Vickie couldn’t wait to close the box and did so with lightning speed. If other pictures of Slade were lying on the surface, faceup, the web of lies she’d just woven would be blown wide open. “Please don’t mention to Grandma that you saw his picture. It might upset her, and she’s fragile.”
“Yet another reason you should take the job in central Oregon. In case of an emergency with Grandma or Grandpa, you can get home a lot faster.”
Vickie wished Nancy would stop pressing her to take the Mystic Creek position. “You act as if Idaho is in a different country, Nancy.”
“It may as well be. It’s well over a five-hour drive from here just to Ontario near the Idaho border. If I left right now, I could be in Bend in only two hours and forty minutes. Ontario is twice that. And that Ontario man may meet his clients at a base camp that’s another couple hundred miles over the Idaho state line. On your first job as a camp cook, I want you closer to us than that. Mystic Creek isn’t that far south of Bend. If anything goes wrong, we kids can reach you quickly.”
Vickie remembered when she’d come to Coos Bay, alone and with very little money. She didn’t need her children to watch out for her now. “I’ll be fine, sweetie.” She wiped the wetness from her cheeks. “Maybe I won’t even take a camp cook job. I could easily sell the house, get rid of all my debt, and start drawing on my social security. I’m old enough to do that now.”
Nancy shifted, the jerkiness of her movements indicating her agitation. “Sell everything you’ve ever worked for? Where would you live? I mean, you’d be welcome to live with us, but you’re so independent, you’d go nuts within a week. And your social security checks won’t cover all your monthly expenses, Mom. You probably won’t receive that much money.”
“I could get a small apartment, maybe in a retirement community.”
“With a money tree in the backyard, of course, because those rentals don’t come cheap.” Nancy pushed to her feet and turned to face Vickie. Dressed in jeans and a black checkered blouse with the tails tied at her slender waist, she didn’t look like the professional she actually was. Hands spread wide, she cried, “I have a better idea. How about telling my nephew to forget going to Harvard and come home? Marcus should get his degree here in Oregon at a regular college like most kids do! The money you gave him can be returned to your bank account! You can pay off that stupid home equity loan, which you never should have gotten in the first place, and you won’t need to take some crazy out-of-town job to stay afloat. A part-time position here at minimum wage would cover your monthly outlay until tourism picks back up along the coast and you can work again as a chef for better wages.”
“Are we back to that again? Marcus going to Harvard, I mean.” Vickie anchored the box flaps down with the palm of her hand, half-afraid Nancy might open them again. “I think you’re just jealous because I helped Marcus. How many times must I tell you that I’d do the same for your kids and Randall’s as well?”
“Our kids don’t need your help. Randall and I both started college funds for our children right after they were born. We both have spouses who are as successful in their careers as we are in our own. Brody, on the other hand, is borrowing from Peter to pay Paul right now, and with Marissa being so sick, I don’t see that changing. His life is a screwed-up mess, and damn it, Mom, his son knows that. But did he let his father’s money problems stand in his way? No.”
“It’s not Brody’s fault that Marissa’s got rheumatoid arthritis and can no longer work as a nurse, Nancy. And it’s not Brody’s fault Marissa’s health issues have created a mountain of debt for him.”
“It is his fault that Marcus is a spoiled brat who expects everything he wants to be served to him on a silver platter.”
There. Nancy had finally spit it out. Vickie knew this had been eating at Nancy since the spring. Now they could at least discuss it. “Marcus worked hard to pull the grades he did! Nobody served those to him on a platter.”
“My kids work hard to pull good grades, too!” Nancy’s auburn brows arched. In Vickie’s younger years, she had possessed eyebrows that color. Now she was getting silver in her hair, which made her look as faded as an old pair of blue jeans. “Randall’s kids work hard as well,” Nancy continued. “But they won’t expect to be sent to Harvard or Yale or Princeton or Brown to get their degrees! They’ll never even apply at those schools, because they understand the financial limitations. But Marcus did apply! And he turned down a partial scholarship at Oregon State. Kissed that money goodbye as if it were nothing! He knew you would cough up what he needed to chase his dream of being a big-time Harvard grad.”
