Message in the Sand

by Hannah McKinnon

  Wendell did not press her, and he didn’t pry for details; that had never been his way. She almost wished he would; it felt good to talk. It felt even better to talk to him. But she reminded herself that this was better. One summer day at a time.

  When dusk fell, Wendell stood. She watched the muscles in his back shift beneath his shirt as he retrieved her plate from the porch floor. From behind the house, they heard Radcliffe whinny, and they locked eyes and laughed.

  “Guess he’s ready for bed,” Wendell said. “I don’t know what to do with that horse, but for now I guess I should clean up and put him in the barn for the night.”

  Ginny followed him inside. Wendell was a good man. That horse was not going anywhere.

  In the kitchen, she turned on the tap.

  “No, no,” Wendell said. “Guests don’t do dishes.”

  She smiled uncertainly. “Is that what I am?”

  Wendell looked apologetic. “I hope everything tasted all right,” he said, switching the subject. As he began rinsing dishes, she leaned against the counter and finished her beer. Her insides felt looser, like a part of her had given in to something. She didn’t understand what all this business with the horse really meant, or why he’d included her after all this time, but she’d come to a decision about it. “Well, while you’re trying to decide what the next step is, the horse is going to get loose and run off.”

  Wendell turned off the faucet, flipped the towel over his shoulder, and turned to face her. “Meaning?”

  “Meaning you’ve got work to do. And you’re going to need help.”

  For the first time all night, he smiled like he meant it. “Are you volunteering?”

  That old familiar twinkle in his eye did something to her. There he was, still in there. “Maybe.”

  He looked her up and down, his eyes resting on hers. “It’s strange, isn’t it?”

  “Me being here?”

  Wendell pressed his lips together. “No. That part’s nice. I meant us—talking like this. Back in my kitchen. Like old times, and yet…”

  Ginny couldn’t help it. She stepped toward him and rested her hand on his chest. Wendell looked down at it.

  “You have a good heart, Wendell Combs.”

  He closed his eyes.

  Ginny tilted her head up toward him and pressed her mouth, ever so gently, against his. It was more of a brush than a kiss. Wendell stood very still. She did it again, this time with intent.

  “Ginny,” he whispered. His voice was full of ache, though she couldn’t say if it was for her or for the past. It gave her pause, and she took a small step back. But then his arms were around her, his chest pressed to hers.

  “Ginny,” he said again. “Please.” But even as he said it, his lips were moving down her throat. When he got to the nape of her neck, he stopped.

  “It’s okay,” she said, pulling him tighter. But already she could feel herself losing him.

  They stood together, neither moving, in the center of his kitchen. “I’m sorry,” he whispered just before he broke away from her. “I didn’t mean for anything like this.” His eyes were flooded with apology.

  “Me, neither,” she said, stepping back self-consciously. “I should go.”

  He walked her to the car and held the door open. “Thank you,” he said. “For coming here. And listening.” He glanced up at the red barn. “For everything.”

  “It was nice,” she said, sliding behind the wheel. She wanted to flee; to get out of there as fast as possible. And yet the thought of driving away stung. “Do you still want a hand with the fence?”

  Wendell smiled sadly. “I would love that.”

  “Good. Call me when you start. I’ll come by when I can.”

  As she backed down the driveway, she watched Wendell climb the rise to the barn. He stopped beside the pen, and the horse came to him. Ginny watched as he ran his hand down the horse’s neck. Radcliffe stood very still as Wendell ducked his chin and pressed his forehead to the horse’s.

  Twenty Julia

  Since the incident—as she now called it—with Candace stealing Radcliffe, Julia had refused to even look at her aunt. As far as Julia was concerned, the woman was dead to her. And that worked just fine; since she would be seeking emancipation, it was time to prove that she didn’t need an adult to take care of them. She could do it all by herself.

