The Secrets of Lost Stones

by Melissa Payne

  Ben’s face had lost all color, his body hunched. The gun flopped forward until the barrel pointed at the ground. He swung his head from side to side. “I didn’t mean . . .” He trailed off. Even he seemed to understand how futile it was.

  “You killed my son, Ben. You took everything I had. Everything Star had.” She felt Lucy touch her lightly on the shoulder and had to gulp in air to push down a sob.

  Ben slumped as though she’d knocked the wind out of him, but just as quickly he whirled the gun around until the tip of it pressed into Star’s temple.

  Star’s eyes widened, and Jess felt her stomach twist into knots. “Why Star?” she said quickly. “She’s got nothing to do with this.”

  His eyes shifted wildly from Jess to Chance.

  “Let her go, Ben.” Jess’s eyes slid to Star. The girl struggled to stay on her feet, her face pale, eyes glassy. What had he done to her? The thought sent hot anger through her veins. Standing next to Ben, Star looked so small and helpless. Jess clenched her hands into fists and tried to ignore the panic that clutched at her throat.

  Ben gripped Star’s arm with one hand, the gun in the other, his eyes locked on Chance. “I didn’t mean to kill anyone.” He spoke as though to someone else, and when he shifted his feet, a loose rock skittered over the side and dropped soundlessly into the canyon below. Jess’s heart stopped. She was too late.

  The figure beside her moved, held out his hand, palm up. Chance’s presence thinned the air, turned the wind into a stinging bite on her skin. She shivered.

  Ben’s face crumpled, and the gun dropped to his side. “What’s he doing?”

  “You need to turn yourself in.”

  “What’s he got in his hand?” He wiped at his forehead with the back of the hand holding the gun. “Can’t you see him?”

  “Jeremy?” Jess called without taking her eyes from Ben. “Can you call the police?”

  She heard Jeremy clear his throat. “Already have, Jess.”

  She nodded. “Good, maybe you two should wait in the van.”

  Ben fidgeted, yanking on Star’s arm, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “You see him, don’t you? What’s happening?” He looked behind her. “Lucy?” When he said her name, he sounded hopeful.

  “Oh, Benjamin,” she said quietly.

  When she didn’t say anything more, Ben appeared to deflate, his body rounding forward. He released Star’s arm to pull a small liquor bottle from his pocket, and Jess lurched for Star, her heart in her throat. Without his support, Star crumpled backward toward the edge. Jess stretched her arms out as far as she could until her fingertips brushed Star’s shoulders. But Star’s heel slipped on the loose earth, and her body tipped backward.

  Not again.

  Jess dove forward, wrapped her arms around Star’s shoulders, and pulled hard. They both stumbled away from the drop, and Jess cried out in relief when the solid weight of Star’s body leaned into her. Jess would have crumpled to the ground if not for Jeremy, who slid his hands under her armpits. He hauled her to her feet and moved them quickly toward the van.

  Her eyes shot to Ben. He and Chance stood as before, Chance with his hand stretched out, and Ben with his head hanging, eyes trained on the rock. The gun dangled from his fingertips.

  The wail of sirens muffled by the dense forest pushed up from the road below. Ben still hadn’t moved. At the van Jeremy worked quickly, laying Star on the back seat and helping Lucy in beside her.

  “Jess,” he hissed, climbing into the driver’s seat. “Let’s go.”

  She turned to leave, but a sudden ache spread across her wrist. Her scalp prickled. Chance wasn’t finished. And then she was striding back through the meadow, coming to a stop beside the silent and still figure of her son.

  Her breath huffed loudly in her ears. “It’s a heart-shaped rock,” she said.

  Ben looked up at her through heavy-lidded eyes. “Heart shaped?”

  She nodded. “I told him they were special.”

  Chance turned his hand over, and the stone tumbled to the ground.

  “He wants you to have it.”

  “Why?” Ben slumped forward, and to Jess he was a shell of the man she thought he’d been. A ghost of the man he’d wanted to believe he was. Her heart swelled with pity.

  “Because he forgives you, Ben.” She felt a feathery lightness brush over her hand, cool fingertips against her palm. At last she understood what Chance wanted for her. It stung her eyes, made her chest tighten painfully, but it was exactly what her boy with the coppery curls and the toothless grin and the heart that saw the good in everything and everyone would want. “I-I forgive you too,” she said.

