Most of the rooms on the upper floors were empty, my father long having cleared them out after he sent me away. The attic was a vast cavern of dust and emptiness. The basement produced an unexpected find of a case of rare scotch. My father never stinted when it came to his own pleasure. Business associates received a simple glass of decent scotch, while my father’s cut crystal glass held the finest of spirits. God forbid Franklin Thomas sip something from a liquor store shelf.
I dusted off the bottles, staring at the label. A memory stirred from the far recesses of my mind. My mother, holding out a glass of scotch to my father, a playful look on her face, refusing to give it to him until she got a kiss. His face, which I could usually see in my mind with a permanent scowl, had softened, and he kissed her with a gentleness I never associated with him. Then he snatched the glass and walked away, laughing.
I blinked as the memory took hold. It was the one time I had ever heard my father laugh. Or seen real intimacy between my parents. I would have been two or three at the time, and every other memory I had was of my mother. The ones including my father were filled with coldness on his part, sadness on my mother’s. Sunny’s words came back to me.
“Maybe that was how your father started. There must have been some good in him at some point. Your mother loved him enough to marry him.”
She was right. My mother must have loved him at some point. When had things changed for them?
I carried the scotch upstairs, planning on giving it to Ned. He was a scotch man, whereas I preferred whiskey. I paused as I wondered if that was because I associated the liquor with my father.
I drove the car down into town, parking it behind the darkened bakery. I knew I wouldn’t sleep—the war inside my head was too loud for that to happen, so once again, I walked. I covered miles as the town slept. I went around the center of town, pausing as memories stirred. Older, forgotten memories surfaced of my parents. My life before my mother died. There were a few good ones, but mostly sad. My mother’s face, pale and forlorn as she stared out the window. Picked at her dinner, looking over at the empty chair my father usually sat in. I recalled raised voices, my mother’s pleadings, and so often, my father walking out of the house, the door slamming behind him.
I ended up at The Sunny Place, sitting on the swings, gazing at the spot where we used to hide out in my car. I walked down to the bluff, staring at the water, the breeze stinging my eyes. I didn’t light a fire or stay too long—my restless feet wouldn’t allow that. I circled everything old but familiar, all that was new and helping the town. I grunted in grim satisfaction that at least I had done that right.
I stood across from the bakery, staring at the simple sign and the large plate glass windows. The health inspection certificate stating the premises was “under inspection” made me furious, knowing why it was there and the damage it could do to Sunny’s business, especially given the time of year.
I fisted my hands, my determination growing once again. I crossed the street, using the back door, and went upstairs. I slipped into the apartment, finding Abby asleep on the sofa, no doubt waiting for me to return. I had shut off my phone, wanting to be alone. She stirred as I walked in, sitting up, rubbing her eyes.
“Where have you been?”
“Walking.”
She peered at the clock. “It’s three in the morning.”
“A lot of walking,” I added.
“Have you come to your senses?”
Obviously, Sunny had told Abby what had occurred between us. I didn’t want to fight with her too. I ran a hand through my hair, feeling weary.
“If you mean, am I going to do everything I can to protect Sunny, then yes, my senses are perfectly clear.”
She stood, gathering the blanket around her. “Linc—”
I held up my hand. “I don’t want to hear it.”
“You are going to regret this.”
I leaned against the counter, resting on my hands. I took in a long breath, letting it out slowly. “I will always regret losing Sunny. But once I fix this and leave, her life will be better. She’s right. Our past is always going to get in the way. At least I’ll live knowing she’s been taken care of. I’ll deed the building to her so she’s set financially, and we’ll carry on without each other.”
“You don’t mean that.”
I pushed off the counter, suddenly angry. “Sadly, this is real life, Abby, not a romance novel. I can’t make it better and have the girl. Bottom line is once we got over finding each other again, we would probably discover we had grown too far apart. It’s for the best.”
I ignored the voice screaming in my head that I was wrong. I had to be strong right now.
Abby shook her head, but I didn’t want to listen to her.
“I’m leaving today. You can stay here—it’s fine. I’m going to take some time and do some rearranging of the business. Anything I need, I’ll contact you. At least here, you’re safe.”
She crossed her arms. “So, that’s it, then. You’re going to blow off the best thing in your life and turn your back on me as well.”
“I’m sorry you see it that way.”
She tilted her head, narrowing her eyes as she studied me. “I have never been ashamed of you before, but I am now,” she huffed, then turned and stormed off to her room, shutting the door firmly behind her.
I didn’t react.
There were no emotions left to react to.
Except my anger. And that was burning hot and bright.
I showered, dressed in a suit, then threw the last few things in my bag that had reappeared in the apartment. No doubt, Sunny had given it to Abby. I paused before heading out the door, laying the key on the table. My fingers brushed the metal, the dull ache in my chest I had been feeling for hours becoming more toxic. With a low curse, I picked up the bag and headed down the staircase. My steps faltered as I reached the bottom, the sound of Sunny’s voice reaching me. I listened as she gave instructions to her staff, her tone calm, steady, yet authoritative.
