“Caden, you know I have a lot of work to do. It’s not easy being a single parent.” She hated justifying herself to her child. How could her daughter understand all her responsibilities?
“You should get married. Then I’d have a dad, and you wouldn’t be gone all the time.”
Sam breathed a laugh. “It’s not that simple.”
“Bridget’s mom just got remarried, and now she has a new brother.”
Sam stabbed a piece of macaroni and aimed her fork at her daughter. Why did Caden think she had all the answers at the ripe old age of eleven? “Hey. It’s not like I’m not trying. I have dated, you know.”
Caden harrumphed. “Yeah. Jeremy.”
“There was nothing wrong with Jeremy.” Other than the way he called constantly and showed up at their door every day, invited or not. It occurred to Sam that Landon did the same thing, yet it didn’t leave her feeling smothered.
“He only talked to me when you were in the room.”
Sam had noticed that, but she wasn’t going to admit it.
“I went on a date yesterday, remember?”
“Amber said he owns a bar and has dated everyone except her mom. Sounds like a real winner.”
Sam clamped her mouth shut. Why did it seem like Caden got along with everyone but her?
“Why can’t you date someone nice like Landon?”
Sam wasn’t sure why it surprised her that Caden had thought of it. “He’s just a friend. Besides, I’ll find my own dates, thank you.”
They finished eating in silence, then she sent Caden to take a bath and decided to tackle the few remaining boxes in the attic. The sooner they finished, the sooner they could leave this place. Somehow, the thought left Sam disquieted.
She was surrounded by a pile of junk when Caden came in from her bath, smelling like a fresh and clean baby. Her daughter settled on the floor somewhere behind Sam. She wondered how long their silence would last.
The box in front of her held items unfit for a secondhand store. Sam shoved it to the door, then opened a bag of Christmas lights and decorations. They smelled musty. When was the last time anyone had put up a tree in this house?
“Mom, look!”
She hadn’t heard so much excitement in Caden’s voice in months. Caden was looking at a picture. Sam scooted beside her to see.
Sam’s mouth went dry. It was a photo taken right before they’d left for the prom.
“It’s my dad, isn’t it?” Caden asked.
Sam had given Caden a picture of her father when she was old enough to ask about him. It was cut from the yearbook Sam had taken from the island, and Caden kept it in a silver frame on her nightstand.
Caden’s lips curved into a wide smile. She looked back at the photo taken in Landon’s front yard. Caden’s father stood between the two of them, his arms curled around Landon and Sam.
“Did Landon know my dad?”
Sam’s mouth worked silently. She was unprepared for this. In the photo, Caden’s father wore his wide, charismatic grin as easily as he wore the black tux. He stood as tall as her in the flats she insisted on wearing. After the photo, they went their separate ways.
“Mom?” Caden’s brows were pinched. “Did he grow up here with you? Did he live around here? Do I have grandparents here?”
Caden’s questions came too fast, a tidal wave in speed and intensity, and Sam wondered if there was any way of stopping it now. If she told Caden, Landon would find out, and she couldn’t stand the thought of that. Maybe she couldn’t stop what was happening, but she could put it off.
“I want to answer your questions, Caden. But I’m going to ask you to wait. Wait until we leave here. When we get back to Boston, I’ll tell you everything. I promise.”
Her face fell. “That’s not fair.”
“I have my reasons. Good ones.” Sam ached inside and wished she’d left Caden in Boston so they wouldn’t be faced with this dilemma.
Tears flooded Caden’s eyes and spilled over. “I deserve to know about my dad! Why won’t you tell me? You’re just being mean!”
“Caden, if I told you now, other people would—” She stopped, not wanting to say too much.
“Other people would what?”
“No one else can know. If I told you, it would be too hard for you to keep it a secret.”
“I can keep a secret.” Just then Caden reminded Sam of herself at her age, with her wet blond hair hanging in strings around her face. She’d kept secrets at her age. Things she still had told no one.
“I’m not a baby.”
