by Rula Sinara
“Stop it, just stop.” Inhale, slow and steady. Exhale, long and slow. She planted her palms on the wide windowsill, closed her eyes and calmed her breathing before the panic set in.
She had planned to finish a couple of articles for the newspaper, check her email, draft another story for her blog. Not today. She rushed into her bedroom and flung open her closet doors. Half an hour later, she was showered, dressed in dark jeans, a white tank top and a slouchy, oversize beige sweater. She pulled on her glossy green Hunter boots in case CJ talked her into spending some time in the stable, popped her sunglasses on top of her head, grabbed her keys and handbag and let herself out the back door. Work could wait. Talking to her sisters could not. Today, she needed to go home.
CHAPTER TWELVE
JACK HAD ALWAYS liked the drive along River Road, from town to farm country. It brought back a host of memories, all of them good. As a kid, he’d come out here with his dad to watch the bald eagles soar over the river and swoop down to snag their prey. On one of those excursions, they’d found an eagle with a broken wing. Jack would never forget the way his father had carefully covered the bird with an old blanket and kept it calm until a conservation officer arrived and took the animal to a rehabilitation center.
In his preteen years, Jack and his friends had cycled here in the summer, their bike tires skidding off the loose gravel on the shoulders of the road, kicking up little swirls of dust. As soon as he obtained a driver’s license—and somehow convinced his mother he was responsible enough to be trusted with her Astro van—he and Eric and Paul would load up the cargo space with blankets, bags of chips and contraband from Bootlegger Barney, whose primary source of income was disguised as a scrap yard. They would pick up their girlfriends, and, with the CD player blasting Bon Jovi, they’d drive out here to Finnegan Farm to pick up Annie, then run up to Lake Pepin, which was really just a widening of the Mississippi River, for the day. Lucky for him, his mother never found out about their outings, or his driving days would have been over. Luckier still, his complete absence of responsibility in those days hadn’t turned him and his friends into car-crash statistics.
The pitfalls of parenting, he thought. Was he ready for this? Some of Emily’s doubts crept into his consciousness. Thankfully, babies weren’t born with a driver’s license in one hand and their parents’ car keys in the other. He thought about his own father, and decided yes, he could do this. They could do this. He and Emily.
Up ahead, the white gazebo on the riverbank came into view. Emily’s grandfather had built it on the narrow strip of public land that ran between the road and the river. He had also made a pull-in off the main road so passersby could stop and spend time there, but the landmark had always been known to locals as Finnegan’s gazebo.
Jack swung the Jeep off the main road, up the sloping, fence-lined gravel drive, and parked in the roundabout next to a beater with Illinois plates—Rose Daniels’s car—in front of the freshly painted wooden sign that read Finnegan Farm Bed & Breakfast. Behind that stood a century-old two-and-a-half-story farmhouse. It had been one of Jack’s favorite places ever since Eric had married Annie and moved out here.
The white clapboard siding and barn-red trim, the comfortably furnished wraparound screened porch, the front windows with their white lace curtains and the big old yellow dog sleeping on the mat by the front door were like a throwback to another time. The only addition was the wheelchair ramp made necessary by Thomas Finnegan’s acts of heroism during Desert Storm. The man had saved three lives by nearly making the ultimate sacrifice himself, then he’d come home to his family in a wheelchair, only to be abandoned by his wife and left on his own to raise three little girls.
A wife and mother whose name was Scarlett. He couldn’t very well ask Annie or Thomas about her, but maybe there’d be a photograph of her somewhere in the house. It wouldn’t be a recent one, but he would have no trouble recognizing a younger version of Scarlett Daniels.
Jack took the front steps two at time, pushed through the screen door and onto the veranda. The golden retriever lifted his head.
“Hey, Chester. You standing guard, old fella? Keeping an eye on the family?”
The dog winked sleepily.
