, pressing her claustrophobia button.
Dempsey brushed against her leg and curled in a ball by her foot.
“Oh, that reminds me,” Grant reached in his pocket to retrieve an envelope, “this came to my law office, but it’s addressed to you.”
Embarrassed heat brushed up Rachelle’s cheeks as she reached for the envelope, then hesitated, unsure if she wanted to touch the thing. “I intended to do a change of address once I got a job and settled. For some reason, I thought the investigation and trial wouldn’t take so long. The government still hasn’t removed the hold on my personal investment accounts.”
“Everything takes twice as long as you think it should.”
So true. Then again, she’d held off listing an address with the postal service, because then she’d be obligated to update the Correctional Department in case her father wanted to contact her. The only plus of the tiny cabin was the shoebox didn’t have a mailing address. The old Rachelle Clairemont didn’t want to be found. Then again, neither did the new Rachelle.
“Aren’t you going to open it?” Jenna leaned forward to look at the envelope.
“I already know what it is. My real estate license has been reinstated.” She looked up to meet Grant’s eyes. “Your father was our family attorney.” She shrugged, “I put the law office as my temporary address thinking I would change the address once I got settled. At the time I didn’t know where I would be living.” I certainly didn’t think I’d still be living in Elkridge.
“No worries. I’ll let Peggy-Sue know to set your mail aside. You can pick it up any time the office is open.”
“They reinstated your license.” Jenna scooted to the end of her chair. “That’s wonderful news. Once you get your first property listed, I’ll make some of those logo brownies you designed for an open house.”
“That’s nice of you, but I’ll have to take a pass.” She let out a long awkward breath. “Real estate was my dad’s thing, and to be honest, it was something I just fell into. Besides, who would hire me? I can’t imagine anyone in this town would entrust me with the sale of their home.”
“There are a few people around,” Grant suggested. “We could help with referrals.”
“That’s okay. I’ve got a few other ideas.” She coaxed a smile into place as fear choked off her air.
She didn’t have a clue where she could find a job, but one thing was sure. She wouldn’t live the life her father demanded she live.
“How is the remodeling coming?” Grant asked with a curious glint in his eye. “I met the new owner in town today when he stopped for gas. Nice guy, even if a bit quiet.”
Quiet. Jacob wasn’t quiet. Not with her. “I suppose a game designer does lend itself to being an introvert, but he knows what he wants.”
“So you’ve met him.”
“This morning. I was just finishing up the work on his game room.”
“Done. Already? Good for you.”
For some reason Grant had always been kind to her, especially after his twin had decided to ski out of bounds and tangle with a tree a week before their wedding. Losing her fiancé was bad enough, but Jason had gone up to the Vail family cabin with another woman. The news outlets caught whiff of the jilted lover angle, and for weeks there was nowhere to hide.
Grant did his best to shield her from the vicious rumors, but the tabloid story took weeks before the harassment and innuendos and lies died down.
“How about some coffee?”
Jenna eyed the coffee pot, and the dribbled black liquid.
Rachelle chuckled over the do-I-have-to expression Jenna was doing her best to hide. “I don’t blame you.”
“Excuse me? Blame me for what?”
“Not wanting to drink that coffee.”
“Oh. The coffee.” Jenna tucked a strand of hair back into her braid. “It’s a bit late in the day for coffee anyway. We’re on our way to an early dinner, or late lunch, or whatever you want to call it. It’s all-you-can-eat at More Than Meatballs. Why don’t you join us?”
An invitation to dinner? Now that’s something she never expected. “Thank you for the offer, but I’ve been gone most of the day. If I don’t spend some time with Dempsey, he’ll eat another pair of my shoes.”
Jenna looked at Dempsey who wore an expression of utmost innocence. The little turd.
“You sure?” Grant leaned in, “because if you’re afraid someone might say something—”
Rachelle waved him off. “I used to be, but I got over my fear weeks ago. It’s part of the new me. I’m good.” Just keep refreshing your lip gloss, Rachelle, so no one can see past the shine.