“I know you’re not.” Sam wet her lips, giving herself a chance to back out of this, not at all sure she wasn’t being foolish. If Landon found out . . .
Sam saw the sincerity in Caden’s expression. “All right. There’s something I never told you because—well, I didn’t think you’d ever need to know. I never planned to come back here, never planned for you to meet Landon.”
“What? Tell me, Mom.” Fear glimmered in her eyes, dread of what her mother was about to say.
“It’s nothing bad; it’s just . . . you have to promise you won’t tell Landon.”
“Landon?”
“I know that’s a big thing to ask of you. We’ll be here for a couple of more weeks. Do you think you can do that?”
She nodded, wiping her tears. “Was my dad a bad person?” She looked at the photo.
“No, Caden. He was a good guy. The best. He . . . he was Landon’s brother. We grew up together, just like Landon and me.”
“And you were in love?”
Hope brightened her face, and Sam couldn’t dispel it. “I loved Bailey very much.” Caden needn’t know Sam had only loved him as a dear friend.
“Then Landon is my uncle?”
Her childish delight brought a smile to Sam’s lips.
“And his parents are my grandparents!”
Fear stabbed Sam. “Wait, honey. Yes, Landon and his dad are related to you, but his mom passed away, and his dad doesn’t live here anymore. And don’t forget what I said about it being a secret.”
“I don’t understand. Why don’t they know about me?”
“I have my reasons.”
She glared and shoved the box away. “That’s not fair.”
She was right. So much surrounding her life hadn’t been fair. Bailey’s death hadn’t been fair, either—to any of them.
Caden rose to her feet. “I finally have a family, and you won’t let them know about me!”
“You already have a family, Caden. We’re a family.”
Her daughter blinked hard, but a tear escaped. “Some family.” She ran to her room and slammed the door.
Sam closed her eyes and sighed. It had been a mistake to tell her. But it was too late to take it back. She knew better than anyone that second chances were a myth.
Fourteen
“How was Saturday?” Scott asked Landon on Monday afternoon.
Landon pulled off his white overcoat, cradling the phone between his shoulder and ear. “Like the date from hell.” When Scott chuckled, Landon wanted to slug him. Scott had been around a long time, but sometimes Landon wondered if they were too different to remain friends.
“Sorry, man. I tried to warn you.”
He’d about had it with Scott’s warnings. He picked up the file for his last patient, a golden retriever named Jackson. “I can take care of myself.”
“It’s real simple, Landon. Just stay away from her. You keep going over there, helping her, and she’s just playing you.”
“You don’t know her, Scott.”
“I know her better than you think. You’re too good for her.”
Landon pressed his lips together so he wouldn’t say something he regretted. His friend didn’t understand Sam like he did.
Scott laughed. “I don’t know what you think you see in her, but you didn’t see her at the tavern last week.”
Landon’s breath caught in his lungs. He opened his mouth to ask. Don’t ask. Maybe you
don’t want to know.
“She was flirting with all the men. Including Phil Henderson. Sat talking to him for a good hour. You know he’s married, right? Has like six kids.”
“It’s not a crime to talk to someone in a bar.”
“Open your eyes, man. She’s interested in every guy who isn’t you. You’re getting hung up on her again, and she’s going to leave just like she did last time. I don’t want to watch you go through it again.”
His words bounced around in Landon’s mind. He remembered the way she pushed Melanie on him, and the way Sam rejected him, and the way she accepted Tully’s kiss. But he also remembered the way Sam looked at him when he smoothed his thumb over her lower lip.
And he remembered things Scott didn’t even know about. Like the way Sam stood stoically at her dad’s funeral, and the way she stared vacantly across the water the day her mother left. Sam’s young heart was shattered, and she built a thick wall around it to protect herself. He loved her like no one else could, and she knew it. If only she would let him in, he would spend the rest of his life proving he would never leave her.
Amber called the next day and invited Caden over for the afternoon. Judging by the glare her daughter leveled at her over her bowl of chicken noodle soup, she was happy to escape Sam’s company.
