by Wendy Tyson
Detective Jones sat forward. “The owner of the Center?”
Megan nodded. “And Thana and I were close friends. Thana had a crush on a boy named Mick Sawyer. Mick and I were also friends, Thana didn’t like that, and she went after my boyfriend, Ray, to retaliate. Kids’ stuff, Detectives, and so long ago that none of it matters.”
“You never forgave her for going after your boyfriend, who is conveniently back in the area?” Detective Lewis yawned, as though the motive was so common as to be a boring cliché. “Perhaps the two of you cooked something up?”
Megan’s smile was genuine. “Mick Sawyer became the love of my life and later my husband, Detective. It was a stupid teenage love triangle that ended in hurt feelings. But in the end, it was a blessing. I married my best friend. I don’t think I had any reason to seek revenge.”
Detective Jones said, “And Ray and Thana? Did things fare well for the two of them?”
“I have no idea.” Megan collected her bag. She knew her rights, and this conversation was over. “If you want to know more, I’m afraid you’ll have to ask Ray yourself.”
By the time Megan reached the truck, her hands were shaking and tears had sprung to her eyes. Not because of the detectives’ tactics. They were predictable. But because of all the baggage their questions brought to the surface. The pain of losing a best friend. The crush of having a trusted boyfriend betray her. Her own shame at encouraging Mick when she knew full well there was chemistry there—and that Thana had liked him. The guilt of not really regretting any of it because without that betrayal there would have been no marriage, tragically short though it was.
But most of all, the soul-wrenching ache of losing someone you love. Just when she thought she’d made progress, when she was learning to let go of the hurt enough to move forward with life, back it came. Mick’s death. A tsunami of feelings.
As she’d done so many times when she first moved to Winsome, Megan drove now to Mick’s grave on the outskirts of Winsome. She shifted the truck into fifth gear and wound her way around the street until she was at the cemetery by the Presbyterian church. Once she’d parked, once she’d run across the paved lot to the grave marked with an American flag and the flowers she and Bibi had planted on July Fourth, only then would she give into the need to cry.
Only the tears wouldn’t come.
Instead, Megan felt anger overwhelming her. Anger toward her father for once again bringing turmoil to their home. Anger toward Sylvia for getting them into this mess. Anger toward Thana for seeking revenge all those years ago. Anger at Mick for dying.
But most of all, anger at herself for what she knew where unproductive, unfair, and not wholly rational thoughts.
She wished she could talk to Bibi, but her grandmother’s inability to be objective when it came to Eddie prevented that.
She wished she could talk to Denver. But he was part way around the world—how could she burden him with this when he was dealing with his own family’s issues?
She wished she could call her mother.
As she walked back to the truck, Megan remembered the card that sat unopened in her dresser drawer. Her mother had given her that letter at Christmastime, and like a small child unwilling to face up to reality, Megan had hidden it away. She was afraid of what it said. Or didn’t say.
I can do one thing right today, Megan thought. I can open that damn card.
She drove away from the church and Mick’s grave knowing what he’d want her to do.
Nine
Back at the farm, Megan’s attempt to beeline to her bedroom was thwarted by her father in the kitchen. He was still in pajamas and a blue bathrobe. His graying hair was in disarray, and he had what looked like a coffee stain on the lapel of his top.
“Have you heard anything, Megan? Anything at all?”
Megan, still smarting from her mental tirade, said, “I just got back from the police department.”
Panic flashed across his face. “They want to see Sylvia again?”
“They questioned me about me, Dad. Remember—Thana and I were best friends once upon a time. I know you’re wrapped up in what’s happening with Sylvia, but this affects other people too.” Her father’s crestfallen look made her regret her harsh tone. “I’m sorry. I know this is hard for you.”
“No, you’re right. I’m sorry you’re part of this. I screw everything up, don’t I.” It was a statement, not a question, and Megan didn’t respond.
