by Garcia, Rita
Lilyan and the price of her choices pained my heart. Logan must have felt the fallout, too—even worse. He and Maggie had both known Lilyan for many years.
Logan would be stopping by later—I was sure of it. I grabbed my keys and rushed out the door. A few miles past the cottages, I swung into the parking lot of Farmer’s Market.
I grabbed a cart and hurriedly collected ingredients for the one dish I excelled at—steak picado. After college, I had moved into my own place and attended cooking classes. I couldn’t cook like Abby or bake like Julia, but I could combine a few ingredients and come up with a decent meal.
The sun hung low on the drive home. Not fond of dark alleys I rushed to make it there before nightfall.
Like a madwoman, I emptied the bags on the kitchen counter. Then I cut the steak in two-inch narrow strips. Browned the strips in a small amount of oil and added onions, bell peppers, and green chilies. Next, I cut two large tomatoes into six wedges, and added the sections to the meat and vegetables. I threw in salt, pepper, and a dash of cumin. Set it to simmer for an hour—enough time to make myself presentable.
I sent Logan a text, and while I waited for his reply, I showered. Wrapped in a towel, I checked the phone—he hadn’t responded. Unusual.
I padded down the hallway and into the kitchen. Lifted the metal-rimmed glass cover and gently moved the contents around. My phone remained unlit—I checked it anyway—nothing. The day had leveled in at twenty on the Richter scale, and he was entitled to recoup in his own way. “Well, baby, guess it’s you and me.” I rubbed the soft place behind Goldie’s ears.
With one leg tucked under me, I settled on the sofa with my food. I caught Goldie’s motion out of the corner of my eye. I placed my plate on the end table and followed her. I peeked through the new installed fisheye lens and opened the door. A clever quip eluded me. “Logan.”
He looked drained of energy. “Can’t stay long.”
“Let’s start with food.” His downturned expression answered me.
“I’m good.” He meandered over and peered out the window.
I settled on the floor next to Goldie. “Lilyan’s death—it’s hard to make sense out of it.” There. I pitched the topic right into the middle of the room.
He turned toward me. “Delusional is one thing—but suicidal? I should go. I’m not good company right now.”
“Stay.”
He leaned on the mantel. “I missed the warning signs and now Lilyan’s dead. What if she had shot you or Goldie? She tried.”
“Being a terrific police chief doesn’t qualify you as a medical professional.”
“I intended to consult a psychiatrist about Lilyan. I never bothered.”
I pushed up off the floor and stood next to him. “This happened in the hospital, under a doctor’s care. The blame lies with the ravages of Lilyan’s illness—it wasn’t anyone’s fault.” I slipped into his arms. “She must have been in a great deal of emotional pain.” I pulled back so I could see his lips.
“It’s difficult to comprehend mental illness. While training, I saw suicide scenes. Other than learning my job, I never probed any deeper.”
“I haven’t known you to be uncaring.”
“You haven’t been out in the field with me. I don’t consider myself a bad-boy type—but I do my job.”
“Well, I’m glad I know the other side of you. How about a walk along the shore?”
“Rain check? I have stuff to do.” His hand on the doorknob, he turned back. “Thanks for letting me spill my guts.”
My heart felt heavy. As much as I had wanted to ease his pain—I couldn’t find the words. If we were meant to be together, shouldn’t I have? I picked up my plate and shuffled the food around—my appetite gone.
Chapter Twenty-two
I had noticed Sam’s hurt and maybe even confusion at my abruptness. I drove straight to the Athletic Club, where I pumped iron, as sweat slithered down my back. I pushed my muscles to a new endurance until the tightened tension in my gut loosened.
“Closing in five,” Isaac, the manager, called out over the gym’s speaker system. I wiped down with the towel from my around my neck. After a rigorous workout, a good night’s sleep would burn off the residual impact of the day.
