Gabe wasn’t a typical boy, though, so she never really knew what to expect when it came to his behavior. She thought of the pile of parenting books on her nightstand and wondered whether she would ever truly understand him.
No one else in town did either. She dreaded the upcoming talk she needed to have with him.
“Hey, Mom, there’s no towels.”
Julia set down the egg she held in her hand. “Did you not bring up the laundry like I asked last night?”
“Sorry,” he called out.
She heard the bathroom door close, and the pipes groaned as he turned on the water.
Obviously she was expected to do his chores for him. She headed down the stairs into the basement, saw the folded towels, and shook her head. So he’d come down and done half his chore but couldn’t bring up the basket?
She hefted it into her arms and climbed the stairs. Setting it down in front of the bathroom door, she knocked.
“Maid service.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Gabe opened the door a smidgen and stuck his hand out. She picked up a towel and gave it to him before walking away.
Be patient but firm. That was what all the books advised when it came to raising teen boys. Patient but firm. Everything in her wanted to put the towels away in the closet, but she didn’t. Gabe needed to be self-sufficient, and she’d tried really hard not to raise a mama’s boy.
Julia went back to making breakfast. By the time the bacon was crispy, Gabe was out of the bathroom. She heard him fumble over the laundry basket, and when he mumbled low enough that she couldn’t hear the words, she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from chuckling. It was a little mean of her to place the basket directly in front of the door, knowing he wouldn’t have thought to look for it otherwise.
She had his breakfast ready on the table and was in the midst of pouring him a glass of orange juice when he came up behind her and wrapped her in a hug. She smiled, knowing she needed to cherish this moment.
“I’m sorry I didn’t finish my chores,” he said.
“Is it all done now?”
He shook his head. “I’ll put the towels away after school. Promise.”
“As long as it’s done before I get home, that’s fine.”
They ate their breakfast in silence, Gabe wolfing down his eggs and bacon while she toyed with hers. When he was finished, she pushed her plate toward him.
“You sure?” His fork was poised over her eggs.
“Gabriel, we need to talk.”
He set his fork down on his own plate, leaned back in his chair, and crossed his arms.
Oh, boy.
“I need to know, as a mother, about what happened the other night. I’ve given you some time and space and didn’t want to—”
“What?” Gabriel leaned forward, cutting her off. “Didn’t want to what, Mom? Accuse me right away?”
She swallowed. “I’m not accusing. I just want answers.”
She watched her son for the cues, his tells that he was about to explode. The flaring nostrils, the cracking of his knuckles, the curl of disgust in his lips . . . but all she got was a rolling of the eyes.
Maybe she was worried over nothing.
“Sorry to disappoint, this time, but I’ve got nothin’ for ya.” He picked up his fork and began to eat her eggs.
She studied him, unfamiliar with this reaction.
“Nothing? You knew nothing about the graffiti on those vehicles parked on Main Street? Nothing about the images drawn on the church? Or the garbage cans knocked over?”
When his gaze lifted to hers at the last words, she knew something was up.
“You knew about the garbage cans?” she asked.
He shrugged and went back to eating the eggs.
Julia leaned forward, suddenly feeling very exhausted.
“Gabriel? Please tell me this wasn’t some skateboard trick you were attempting.”
He shrugged again. “Okay, I won’t tell you.”
“Are you kidding me?” She was flabbergasted. “Do you realize that I told the police there was no way you could be involved, and that I was tired of them always coming to you first when things like this happen?” She could feel her blood pressure rise as she remembered the countless knocks in the middle of the night, police officers wanting—no, demanding—to know where Gabriel was. Most of those times he was in his bed . . . most of the time.
“Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do as a mom? Believe in your son? Trust him? Defend him? Isn’t that what a parent is supposed to do?”
“Of course that’s what you’re to do. And that’s what I do”—she reached out and touched his arm—“over and over again.”
“So why don’t you believe me, then?”
She looked him in the eye, one brow raised, and said nothing.
“Yeah, sorry. I should have come clean about the garbage cans.” He lowered his gaze as he said that.
She was about to reply when her phone rang. She looked around the kitchen for it and couldn’t find it anywhere; it wasn’t until the third ring that she found it stuffed below one of the couch cushions in the living area.