  As Roberta Blythe had instructed, she’d called the lawyer, Jamie Aldeen. When they’d spoken on the phone, Jamie had taken a lot of notes and asked a lot of questions. At first she’d sounded hesitant, but as soon as Julia told her that Roberta had recommended her and that they’d talked, the lawyer took her seriously. “When can you come in?” She’d promised to call Julia back before the week was over, after she did a little more research. But she had made one thing clear: Julia’s chances would be a lot better if she found a guardian. “There must be someone you can think of,” Jamie had said. But Julia had exhausted the possibilities, shy of asking Sam. Which was not going to happen.

  They met in Jamie Aldeen’s office at Cunningham, Blake & Aldeen. “Your name is on the sign,” Julia said when Jamie invited her into a small glass-walled conference room.

  Jamie smiled. “That’s right.”

  “But you’re so young.” Right away, she felt like an idiot.

  Jamie laughed. “Young, huh? Guess I should’ve scheduled this meeting sooner.” Then, “Thank you, but I’m not as youthful as you may think. And yes, I am a partner.”

  Julia nodded appreciatively, hoping that meant Jamie was good at her job.

  “So, let’s get down to business.” Already Jamie had compiled a large file. In the next hour, she explained everything about emancipation in the state of Connecticut. It meant Julia would be viewed as an independent adult: she’d be responsible for obtaining her own housing, paying for all living expenses, obtaining and maintaining a vehicle when she was sixteen. And that was all before any mention of Pippa.

  “What about my little sister?” Julia asked.

  Jamie set the file down on the sleek table and leaned forward. “Emancipation is going to be a challenge, Julia. Guardianship of siblings is another issue altogether. Let’s fight one battle at a time.”

  Julia deflated somewhat. She’d looked it up; she’d known what it meant. Hearing it come out of Jamie Aldeen’s mouth in the stark office lighting felt different. It felt impossible.

  Jamie must’ve sensed Julia’s concern. “If you decide to retain me, these will be my problems to try to solve. Not yours. For now, let’s compile some information to determine if you have a case.”

  Jamie’s questions were to the point: “What’s your GPA in school?”

  “I have straight As, and I’m in all honors classes. Well, algebra might have been a B-plus.”

  “Okay. Any history of mental health issues?”

  Julia shook her head. “No.”

  “You’ve been through a lot with your parents’ loss. Any depression, anxiety, any thoughts of self-harm?”

  “No!”

  “It’s okay. It’s not personal.”

  But it was.

  “Ever smoke?”

  “No.”

  “Use drugs? Or alcohol?”

  “Never.” She’d had a sip of beer last spring at a high school party that she and Chloe had gone to. Should she mention that? Would a court find out?

  “What?” Jamie said, pausing.

  “Well, I did go to a party with my friend. There was a keg.”

  “Did you drink?”

  “Like a sip. It was gross.” She made a face. “I don’t get what the big deal is.”

  Jamie smiled. “Good. Keep it that way.”

  The meeting took over two hours, and by the end, Julia was drained. They’d reviewed Julia’s background and what life used to be like with her parents. They covered the tension at home with Candace, and the anxiety and fear she felt about being moved to London. Pippa was discussed as well. “I’m going to need to compile school records, pediatric
ian files, witness accounts, and your parents’ estate planning documents. It’s going to require some digging. Are you prepared for that?”

  Julia nodded. She gave Jamie a list of people who’d witnessed the distress at home as of late: the Fitzpatricks. Eliza. Wendell. After some thought, she added Sam, too.

  “There’s something else we need to discuss. Once I file with the court, the judge will schedule a hearing. As your guardian, your aunt will be notified of the filing and of the hearing date. How do you think she’ll react to that?”

  Not well, Julia thought. “Should I tell her?”

  “That depends. Will it cause more strife in the household?”

  Julia shrugged. “Probably. But it’s not like I’m afraid of her or anything like that.”

  “So you feel safe at home?”

  It was a terrible question that caused her some guilt. Candace was awful, but not like that. Julia had no fear of her acting out abusively. “Yes. She’s not a good match for us, but she’s not a bad person.”

  Jamie made some quick notes. “Good. I will also be requesting that the court assign a guardian ad litem. That person will be visiting your home and interviewing all of you. Plus friends, the therapist you mentioned, that sort of thing.”

