Saving Sara (Redemption #1)

by Nicola Marsh

  “I hope so.” The woman held out her hand. “I’m Sara Hardy and I’ve moved in next door.”

  “Oh my word.” Cilla’s hands flew to her cheeks. “I should’ve known. You’re the spitting image of Issy.” Cilla waved her in. “Please come in and I’ll put the kettle on.”

  “Actually, I can’t stay. There are some important documents I need to post in town and I was hoping you could do me a favor.” Sara spoke quickly, like she was used to doing everything in a hurry. City folk were like that.

  “Sure. What is it?”

  “I’m expecting a delivery that needs to be signed for. I’ve left a note on my door asking if they could deliver it here if I’m out . . .” Sara sounded almost desperate and Cilla quelled the urge to bundle her into her arms for a hug.

  “Not a problem; I’ll take care of it for you,” Cilla said, saddened by the shadows in Sara’s eyes.

  She knew what it felt like to be haunted by memories.

  “Thanks. I appreciate it.” Sara turned to go, then paused on the top step and glanced over her shoulder. “Did you know my grandmother?”

  Cilla nodded. “We were friends. She was a lovely lady.”

  Sara smiled and it transformed her face from pretty to beautiful. “I’d love to hear your stories about her one day, if you’ve got the time?”

  “I’ve got all the time in the world to talk about Issy,” Cilla said. “And get to know you.”

  An unexpected joy lit Sara’s cautious gaze and it struck Cilla anew how fragile the girl appeared.

  “I’d like that,” Sara said, before turning away and continuing toward her car, a small red hatchback.

  “See you soon,” Cilla called out, and Sara responded with a wave.

  Cilla watched Sara drive away, pondering the strangeness of her week. She didn’t get many visitors, bar the townsfolk wanting remedies. Yet so far, she’d had Bryce and Sara drop by, and soon Jake would arrive.

  For a woman who valued her peace and quiet, it had been an eventful few days. As she glanced at her watch and realized she had to make those oatmeal cookies she’d promised Jake, plus her signature brownies as a treat, she thought it was nice to have her staid life shaken up every now and then.

  7.

  Are we there yet?” Olly whined for the umpteenth time and kicked the back of Jake’s seat.

  Like every other time he’d been asked on this interminably long trip, Jake forced his jaw to relax so he wouldn’t grind his teeth to dust, and remembered that Rose needed his help.

  “Almost, buddy. Another five minutes or so.”

  “That’s what you said last time.” Olly blew him a raspberry. “I hate you.”

  Jake had put up with worse insults from his father but the hint of vulnerability in Olly’s voice slayed him. He’d seen the distrust in Olly’s eyes when Rose had explained she had to go away for a while to get better and that Uncle Jake would be taking care of him.

  Olly had fixed those big, brown eyes on him in accusation, as if to say, “What the hell would you know about taking care of a kid?”

  Unfortunately, for both their sakes, Jake knew jack about children, a fact that had been consistently rammed down his throat over the past twenty-four hours by Olly.

  “Hate’s a strong word, pal. And it’s not very nice to use it.” He glanced in the rearview mirror in time to catch another scowl.

  “Mom uses it,” Olly said, his defiance admirable and so reminiscent of himself as a kid that Jake had to stifle a smile. “She hates her job. She hates our small apartment. She hates not being rich.” He spoke so solemnly it broke Jake’s heart. “She thinks I don’t hear her when she says it softly but I do.” Olly’s bottom lip wobbled a little. “So if Mom says hate, I can too.”

  Hell, the last thing Jake needed was a tear-fest, but he understood where Olly’s attitude was coming from. The kid must be petrified, being dumped on an uncle he’d rarely seen over the last six months. Olly needed reassurance, something Jake was ill-qualified to give considering the mess he’d made of his own life lately, but he’d give it a damn good shot.

  “Your mom’s great, isn’t she?”

  “She’s the best.” Olly nodded, so solemn Jake’s chest ached. “I wish she didn’t have to go away.”

  Olly’s slight hiccup and muffled sob almost undid Jake’s intentions to reassure his nephew by talking about Rose, but he persisted. “Sometimes when grownups don’t feel well, they need to spend time in a place away from home to get better.”