“Good morning.”
“Julia, I need your help.”
Julia smiled at the sound of Jenn’s voice on the other end. Jenn was one of the first friends she’d made when she moved to Stillwater Bay ten years ago.
Gabe was six, and to keep him occupied while she unloaded their vehicle, she’d unpacked a small box full of toy cars she’d picked up at a garage sale for him. He was sitting on the front lawn playing while she carried in their meager belongings. Thank God she’d found a cottage to rent that came furnished. When she’d left the city she had to sell as much as she could to help pay for their move.
It was while she was dragging in their one suitcase stuffed full of all their clothes that Jenn pulled up and immediately began to help her.
She’d been stunned at first. Here was this polished woman wearing jeans, pumps, and a blouse that obviously cost more money than Julia had left in the bank, and she was carrying boxes and bags stuffed with daily essentials into Julia’s new home.
Julia had been a little overwhelmed. But when Jenn pulled out a huge basket full of freshly made food and jars of jams and preserves, that was when she started to cry.
She’d made a decision before moving here never to reveal her real reasons for coming to Stillwater Bay, so she’d come up with an alternate story, one that was more believable: As a single mother, raising a boy in the city wasn’t always ideal, especially not in the neighborhood they’d lived in. Julia had grown up in a small community and wanted to have that tight-knit feeling for her own son. She knew he would need it. Stillwater Bay was all that and more. She’d answered an ad to work in the retirement home, and the day she got the job she gave her notice at the large retirement facility she worked in Seattle, told her landlord she was leaving at the end of the month, and packed.
She never regretted that decision, despite . . . everything. She would never regret it.
***
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STILLWATER RISING
Book One
(an excerpt)
Charlotte Stone
Sweat dripped down Charlotte’s face as she bent over, hands anchored on her knees while she struggled to breathe. She’d killed it today, and it felt good. Great even. She reached for the towel at her feet and wiped her face and neck before standing up straight and stretching. The sounds of the buff fitness instructor on the television screen congratulated her for an excellent workout as Charlotte reached for her water bottle and gulped it down.
She needed that. She’d let her workouts slide in the past few weeks, and it showed. Her patience was thin, her energy low, and she was starting to get fidgety. But after this workout, she felt good. Sore, but good. Energized even. As if she could handle anything that came
her way.
She made her way up the stairs, taking two at a time, not ready to let the burn leave her yet, and poured a cup of freshly brewed coffee. She’d bought new beans yesterday and ground some up before heading down for her workout. The aroma of those beans still filled the air, and she knew it would be a good cup of coffee. Exactly what she needed.
She picked up the mail she’d set to the side yesterday and sorted through the abundance of letters that still came in. Letters from various students and families from Stillwater
Elementary, and even from people who didn’t live in their town but had been moved by the tragedy, as if it had touched them personally. All letters Jordan rarely opened, let alone read. She flipped through all the envelopes and set aside the three addressed to Jordan with
childish lettering. She didn’t understand his hesitation when it came to opening them. Stacks of similar letters filled a shoe box in her office, so many letters praising Jordan for his heroic acts and describing how his selflessness saved countless lives. She still teared up when she read the ones from the younger students thanking him and calling him their hero.
He was a hero. She knew it. The town knew it. The world knew it. But sadly, she didn’t think Jordan realized it.
The sliding door off the kitchen opened, and a cool breeze wafted around her ankles. Charlotte set the letters down and glanced over her shoulder to see her husband standing at the door, his back to her, while he banged his running shoes together to get rid of the sand. His navy running shirt and shorts were drenched and so was their dog, Buster, who plopped down on their back deck with his tongue hanging out.
“Looks like you two had a good run.” Charlotte took a sip of the strong coffee before she set her cup down on the counter and poured some for her husband.
“You should come out some time with us,” Jordan offered his obligatory request, same as he did every morning.
“Maybe next time.” The words were automatic, but they both knew she’d never join him. Running was his thing. Not hers.
Jordan grabbed his coffee, placed a kiss on her cheek, and made his way to the guest bathroom where he always showered off. Charlotte hated to clean a trail of sand throughout the
house, so when they built the guest addition to their home a few years ago, she made Jordan start cleaning up in there after his runs.