After she left, Sam tarped the kitchen floor and pushed the table and chairs away from the wall. Paint fumes from the day before still hung in the air and filled her nostrils. At least the potent smell covered the odor of Emmett.
With the trim work done, she figured she could roll all the walls today and apply a second coat tomorrow. The sooner she finished, the sooner she could get the house on the market and escape this cursed place. The thought of Caden’s stricken face the night before worried her. What if she told Landon? Sam couldn’t bear it if he found out she’d run straight into Bailey’s arms after Landon told her he loved her.
Even now, she wondered what she’d been thinking. It was stupid to leave Landon’s party that night, but a tidal wave of pain crashed into her, driving her to run.
She pried off the paint lid easily and set it on the kitchen counter. The roller and pan still lay in a bag in the shed, so she went after them. Outside, the air was thick with the smell of rain, and dark clouds gathered. The wind whipped her ponytail against her face, stinging her cheek.
She jogged the rest of the way to the shed, hoping to make it back inside before the rain fell. In her hurry, she tripped on the rock they used to prop open the door, jamming her bare toes. She limped the two yards to the back of the shed.
She strained to see in the darkness. The familiar odor of dirt and old garden tools took her back fifteen years. Her hand fumbled along the rough shelves, and she made a mental note to buy lightbulbs on her next trip to the store. The cheap beach ball she’d bought Caden bounced away as the back of her hand connected with it, then she touched the cool, hard edges of the paint tray.
Just as her fingers closed around the aluminum pan, the door slammed shut. Darkness enveloped her. She whipped around, her thoughts flying fast. She’d kicked the rock just far enough to move it out of the door’s path.
Sam took two steps and groped for the knob. Her hand grasped it and turned, but it didn’t give. She jiggled the knob frantically, straining to see in the darkness. She shoved her body against the door fruitlessly.
Think, Sam, think. Don’t panic.
But the darkness of the small space took her back to days she’d spent her life trying to forget. Days when she sat huddled in the corner of her closet, waiting for Emmett to let her out.
Sam put her hand over her heart as if she could still it. You’re inthe shed, and Emmett is gone. You’re fine.
She looked around at the windowless walls, hoping for a sliver of light that would reveal a possible escape. Emmett had built the shed himself, and she cursed his meticulous carpentry. She could imagine him looking at her now from beyond the grave, taking malicious delight in her predicament. She could almost hear his drunken laugh.
Stop it, Sam. She put the brakes on the thought, but her legs trembled. Outside, the wind picked up, howling across the ocean and shaking the tree limbs.
Maybe she could bust the door open with something. Her vision had adjusted to the darkness as much as it would, but she still had to grope to find the sawhorse that sat in the corner. She grabbed it, heedless of the sticky cobwebs, and pulled. Everything that sat on top of it clattered to the cement floor.
With the sawhorse braced in her arms like a battering ram, she drove the wooden end into the door as hard as she could. The steel door seemed as sturdy as a brick wall, and the force of the impact rattled her. She swung the sawhorse back and rammed again. Nothing.
The rough wood cut into her palms, but she kept driving the sawhorse into the door. Finally, she set it down and leaned heavily against the wall, her chest heaving. It wasn’t going to budge.
Sam straightened and reached for the shovel that was propped against the wall. Her fist closed around a handle, but when she slid her hands to the bottom, she felt the sharp tines of the rake. She set it down and moved on. The heaviness of the next rod told her she’d found it.
She carried it the two steps to the door and felt for the knob. Judging its approximate location, she brought the shovel’s blade down, and it connected with a clang. Without pausing, she lifted the shovel and brought it down again and again.
Sam stopped when her heart threatened to burst from her chest. She threw the shovel to the floor and dug her hands into her hair. She wasn’t going to be able to get herself out of here. The place was as sturdy as a mausoleum, and it was beginning to feel like one.