  As soon as the words left her mouth, Chance vanished, leaving behind nothing but a faint shimmer in the air. Her throat squeezed shut, and the edges of her vision blurred. He was gone. A part of her wanted to lie down on the grass, curl into a ball, and join him. With great effort, she tore her gaze from the empty spot beside her and back to Ben. He fell to his knees and picked up the rock.

  “I’m sorry . . .” His words dropped off, but Jess didn’t need to hear any more.

  She backed away and hurried across the meadow to the van. Inside she pulled Star’s head into her lap and stroked the long strands of her black hair away from her face. Lucy sat on the other side of Star, hands resting across the girl’s small ankles.

  “Drive away from here, Jeremy,” Lucy said.

  The engine roared to life. Jess took one more glance over her shoulder.

  Ben stood at the edge of the cliff, his face tilted up at the sky, his foot hovering in the air.

  And then he jumped.

  The van jerked forward, and the meadow disappeared behind the trees. Jess turned her gaze to Star’s face and silently stroked her hair.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  STAR

  Star was afraid to open her eyes. The bits and pieces she remembered made her want to curl up in a ball and never wake up. Most of it blurred together, but Jess and Lucy and Jeremy had been there and taken her away in the van. Or had that been a cruel dream? Star had finally given in to the drugs and fallen asleep to the swaying of the van.

  She dreamed that the arms that cradled her, the hands that brushed the hair from her face, the voice that begged her to wake up belonged to her mother. And she didn’t want to wake up and find herself alone.

  “Star, honey, please wake up.” Jess, her voice hoarse like it had been raked over coals. “Wake up.” It was raining in fat drops that tickled the skin on her cheeks. They ran into the corners of her mouth. Salty raindrops.

  She opened her eyes.

  Jess, her face drawn into tight lines, her eyes red rimmed, stricken.

  “Hi,” Star whispered, and winced at the pain it brought to her head. She shifted, taking in the white walls of her small hospital room and the black sling that kept her right arm glued to her chest.

  “You broke your arm and your collarbone,” Jess said. She perched on the edge of the bed, twisting and untwisting her hands.

  “He was going to kill me.”

  Jess nodded.

  Star scrunched her eyes closed, tried to remember. But only one question came to mind. “Chance?”

  Jess took hold of Star’s shoulders and pulled her into a gentle but firm hug. They stayed like that for a few quiet moments. Star let her head rest against the soft curve of Jess’s chest. Then Jess pulled away, just enough to look her in the eyes but not enough to let her go. “I know everything,” she whispered.

  Star’s body went limp, and tears rushed down her face. “I’m sorry,” she gulped. “I’m so sorry.”

  Jess’s eyes were unreadable.

  Star hesitated, waiting for her voice to steady. “He saved my life.” Her vision swam, and Star closed her eyes, laid her head back on the bed. Her heart felt like it might break through the bones in her chest. It hurt to breathe. She waited to feel the bed shift from Jess standing, for the door to click when she left.

  “He loved you,
Star.”

  Then Jess put something small and cool into her hand. Star opened one eye. Red with gold stars. She brought it to her heart. Jess was smiling and crying at the same time, tears running unchecked down her face.

  And then she was laughing. A sound that didn’t fit, except it did. And then Star was laughing, too, until she was sobbing, and Jess took her back into her arms, and they cried together.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  JESS

  She sat at the kitchen table, her knee bouncing up and down, and glanced out the window to the road in front of the house. Empty. She got up, paced the small kitchen, checked the calendar. Empty.

  It had been eight months since that terrible morning. Social services had swooped in afterward, thrusting Star into foster care. But Jess had visited her every week, sometimes bringing Lucy, whose black dresses and unsettling eyes drew odd looks from the foster family. Other times bringing Ebee, whose easygoing nature and good humor put everyone at ease.

  Jess sat down, drummed her fingers across the surface of the table. She looked out the window again, but all that greeted her was the empty road and beyond it the lake. It lay frozen, frosted white from the recent snowfall and reflecting the sun in a million tiny sparkles.

  “She’ll be here.” Lucy walked into the kitchen, touching Jess lightly on the shoulder. Thin strands of white twisted through her hair. It had happened suddenly, and when Jess asked her about it, she’d waved her away and said, “I suppose they’re all tied for now.” Jess didn’t bother to ask again.