Vickie struggled to remain calm. “It was such an honor for him to be accepted at Harvard. And even though you claim that a degree from a college here in Oregon is just as good as one from Harvard, I disagree.”
“I’m a teacher, Mom. I guess I know more about it than you do. A pigskin from an Ivy League school draws attention, and it’s impressive for a moment. But in the end, people are hired on the merits of their accomplishments. Marcus can graduate summa cum laude at any college he chooses.”
“Having the name of that university on his résumé will open doors for him. I’m sure of it. And he’ll pay me back someday. He understood from the start that it was only a loan, not a gift.”
“He has years of college ahead of him. Then he’ll have to find a position and work his way up. By the time he can start paying you back, you may be six feet under!”
“Then the money can revert into my trust account and will be evenly divided between my heirs. You’ll receive your share, and you can spend that portion on your kids. It’ll all come even in the end. I’m sorry you feel that I’ve played favorites with my grandchildren. That wasn’t the case. I love each of them equally. It’s just that Brody—” Vickie broke off. She’d almost said too much. “This whole conversation is ridiculous. I’ve always been fair to my grandchildren. I don’t have to prove that to them or you.”
“It’s just that Brody . . . what?” Nancy jutted her chin, which was a replica of Vickie’s, right down to the deep cleft. “You almost said something more and stopped yourself. Do you know how many times you’ve done that over my lifetime? And it’s always when you talk about Brody! There’s something you’re not telling me. You were all hot to take that job in central Oregon the instant you saw it on Craigslist. And now you’ve suddenly changed your mind and want to hare off for Ontario and possibly the wilds of Idaho. It makes no sense.”
Oh, if only you knew, Vickie thought. But she had to keep her mouth shut. It was better to let sleeping dogs lie. She’d made choices years ago that she couldn’t undo now. Not at this late date. The truth would only harm those she loved the most, and no matter how hard it was to carry the burden of her secrets alone, she had no choice.
“Who is Slade Wilder?” Nancy demanded. “When you saw his name—that was when you got all hot to trot over that cooking job. And he’s located in Mystic Creek, where you grew up. You know him. Don’t you?”
Vickie needed space. Her chest felt as if it might explode from swallowing back words she could never utter. She veered around her daughter to escape the suffocating confines of the bedroom. Once in the hallway, she heard Nancy following behind her. The floors of the old house creaked under their feet. At least she knew for certain that the box of pictures was now safe from her daughter’s prying eyes.
“I’m thirty-nine years old, Mom. Not a baby you have to coddle. Why can’t you be honest with me? Just once. Why can’t you trust me the way I’ve always trusted you?”
“Because some things are better left buried!” Vickie turned at the archway and entered the farmhouse kitchen. Tea. She needed a soothing blend. Something to calm her down. She shouldn’t have said that last bit. Nancy would sink her teeth into it and hold on like a pit bull with its jaws locked. “I’m not taking the job in central Oregon, end of conversation. I’d rather work out of Ontario.
”
“Those commercial cooking pots are huge and weigh a ton when they’re filled with food. What if you hurt your back? It’s different in an actual kitchen, less risk of injury than there is in a tent. You could trip and hurt yourself. Scald yourself with boiling liquid. Or, God forbid, have an issue with your heart! As far as I can tell online, the nearest state-of-the-art cardiac center for Ontario is in Boise! They’d have to medevac you there.”
“My heart is fine.”
“You’re not a young woman anymore, Mom. You need to think about the things that might go wrong and at least try to be close to good medical care.”
“I realize that Bend has great medical care, but I’ve decided against taking the job outside Mystic Creek. I grew up there, and I have bad memories of the place. I’m not going back.”
“Because you don’t want to see Slade Wilder.”
Vickie foraged in a cupboard for a tea that soothed the nerves. When she found nothing, she grabbed a half-full whiskey bottle from another cupboard. She rarely drank alcohol, especially not during the day, but her stomach was tied in knots and her hands were shaking so badly that she felt as if she might fall apart and burst into tears.