  “Okay.” It was a lot. “How long does all this take?”

  Jamie glanced up from her notes. “A good bit of time. We want to do a thorough job if we’re going to do it right.”

  Time was one thing they didn’t have a lot of. But having a petition filed would force Candace to keep Julia and Pippa in the state until the court held their hearings and made their decisions. Julia felt an immense sense of relief for that.

  “All right,” Jamie said, leaning back in her chair at the end of their session. “We have a lot to do. But I will say this: I think you have a case.”

  “I do?”

  “It’s early to get excited. And I want to caution you to manage your expectations. This is a serious thing, to file a petition for emancipation. After everything we’ve discussed today, are you certain this makes good sense to you?”

  Julia didn’t hesitate. “More than ever.”

  “Okay, then. Any questions?”

  “Yes.” Julia paused. It was the one thing that worried her almost as much as the potential outcome. “How do I pay you?”

  Jamie pushed a one-page contract toward her. “I’m not going to charge you up front. If you sign this contract today, you will be retaining my services with a contingency clause. That means I will recoup reimbursement for my fees once we request that the court release some of your trust funds. Are you comfortable with that?”

  “Yes. One more question. Where do I sign?”

  * * *

  When she got home, Julia did not tell Candace where she’d been. She needed time to think before she broke the news. One thing Jamie Aldeen had told her was that she had to demonstrate that she was capable of adultlike duties. That meant all kinds of domestic things like laundry, helping Pippa, and cooking. Which was how she found herself in the kitchen rummaging through the fridge to make dinner for herself and Pippa (it was just the two of them after all). There were a few basic dishes she could make if pressed. Tacos, spaghetti, and mac and cheese. So she was a little intimated by the slimy raw chicken breasts when she pulled the package out of the refrigerator. But she recalled her mother having dipped them in some kind of egg mixture and then dredging them in breadcrumbs before popping them in the oven to bake. That was a start; the rest was what the Internet was for.

  An hour and a good deal of mess later, the oven timer went off. By then Pippa had wandered downstairs and Julia put her to work. “Here, Pips. You can help make salad.”

  When they were done, the meal was good, if not great. The chicken breasts were a little overcooked and dry (ketchup!). And the salad was quite soggy (neither had remembered the spinner, but at least it was clean). Despite having made the salad, Pippa didn’t want any of it. Julia was at least able to get her to nibble some carrot sticks. The chicken she cut into small bites. “It’s good,” Pippa said, spearing one with her fork and popping it in her mouth. The kitchen island was a mess of raw egg and breadcrumbs, the sink full of pans and bowls. But when Pippa ate that first bite, Julia thought she might cry with relief. Being a parent was a lot of work.

  Candace had made her way downstairs at that point. “What’s this?” she asked, looking around.

  “Dinner!” Pippa said, smiling. “Jules made it.” Julia said nothing.

  “I can see that.” Candace picked up the raw chicken container, scowling. “Why didn’t anyone come get me?”

  Julia shoved a forkful of chicken in her mouth and kept her gaze trained across the table on her little sister. She handed her a napkin. “Here, Pips. Wipe the ketchup off your chin.”

  Behind her, Candace picked up a pan and set it down. “Julia? Is there any left?”

  Pippa looked at her big sister curiously, but Julia just shook her head in silence. She’d make up a reason later. But she was not dignifying her aunt’s questions, her comments, or her very presence. Dead. Dead. Dead.

  “I see,” Candace said. “So this is how it’s going to be.”

  “You can have some of mine!” Pippa offered.

  Julia shot her a look.

  “No, thank you, dear. I will make my own supper. And clean up my own mess,” she added.

  Julia snorted. That was fine with her. She had every intention of cleaning up the mess from her cooking. It was her kitchen. Ignoring her aunt, Julia collected the plates and brought them to the sink. “C’mere, Pips. I’m going to wash the dishes. You can dry.”