Sleep didn’t come easily. It was two in the morning when I had my last conscious thought. Morning felt like it arrived ahead of schedule. Reluctantly, I dragged myself to the shower, and emerged prepared to tackle life again. I had regained cerebral equilibrium—or some fact-simile. I pulled on jeans and slipped a T-shirt over my head, struggling my arms into it as I went in search of food.
Alec sat at my kitchen table, woofing down breakfast. A whiff of bacon upgraded my hunger to emergency levels. “What’re you doing here?”
“Dorthea let me in. It’s this whole nightmare with Lilyan.” He gulped his java.
“Like Samantha said, Lilyan must’ve been in horrendous pain.”
“Peggy and I sat up late into the night talking. Having someone special to talk to calms the waters. I’m glad you have Samantha.”
“We haven’t found what you and your wife have.”
“Peggy and I have been married twenty years. Twenty-one in August.” He jutted his chin up. He had reason to feel proud.
“Well, I’m not ready for that kind of commitment.”
“Who are you trying to bulldoze? You were bitten at first sight. And she’s still here. Don’t throw in the towel until you’re down for the count. Dorthea make you breakfast every morning? This is great.” Alec fished crumbs off his plate.
“Depends on my hours.” I forked a mouthful as chimes resounded through the house. With a slug of coffee to wash the food down, I answered the door. There she stood, looking like an angel in the early morning light. My pulse hiccupped. “Hey, lady.”
She shyly glanced at her feet. “You look better this morning. I’m glad. You’ve had my back over the past few weeks, and I wanted to see for myself if there was anything you needed. I didn’t mean to intrude.” She turned to leave.
I touched her arm and waited for her to face me. “Come on in—Alec’s here.”
She shook her head and a stray tear glistened on her cheek. “I said what I came to say.” She took a step and twisted back around as if she had intended to add something else, but instead climbed into the SUV with Goldie in the passenger seat. I planted my feet until she drove away. How soon before I watch her leave permanently? I buried the thought.
Alec came up behind me. “Need to run. See you at the station?”
“Anything on Roger Monroe?”
“I’ll have an update for you at the office.”
“See you there.” I clapped him on the shoulder and went inside.
I had enough time to visit Maggie on the way to the station, if I hustled. We were not strangers in dealing with the dark places death thrusts you into.
I zoomed down from the bluff, and scooted in behind her car. There they were, my two ladies—sitting on the front porch. Except one wasn’t mine.
I halted on the third step. Two holes with fresh wood shavings inside caught my attention. My fist tightened on the rail. Seeing where the two bullets had hit, I bit back choice words, and joined Maggie and Sam. “Morning.”
“Figured you’d show up. I have your mug waiting.” The aroma drifted into the air as Maggie poured the full-bodied brew.
“Now how did you know…? Never mind—forget I asked.” My gaze shifted to Sam. I cringed at my rudeness the previous evening. I’d handled it wrong. “Hello, again.” I winked at her.
Maggie leaned back. “Sit. We were talking about Lilyan.” She ran her finger around the brim of her mug. “Thoughts of her stayed with me through the night. The same puzzling questions circling my thoughts, also reminded me of how sacred our days are.”
I tensed at the direction Maggie was headed. “A senseless tragedy.”
Maggie scooted her chair back and crossed one knee over the other. “Like when mom died—it’s impossibl
e to find meaning in the aftermath of death.” Maggie paused and blinked back a tear. “Sam and I went and saw John.”
She brusquely changed subjects. Had she regretted mentioning our mother, even after all these years? I glanced at Sam. “How’d it go?”
“He refused to even look at me.” The shadow of sadness in her eyes echoed in her expression and wrenched my heart. “John will come around.” I wanted to fix it—make everything better for her. Fight it or not, I’d fallen for the lady with the azure eyes.
Chapter Twenty-three
Night turns to day. Day turns to night. Wishes die, leaving a residue of what might have been. My grandparents’ rejection seems like a definite sign that I don’t belong here. A part of me says it’s time to go home. But my heart longs to stay. Longs to persuade John and Elizabeth to change their minds. ~ Journal entry
Goldie trotted toward the door as Audra entered. Earlier I had raised the blinds, unlocked the shop, and dusted away a few cobwebs. “Hi. Come in.” I closed the door behind her and smiled at the way she swept into the room. I admired her style.
