Gone. Her aunt was gone? There had to be a mistake. Caroline was the most cautious driver ever issued a license. She was the type of person who personified the term Sunday driver. In fact, she once received a warning from a state trooper for driving under the speed limit on the highway. At the time it’d been really funny and Erin had teased her mercilessly, but Caroline had sworn the cruise control had been set on the speed limit and she hadn’t a clue as to what had happened.
“My little Toyota must have a mind of its own,” she’d joked.
Erin paused, her brain suddenly working again.
“Wait a minute…my aunt doesn’t own a truck,” she said, clinging to the hope that perhaps there was a mistake. That her aunt was fine and more than likely baking something.
“No, she was a passenger in an old, beat-up Ford,” the officer said, the sound of paperwork shuffling in the background. “It was registered to Charles William McNulty…I assume that’s your father?” When Erin didn’t answer, he obviously took that as an affirmative. Swallowing, she realized that the officer wasn’t finished and she squeezed her eyes shut. “Your father—”
“Is he dead?” Erin cut in, her voice tight. “Please don’t drag it out, just tell me…is he dead or not?”
The knowledge Charlie had been driving in the accident that had killed Caroline made her chest burn with an emotion a lot like hatred, but it was side by side with something else that felt like fear at the realization her entire family might have been wiped out in a single blow.
“Is he dead?”
“No,” he answered slowly. “But he’s in pretty bad shape. He went straight to surgery as soon as they got to the hospital but there was a lot of damage. I’m sorry. I wish I had better news.”
Her father was alive, yet Caroline was dead. The injustice of it made her nauseous. If anyone had to die, why couldn’t it have been Charlie? She heard Caroline’s voice chastise her for the desperate thought and she sagged against the back of the chair, tears tickling the back of her throat.
“Tell me she didn’t suffer,” she said, the sound strangled.
“It was instantaneous.”
Thank God. The thought of Caroline dying in pain was more than she could handle at the moment.
Her mouth trembled and she nodded, even though she knew the man on the other end couldn’t see her.
“There are some details that need to be attended to….” the officer said in an apologetic fashion, leaving the rest unsaid. She knew what he was expecting to hear, what she was supposed to say, but the words were stuck in her mouth.
The sound of Caroline’s voice, mildly reproachful for Erin’s continued refusal to come home to visit, echoed in her head and caused fresh tears to collect in her eyes. Every holiday, Caroline had called, asking her to come home, and every time Erin had found a reason not to. Most times she’d blamed work, which wasn’t hard since she maintained a hellish schedule, but there were times when Erin had simply lied to get out of going back to Granite Hills. And now Caroline was gone.
“Ms. McNulty?”
The soft query dragged her back to the phone in her hand. She swallowed and took a shuddering breath. “Yes?”
“About your father…”
A muscle twitched in her jaw and she realized she had clenched her teeth. She made an effort to relax but she couldn’t keep the tone of her voice from reflecting how she felt about the man at that moment. “What about him?”
“He might not make it,” he answered gravely.
Her stomach churning, she snuffed out the flicker of concern that had the gall to flare to life and pressed her lips together. She’d be damned if she were going to care one iota for that man. Her Aunt Caroline was dead and it was all Charlie’s fault.
“There’s nothing I can do for him. I’m sure he’s in the best of hands,” she said, nearly choking on the toxic mixture of grief and regret clogging her throat. She fastened her gaze on the folder lying on her desk in an attempt to keep from collapsing in on herself. “I appreciate your call, Officer Barrett. I’ll take care of the necessary arrangements,” she said, her voice sounding as if it were coming from someone else, someone who hadn’t just lost the one person who had truly loved her. “I have to go now,” she said, wiping at her nose with the back of her hand when she realized her tissue box was empty.
“Wait!” he exclaimed, catching her before she hung up the phone.
“What?”
“I know your father had a bit of a drinking problem,” he said, trying for tact but he needn’t have bothered.