  They worked side by side, and even though Pippa didn’t do the greatest job drying, Julia put everything away in the cupboards. “All clean!” she announced to no one in particular. “Let’s go for a walk outside.” By then Candace was sitting alone at the table with a tiny sandwich. She’d turned the chandelier on and was reading the local paper. Julia wiped down the island, left the sandwich makings right where her aunt had left them, and hung the wet dish towel on the oven handle. On her way out, she flicked off the chandelier light.

  Outside, the early-evening air was still hot. Pippa shaded her eyes, scanning the yard. “What’re we going to do?”

  “Let’s get your bike out. It’s time you practice without your training wheels.”

  “Nah,” Pippa said, plopping down on the front step. “Don’t wanna.”

  “You mean, ‘I don’t want to,’ ” Julia corrected. Attitudes aside, she wasn’t about to let Pippa regress to full-on baby talk.

  “I hate that bike.”

  Julia put her hands on her hips, and it occurred to her that was the exact stance her mother used to take when she was fed up. “Pippa, you’re almost seven. All your friends ride without training wheels, and there’s no reason you can’t, too. I’ll help you!”

  Pippa wagged her head back and forth in the negative.

  Julia reached down for her hand and pulled her up from the step. “Come on. We’re at least going to try.”

  “We’re moving to London,” Pippa grumbled. “They have big red buses there. Aunt Candace said so. I’ll take a bus.”

  “We are not moving,” Julia told her. “So you’d better learn to ride this bike, because there aren’t any buses around here.”

  If Candace got her way, Julia was pretty sure Pippa’s pink sparkly two-wheeler wasn’t going overseas on a plane with them. But it was the last gift Pippa had gotten for her birthday from her parents. And teaching Pippa to ride it had been something their mom had said she was looking forward to that summer. Julia recalled the excited look on her mother’s pretty face: “Just think, Pips! We can bring your bike to Cape Cod. The whole family can ride the Rail Trail, and you can lead the way.”

  Julia had so little control over anything now. For some reason, that made it suddenly very important that her mom’s wish for Pippa come true. She went to the garage, punched in the code, and waited as the door rose. There
, in the corner, was Pippa’s bike. The training wheels were on the shelf above it. Right where her mom had left them the day she took them off. Julia swallowed hard and wheeled the bike out into the sun.

  “Not riding that thing,” Pippa said, picking at a stray dandelion in the grass.

  “Come on,” Julia said impatiently. “It’s hot out here.”

  As they were standing at the top of the driveway arguing, Julia heard the sound of a vehicle coming up. Wendell’s truck pulled into the lower barn. Raddy’s barn, she thought angrily. A plume of fresh resentment rose within her. She’d been in that barn only once since the day Candace stole him. Standing in Raddy’s empty stall, his hay still half-eaten in his bucket, she’d spilled angry tears and vowed that she would not leave with that woman if it were the last thing she did. At that point, they could put her in the foster system before she’d get on a plane.

  “Wendell!” Pippa shouted. She waved from the top of the driveway as he got out of the truck, but he didn’t look up at the big house.

  “He can’t hear you,” Julia told her.

  Pippa scowled. “Hi, Wendell!” she shouted again. Julia covered her ears. For such a tiny person, she had a set of lungs on her.

  Below, Wendell stopped and looked their way. He raised a hand in greeting. “Hello, Miss Pippa,” he said.

  Julia sneered. He’d always called Pippa that. She used to think it was cute. Now she thought it was stupid. Fake, even. What did he care what happened to them?

  “I’m riding a bike!” Pippa shouted.

  “Good for you,” he shouted back. She had to admit it sounded like he almost meant it. Good for you, she thought.

  But as she watched Pippa pick up her bike and swing her leg over the seat, it occurred to her that Wendell’s visit was in their favor. If Pippa needed an audience to do this, even if that audience happened to be the traitor Wendell Combs, so be it. Julia had bigger fish to fry.

  “That’s right, Pip. Let’s show him.”

  As Pippa scooted along the driveway on her tippy-toes, Julia hurried beside her. “Now, Pip, we’re staying up here at the top. Back and forth. Whatever you do, keep the handlebars pointed straight. We’re not going down the driveway.”