  Through the kitchen window came the crunch of tires climbing the dirt road, the squeal of brakes. Jess stood, swallowing past a tight knot in her throat, and peered out the window. A black SUV pulled to a stop in front of the house. In the passenger seat was a small figure, her hair shaved close to the sides, the top growing out in silky black strands to her chin.

  Star.

  Jeremy, who had kept a patient guard at the front door, scrambled down the stairs, his mop of curly hair flopping around his face. He opened the door with one hand, extending the other when he bowed deeply. A grin swept across Star’s face, and she took his hand.

  Jess pulled at the cuff of her sleeve, flicked a small bit of fuzz from her shoulder, and waited for the thumping of her heart to slow. The slam of the car door was followed by the tinkle of young laughter floating through the thin kitchen windows. The muscles in her arms tingled with anticipation, and a slow smile spread across her face.

  It was a Tuesday. A warm winter day when white clouds like cotton balls flitted across the ice-blue sky. Jess turned from the window and checked the paper calendar hanging on the wall by the phone. Small and neat script filled the once-empty square.

  Our girl comes home.

  The doorbell rang.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I decided to write a book, and so I did. And then I wrote that same book again and again until it was just right. Writing is an exciting, painstaking, laborious, pull-out-your-hair kind of process, but I didn’t do it alone. In fact, without the guidance and enthusiasm and patience—oh, the patience—of the people around me, I’d still be on page one. So while words can’t convey the true depth of my gratitude, I want to say thank you to those who are a part of my journey.

  To my husband and best friend, Sean, who believed in me despite the years of rejections and rewrites and, okay, maybe a few tears. Thank you for reading the same story too many times to count and for loving it every time. Thank you for your honesty, insight, and unflagging optimism. Here’s to putting the pen to paper, babe.

  To my mom, Phyllis, who still takes my phone calls even after our lengthy and exhausting conversations about this character or that scene, who both lifted me up and told me to toughen up when I needed it. And to my dad, Charlie, whose pride in me and my work still makes me feel like his little girl, even at this very mature age. Thank you both for your bottomless well of love and unending support for the accomplishments of all your children. I hit the parent jackpot.

  To my children, Ella, Keira, and Sawyer, whose sweet support of my writing efforts and enthusiasm for celebrating the small successes along the way kept me moving forward if for nothing else than to make them proud. You three are my heart.

  And to my agent, Jessica Faust, for taking a chance on me and for loving this story as much as I have. Your expertise, wisdom, and love for this industry make it an absolute joy to be your client. Thank you to my editor, Chris Werner, who connected to this story in the way I had hoped and for believing it was something worth sharing. And to the insightful Tiffany Yates Martin for eloquently guiding me through editing rounds that brought us to a fuller, smoother, and richer version of what I had set out to tell in the first place. Many thanks to the entire team at Lake Union, who patiently and expertly shepherded this book to publication.

  To my sister and brother, Jennifer and Scott, for your encouragement and love. And to my Ohio University crew, Taryn, Sara, and Kelly, for reading and supporting and being my lifelong friends and my chosen family who will always make me laugh.

  Where, oh where, would I be without the many friends and writing partners who supported and worked with me through all the stages of this book? To my critique partners, Mary Johnson and Elizabeth Richards: thank you for your honesty and investment in Star and Jess and for making sure that the eggs were cooked in a cast-iron skillet. And to my friend and gifted writer Sara Miller, for the many coffee dates, phone calls, and massively long texts where you patiently helped me work out the kinks. To Matt Adams, for inspiring me to write in the first place and for your encouragement and especially for your merciless but insightful red pen. And many thanks to my early readers: Christi Clendenon, Mindy Pellegrino, Annahita de la Mare, Alex Harpp, Emma Young, Samaria Stovall, and Denise Boeding.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Photo © 2018 Eric Weber Studios

  For as long as she can remember, Melissa Payne has been telling stories in one form or another—from high school newspaper articles to a graduate thesis to blogging about marriage and motherhood. But she first learned the real importance of storytelling when she worked for a residential and day treatment center for abused and neglected children. There she wrote speeches and letters to raise funds for the children. The truth in those stories was piercing and painful and written to invoke in the reader a call to action: to give, to help, to make a difference. Melissa’s love of writing and sharing stories in all forms has endured. She lives in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains with her husband and three children, a friendly mutt, a very loud cat, and the occasional bear. The Secrets of Lost Stones is her first novel.