Morning had given way to afternoon, and Megan had a laundry list of things that had to get done before Saturday and the pizza farm opening. She didn’t have time for self-pity, and she didn’t have time to assuage her father’s angst. But she knew something that would. Work.
“Come on,” she said. “Get dressed and come outside.”
“Why?”
“You can help me pick corn.”
“Corn?”
“Yes. Corn.” Megan tugged on her father’s arm. “Come on. Some sunlight and fresh air will do you good.”
Eddie shook his head. “I can’t leave Sylvia.”
“Then bring her out too.”
That made Eddie smile. “Sylvia picking corn? I don’t think so.” Like that, his demeanor changed again. “You go, Megan. I’d just mess it up somehow. And Sylvia needs me. She’s just up there, fretting on her computer. I’m worried that this is too much for her.”
“It’s kind of ridiculous. She’s innocent. She should be up and out, doing her best to enjoy her time here. There’s not a thing she can do about what happened. The truth will vindicate her.” Even as she said it, Megan heard how trite that sounded. After years of practicing law, after witnessing several murders in her beloved Winsome, she knew the truth did not always act as a shield.
Eddie had walked out of the kitchen and into the hall, the ties of his bathrobe trailing behind him. “You’re right, of course. She’s innocent. But Sylvia can be bull-headed. She had big plans for this trip. It was going to be the start of a new chapter for her boutique. Now it’s ruined.” He shrugged. “Or at least she thinks it is.”
Megan watched as her father drifted down the hall, his shoulders slumped in defeat. She wondered why he seemed so despondent. Even more, she wondered why Sylvia had simply given up.
Megan took the steps two at a time with Sadie behind her. She saw her father’s back as he retreated into the bedroom he shared with Sylvia, then turned toward her own room. Bibi was helping Alvaro at the café, but she would be back soon. Megan only had so much time.
She lifted the card from the drawer. It was thin, light. Charlotte had left it for her at Christmas, by the hospital bed occupied by Megan’s Aunt Sarah. Unable to face its contents then, now she sat on the bed and tore open the dark green envelope, careful not to harm what was underneath. Her hands betraying her, she pulled out the card. Made of heavy cardstock, it was a tasteful print of a dove carrying a sprig of holly. Inside was the preprinted message “Wishing you a season of peace and joy.”
On the left side of the card was a handwritten message. Megan scanned it, then read it more slowly.
Dear Megan,
I’ve written this card in my head a million times, but no words ever seemed adequate. I want to ask for your forgiveness, for no child should feel abandoned by a parent. I want to tell you I’ve been watching you from afar and am awed by your accomplishments. I want to tell you I regret leaving, and not being there for you for the joyous occasions—and the heartbreaking ones. I want to tell you that I never left you; it was me I was escaping. I want to tell you that not a day went by that I didn’t love you and wonder what was happening in your life.
You may be asking yourself why I never reached out, never called or wrote. Another of my failings, I’m afraid. As time went by, I convinced myself that you’d forgotten about me. That reaching out would reopen old wounds. But now I know better. Wounds like that never really heal, a
nd they need the sun’s light and the whisper of hope in order to start to mend.
It’s Christmas, Megan, and like every Christmas since I left, I am thinking about you. Would you meet me? For coffee, for brunch, for Easter dinner, for a walk along the Winsome Canal. For whatever time—and in whatever capacity—you think you can manage. Or not at all. It’s up to you, Megan. Whatever you decide, I will love you always.
Charlotte
Megan placed the card back in the envelope and tucked it all into her dresser drawer. She sat on the bed for a long time, Sadie beside her, and watched through the window as the afternoon turned to dusk and, eventually, to evening.
It was nearly dark before she realized that Bibi had never come home.
Ten
While Megan was nursing her hurt and her hope, her phone, left in another room, was collecting voicemails. One was from Clover. Alvaro had to leave the café suddenly—very unlike him—and Bibi and Clover were staying to fill in. “Just grilled cheese, fruit salad, and soup,” Bibi said in her third voicemail. “It’ll have to do. These old bones can’t multitask like they used to.”
