Home to Laura

by Mary Sullivan

  “Bring up the worst period of my life?”

  “I need to talk about Amber.”

  “Stop it.” Olivia slammed her hand onto the table. “I have a good life. I run a solid business. I’ve come to terms with the past. Why are you people coming around stirring things up?”

  “You people? Mom, it’s only me. What’s going on?” Laura stretched a hand toward her but Olivia stood up from the table, dodging it.

  You’re dredging up all of that sorrow, that crippling guilt, reminding me of what Amber’s death cost me and your father, of how he took his solace in another woman’s arms—a woman twelve years younger than me. Of how I lost twice. Never in the ten years after that were we close again. Then he died. Now you’re trying desperately to turn me into a grandmother while there’s a man fifteen years younger than me, fifteen years, with whom I’ve fallen in love and can’t possibly have.

  How could she say any of this to Laura?

  “Mom?”

  “I can’t talk about it. I—I have a headache today.”

  “I didn’t know. Can I get anything for you?”

  Olivia sat down at the table again and rubbed her temples. “I need some time alone.”

  “Maybe you should close the shop early today.”

  Olivia smiled weakly. “Maybe I will.”

  Laura touched her shoulder as she passed to leave. Olivia grasped her fingers. “I love you.”

  “I know, Mom. I love you, too.”

  Laura left and Olivia knew in her bone marrow that she’d disappointed her daughter.

  * * *

  NICK FOUND THE entire demolition team standing around. He and Emily had driven straight out to the old homestead after lunch.

  The workers were supposed to be taking down trees this weekend, specific trees worked out with the architect, disturbing nature as little as possible and incorporating it into the design of the building.

  “Rene,” he called, and his foreman turned from the man he was talking to and walked over.

  “Nick, good to see you here.” They shook hands. “Nothing’s changed since last night. The Native Americans are still here.”

  Nick eyed the row of men and women blocking his big machinery from entering the work site. He tapped his fist on the hood of the car. Emily waited quietly beside him.

  “They don’t quarrel that your family already owns the land,” Rene said. “Like I said on the phone, this is spiritual. You gotta respect the dead.”

  Nick approached the group.

  “Can we talk?” he asked.

  “Sure,” the tallest man answered, maybe eighteen years old with high cheekbones and straight dark hair that hung past his shoulders.

  “My family never mentioned burial grounds here,” Nick said.

  “They weren’t formal burials. This was part of a migratory route. Our ancestors were buried where they fell, either from injury or old age.”

  “So you don’t know exactly where they are?”

  “Nope. Just on the land somewhere.”

  Nick pinched his lower lip, thinking. Contrary to what most people thought, he wasn’t completely insensitive. This was a serious issue. He would be smart to take it seriously.

  “There should be a solution to this, a win-win that would benefit everyone.” He stepped away for a minute and then came back as a solution started to form. “Who wants to act as the representative of this group? You?”

  The boy nodded, took Nick’s outstretched hand and shook it. “I’m Salem Pearce.”

  “Nick Jordan. Do you have access to elders who might know stories of this land?”

  “I can locate them.”

  “Good. I’ll find out whether there’s a professor or some kind of expert in Native American history at the university in Colorado Springs or somewhere in the state. See whether there are records anywhere.”

  “Good luck with that,” Salem said. “Ours is an oral history.”

  Nick slipped a business card out of his jacket pocket and wrote his cell number on the back. “Let’s aim to meet ASAP, ideally on Monday, to sort this out. I’ll get an authority here by then. Think you can pull your elders together by then?”

  “Yep.” The young man took a convenience-store receipt from his pocket and wrote his number on the back. “Call me if you have trouble locating an expert. I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Good. You and your friends can go home. I’ll send the crews home, too. Nothing will happen here before we talk.”

  As he turned away, Nick heard someone ask Salem if they could trust him.

  Over his shoulder, Nick said, “You have my word. We won’t touch the land until we settle this issue.”

  A thought occurred to Nick. “Won’t you be in school on Monday?”

  Salem shook his head. “I graduated from high school last year.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Eighteen.”

  “You graduated last year?”

  “Finished a year early,” he said with quiet pride.

  “Why aren’t you in college?”

  A faint blush tarnished the flawless dark skin. “No money.”

  “What about my offer of a college education to anyone who wants to work in my resort?”

  “I don’t want to cook or book rooms in hotels.”

  “What do you want to do?”

  “I want to document my people’s history before it’s lost forever. To educate everyone about my culture.”

  “Good luck finding a job in that area.” Nick wasn’t being cruel, just honest. Unless he could afford years of university to become a prof, the kid wasn’t going to find the kind of work he wanted. “See you on Monday.”

  Nick paced away toward the car. After all he’d gone through to make this resort a reality, now he had to deal with this?

  Rene followed him. “I’m beginning to think this deal is doomed.”

  Nick turned on his foreman. “I don’t want to hear that kind of talk. This ski resort is getting built. Period.”

  “How? We can’t tear up their ancestors.”

  “I’ll figure out something.” He returned to the car and Emily while the Native Americans and construction workers dispersed to different vehicles and left the site.

