by Olivia Miles
He set his jaw and turned to the window, looking out over the backyard that stretched to the wood. Tulips had sprung up around the edges of the house providing a cheerful contrast to the situation within.
“Your father won’t be able to come down for dinner,” his mother was saying as she pulled three place mats from the basket on the baker’s rack. “We’ll take some soup up to him after he rests.”
They wandered silently into the dining room, his mother taking her usual place at the head of the table closest to the kitchen, he and Lucy sliding into their childhood seats on autopilot. Scott unfolded the thick cloth napkin and placed it in his lap. “Looks delicious, Lucy,” he said as she handed him a plate with a large steaming square of lasagna.
“Lucy’s been keeping us well fed,” his mother said through a tight smile. “More food than one person can eat, really,” she continued, her voice growing sad. “Have you been over to the office yet?” his mother continued.
It both amazed and saddened Scott that his relationship with his mother had come to this: polite, stilted conversation. As though there was never a bond between them—not a shared love, not a shared life, not a shared secret.
He took a bite of the lasagna. “Not yet.” He forced his tone not to turn bitter when he said, “Given Dad’s commitment to the company, I think it’s safe to assume everything is in place for the library project and I can just take over where he left off.” A heavy silence fell over the room.
Lucy bit on her lip and then asked tentatively, “Why don’t you go upstairs and see him after we’re finished with dinner?”
His stomach twisted, but he nodded. Wordlessly, he finished his meal, slowly pushed back his chair and followed his mother up the stairs, his pulse taking speed with each step. He kept his gaze low, noticing how the floorboards creaked under the weight of each step. Lucy stayed downstairs, under the guise of cleaning up the kitchen, but he knew better. She was down there wringing her hands, saying a hundred desperate prayers that progress would be made, and that all would be forgotten.
Oh, Lucy.
“He might be sleeping,” his mother whispered as they approached the master bedroom. She stopped, her hand clutching the brass knob. “Let me just go in and tell him you’re here.”
Scott stepped back and his mother slipped through the door, leaving it open an inch. Through the crack he could hear her soothing voice telling his father that “Scottie” was home and wanted to see him. If his father said anything in return, it wasn’t audible from this distance.
His mother tipped her head around the door frame and nodded. With one last sharp breath, Scott entered the room, his blood stilling at what he saw. His father, once a strapping, robust man with a handsome face and personality that could intimidate even the strongest of men on a construction crew, had withered into a frail wisp of his former self. His skin, once bronzed from days spent on job sites, was now an alarming shade of grayish-white. Propped up on two pillows, his eyes were hollow and dark.
Scott crossed the room, his body numb.
“Dad.”
“I knew you would come home.” His father’s voice strained with effort, but it was still deep, still authoritative. “I knew someday you would put this business with the Porters behind you and finally come home.”
Scott’s pulse hammered. “I haven’t put this business with the Porters behind me and I never will,” he said evenly.
“Scott!” his mother cried out, but he couldn’t stop now if he wanted to. Even now, after all this time, the man still refused to acknowledge what he had done. The part he had played.
“A man died,” Scott insisted, silently pleading with his father to set things right once and for all. “A man with two daughters and a wife. And I was the one who took him from them,” Scott said quietly, feeling the anger uncoil in his stomach as the words spilled out. “You knew I was responsible for the accident that day and you kept that information from everyone. From the police. From Lucy. Even from me.”
“You were nine years old, Scott. We were just trying to protect you—”
“No.” Scott shook his head forcefully, trying to drive out the words, the excuses. “I should go, Dad.” Before I say anything I’ll regret. “You need your rest.”
Scott paused with his hand on the door, and then slipped into the hall. His mother grabbed him by the elbow.
“Thank you for seeing him, Scott. It means so much to us.”
Scott’s eyes flashed on his mother. “Why can’t he just admit it, Mom? Why can’t you? You denied the Porter family insurance money that was owed them.”
She visibly paled and looked away. “It was an accident, Scott.”
“Maybe so, but it didn’t have to happen. I had no business being on the machinery that day. A nine-year-old kid shouldn’t be on a job site.” He shook his head. “If I had never overhead you talking about it all those years later, would you ever have told me that I was the one responsible for the accident?”
His mother hesitated. “Probably not. You were already upset by the commotion that day. And what were we supposed to tell you? You were nine, Scott. We didn’t want you or your sister to have to live with this. Lucy still doesn’t know,” she added.
“I’m aware of that,” Scott said, “and I don’t intend to burden her with this.
“Then you can understand how we felt. We were trying to protect you.”
“By blaming the victim?” Scott cried.
“We never could have recovered from a lawsuit. Richard Porter was gone. There was nothing we could do to bring him back.”
“Then you admit it. You chose to protect yourself financially.”
“We chose to protect the company financially,” his mother corrected him. “Nearly a third of the men in this town were employed by Collins Construction. They had wives and children—families of their own, depending on that paycheck. Would it have been better to make them all suffer?”