While he headed downstairs, she went upstairs to their bedroom and had her own shower. Afterward, with her hair still wet, Charlotte took her coffee into her office. She needed to get a head start on today. She planned to go to the elementary school, where Jordan served as principal, and then spend the day there with the students and any parents unwilling to leave their children alone.
Not that she blamed them. Her hands shook slightly as she sank down in her desk chair and reached for the Stillwater News, the town’s weekly paper that was little more than a gossip column for the town. She’d been worried about the front-page article and even asked Arnold Lewery, the editor of the paper, to let her take a peek at what he’d written, but ever since the media had swarmed their town and refused to leave, Arnold had become tight lipped about what he featured in the paper.
In the beginning, almost every article he wrote, whether it was a piece about one of the families affected by the event or a new development, he’d been scooped by one means or another. Their town had become overrun with media within hours of the shooting, and you still couldn’t walk down Main Street without a microphone being stuck in your face or the knowledge you might see yourself on the evening news.
They’d managed to hold a few special town meetings without alerting the media presence, and it became quite evident that everyone, including Arnold, expected her to fix the mess they were in with the media and to shelter them from prying eyes.
“Staying Strong” read the title on the front page. Charlotte was pleased to see the image she’d submitted via e-mail to Arnold last week. She was glad he used it. There’d been too many
images of the school ensconced with police tape, memorial flowers, and weeping parents. This photo, taken last year right before the annual summer parade, featured welcome banners, balloons, and children’s play centers set up at the school for the summer party. Starting at Stillwater Elementary, the parade always made its way down Second Bridge, across Main Street, and then up First Bridge until everyone joined together back at the school for the festivities. She hoped the image would help the town remember the good things about Stillwater Bay and not the sad, horrific event that had torn them apart.
She knew not everyone was on board with the school reopening. She’d had more than enough parents complain and demand that the school stay closed, and while she attempted to understand their pain and knew they only spoke out of fear, she had to look past the emotional impact of the school shooting back in May and look to their future.
She was determined that today was the first of many steps their town needed to take to move forward past the ugliness of what had happened.
Charlotte flipped through the paper, reading the letters to the editor and the small-town gossip, and almost missed the short article written about Julia Berry, the mother of the shooter. She set the paper down on her desk and leaned back in her chair. Her heart went out to Julia. If anything, what had happened was as much Charlotte’s fault as anyone else’s, including the mother of the sixteen-year-old shooter.
From day one, everyone knew Jessie Berry had bad blood in him. He was that boy who was always in trouble. The moment he stepped foot into a store, all shop owners knew to keep their gaze on him. She’d lost track of the number of times she learned from the town sheriff’s weekly updates that Adam Berry had been escorted home in the middle of the night after deputies found him hanging around the local cemetery. Who lurked around a graveyard in the
middle of the night? It wasn’t natural, people said. No matter what anyone did, how they reached out to him, it never seemed to matter.
Since the shooting, Charlotte couldn’t shake the feeling that all of them shared responsibility for failing to help Adam. The blame couldn’t be directed at any one person, no matter how much the media tried to do just that.
She glanced down at the article again: “One Bullet, One Boy and One Mother.”
A shiver ran down her spine as she read the lie in that headline over and over and over.
***
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Other books by Steena Holmes on Amazon
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The Memory Child
The Memory Journal
Stillwater Bay Series:
Before the Storm (novella)
Stillwater Rising (1st novel)
Dreams of Stillwater (novella) – Coming Soon
Stillwater Deep (2nd novel) – Coming Soon
Hope of Stillwater (novella) – Coming Soon
Stillwater Restored (3rd novel) – Coming Soon
Finding Emma Series:
Finding Emma
Finding Emma (German)
Dear Jack – a Finding Emma novella
Emma’s Secret
Dottie’s Memories – a Finding Emma novella
Megan’s Hope
Sweet Collection Series:
Sweet Memories
Sweet Dreams
Sweet Return
Sweet Retreat
The Sweet Collection Boxed Set
Single Romance Titles:
Chocolate Reality
In Love With a Cowboy
The Wedding Dare
The Word Game
Halfway Series:
Halfway to Nowhere
Halfway In Between
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[Finding Emma 03.0] Megan's Hope Page 7