If only Caden were home. Melanie said she’d call later in the afternoon before she brought Caden back, but Sam wouldn’t be inside to answer the phone.
Miss Biddle was her only hope. A very slim hope. If she was home, she’d be hard-pressed to hear Sam even if the wind wasn’t howling. If Miss Biddle hadn’t heard the clanging of the shovel against the doorknob, what were the chances of her hearing anything? Still, what other choice did Sam have?
Sam pressed her mouth into the corner of the doorsill, sucked in a deep breath, then yelled for her neighbor as loudly as she could. She called out several more times, then stilled, her ear pressed against the door. Somehow the screaming had sent a surge of panic through her veins. She was hyperventilating, and the beating of her heart shook her body.
Outside, the branches of a tree scraped the side of the shed and sent a shiver up her spine. She turned into the wall and slid down it until she crouched on the cement floor. The cool hardness of it took her back to the first time Emmett locked her in her closet.
It was the night after her mom left. Sam waited all day for him to come home. She wondered what would happen if he didn’t. She’d heard about orphanages and foster care, and the thought of leaving home was scarier than the thought of staying.
Emmett got home after dark, and when he walked in the door, it was as if he didn’t see her sitting on the couch. He went straight to the refrigerator, and she heard the sucking sound of the door opening and the clanking of bottles.
Sam pulled her knees to her chest and held them tight. It seemed like an hour before he came back into the room. He stopped short when he saw her, like he’d forgotten she lived there.
He cursed. “She’s not back, but you’re still here. She probably ran off with some man, but she left her spawn, didn’t she?” He gestured toward her with the brown bottle.
Sam pulled her legs closer and looked down at the white fabric of her long T-shirt stretched across her knees. She had sat on the porch as it got dark and wished on the first star she’d seen. A futile wish, probably. Still, she asked.
“Will she come back?”
“What do you think?” The loudness of his voice shook her skull. “She took every last thing that mattered to her.”
He smirked at Sam, and she knew what he meant. “That’s not true.”
“T
hen why are you still here?” He swore again. “I wish I’d never signed those adoption papers,” he muttered to himself.
Sam’s insides felt hollow, like the emptiness would swallow her whole. Maybe she could run away and find her mom somehow.
“Do you know where she went?” she asked.
His eyes flickered, his face turning mottled red. He turned and took a step.
He did know where she’d gone to—she could see it in the set of his mouth. Sam imagined herself packing up and taking the ferry to the mainland. Landon could get some money from his parents if he had to. She could take a taxi or something and find her. Her mom wouldn’t turn her away if she showed up. A seed of hope sprang up in her for the first time since she’d seen the ripples in the water.
“Where’d she go?” Sam asked again.
His foot connected with a chair, and it scuttled across the kitchen floor, smashing into the cabinets. He turned back to her.
“I don’t know where she is! Even if I did, you think she wants you with her? If she wanted you, she would’ve taken you.”
Sam shook her head, fear crawling into her middle and pitching a tent. He still hadn’t answered her question. He knew where she was; he just wasn’t telling. Sam hated him then more than she ever had. Her eyes stung, but she blinked hard.
“She’ll come back.” The words were dead before they came out.
“Shut up.” His voice was thunder.
Sam choked back the rock in her throat. She had to find her mom. She couldn’t stay here. “Where’d she go?”
“I said shut up!” He grabbed her arm and hauled her off the couch.
His fingers cut into her flesh. “Stop it!”
“Don’t tell me what to do.” He dragged her into her room.
Sam’s feet worked to keep up with him.
He opened the closet door and shoved her inside against the tangle of hanging clothes. The door shut, and she reached for the handle, but his weight was against the door.
The darkness closed in and pressed against her body. It swelled, filling the closet with a presence all its own.
“It’s real simple, Sam.” He spat the words. “You don’t move, you don’t talk, you don’t so much as breathe, you hear me? You do, and you’ll be as gone as your momma.”
Nantucket Romance 3-in-1 Bundle Page 9