Megan wasn’t so sure about that, but she was less worried about the café menu than her cook. Why had he left so suddenly? And without word?
After quickly feeding the dogs, Megan slipped on a pair of flip flops and hustled outside into her truck. She felt lightheaded and woozy, leftovers from a day spent wallowing. And in the meantime, the café needed her, and there she was hiding out in her bedroom.
By the time Megan arrived at the café, the last of the customers were finishing their meals and Bibi and Clover were cleaning up the kitchen. Emily, a family friend, was working the register, her daughter Lily, now over a year old, sleeping in a Pak-n-Play next to her.
Megan donned an apron and pitched in with the dishes. “I’m sorry,” she said to Bibi. “I got caught up in some things at the farm.”
Her grandmother gave her a probing look before peering into a pot of tomato bisque. “Everything okay?”
“Sure.”
Bibi ladled tomato bisque into a bowl and slid it across the counter, toward Megan. “You don’t look fine. Here, have some soup.”
Megan took it. She grabbed a spoon from the silverware bin and tasted the creamy concoction. Smooth and delicious, with overtones of fresh basil and black pepper. She just wished she was hungry.
“I’m worried about Alvaro,” Megan said. She covered the bowl and placed it in the refrigerator for later. “Did he say why he left?”
Clover bounced into the kitchen with an armful of dirty dishes. Depositing them in the sink, she said, “Maria.”
Megan’s stomach clenched. “What about Maria?”
Clover shrugged. “You know Alvaro. A closed book.”
More like a locked vault, Megan thought. She returned to her chores, her mind on Detectives Jones and Lewis.
“Is Bobby around tonight?” Megan asked Clover.
“Softball tournament. He’ll be at Otto’s Brewery afterwards if you need him.” She pulled a broom out of the closet. “Why?”
“Just thinking about Thana Moore’s death. Wondering if he’s heard anything more.”
Clover stood the broom straight and leaned against it. “I’m sure he’ll tell you what he knows, if anything. He’s relieved Thana wasn’t killed in Winsome. We’ve seen tragedy.”
“Dartville’s not far,” Megan said. “But at least it’s not his jurisdiction.”
Bibi stared angrily at the soup. “I wish they would find the monster who did it already.”
Clover pushed the broom across the floor. “We all do, Bonnie. It’s hard to feel safe.”
“I did hear they’re looking at Thana’s boyfriend,” Clover said. “They were recently estranged and he’d been seen arguing with her at the Center.”
“I didn’t know she had a boyfriend.” Emily popped her head over the counter, a now awake Lily on her hip. The baby’s sweet face looked on the verge of a howl. “Someone’s awake and hungry.”
“I’ll mash her some sweet potato,” Bibi said. “Would she like some noodles too? Or maybe some soup?”
“Just the sweet potatoes. Thanks, Bonnie.” Emily turned her attention to Megan. “And what’s this about a boyfriend?”
“His name is Elliot Craddock.” Clover started sweeping. “He’s also an artist. Lives in the city but had been staying on and off at an apartment on Chelsea Avenue.”
“That’s near your place,” Megan said to Clover.
“That’s why I know. He and his buddies have a reputation for playing loud music, getting into brawls, that sort of thing. Bobby’s officers have been called out many times.” Clover slammed the broom down harder than necessary. “Sometimes by me.”
“Isn’t he a little old for that type of behavior?” Bibi asked. “Thana was Megan’s age.”
“Thanks, Bibi,” Megan said dryly. “Calling me old?”
“Elliot is a younger man.” Clover bent down to reach under the counters with the broom. “Can’t be much older than me. But yes, still old for that kind of behavior.”
Bibi handed Emily a bowl of warm, richly scented mashed sweet potato and a small spoon. She leaned over the counter toward Lily and brushed her finger against the child’s cheek. Lily grinned. After Emily’s father’s death almost a year before, Emily had become like a Birch family member. She stayed at Washington Acres while getting her life back on track. Now she had her own place to live, but she and Lily were frequent visitors at the Farm, and Bibi was Emily’s first choice for babysitter.