“No, actually, he didn’t have any problems drinking. If it’d been an Olympic sport he would’ve won a gold medal,” she retorted bitterly. “My father was a drunk who took advantage of his family and never took responsibility for his actions. I’m sure last night was just the inevitable conclusion of his recklessness.” Her breath caught in her chest and she forced herself to continue. “Unfortunately, it was my Aunt Caroline who paid the price.”
“Well, we don’t know for sure if he was drinking and I’m not about to make that assumption,” he said. “We’ll know when the blood alcohol content comes back from the lab.”
Erin shrugged. She didn’t need a piece of paper to tell her what she already knew. “Suit yourself.”
“I’ll call you when I get the results,” he said.
It was on the tip of her tongue to say don’t bother but she was quickly losing her fire. All she wanted to do was cradle her head in her arms and cry. “Fine,” she finally answered. “I’m usually here until nine p.m. After that, you’re out of luck.”
The officer paused and Erin could almost feel his censure at her cold attitude toward her sole surviving kin. She knew how she must look to someone who didn’t know their history, but she’d long since stopped trying to defend herself to total strangers. It was easier to let them assume what they pleased. No doubt, the officer judging her on the other end of the line was no exception.
“I’ll try to get back to you before then…in case you change your mind and want to book a flight home,” he said.
The flesh on her arms suddenly puckered and popped as a chill raced down her spine. Granite Hills, Michigan, hadn’t been her home for a long time. San Francisco was her home now. “That’s not necessary,” she said, rubbing the skin on her arms. There was no way she was going back there. Especially not now. “I’m sorry, it’s just not—” Possible. If she went back to Granite Hills the memories would destroy what little hold she had on her sanity. “I have deadlines.”
“Right. I understand,” he said, but his tone told her he didn’t understand at all. He probably had two loving parents who hadn’t left him to fend for himself at the age of six so they could drink themselves into a blind stupor. And most certainly, probably hadn’t beaten him so badly that he’d lost consciousness. Bitterness flooded her mouth along with the bad memories, but she held her tongue. No. He probably didn’t understand at all. “Is there anything else?”
“No, I suppose not,” he answered slowly, seeming reluctant to let her go, as if he could sense she was holding it together by a thread. Erin swallowed, wishing for a fleeting moment someone, perhaps even Officer Barrett, was here with her. She remained quiet, not quite trusting her voice any longer. The silence stretched and Erin was grateful when, after offering his condolences, he said goodbye.
Another memory popped into her mind, unwelcome and very recent.
“Please come home for Christmas, love. It’s been so long since we’ve seen you,” Caroline had pleaded, pulling at Erin’s conscience. “I’ll make all your favorite dishes…candied yams, mincemeat pie, fresh cranberry sauce…you name it. The sky’s the limit, if you’ll just come home, at least for a visit.”
Caroline’s insistence had coaxed a small smile, but Erin had shaken her head as she rolled a pencil back and forth on the surface of her desk. “I can’t, I’m shooting a holiday spread for the magazine. I’ll be booked before and after Christmas.”
That much had
been true but Erin could have scheduled a few days in Granite Hills if she’d wanted to. Even Harvey Wallace had family. He would have granted her at least a weekend.
“Are you going to invite Charlie?” she asked after Caroline refused to let the subject go even after she’d politely declined the offer. There was a telltale pause on the other end. “Well?” Erin prompted, yet already knowing the answer. “Because you know if he shows up, I leave, and frankly, that’s a waste of airfare.”
Caroline let out a sigh. “Erin Mallory, why must you be so hard-headed? He’s your father for goodness sakes! And he deserves a second chance. He’s changed, really he has, and if you’d talk to him you’d see that,” she said, her tone openly disappointed. When Erin remained stubbornly quiet, Caroline changed tactics. “Erin, I know things were bad, Lord, how I know, but people change. Why won’t you give him a chance to show you he’s not the man you remember.”
Because men like Charlie didn’t deserve second chances. Men like Charlie were the human equivalent of a black cloud of doom hanging over a person’s head. He destroyed everything he touched. He was probably the reason Erin’s mother killed herself before Erin was even out of diapers. Of course, she didn’t know that for certain because Caroline refused to talk about it but Erin wasn’t stupid or blind. It hadn’t taken long for her to piece together that pathetic puzzle.