  Olly perked up. “Like a hospital, you mean?”

  “Yeah, though the place your mom’s in is more like a hotel than a hospital.”

  Jake had done a thorough search on the rehab facility Rose had chosen and had been suitably impressed. It made him feel better, knowing his sis was in reputable hands.

  “Mom told me she’s been getting headaches . . .” Olly frowned. “And she’s been really sleepy lately. Sad, too. And forgetful. I notice stuff like that.” He brightened. “So maybe it’s a good thing she’s going away to this hotel hospital for a while.”

  “Sure is, buddy,” Jake said, relieved they’d had this conversation and that Olly seemed okay with opening up to him a little. Progress at last. “And guess what? You can tell your mom all about this trip to the country.”

  “Will there be cows and horses and stuff?”

  Annoyed with himself that he’d have to disappoint his nephew again, Jake shook his head. “Not at Aunt Cilla’s, but I’m sure some of her neighbors have animals, so we can go exploring.”

  Olly’s momentary enthusiasm faded. “Don’t go making promises you can’t keep. That’s another thing Mom says, because apparently people keep disappointing her.”

  Wow, this kid was observant. He’d have to let Rose know that Olly’s perception exceeded his years.

  “We’ll ask Aunt Cilla about it.” It was the best he could come up with, and it sounded lame, even to Jake’s ears.

  Thankfully, Olly shrugged and remained silent as Jake followed the winding road, slumping in relief when Cilla’s cottage came into sight.

  It had been a long time since he’d been back here but Jake could’ve sworn an invisible weight lifted off his shoulders now and floated away.

  Cilla would welcome them, like she’d done for him and Rose all those years ago. She’d envelop Olly in her warmth and care for him like he deserved, doing a damn sight better job than Jake ever could.

  Yeah, everything would be okay once they reached his aunt’s.

  It had to be.

  8.

  Cilla glanced around the kitchen, hoping it looked welcoming.

  She’d laid out plates piled high with oatmeal cookies, banana cake and brownies. All Jake’s favorites.

  A vase of roses clipped from her garden took pride of place on the table, their velvety soft crimson petals catching the rays of sun spilling in from the windows, their fragrance battling with the freshly baked cookies, lacing the air with homeliness.

  Jake had been a good kid and he’d once told her this place was better than his home. Considering Ray had been the spitting image of Vernon in every way, including his fondness for the bottle, she could only imagine.

  She’d spent many a sleepless night wondering what Jake and Rose had endured at home, away from prying eyes. Any time they’d visited here, she’d watched for signs of abuse. But Rose had seemed a happy child, if a little shy. It had been Jake who’d borne the brunt of Ray’s alcohol-fueled temper; she’d bet her life on it.

  Even as a child, he’d had that wary glint in his eyes, like he’d seen too much. She’d tried to mother the kids as best she could, spoiling them with home-cooked meals and long walks in the fresh air, but there hadn’t been much she could do when they went home.

  She’d grieved more for the loss of her relationship with Jake and Rose than she had for Vernon. After her husband’s death, she hadn’t been surprised when Ray cut off contact between her and his kids. She’d expected it but, regardless, she had kept hopin
g he’d allow her visits for the sake of Jake and Rose.

  But Ray had been as downright cussed as Vernon and she’d given up. As the kids grew older, she’d hoped they’d contact her. But they hadn’t, and she hadn’t pushed the issue out of respect. She’d left her past behind when Vernon died and she imagined Jake and Rose had done the same. Maybe they didn’t need an aunt who reminded them of times they’d rather forget.

  So the fact Jake had contacted her again after eighteen years meant one of two things: he’d grown a conscience or he was in trouble. She hoped it wasn’t the latter.

  A car pulled up in the drive and the engine was shut off. Curiosity drove her to the front door and she had it open before Jake had made it halfway up the garden path.

  His size struck her immediately. Jake had grown into a strapping young man, too handsome for his own good. Though a vague resemblance, something around the mouth, or the cheekbones, reminded her of Vernon. Or maybe it was the way he carried himself, with a slight swagger that oozed confidence. Yeah, Jake was a Mathieson through and through.