“Who is he, Mom?” Nancy stepped closer. “You and I should be best friends. I’ve always felt as if I could tell you anything without worrying that you’d hold it against me. Won’t you afford me the same favor? You’ve erected some kind of wall between us. We’re close, and you share your concerns with me, but only up to a point. Slade Wilder is clearly someone notable from your past.”
Vickie sloshed whiskey over the side of the glass. She set the bottle aside with a thunk and gripped the counter’s edge, head bent above her braced arms.
“Trust me, Mom. Please? You were crying when I walked into the bedroom. I’ve hardly ever seen you cry. Who is this man? You seemed excited about the job with him, and now you’re suddenly not. Are you afraid of him or something? Is he a violent jerk, like my father was?”
“No,” Vickie finally replied with a release of breath that signaled defeat. “He’s Brody’s father.”
The kitchen went so quiet that the hum of the refrigerator suddenly seemed as loud as a diesel truck engine. Seconds ticked by, and with every beat of her heart, Vickie regretted the words that had just left her mouth. That was the deepest and darkest secret of her life, one that she’d only ever shared with her ex-husband, Matt, when he’d begged her to marry him. Not even her parents knew that Brody was Slade’s child.
“Holy shit,” Nancy said. Her voice trembled like an aspen leaf in a brisk wind. “Oh, dear God. The man in that picture.” She laughed, but there was no humor in the sound. “He’s not your uncle! Not Grandma’s dead brother. You were lying your ass off! Weren’t you?”
Vickie felt as if her legs had turned to water. “Yes, and I hope God forgives you if you blab it to Brody, because I won’t.” Dimly, Vickie realized what she’d just said. “I don’t mean that. I’d forgive you if you murdered someone and help you bury the body. But, please, Nancy, don’t break my confidence, not about this.”
“So Brody doesn’t know.”
“No.” The pressure in Vickie’s chest had eased with the admission. Maybe she’d been wanting to blurt out the truth for over forty years. Even though she regretted finally saying it, her body felt relieved to be rid of the burden. “Matt—your father—didn’t want Brody to know he wasn’t his. He said it would make him feel like the odd child out when we began our own family. Since he said he loved me and would love Brody like his own, I honored his wishes. As bad as it may sound, Matt wasn’t just my best bet; he was my only bet. And at that point in our relationship, I had very little bargaining power. I did what he wanted, because I felt trapped, had a baby coming, and didn’t see how I had any choice. Maybe that was wrong. No, I know it was wrong not to tell Brody. But it’s sure as hell too late to correct the mistake now.”
She heard Nancy cross to the table and draw back a chair. “Don’t be selfish with that whiskey. Now I need a drink, too.”
Vickie got another glass, poured a measure in each one, and joined her daughter, taking a seat across the table from her. She slid Nancy’s portion toward her.
“You can scream at me,” Vickie said, her voice sounding hollow, as if she spoke from the bottom of a wine barrel. “You can hate me. I did the best I could as a mother. The best I knew how to do, at any rate. By the time I left Matt Brown, it seemed like the lie about Brody’s origins was set in cement. He was only five, and I hadn’t told him the truth in a matter-of-fact way and reminded him of it often. Hadn’t read him stories about other little boys with fathers who didn’t want to be dads. How do you spring something like that on a little boy?”
“I’m not going to scream at you, Mom, and I definitely don’t hate you. You’ve been a fabulous mother, the best of the best. Naturally, I think you should have told Brody the truth about his father, but I can understand how hard it must have been to broach that subject and how a mother could put it off for so long that before she knew it, it seemed too late.”
“The moment never seemed right,” Vickie told her. “Not when he was five, not when he was ten, and definitely not when he was a teenager, yearning for things I couldn’t afford to provide for him. If he’d found out then, he might have looked his father up. I didn’t want him to go through any more pain than Matt had already subjected him to. Slade refused to acknowledge Brody’s existence, you see. Any attempt on Brody’s part to get in touch with his real father would have ended with rejection. Or I was afraid it would, anyway.”