Erin had ended the conversation with an empty promise to call again but they’d both known she probably wouldn’t. As it turned out, Erin had spent Christmas Day in the same place she’d spent it last year—in her apartment alone. She didn’t even have a cat, unlike her Aunt Caroline, who thought it was unnatural to live without the company of a good animal or two.
Staring at the far wall, half-lost in memories, she sniffed back the tears that seemed to flow no matter how hard she tried to hold them back and bit her lip to keep from wailing. Why did bad things happen to good people? How could fate be so cruel a second time around? Hadn’t her family suffered enough? She closed her eyes but the action was useless. The dialogue in her head continued to rant with the single-minded purpose of a spoiled child. It just wasn’t fair.
Caroline was all she had. No mother, no father to speak of…no other family. She was alone. Cradling her head in her arms she sobbed until the tears had soaked the silky softness of her cashmere turtleneck. Finally, the sobs racking her body slowed to a trickle and she lifted her head with a watery hiccup. Arrangements…she had to make arrangements. What did that entail?
She dragged a fresh notebook from her desk and attempted to start a list, though her fingers felt stiff and useless. Where did she start? It was damn near overwhelming. Caroline had mentioned something about a living trust during one of their conversations, but truthfully, Erin hadn’t been interested in pursuing the details. Somehow it had seemed morbid talking about arrangements for the estate when her aunt was still alive.
“Oh, God.” Her eyes widened in alarm as she remembered Butterscotch, Caroline’s dog of thirteen years, midway through her list. “What am I going to do with the dog?”
She dropped the pen and ground her knuckles into her eyes, trying to stop the tears from flowing. Focus, damn it. You can fall apart later, she promised herself, sniffing back another wave of moisture that was gathering like an ocean swell after a big storm.
She supposed she’d have to call someone to go over to the house and pick her up, but who? Erin had long since lost contact with the people she’d once known in Granite Hills. Someone was bound to realize Butterscotch was alone at the house, right?
Perhaps. Then again, perhaps not.
Visions of a half-frozen dog waiting pitifully for her master to come home made her shudder, the very thought weighing like a two-ton bulldozer on her conscience. After all Caroline had done for her, she couldn’t possibly let her aunt’s favored companion die forgotten like day-old trash. But what was she supposed to do if she couldn’t get hold of anyone?
Her gaze returned to the assignment folder and she contemplated telling Harvey that she wasn’t going to do it. He’d no doubt spit bullets but there was nothing he could do if she chose to take time off under these circumstances. Of course, if she did that she could probably kiss off any chance of landing the senior photographic editor job. She drew a deep breath and leaned back to stare at the ceiling, her grief-numbed brain reminding her sharply to get her priorities straight. The promotion was the least of her worries.
Yet, she realized with a groan, time off with nothing but her grief to occupy her mind would probably drive her crazy. Photography had always been her form of therapy. Losing herself in the process of capturing a sliver in time enabled her to stay sane when the moment proved too much to handle. It was what had kept her on track those first few years after leaving Granite Hills; what had kept her from self-medicating with drugs or alcohol. Closing her eyes as another wave of anguish rolled over her, she knew with resigned certainty that she wasn’t going to pull out of the assignment, no matter the circumstance or her personal feelings on the subject matter. Once again, she would cling to her photography like a life raft in the hopes that she wouldn’t drown.
A fat tear slid down her cheek and she wiped it away, almost absently, her mind already attempting to work in some sort of productive direction. She glanced at the folder on her desk.
Hometown America—the fantasy of small-town life.
Granite Hills—the reality of what small-town life was all about.
Quaint pictures of cobbled streets and gabled churches didn’t always tell the story straight. Most of the time, the pretty picture was simply that—a nice illusion. Which was why she hated these types of spreads. She preferred urban settings—gritty and real.
But, as she soon realized, most people weren’t like her. They wanted the fairy tale, which was why American Photographic was going to give it to them in full Technicolor.