“So it was fair for Emily’s family to suffer? They had nothing. Nothing!”
It was a no-win situation, he knew that now. A man was dead, his family impoverished and the only way they would have been reimbursed was for others to suffer at their expense. The only way everyone could have been spared was if Scott had never been on that machine that day. If his father hadn’t let him tag along to work.
“We covered the funeral expenses,” his mother offered, and Scott clenched a fist, willing himself not to lose his temper.
“It doesn’t change the fact that we are all living this lie! The police took Dad’s statement for the events of that day. Collins Construction had just finished building that addition on the Maple Woods police station—at cost. He knew they wouldn’t pursue a criminal investigation when everyone was pointing the finger at Mr. Porter’s negligence, and so it all just went away. And Emily and her family were not only denied the money they were rightfully owed for their father’s wrongful death, but worse—” his throat locked up when he thought of it “—is that you allowed them to think their father’s carelessness led to his death.”
“It wasn’t easy for us, either. We thought you would never have to know your part in this. And then all those years later you had to go and start dating Emily Porter. Of all people! Believe me when I say we never intended you to know the truth, especially when we saw how much you cared for her.”
Scott lowered his voice. “You knew how much she meant to me, and you never even welcomed her into our home.”
“You didn’t honestly think we were going to be able to invite that girl into our lives, feeling the reminder every day of what we did.”
Scott narrowed his eyes. “And here I thought you walked away with a clear conscience.”
His mother stared at him levelly. “My conscience will never be free.”
“Well, that makes two of us,” Scott retorted. He ran a han
d through his hair. “I have to go,” he said, taking a step back, and then another. This was a useless, maddening effort.
“What are you doing?” Lucy cried in alarm, her face pale, her expression stricken as he bolted down the stairs.
“I shouldn’t have come here!” he said, bursting past her toward the front door. “Now do you see?”
“What is wrong with you?” Lucy hissed. “Our father is dying. Do you hear me? Dying. Why can’t you get over yourself for once and be the bigger person?”
Scott whipped around and met his sister’s desperate gaze. “Lucy, when it comes to our parents, I do not want to hear another word about my relationship with them. Not. One. Word.”
“You’re a jerk,” Lucy snapped.
Scott hesitated. “I’m worse than that.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Scott shook his head. “You have no idea.”
Lucy’s voice softened. “Try me.”
“Forget it,” he said, striding for the door. He placed his hand on the knob and twisted it, hesitating. Turning to face Lucy again, his gut tightened at the sight of her anguished face. “I’m sorry you got dragged into all of this, Lucy,” he said, closing the door behind him.
The spring air was cool and fresh on his lungs, and crickets chirped in the distance. He ran his hands down his face, staring at his ludicrous rental car, so sleek and bold and out of place. The image of his father lying in that bed was too clear to banish, but the words were what haunted him the most. What had he been expecting? He grimaced to think a part of him had wanted the same thing as Lucy. Closure. Peace. Some glimmer of relief to this endless, lifelong misery that hung over their family like a plague. And now he knew, perhaps he always had though, and that’s why he had stayed away. It just was what it was.
* * *
“I just don’t know what came over me,” Emily repeated, closing her eyes to the memory of her outburst that afternoon.
“Well, I do!” Julia declared. “The man had it coming, Emily.”
“But, Julia, I work there. That’s my boss’s brother!”
Julia waved her hand through the air. “Please. Lucy knows you and Scott have a history. Besides, she was the one who commissioned him for the contest.”
Emily considered her sister’s reasoning. “Maybe you’re right,” she said quietly.
“Maybe? Emily, Scott Collins is a jerk,” Julia said firmly. “I’m so sick of hearing everyone in town go on and on about his return. If it were up to me, he’d never have come back. Seriously, I mean who does he think he is, huh? He might have been Mr. Popularity back in high school, but he’s thirty years old now and he needs to get over himself. But one day he’ll see that he can’t just tromp around on his high horse, zipping through town in his fancy car, flashing that smile and expecting every woman in the street to just swoon. Oh, what I wouldn’t like to do to him...just kick that butt right to the curb, right out of Maple Woods, back to wherever the heck it is he’s been hiding all this time...”
Emily heaved a sigh and glanced at her sister, whose eyes had narrowed to green slits, her pink lips pinched in fury as she detailed the revenge she’d like to take on Scott Collins, and burst out laughing. It was the first good laugh Emily had enjoyed all day, and she needed it more than she’d realized. “Are you finished?” she asked, when she’d settled down.
“It’s not funny!” Julia exclaimed, shaking her head in disgust. She leaned over and took a long sip of wine from her glass and then set it back down on the coffee table with a scowl. She reached for her knitting needles and motioned to Emily to flick on the television. The sisters had just finished eating dinner and were getting ready to catch up on the soap opera that they recorded each afternoon and watched together each night. It was a cozy ritual, and one that Emily cherished, even if she sometimes did worry that she and Julia were destined to become two spinsters, living in a four-room apartment above the town diner for the rest of their lives.