  Even more startling than his resemblance to her husband—he wasn’t alone.

  A young boy slouched beside him, scuffing his shoes deliberately with every step, shooting the occasional scowl Jake’s way while trying not to appear too excited as he glanced around. He had curly brown hair in need of a trim, was a tad too skinny and wore a faded blue T-shirt and shorts.

  The boy didn’t look like Jake but why else would Jake have a child with him unless it was his son?

  Fixing a welcoming smile, she stepped out onto the front porch.

  “Good to see you, Aunt Cilla.” Jake took the steps two at a time, like he’d always done, and the memory brought a lump to her throat. “You look amazing.”

  “I look old,” she said, surprised to feel her cheeks heating with a blush. “And you’re all grown up.”

  He enveloped her in a bear hug. A good, strong hug that alleviated some of her fears that their first meeting would be awkward after all this time.

  When they eased apart, Jake laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder, urging him forward. “And this is Olly, my nephew. Rose’s son.”

  Olly shrugged off Jake’s hand as if he abhorred the contact so Cilla quelled her first instinct to hug the boy too.

  So Rose had a son. She must’ve had him young, judging by the boy’s age, around six or seven. The question was, why was Jake bringing him for a visit after all this time, without Rose?

  “Nice to meet you, Olly.” She held up her hand for a high-five. She spent a fair bit of time with the youth group in town and if there was one thing she’d learned, it was that they favored this weird ritual over a handshake any day.

  Olly stared at her hand in surprise before slapping his palm against hers. “Hey.”

  He hadn’t ignored her so that was a start. She noted the relief on Jake’s face, the way his concerned gaze darted between her and Olly, and she wondered what the real reason was for this visit.

  “Come on in.” She climbed the steps and beckoned them to follow. “Hope you like cookies and cake and brownies, Olly.”

  “Wow.” Olly stared at her like she’d promised him a trip to Disneyland. “I don’t get treats very often.”

  Cilla didn’t know what to say to that so she settled for a smile.

  “Thanks.” Jake looked like he didn’t know whether to hug her again or make a run for his car, leaving the boy behind. “I remember your baking.”

  As Olly bounded into the house ahead of them, she lowered her voice. “Pity you didn’t keep in touch after your dad died.”

  Guilt twisted his mouth. “That’s another thing I remember. Your bluntness.”

  Cilla shrugged. “Why waste time not saying what you mean? Life’s too short.”

  “True.” Jake held up his hands, palm up, like he had nothing to hide. “Sorry. I’ve got no excuse other than after Dad died I moved on. Concentrated on aircraft mechanics. Supported Rose as best I could.” He blew out a breath. “Left my past behind.”

  “Don’t blame you for that.” She laid a hand on his shoulder, patted it. “Did the same myself.”

  “I bet you did.”

  They exchanged a long, loaded glance filled with understanding and empathy.

  “Anyway, that part of our lives is over,” she said, bustling him into the house. “You can tell me about Rose and Olly later.”

  “There’s a lot to tell,” he muttered, his expression pained as they entered the kitchen, where Olly hovered near the laden table, his eyes wide as saucers.

  Jake lowered his voice. “If it’s not too much of an imposition, can we stay the night?”

  “Absolutely,” she said, secretly pleased she’d have more time with Jake. “We’ll have a good natter when Olly’s in bed.”

  He nodded, suddenly grave. “Thanks, Aunt Cilla. You owe me nothing, after the way I’ve ignored you all these years, yet you’re as welcoming as ever—”

  “Stop. You’re family.” She slipped an arm around his waist and hugged. “And family sticks together. Always.”

  He slung an arm across her shoulders and hugged her back. “That’s what I’m hoping to instill in Olly.”

  Who lost patience with them at that moment and started shifting his weight from foot to foot. “I’m starving,” he declared, crossing his arms and glaring at Jake with intense dislike. “Really starving.”

  “Have you washed up?” Cilla said, ushering Jake toward the table and heading for the fridge.

  Olly frowned. “I don’t usually wash my hands before eating at home.”