Nancy tipped back her glass and took a slug of whiskey that would have curled the toes of most women. The bottom of the tumbler clicked loudly on the table when she set it back down. A whistling noise came up her throat as she tried to catch her breath. “Matthew Brown treated Brody like a second-class citizen while you were working nights. No, it was way worse than that. He acted as if he detested him. Spanked him for things he didn’t do. Yelled at him, called him names. And in the end, when he bruised Brody up so badly that he couldn’t hide it from you any longer and you left him, that was the worst night of my whole life.”
“I’m sorry,” Vickie pushed out. “So sorry. I swear to you, Nancy, I had no idea what was happening.”
“Stop saying you’re sorry!” Nancy cried. “It was my father’s doing, never yours. The instant you saw the marks on Brody, you left the bastard. I was so scared for you that night, Mom. All of us were. You grabbed us up and hustled us out to the car. Locked all the doors so he couldn’t reach us. I was too little to realize our father was a drunk. I only knew he was mean and might pummel you with his fists like he’d done to Brody earlier.”
Vickie’s heart squeezed. “I didn’t know he was being abusive until I got home that night. He always oversaw your baths, so I rarely saw Brody without clothes on. And because alcohol seemed to be the catalyst that sent your dad into a rage, I’d made him promise he wouldn’t drink while I was working. If I smelled scotch on his breath when I walked in, he always swore that he’d just poured himself the first drink. He said he saw no harm in that since all of you were asleep and I was going to be there in only a few minutes.” Tears burned in Vickie’s eyes again. “We had nowhere to go. Grandma and Grandpa hadn’t sold out in Mystic Creek and moved here yet. I had very little money on me. We slept in the car that night. Do you remember that?”
Nancy smiled slightly. “I wasn’t quite three, but, yes, I remember. Not so much the good stuff, but most of the bad stuff. It’s what imprints on a child’s mind, I guess. What really stands out in my memory is seeing my tiny mother grab up a yard rake to stand toe-to-toe with a violently angry man twice her size. I remember Brody trying to climb over me to get out and help you. He was in the middle, with his arms around me and Randall because we’d been bawling. He kept saying, ‘He’s going to hit our mama.’ But Randall grabbed the back of his pajama top and wouldn’t l
et go. And by the time Brody got loose, you were getting in the car. Dad tried to jerk open the passenger door. But it was locked. He beat on the window with his fist.”
Memories swirled through Vickie’s mind. “I got the car started, shifted into reverse, and gunned the accelerator. I ran over his foot with a front tire.”
Nancy’s eyes widened. “Is that why he jumped down the driveway after us on one leg?”
Vickie giggled. Nancy snorted and cupped a hand over her nose. Voice muffled, she said, “Oh, dear Lord, that’s priceless.”
Vickie knew it wasn’t really funny, but both of them couldn’t seem to stop laughing. Between giggles, Vickie pushed out, “I hoped it broke every bone in his foot. But it didn’t. I think it only fractured a couple of his toes.”
Hand over her side, which apparently ached from laughing so hard, Nancy took a deep breath and released it. “Oh, Mom, the memories. You’ve always been such a spitfire. I’m surprised you didn’t kill him with that rake. If Brad did such a thing to one of my kids, I’d be sorely tempted.” She turned her glass and circled a fingertip around the rim. “You drove us to the beach. Tried to make it seem fun by telling us we were going to camp out.”
“I had only a few bucks in my purse. I couldn’t get a motel room.”
“You told us not to get out of the car, and you went traipsing out through the sand. Brody thought you had to pee. But when you came back, you were carrying a big piece of driftwood.”
Vickie closed her eyes, remembering how terrified she’d been. “I thought he might drive around town until he found us. I needed a weapon. Back then, people still collected driftwood for beach fires, so the pickings were scarce. It took me forever to find something I could swing like a bat.”
Nancy giggled again, but it was only a ghostly echo of actual laughter. “Death by driftwood?”
Strawberry Hill Page 9