“Good boy,” he said, rapping lightly on the wood frame of another screen door. The main door was open to the warm spring air, and he caught the scent of coffee and something else. He inhaled deeply and with anticipation.
Was that...? Yes, it was. Annie’s apple strudel. Eric had loved his wife’s cooking almost as much as he’d loved her, and he had never stopped talking about it.
A miniature version of Eric flew across the foyer toward the front door. “Uncle Jack! Mom, it’s Uncle Jack! He’s here!”
“Stop shouting, Isaac, and tell him to come on in.”
“Come in, Uncle Jack! What’re you doing here?”
Jack let himself in, caught the young boy in midleap and swung him onto his shoulders.
“Jack, is that really you?” Annie called from the back of the house. “Coffee’s on. Come join us in the kitchen.”
“Be right there,” he replied. “Duck your head, Isaac. Your mom won’t be happy with me if you crack your noggin on the transom.”
The boy was giggling by the time they made their way to the kitchen. Jack lifted him off his shoulders, settled him on a stool and ruffled his hair. Jack then turned to Annie.
“You’re looking good.”
She accepted his compliment and a hug. “This is a surprise. How long will you be in town?”
“I was just here overnight, thought I’d stop by on my way back to the city.”
“I’m glad you did. Sit, sit. I’ll get you some coffee.”
He studied her closely. “How are you?”
She faced him squarely, as though determined to put on a brave face, then looked away and dabbed the corners of her eyes with the sleeve of her light blue, hooded pullover. “Sorry. I’m being... I don’t know. Silly, I guess. It’s good to see you, nice to know you’re thinking about us.”
She’d always been slender, but she looked thinner. It could just be her slim gray jeans, but knowing Annie, she was taking care of everyone but herself.
“I’ve thought about you and Isaac a lot, wondered how you’re doing. I’m sorry I haven’t picked up the phone.”
“No need to apologize, I know you’re busy. How’s work?”
“Are you carrying your gun?” Isaac asked.
“No weapons, sport. I’m off-duty.”
“How ’bout your badge?”
Jack smiled and pulled his badge from his pocket, handed it to the boy. “You bet. I always carry that.”
“Cool.” Isaac flipped it open. “I’m gonna be a police officer when I grow up.”
Annie was smiling again as she poured coffee into a mug, handed it to Jack. “I thought you were going to be a paleontologist.”
“I’ll be a police officer who digs up bones,” Isaac said, looking smug about having dreamed up a new profession.
“In police work, we call that forensics.” Jack sat on a stool next to Isaac, sipping his coffee.
“Foren...what kind of sick?”
“Not sick. Forensics. The people who do forensics help cops like me solve crimes.”
“Do they have guns and badges, too?”
He caught Annie’s warning look, gave her a nod, and directed the conversation away from guns. “They have cooler stuff,” he told Isaac. “Microscopes, lasers, and they get those awesome white suits so they don’t contaminate the crime scene.”
Annie smiled her appreciation. “Would you like a slice of strudel?”
“I was hoping you’d ask. I could smell it from the porch.”
Annie took plates from a cupboard and forks from a drawer. “Isaac, be a sweetie and tell your granddad that Jack is here.”
The boy slid off his stool, clutching Jack’s badge in one hand. “Gramps!”
“Isaac! Run down to his room and tell him,” Annie said. “I could have yelled at him myself.”
“Whoa.” Jack held out his hand to indicate he needed the badge back. “Better hand that over, buddy. It’s against the law to impersonate a police officer.”
Isaac slapped it into his palm and dashed out of the room, giggling. “Gramps!” he hollered again from the hallway.
Annie chuckled. “Sorry about that. Never a dull moment around here. And thank you for humoring him with all the talk about police work.”
“No problem.” Jack watched her slice a freshly baked strudel into slabs and slide them onto plates. “So, are you really doing okay? Getting enough rest?”
“Oh, sure, but, you know...it’s good to keep busy.”