“Happy-sappy sells magazines,” Harvey had snapped when she’d tried to talk him out of a similar spread last year.
And that’s what mattered.
Ironically, Granite Hills was probably the place of Harvey’s photographic dreams. On the surface it was chock full of Mayberry goodness; almost enough to give a person a cavity if they stuck around too long. It was the kind of place that Erin distrusted. She’d always felt apart from the shiny, happy people around her; always felt afraid that someone might judge her by the actions of her father. It hadn’t been easy being the only child of the town drunk. It probably hadn’t been any easier to be his sister but Caroline was one of a kind; she never gave up hope that things might change for the better. Unlike Erin, who’d given up on that pipe dream the day she left Granite Hills.
“Erin McNulty, line two.”
Erin stared at the sudden appearance of the blinking red light on her phone and wondered what more bad news could be waiting for her on the other end. She was half-tempted to let it blink for all eternity. Not possible, a derisive voice answered back. Besides, whoever it was would probably just call back anyway. She scrubbed the last of her tears from her face, and made an attempt to appear as if her world hadn’t just crumbled around her feet, before picking up the phone.
The officer with the New York accent spoke and the corners of her mouth turned down as fresh tears threatened to ruin her mask of composure. What now?
“I thought you should know the results of the BAC tests,” he said, pausing ever so slightly. “Aside from a little Robitussin for a cough, he was totally sober. I just thought you should know that before you made your decision.”
Sober? Impossible. “How accurate are those tests?” she asked.
“One hundred percent.”
Erin recalled Caroline trying to tell her that he’d stopped drinking a while ago but she hadn’t believed her. Actually, she hadn’t given Caroline much of a chance to convince her either. The thought of a sober Charlie was too fantastical to entertain and it tugged too hard on a childish dream that Erin had let die the night he beat her nearly senseless.
> “You must have caught him on an off-night,” Erin retorted, a different sort of bitterness flooding her chest. “Ironic. The night he ends up killing someone with his driving is the night that he’s, according to your tests, quite sober.” A mirthless chuckle broke free. “Fate is a fickle bitch, isn’t she?”
Knowing there wasn’t an appropriate response to her acidic comment, she let him off the hook and changed subjects. She didn’t want to talk or think about Charlie. Ever again.
“My aunt had a dog,” she began, focusing on keeping her voice strong. “Her name’s Butterscotch. Can you send someone to get her? She’ll freeze out there by herself.”
“Sure thing,” he answered. He paused, then said, “We can hold her for three days, but if no one adopts her, I gotta be honest with you…she’ll be put down. Shelter policy. It’s a terrible thing but there’s just not enough space to hold all the animals we pick up.”
Of course. “Are you sure there’s no way the shelter could keep her until someone adopted her? I’d be willing to pay for her room and board,” she offered, yet, she knew that finding a family for an older dog was difficult at best. Most families wanted puppies or at least adolescent dogs who still had the energy to romp and play and fetch a stupid stick. She tried sweetening the deal. “I could even make a donation to the shelter, if need be.”
Money was one thing she had. If she had to she’d pay room and board for the dog until she died. If she had to empty her savings to build another wing for the animal shelter, she’d do that, too. But the man’s hesitation told her it wasn’t going to be that easy.
She could almost hear the man shake his head. “Sorry, ma’am, it doesn’t work that way. If the shelter ran like that it’d be a kennel,” he said, adding in a tone that was meant to soothe…or rile, she wasn’t quite sure. “But don’t worry, we’ll send someone out to get her. She’ll sleep warm tonight.”
But after that? Who knows. Criminy, what was she supposed to do? Fly to Michigan for a dog? She wasn’t a dog person. She wasn’t a pet person period. What was she supposed to do with the dog if she went and picked her up? Her apartment wasn’t conducive to other living things. The dog was probably better off taking her chances at the shelter. Someone was bound to adopt her. Judging by the pictures that Caroline always sent around Christmastime, she was fairly cute, as far as dogs went. A mutt of indeterminate parentage, but cute nonetheless.
The Truth About Family Page 2