  Emily watched him expectantly. She would want to go inside that house.

  Time to face it, and all of its issues, down.

  * * *

  LAURA STEPPED OUT of the Palette and stopped short, lost. She’d gone to her mother for support, but there hadn’t been any. It brought up an old sensation, a familiar one, of times when she’d gone to her in the past only to come away dissatisfied, and feeling so alone, the worst time, of course, after Amber’s death.

  She needed her now, though, desperately, but something was going on with Mom these days that Laura just couldn’t sort out.

  Never in her life had Laura felt so...without an anchor. Without a purpose, especially not on a Saturday night when she was usually up for a good time.

  She and Vin used to go out for dinner, sometimes just with each other, sometimes with friends, and would have a blast. Then they would return to Laura’s apartment, to her sexy haven, and make love for hours.

  Saturday night was usually Laura’s night.

  The bakery was closed on Sundays, so she didn’t have to bake tonight for tomorrow’s customers.

  She didn’t know what to do with herself when she had so much on her mind, including that asinine demand she’d made of Nick.

  You owe me.

  That wasn’t how she wanted a baby, but his presence had rattled her. As did her unreasonable attraction to him. What was it about Nick Jordan that brought out the worst, and the best, in her?

  She started down Main, drawn by the small white chapel on a small hill past the end of Accord proper. She needed to visit Amber, as she had done so often since she’d lost her baby.

  As soon as she opened the gate in the white picket fence and stepped into the cemetery on the outskirts of town, a measure of peace se
ttled over her. Row upon row of white headstones stood out on green spring grass.

  White oxeye daisies and yellow-green northern paintbrush dotted the grass. When the grass became long enough to need cutting, the flowers would be mowed down, too. She was glad she was here this early in the season to catch them in bloom.

  The small white wooden chapel had been built sometime in the 1800s and was framed by the mountain in the distance on Jordan land. This early in spring, there was still snow on top of Luther.

  In the children’s section, she sat on the well-manicured grass in front of Amber’s small grave and plucked weeds curled up against the headstone.

  Amber Cameron. 1985–1991. Taken Too Soon. Rest In Peace, Sweet Angel.

  Laura ran her hand across the grass covering the short grave.

  “Mom called.” Laura turned at the sound of her brother’s voice. “Said you were probably here.”

  Noah was two years older than her and a throwback to the sixties. On this unseasonably warm April day, he wore thick gray socks with Birkenstock sandals, jeans and an ivory Aran knit pullover with a hole in one sleeve. He owned the Army Surplus, he was a survivalist and an organic farmer and never, ever apologized for who he was.

  “I thought I should come make sure you’re okay.”

  “I’m okay. Just a little blue.”

  “From losing the baby?”

  She nodded. Noah, bless his heart, was the only one who wasn’t urging her to forget about it, to go for drinks with well-meaning friends who sympathized and said things like, Don’t worry. You’ll get pregnant again.

  But with whom?

  Five months had passed and Noah thought she had the right to still grieve, bless him.

  “Vin broke up with me today. For good.”

  “Aw, Laura, I’m sorry.”

  “Me, too.”

  Noah crouched beside her. “Why did you come here?”

  “I miss the baby, but I miss Amber, too. Isn’t that strange when it’s been over twenty years?”

  “Give yourself a break, sis. Mom was trying to start her gallery and you took to Amber like a mother, like you were born to nurture. Sometimes, I think Amber’s death hit you harder than it did Mom.”

  “I’m not so sure. I think Mom just knew better than me how to drive her grief underground.”

  “She morphed it into energy for that store.”

  “I remember,” Laura murmured. She’d been only fourteen. Her little sister died and her mother became emotionally unavailable. Dad took his grief to another woman. Noah had understood Laura’s anguish, but he’d been an active sixteen-year-old with a lot of friends and out of the house every day, leaving her with no one to whom she could turn.

  Amber had drowned in a swimming pool and Laura’s family had disintegrated. Laura had been trying to put a family together for herself ever since.

  She didn’t need a degree in psychology to understand fully what drove her. She wanted a whole family.

  “Laura, I need to warn you,” Noah said. “Nick Jordan’s in town. I saw him on Main this morning.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate the warning, but he came into the bakery. We had a talk.”

  “I wouldn’t mind having a talk with him.” Noah’s voice hardened and his hands curled into fists, curious given he was a lover, not a fighter.

  “I did something crazy, Noah.”

  “What?”

  “I told Nick Jordan he owed me a baby.”

  “Laura?” Noah asked quietly, with a mixture of dread and warning in his tone. “What did you mean by that?”

  “I propositioned him. Told him we needed to have sex.” She laughed, but there was no humor in it.

  “Sis...”

  “It’s okay. He didn’t take me up on it.” She pulled a few tufts of too-long grass from around Amber’s headstone. “I was feeling desperate. Vin called off our engagement, so there’ll be no more babies with him.”

  He touched her hair. “You have rotten luck with men.”

  “I sure know how to pick them, don’t I?”

  A frown furrowed Noah’s brow. “I’m worried about you.”

  “There’s no need. It was temporary insanity. I won’t do anything rash.”

  “You sure?”