Without the grace of a hello, she removed her sunglasses, her eyes roving around the room. “There’s no need to list your property. I’ll take it—a lease with an option to purchase. Can’t you picture it? A waiting area here and conference room there—with partitions to separate each space.” She pointed here and there. “It’ll make the perfect real estate office.”
She’d blown in like a sudden gust of wind, and now she wanted the shop. “You don’t understand. I want it to remain a bookshop.”
“You don’t want to start with restrictions. How many people want a bookshop?” She wrinkled her forehead as if correcting a child. I expected her to shake her finger at me next.
“Let me think about it.” I moved toward the front, looking straight ahead and opened the door as an invitation. Audra took a step out, paused and glanced over her shoulder. I thought she might intend on debating the issue more.
“I’ll be in touch.”
I closed the door and twisted the lock. Moving away from the barred entrance, I released a gush of breath.
Goldie moved toward the door. “No. She can’t be back.” My little girl perked up her ears as if she understood. “You’re too smart, baby.” I chuckled as I peeked out the blinds, and relief shot through me. I opened the door pulling Maggie inside. “I’m glad it’s you.”
“Problems with Audra?” Maggie greeted me with a hug. “I saw her outside. For a split second it looked like you leaving, except with dark hair.”
“I wanted to sell to someone who wants a bookshop. In her opinion, I’m being unreasonable. And I probably am.”
“Perhaps you’re not ready to let go of the store. This isn’t the season you’re likely to find a buyer. It’s mid-summer already and the summer visitors will be leaving in a few weeks. By the end of September, the town goes into rest mode, until the shops reopen between Thanksgiving and Christmas.”
“Makes sense. Except I want to sell the shop and move on with my life.”
A veil of seriousness covered her face. “The service for Lilyan is scheduled for Saturday. We can go together.”
“Would it be proper? She hated me.” The lack of desire to go made me feel heartless and horrible.
“It’d be nice for a few of us to go. Call me.” She left the door slightly ajar.
When does life stop all the drama? In the midst of dealing with one issue, another raises its grisly paw.
Goldie bounded up the stairs in front of me. I cringed at the files spread out on the kitchen table. There must be something here I could glean answers from. The problem? I had been through the stacks of papers over and over. Nothing.
Anne must’ve left some clues to the past. My eyes moved to the one container I had avoided. With determination, I grabbed the basket of letters my mother had written to Anne. Adoptive mom to birth mom—I hated all those phrases. I went into the front room and sat on the sofa. I sorted through the envelopes and started with the earliest postmark.
October 4, 1978. I counted—it made me only three weeks old. My mother’s neat script stared at me from the page.
Dear Anne,
How does one say thank you for a precious gift? Probably the nanny’s imagination—but she swears Samantha smiles. Enclosed is a small sum. Accept it and use it to realize a dream. Please, from one woman to another—independence is important.
Almost thirty years later, the tears of that child now smeared the ink. I didn’t want to read any more, but my watery eyes remained glued to the words. A part of me appreciated the kindness of my mother. Staying in touch with Anne and sending her money meant she’d cared what happened to her—at least on some level. Still, the letter strengthened the betrayal I felt. Why had I been forced to find out about the adoption from letters? The harsh words my aunt that spewed out before I left Stone Valley echoed in my head. I shoved them aside wishing I could permanently zap them from my brain. I hated every word, phrase, and negative attitude represented in the world of adoption.
My fingers touched the next letter, dated January 15, 1979.
Dear Anne,
Enclosed are pictures of Samantha’s first Christmas. As you can see in the snapshots, she is a precocious baby. I’ve tucked in a token Christmas gift. If the pictures trouble you in light of the circumstances, tell me and I will refrain from sending additional photos.
There wasn’t another note until my first birthday.
Dear Anne, Can you believe a year has gone by? I’ve included a few pictures. We held a grand party for her at the club. I’ve enclosed a tiny thank you.