  “Well, it’s a good habit,” Cilla said. “You don’t want the yumminess of those cookies spoiled by yucky germs, do you?”

  Olly pondered for a moment, before nodding. “Where’s the bathroom?”

  “Please,” Jake added. “We make manners a habit here too.”

  Olly’s gaze swung between them, ascertaining how hard he could push, before shrugging. “Okay.”

  “You can wash up through there.” Cilla pointed to the mudroom. “Would you like some lemonade? It’s homemade.”

  “Yes,” Olly said. “Please,” he added, after a pointed glare from Jake.

  “Seems like a nice kid,” Cilla said, as she took the jug from the fridge and poured lemonade into three glasses.

  “Rose does her best.” Jake took the glasses and placed them on the table. “It’s been hard for her.”

  “She’s a single mother?”

  Jake nodded. “Olly’s father died before he was born.”

  “Poor girl.” She sat at the table. “She must’ve had it tough.”

  “You don’t know the half of it,” Jake said under his breath, as Olly ran back into the kitchen and waved his hands in the air.

  “All clean, so can we eat now?” Olly sat in the chair next to Cilla and scooted closer to the table.

  “You bet.” Cilla nudged his glass closer. “And here’s your lemonade.”

  “Thanks,” Olly said, as he piled two brownies, three cookies and a slice of cake on his plate, garnering a raised eyebrow from Jake.

  “You’re welcome,” Cilla said. “Your uncle Jake used to eat that much, you know.”

  “Not anymore.” Olly crammed a cookie into his mouth and demolished it in a few chews. “Now he only eats yucky black stuff wrapped around rice.”

  Jake laughed. “We had sushi last night for dinner.”

  “It’s horrible,” Olly said, a second before he took a giant bite of brownie.

  “I agree,” Cilla said, stifling a laugh at the solemnity of Olly’s expression as he chewed like a maniac. “I’m not a fan of Japanese food either.”

  When his mouth was empty, Olly took a sip of lemonade and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “What’s your favorite food?”

  “Steak and barbecued corn, followed by apple pie and ice cream,” Cilla said, increasingly charmed by the little boy.

  It had been so long since she’d had anything to do with kids beyond the youth g
roup in town that she’d forgotten their innocence and copious questions.

  “That sounds amazing,” Olly said, reaching for another cookie.

  “It is,” Jake added, relaxing for the first time since he’d arrived as Cilla watched him settle into the chair and nibble at a cookie. “I remember Aunt Cilla used to make the best apple pie ever.”

  “Can you make it for me tonight?” Olly pressed his hands together in prayer pose. “Pleeeeease.”

  Jake stiffened. “Olly, your aunt has made all these yummy treats for us. She’s probably tired.”

  Cilla hadn’t made an apple pie in years but she found herself softening, responding to the plea in Olly’s eyes and the concerned look in Jake’s.

  There was a lot of tension between Jake and Olly, and she wondered about the cause. Jake seemed uncomfortable with Olly, out of his depth, like he didn’t know what to do or say. She hoped she could help with whatever had brought him all the way out here when they talked later tonight.

  “I’ll make you a deal. If you eat all your veggies with dinner tonight, I’ll whip up an apple crumble, which is like a pie but without all the pastry.” Also took half the work, something Cilla remembered from the pies she had toiled over, not that Vernon had ever appreciated it. “How does that sound?”

  “Awesome,” Olly said, before his face crumpled a little. “But what kind of veggies? Mom knows I like orange ones more than green.”

  Cilla’s heart broke a little at the audible quiver in Olly’s voice. He must miss Rose. For his sake, she hoped Jake looking after him was only temporary and he’d be back with Rose ASAP. If anyone knew a child needed its mother, she did. Pity Tam didn’t share the same philosophy.

  Cilla missed Tam something fierce.

  “In that case, how does carrot and pumpkin sound and we give broccoli a miss?”

  Olly’s smile radiated pure joy. “You’re nice.”

  “She sure is,” Jake said, looking at her like she’d handed him the keys to a new Mustang. “Aunt Cilla is the best.”

  She felt another blush flush her cheeks. “If you’re trying to butter me up for something, Jake, stop right there. I’m not as gullible as I used to be.”