  “Positive. I know what I want, Noah, and what I don’t want.”

  He stood. “I have to get back.”

  “Did you close the store to come over here?”

  Noah shrugged.

  “Meaning yes.” She fingered the grass she’d pulled up. “Are you busy later? Want to have supper together?”

  He looked disappointed. “Wish I could, sis. Tommy and I are leaving for Pike’s Peak. We’re rock climbing tomorrow.”

  She nodded. “Thanks for checking on me.”

  He touched her arm. “I’m having trouble not worrying about you.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. You know I’m capable. I’m independent. I’m a survivor.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “You have been all of those things in the past, but you’re living through a hell of a lot right now. You know that stress list? The ten worst things that can happen? You’ve lost a baby and your fiancé. It’s serious stuff, sis.”

  She forced a smile. “I’m good, Noah. Really. Go.”

  He kissed the top of her head. “Don’t forget Mom’s birthday on Monday.”

  “Thanks for the reminder.” She had forgotten. Ever since the miscarriage, she’d been forgetting a lot of things. Her life seemed to be unraveling like a ball of fraying yarn.

  “I’ll make a reservation for dinner at the steak house for seven. Sound good to you?”

  “Sounds good, Noah. Thanks.”

  She said her goodbyes and stood to walk to Dad’s grave. Her relationship with him had grown complicated, complex, after Amber’s death. They’d never quite made it back to the loving relationship they’d had before then, and Laura cursed herself every day for not having made peace with her father before he died.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “DO YOU WANT to go inside the old homestead?” Nick asked Emily.

  “Yeah!”

  She ran up onto the veranda. He stepped around her and tested the front door. Unlocked.

  For the first time in four years, Nick set foot into the house he’d grown up in. He’d come home for Mom’s funeral. Before then, it had been nine years since he’d been in this house.

  It hadn’t changed. That angered Nick. If it had to still be here, couldn’t it at least have a new look? What had Gabe done while he’d lived here? Preserved it? Coated it in formaldehyde to remind him of how hard their life had been? Gabe had always been a masochist of sorts.

  He hadn’t renovated at all, hadn’t made additions to make the bedrooms larger, hadn’t changed the structure to reflect the times and current styles.

  He’d left the place clean. Spotless. Not a trace of a dust bunny or fur ball hid in the corners. Military training did that to a man, Nick guessed.

  “Dad?” Emily said from behind him. “Can you move inside so I can see?”

  No. But he did. He swallowed his distaste and stepped through the doorway.

  “Wow, this is cool.” Emily nudged her way around him.

  Cool? Not by a long shot.

  Over the years, as he’d become more secure in his wealth, he’d tried to give his mother things, even a new house. She’d refused, almost as though she didn’t believe she deserved more than what she had here. He’d tried to pay for repairs, upgrades. Always the same answer. “Things are fine as they are.”

  Had she kept this house as a shrine to Dad? But it didn’t feel like one. It felt, simply, like a small old house.

  All Mom had taken from him had been flowers on special days and chocolates ordered and delivered from Europe. And trips to stay with him and Marsha and Emily, since he’d had no desire to step into this town again. She’d seemed to enjoy those visits. He’d treasured them.

  He stood lost in anger
and confusion and fear. Fear? Why? He had nothing to fear here. It was just an old house. Nothing more.

  There were things that had happened here that he didn’t understand, though, vague memories that confounded him, angry words that bounced around in a room in his mind that he kept locked, and that he never entered. Why dig up the past?

  The living room sat empty, stripped of all its old furniture by Gabe. Everything had been cleared but Nick’s room.

  Still that frisson of fear confused him.

  He stepped toward the fireplace, the stones and mantel blackened by years of use. He used to lie in front of the hearth when he was a child. If he were ill, his mother would bring him special treats. More often than not, though, she would be at work and he would be left in Gabe’s care. Then, Nick would get healthy things. Chicken soup. Homemade, yes, and Gabe did a good job of turning himself into a credible cook, but to this day, Nick could not drink the stuff.

  He’d wanted his mother and her affection. He’d far preferred her coddling to Gabe’s practical solutions.

  “Because of the way you talked about it, Dad, I thought this would be a really awful house.”

  “It isn’t any great shakes. It was really run-down when we were kids. Gabe did stuff since then. Fixed the roof, painted. Only the basics. I would have renovated. Gutted it. Enlarged it.”

  “Even without furniture it feels cozy.”

  Cozy? Claustrophobic, more like. “It does?”

  “Yeah. You just can’t see it ’cause you’re used to our big place.”

  The kitchen was pitifully small. They had barely fit a table and four chairs into it. When the whole family was seated at the table, no one could open the fridge to get anything.

  He looked down at his daughter. “And you wonder why I have such a big dining room. Now you know.”

  She turned in a circle, studying the kitchen, the hallway to the bedrooms and one bathroom, and the living room she thought was cozy and he thought confining, and said, “Now I get it, Dad. You live in such a big house because the one you grew up in was so small.”

  “I wanted you to have more than I did.”

  “I do, Dad. I have you.”

  He swallowed hard. Sweet Emily. After all of his resistance, he was so glad she was here with him today.