Emily’s stomach tightened. There was still a chance that she would get into that school in Boston. Today’s mail had brought no news with it, but eventually an answer would arrive. The anticipation of opening the mailbox each day was starting to become almost too much. For so long she had dreamed of the opportunity to leave Maple Woods, to go out into the world and begin her own life, to put everything she hated about this town behind her. She longed to start fresh. She was a person in her own right, and the longer she still lived with the weight of her family’s past, the more she resented the town that had defined her by it.
She had applied to the school with big dreams and a flutter of hope that caused her heart to soar. Now that the thought of leaving Maple Woods and everyone in it was becoming a possibility, she began to wonder if she could really go through with it.
She glanced at Julia, then swept her gaze over the small room that housed a hand-me-down couch and coffee table, and an old television propped on some milk crates. Be real. If this was all Maple Woods could offer her, then she had no other choice. If she got accepted to the school in Boston, she was going.
“I guess Scott had it coming.” Emily sighed as she settled back against a couch cushion and tucked her feet under her. It felt so good to sit down. Between the anxiety of waiting for the mail each day, the stress of seeing Scott and the long hours at the bakery, she felt as if she could shut her eyes and fall asleep right then and there. And it was only eight o’clock!
“Oh, he had it coming,” Julia insisted, wide-eyed, and Emily bit back a smile at the indignation in her voice. She was a girl of principles, and Emily loved her for it. It was something she was going to miss if she left—she really needed to stop thinking that way.
“Still, I guess we can’t exactly call him a jerk for not being interested in me,” Emily summarized.
“Oh, yes we can!” Julia slammed a bamboo knitting needle down on the coffee table and reached for her wineglass again. “You dated for three years and he up and disappears. Just...vanishes. Then he saunters back into town without so much as an explanation?” She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Emily, but you’re too forgiving. I saw how crushed you were when he left, even though you tried to hide it from me.”
Emily eyed her sister coolly, taking a sip of wine from her own glass. Julia didn’t remember their father’s funeral as well as she did—she was only six at the time, while Emily was already eight. Emily had cried herself to sleep for at least a year after that day, and she knew that no other heartache could ever be as painful as losing her dad. When Scott had left, it didn’t seem right to cry for him—he had chosen to leave her after all, he wasn’t taken from her. He wasn’t worth her tears, she’d told herself firmly, but then today, after all this time, she finally released the pain she’d been holding inside.
“You’re right,” she suddenly said, flashing Julia a conspiratorial grin. Her sister’s eyes gleamed in return. “He is a jerk.”
“Thatta girl.” Julia winked and, satisfied, snuggled back on the couch with her sister as the opening credits to the soap opera started. They watched in silence, fast-forwarding through the commercials, occasionally gasping at some dramatic turn in events. They had grown up with these characters—had watched them every day after school together while they did housework and got dinner ready. Some people thought growing up in Maple Woods was boring. Small-town life. No excitement or fun. The Porter girls had enough uncertainty in their young lives to make up for the shortcomings the town experienced in general. This television show, while silly, was one constant they had over time.
“My prediction for tomorrow?” Julia reached for the remote and turned off the television. “Brad’s not the father.”
Emily’s mouth curled into a smile. “Ooooh. I like that!” The sisters giggled.
They began gathering up their dinner plates and glasses, both groaning as they sauntered into the kitchen and
noticed the pile of dishes from what had seemed like such a basic pasta recipe, and begrudgingly started rinsing the pots when the sound of heavy footsteps on the other side of the door caused them each to freeze midtask.
Emily’s heart began to pound, even though she rationally knew she was being ridiculous. This was Maple Woods. There was no crime here. The last instance of a burglary had been at the penny candy shop on Oak and Birch, when little Molly Roberts plucked a lollipop from the counter and ran off to the park.
Standing at the sink, Emily glanced sidelong at her sister and met her fearful gaze. “Did Lucy mention that someone was staying in the spare room down the hall?” Julia whispered.
Emily shook her head and peered into the soapy water and tried to remember if Lucy had ever hinted at such a thing. Surely she would have mentioned something like this, even if it was just to ask Emily to give a friendly wave to the newcomer. Maple Woods was small, and in the six months since Julia and Emily had moved into the apartment above the diner that Lucy and George had lived in for the first five years of their marriage, no one else had come through the second floor of the building. There was only one other apartment and it was just a room really that Lucy kept on hand for guests.
Guests. The air tightened in Emily’s lungs. Without another glance at her sister, Emily wiped her hands dry on a dishtowel and tossed it on the counter. Of course.
Straightening her spine, she lifted her chin, marched the eight feet to the front door of the apartment and flung it open.
Scott’s face blanched and his wide blue eyes shifted from her to the door at the end of the hall and back again. “Emily. What are you doing here?”