He figured she had been born busy. Given the recent loss of her husband, he imagined she was using it as a coping mechanism. She looked tired, though, and a little too gaunt.
“Have you heard from Paul?” he asked. Jack had been best friends with Eric and Paul Woodward since they’d started high school. The three of them had gone off to college right after graduation. Eric had come home, landed a job as the physical education teacher at Riverton High. Jack and Paul had gone to Chicago where Jack joined the police department. Paul had gone to the college of medicine at UIC, just as his father had expected him to, but he hadn’t returned home to join his dad’s practice at the clinic. Instead, he practiced general medicine, with a particular interest in pediatrics, at Mercy Medical Center. After Eric’s funeral, Jack and Paul had sworn they’d do better at keeping in touch, get together to grab a bite, maybe catch a White Sox game, but that hadn’t happened. They were both caught up with work, and Paul came home to Riverton even less frequently than Jack did.
“No, I haven’t heard from him,” Annie said. “You?”
Jack shook his head. “The guy works longer hours than I do. Any word on how his dad is doing?”
“Still running the clinic in town,” she said. “He took such good care of Eric. Dr. Woodward hasn’t been the same, though, since his wife passed away.”
Dr. Paul Woodward, Sr. had a gentle bedside manner that infused his patients with confidence and belied the iron-fisted way he’d ruled his family. “It’s been a couple of years since Audrey’s been gone. I’d’ve thought he’d be over that by now.”
“Some people think he might be losing it.” Annie gave her temple a two-fingered tap. “It’ll be a real shame if that’s true. It would be good if Paul could come home once in a while. I know they haven’t always seen eye to eye, but old Doc Woodward could probably use some family from time to time.”
If that was truly the case, then the old man should have done a better job of creating family ties, but Jack knew his friend had other reasons for not wanting to come home. Paul had been in love with Annie since high school. Eric and Annie had never known, of course, and Paul had used his dysfunctional relationship with his father as an excuse to stay away all this time. Jack was the only one who knew the real reason. Maybe now...
No. It was none of his business. He had plenty on his own plate. Plenty. Still, it couldn’t hurt to give Paul a shout when he got back to the city, get together like they’d planned. Catch up on old times, and a few current ones.
Thomas rolled into the kitchen with Isaac sitting on his lap, making engine noises. “Vroom, vroom. Faster, Gramps!”
“We have to stick to the speed limit,” Thomas said. “The Chicago PD is here. Jack, good to see you, son. What brings you to town?”
“A police matter that needed to be dealt with.” And he was still hoping to encounter Rose at the farm, although there’d been no sign of her so far. “And I also had a...a family thing to take care of.”
“Your folks doing okay?”
Jack nodded. “Thanks for asking. They’re great, although my mother would tell you her son doesn’t visit often enough. My sister shows me up by visiting from San Francisco more often than I make the trek from Chicago.”
The older man chuckled. “Tell them they should’ve had another daughter. Or maybe they just need a daughter-in-law.”
Coming from Emily’s father, the implication that Jack should think about getting married hit a little too close for comfort. “You won’t get any argument from them on that score,” Jack said, keeping his tone light.
Thomas rolled his chair to the end of the bi-level kitchen island, which had obviously been specially designed with a counter-height work space at one end and a lower level at the other to accommodate lower stools and the wheelchair. Isaac stayed put on the man’s lap and reached for the glass of milk his mother poured for him. Thomas picked up his coffee mug and they clinked them together.
Jack watched with equal parts envy and admiration. This was what family was all about, and Emily was right to want to keep on being part of this, for their child to be part of this.
Thomas Finnegan had the patience of a saint, the smile of an angel and the blue-eyed sparkle of a prankster. He was a survivor and a war hero, a good friend to many and a devoted family man to everyone in his life who mattered. To Jack, it seemed a lot of men who had two working legs didn’t stand as tall and as proud as Thomas somehow managed to project from that chair.