Emily had been through a lot in the past year, little of it good. Megan was worried that talk of murder wasn’t doing Emily’s psyche any favors.
Not surprisingly, Emily said, “I’m going to feed Lily by the register. You guys go on with your conversation, but the fact that there’s another killer in the area is giving me the creeps.”
When Emily and Lily were gone, Megan asked Clover, “Have you met Elliot?”
“Several times. Usually at his friends’ apartment—when he’s drunk and I’m angry.”
“Would it surprise you if he had hurt Thana?”
Clover didn’t respond right away. She took her time sweeping up by the stove. When she’d picked up the last of the crumbs, she said, “He’s rough around the edges. And young. And if his peers are any indication, impulsive. But I don’t know, Megan. I think maybe I’ve lost the ability to judge people. And I’ve only met him a few times and under less than ideal circumstances.”
Megan knew exactly what she meant. If the last year taught her anything it was that people were not always as they seemed. Some could surprise you in the worst ways possible. Others could awe you with their selflessness.
Bibi seemed to still be stewing by the stove. She had cleaned up the sweet potato and was now putting away her grilled cheese ingredients, but the scowl on her face told Megan she wasn’t thinking about food.
While Megan washed the last of the pots, Bibi left the kitchen. She sat in the café, at one of the tables positioned closer to the register, and seemed to be watching Lily as the baby played with some blocks on the floor.
“I can finish up here,” Clover said. “Go talk to your grandmother.”
Megan thanked her. She left the final drying to Clover, took two organic sweet teas out of the refrigerator, and, joining Bibi at the table, slid one across to Bibi. Then she settled opposite her grandmother.
“What’s on your mind? Now it’s you who looks glum.”
Bibi cocked her head, her gaze on Lily. “That child is growing so fast. Before you know it, she’ll be driving.”
“She’s sixteen months old, Bibi.”
“You blink and they’re grown.”
Megan put a hand over her grandmother’s. “Is this about my father?”
“When Eddie was a boy, he was always in t
rouble. Always. Once he got picked up by the police for lighting an old shack on fire. It was empty, thank the Lord, but the police didn’t find that any consolation. Nor did your grandfather.” She watched as Lily stacked the blocks, one on top of the other, before knocking them all over the floor. “As a teenager, he was restless. Never stayed with anything more than a few months. Weeks, even. Would fall for any half-baked scheme that came along. Would’ve bought land on Mars had someone offered it.”
Bibi turned her attention to Megan. “When Charlotte left, a small part of me was relieved that it wasn’t Eddie that quit the marriage. Isn’t that horrible, Megan?” She wrapped her arms around her chest. “All you were going through, and I was relieved because it wasn’t my son who quit.”
“That’s understandable, Bibi.”
“Is it? Well now he’s found himself in another pickle. I’m watching that little one play with blocks, so cute and focused. That was my son not that long ago. A few years later it all changed. I couldn’t seem to do right by him then, and I’m no better off today.”
“Dad’s not in trouble. There’s nothing for you to do.”
Her gaze was caustic. “But he’s fallen for a con artist. And it’s going to be his undoing.”
“My father is an adult. Maybe it’s time to treat him like one. Let him succeed or fail on the basis of his own choices.” Megan said the words softly, as kindly as she could. Still they tasted bitter in her mouth. “He loves Sylvia.”
Bibi stood up, her hands flat on the table. She looked at Megan with sorrow and something like pity in her eyes. “Things aren’t always so simple, Megan. You think I don’t know your father is a grown man? That I’ve coddled him in ways that proved ultimately to be a disservice? I know that. Maybe I was trying to make up for the things he didn’t have—warmth from his father, a loyal wife. Maybe in trying to help him, I hurt him.” Her voice cracked. “The right choice isn’t always so clear, and someday I’m afraid you’ll learn that the hard way.”