I paced from room to room, the words replaying like a swarm of bees inside my head. Exasperated, I grabbed a tablet, jotted down a few notes and sent a text to Dr. Ellie. She answered me right away, saying she could meet me at the Seahorse Shack at three. That gave me just enough time to change, and Google directions.
Within the hour, I headed to the north shore. From the parking area, I spotted Dr. Ellie, sitting at a redwood picnic table. Glad I had decided on shorts and sandals, I traipsed through the sand toward her.
She waved. “Come meet Precious.” The adorable buff-colored, miniature cocker spaniel cuddled beside her won my heart.
“You gave her the right name. She’s too cute.”
Dr. Ellie laughed. “She and Goldie already act like BFFs.” We watched, amused as our furry friends romped and played.
“Have a seat.” She motioned to the two glasses on the table.
“Perfect.” I took a sip of the cold drink she had ordered and had waiting for me.
“Let’s pray and get started?” She paused as I nodded in agreement. “Father, we invite you to join us. We’re thankful that in You we have a future and a hope. Amen.”
Her prayer unleashed tears. I pulled a tissue from my bag. Her choice of words had waylaid me as though I had turned a corner and run into an old friend—one I had been ambivalent about seeing.
She rose and gestured toward the shore. “Let’s walk down to the water.”
We slipped off our sandals and barefooted it to the ocean’s foamy edge, where we stood and talked. Goldie and Precious took to the waves as though they had a secret wish to bodysurf. “How’s the journal working for you?”
“Great. Your articles were a big help. Especially the one on how easy it is for adoptees to fall into a victim role. I also found the article on feeling shame interesting. My octogenarian aunt says Anne disgraced her family. As much as times have changed, I wonder how many people share her views. My grandfather certainly seems to.” I squished my toes into the wet sand.
She moved a step and the water splashed around her legs. “It would be good to believe that as a society we’ve risen above name-calling and attaching labels. But you can learn to embrace your own truth and reject the ill-formed opinions of others.” She watched the dogs for a moment. “Let’s move on with your questions.”
“Lilyan. Her death saddens me. It’s bizarre
, but I feel partly responsible.” A large wave sprayed the edge of my shorts, much as sorrow had troubled my spirit.
“Where Lilyan is concerned, many of us share the feeling of guilt. I should’ve tried harder to talk with her. Pastor Jim has voiced some of the same regrets.”
“Maggie wants me to attend the services with her.” I watched the fishing boats headed back to the harbor. “I’d be the last person she’d want there.”
“The true Lilyan would have welcomed you to the community.” Her eyes moistened and she blinked back the tears. “Her illness distorted her reality.”
“You think I should go?”
“That’s not my call. I’m saying don’t make your decision based on her mental disorder.”
The dogs scampered up next to us and shook. “Great.” I giggled at the soaked, sand-covered creatures at our feet. “I see a bath in their future.”
She pointed toward the table. “You ready for one of Seahorse’s famous burgers?” We headed for the snack shack, constructed of rustic lumber. Handmade wind chimes created out of seashells hung from the top of the open take-out windows, and swayed in the soft breeze. We settled on the Seahorse’s special with the works, including grilled pineapple, and an order of plain patties with cheese for our beach bums.
We settled at the wooden table with our lunch. “What’s next on your agenda?” Dr. Ellie was not one to be sidetracked for long.
“I spoke with Audra Wheeler about selling the bookshop. So I can settle Anne’s estate and get back to my life in Stone Valley.”
“I keep forgetting this isn’t home for you.”
“Me, too—sometimes.” Maybe a wish my heart kept hoping for? “Audra wants to lease the bookshop and convert it into a real estate office. I want it to remain a bookshop. Why should it matter?”
“Tell me the first three reasons that come to your mind.”
Needing time to think about her question, I pushed my plate aside. “It represents all I know of Anne.” I pause—my own remark threw me for a moment. “It’s difficult picturing another person living in her apartment. It’s the only connection between her and me?”