Annie doled out plates of her legendary strudel as two people stomped across the back deck, kicked off boots and flung open the French doors. Emily’s younger sister, CJ, burst into the kitchen, followed by a slender brunette he almost didn’t recognize. Rose Daniels had toned down her appearance since yesterday. Big-time. For one thing, she wore a lot less makeup, and the dark bangs that had all but obscured her face yesterday were now clipped off her face. She still looked out of place, though, in jeans with too many rips to be considered fashionably distressed, and an off-the-shoulder charcoal-gray pullover that was more Friday-night bar scene than Sunday-morning farmhouse kitchen.
“Jack!” CJ rushed across the kitchen and flung her arms around him. “How’s my other big brother? And what are you doing here?” She’d still been a teenager when Annie and Eric had married, and she had decided back then she wasn’t getting just one big brother—aka brother-in-law—she was getting three: Eric, Jack and Paul. Annie and Emily’s youngest sister had a way of making almost everything about her and still be adorable while doing it.
Laughing, he hugged her back. “I’m here to beat off the boys with a stick.”
That earned him a nod from Thomas and an eye roll from CJ.
“I can take care of myself, I’ll have you know.”
As if anyone had ever doubted that. Jack turned his attention to her companion. “Who’s your friend?”
“Oh, this is Rose. She’s booked into the B & B for the week. I’ve been giving her a tour of the stable.”
Jack trained his gaze on her. “Nice to meet you, Rose.”
He watched her roll through all the emotions he would have expected—shock, panic and then fear he was going to out her.
“Um, yeah. You, too.”
“Where are you from, Rose?” Had she been honest with her hosts? This would be the test.
“Chicago.” She said it with a hint of challenge that only he would notice.
“Interesting. Me, too. What brings you to Riverton?”
“Sort of a vacation.”
Right.
“Rose says she’s looking for a change,” Annie said. “She’ll be with us for a week, long enough to find out if small-town living is really for her.”
CJ helped herself to a cup of coffee. “Towns don’t get much smaller or sleepier than Riverton. Would you like some?” she asked Rose.
“Oh, sure, thanks.”
“I’ll get it for you,” Annie said, filling another mug and passing it across the island to her guest.
Jack noted the tremor in Rose’s hand as she took the mug, the way the cream sloshed as she poured it, and how a few drops splattered onto the counter.
“Rose didn’t like the horses,” CJ said.
The girl nodded. “I’ve never been close to one before. They’re huge. Scary huge.”
CJ rolled her eyes. What was it with these sisters and their eye rolls? “Molly is the gentlest mare you’ll ever find. She’s great with the kids in my therapeutic riding program.”
“Therapeutic riding? What’s that?” Rose asked.
While CJ gave an animated description of the kids she worked with and their various disabilities, Jack studied Rose’s reaction. She was feigning interest and doing a lousy job of it. In spite of being twenty years old, which in Jack’s opinion was adulthood, she gave the impression of a much younger person, too caught up with her own issues to think or care about anyone else’s. And given the way her hands trembled, before long she would be heading up to the privacy of her room where she had no doubt stashed a bottle of vodka and possibly a vial of unprescribed meds. Unlike her mother, she didn’t exhibit any of the signs she was using street drugs. Maybe there was some hope for the poor kid, after all. If she really was looking to make a change, a place to turn her life around, Riverton was a pretty soft spot to land. But the big question for him was her motive for being here. Did these women have the same mother? If so, what did she plan to do about it? As soon as he was back at the office, he would do some digging and find out what she was up to and why.
Jack drained his mug and set it on the counter next to his empty plate. He was starting to feel like an intruder, or at the very least, an outsider in this hub of domesticity, and he had a long drive ahead of him. On his way through the house to the kitchen, he hadn’t spotted any photographs of anyone resembling a young Scarlett Daniels. The next time he was in town, he would casually ask Emily if she had any pictures of her mother.