Jenna stood, and shoved her hands in her back pockets. “When I came to Elkridge, I was broke, hungry, and angry.” She snorted out a chuckle. “I was sleeping in the park when Maggie found me. She dragged me over to the café, gave me a meal, and a job. Don’t underestimate this town, Rachelle. There are some good people here who have a lot to give.”
True, but first I need to discover who I am, and how to be the person I always wanted to be. “I appreciate you both for giving me a second chance. It means a great deal to me, but I don’t want anyone to make this easy. My father hurt a lot of people, and I want to make amends.”
“It doesn’t mean you have to freeze to death. I brought some extra blankets in the Jeep because I know how cold this place can get at night.”
“Blankets I will accept. And thank you,” she took Jenna’s hand, and managed to gracefully gag down another bite of humble pie, “and for talking Maggie into letting me stay here.”
“There you go again.” Jenna smiled with a wink. “Maggie’s just thankful someone is living in the place. You staying here saves her from having to check on the place, or keep the water running to make sure the pipes don’t freeze.”
Grant held open the door, and stuck his foot out when Dempsey tried to make a run for it. Rachelle reached for the naughty dog.
“Still. I do appreciate the kindness,” she said, stumbling over the words.
“Anytime,” Jenna hurried down the steps, and waved.
She lifted her arm to respond as memories of the ruler marks, always applied above her shirt cuff to ensure no one at her school would ever see the bruises, made her pull inward.
Her first lesson about elitism came around the age of six, when her father beat words of gratitude out of her.
“Only the weak ask for help,” he chastised. “The Clairemonts are above the rest,” he declared.
She closed the door and set Dempsey on the hardwood floor, watching while he ran to get his favorite toy.
“Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live.” She studied Dempsey, who was watching with his head tilted to the side, puzzling over what she was trying to say. “Do you know who said that? Norman Cousins. He was a professor, editor, and a pretty smart guy, but I’m not sure he was right.”
She picked up Dempsey’s stuffed cat, now mis
sing both eyes and an ear, and tossed the fuzzy thing to the farthest corner of the room. “The soul never dies. It just adapts.”
Determination gripped her hard.
She would rise from the ashes and spread her wings, a phoenix with feathers of purple and blue and gold.
No one could stop her this time.
Chapter Four
Rachelle parked in front of the construction office trailer and pulled the visor down to check her makeup. She rubbed the corner of her mouth where her shaky hand had jerked outside the ruby red line. She was only meeting with Erik Sparks, after all, but he didn’t know she was coming.
It was better this way.
She took a deep breath, gracefully exited the Mercedes, and tossed the purse straps over her shoulder.
“You don’t know it yet, Erik Sparks, but you need my help.” She rushed through a wardrobe check, then climbed up the steps to the twelve- by sixty-foot trailer.
Her former high school classmate sat slumped behind a makeshift desk. He hadn’t changed much. A bit scruffy, with a day-old beard and a worn T-shirt to complete his signature look. She could barely see him past the desk piled with engineering drawings, paperwork, and files, but assumed a pair of baggy jeans rounded out his wardrobe. A cup with a week’s worth of stains sat by his right hand. A half-eaten bagel by his left.
She closed her nostrils to the stench, which reminded her of gym clothes stuffed in a bag and forgotten. If she wasn’t desperate, she might have left without a word.
“Hello, Sparky.” She cranked up the friendly.
The construction owner peered at her over the top of his laptop. He blinked, then blinked again, his eyes squinting. “Rachelle? What are you doing here?”
She donned her game face, the one which said I-got-this, walked to the nearest chair, and took a seat on the front edge, trying to miss the dark smudge in the blue fabric. “How are you doing, Erik?”
His eyes narrowed further. “Fine. Why?”
She ran her hands down her legs to smooth the creases with her sweaty palms. “Rumor has it you have a new construction contract. Good for you.” She should have put on more lip gloss to make smiling easier.