“We’re taking the list one item at a time. Once it’s done, we’ll move on to the next. I’ve closed the bakery for the day so we can concentrate. Together, we’ll get it right.”
I paused, unable to move. I turned my head, catching a glimpse of Sunny. She was beautiful under the lights of the kitchen. She looked as exhausted as I felt, but her smile was firmly in place. Leading her staff. Positive.
Despite everything, I was proud. She was capable, smart, and a real leader.
And better off without me.
She moved her head, spotting me in the back. For a moment, our eyes locked. All the love I felt for her was in my gaze. The words I would never get to speak. The memories we would never create together. I shouted all my pain at her in that glance.
She turned her back.
I walked out the door and left.
My mind was blank as I drove to my father’s house. I sat at the desk, motionless, then reached for my phone and placed a call.
“Martha Tremont, deputy mayor, speaking.”
“Martha, it’s Lincoln Webber.”
“How did you get this number?”
I chuckled, the sound without humor. “You should be far more concerned about why I’m calling than the fact that I have your number.”
In truth, it had been very easy to get. The town hall staff really needed to be updated on privacy policies.
“What do you want, Mr. Webber?”
“I’m at my father’s house. You know it well, Martha. I’m sure you’ve been here many times.”
There was silence.
“I’ll be waiting. And Martha, like my father, I’m not a patient man.”
I hung up.
I heard her car arrive, the sound of her BMW engine breaking the silence. I hadn’t moved from behind the desk. My legs wouldn’t let me. I felt out of control of my body, as if my limbs were no longer attached.
The front door opened, slamming shut behind her. She stalked into the den, leaving no do
ubt how well she knew her way around this house.
I swallowed the bile that threatened to escape.
“I am not one of your flunkies you can command,” she announced, crossing her arms.
“And yet, here you are.”
Silence stretched. The ball was firmly in my court. I only had to say a few words, show her the pictures, then assure her they would remain a secret as long as she stopped harassing Sunny. It was a scenario I was certain had been played out many times in this room by my father. Countless people he held under his thumb.
“Slippery slope,” Sunny’s voice whispered. “You are not your father.”
I picked up the envelope, my fingers not cooperating as it slid from my grasp, hitting the top of the desk. Her eyes followed my movements.
“What is that?”
I opened my mouth to start, but the words didn’t come out. Instead, all I heard was Sunny.
“If you do this, you lose me, Linc. Forever.”
“The loss of the man I thought you were is going to wreck me for the rest of my life.”
I cleared my throat.
“You’re forgetting the one common factor here—Mrs. Tremont is a person as well. A fellow human being. You don’t know her story. You are threatening to hurt a person. Think about it. Think hard.”
The words that came from my mouth shocked me. “Why do you hate me? Even as a kid, you did—even though I never did anything to you.”
“You kept your father from me.”
A humorless laugh escaped my throat. “I think, Martha, perhaps you have been misguided in your judgment. My father spent no time with me at all unless he was telling me to do something or punishing me.”
She didn’t say anything. I stood, rounding the desk, leaning on the edge. I copied her stance, crossing my arms over my chest. I started to talk, not stopping for over fifteen minutes. I spoke of the way my father ignored me, held me responsible, somehow, for everything—including my mother’s death. She grew pale as I talked about the inflicted punishments. How he’d pound my chest or sucker-punch my gut.
“Always with the intent to hurt badly—but not leave scars others could see,” I told her.
Silence fell between us as we stared at each other. Looking—perhaps really looking for the first time. Martha gave off a polished vibe. Her makeup was flawless, her hair perfect, her outfit becoming. But when I regarded her, I saw underneath the façade. The pallor the makeup hid. The anxious tremor in her hands she was trying to hide. The fear in her gaze.
I wondered briefly if that was what my father saw when he brought people to heel. If he reveled in it—the power he held in his hands to destroy a fellow human being—because he could. I bet his euphoria was high, his ego swelling at his power, his chest inflating with his own sense of supremacy. I wondered if it turned him on sexually.
All I felt was ill. And disgust.
Right then, I knew Sunny and Abby were correct. I couldn’t do this.
I reached behind me and handed her the envelope. She frowned, opening the flap, staggering to the left as she saw the contents. I gripped her elbow and helped her sit.
“What? Where did you get these?”
“From my father’s personal files.”
“He… I… No. He wouldn’t.”
I sighed and stood, needing the distance. I sat back at the desk. “He did.”
Her head bent as she shuffled through the pictures, sounds of distress escaping her lips on occasion. She sat in the chair, her shoulders slumped in resignation. When she lifted her head, her voice was defeated.
“What do you want?”
“Nothing. I’m giving you those pictures, Martha. There’s only one set. Do what you want with them. I will never tell anyone about this. Ever.”
“Why?”
She was right to be suspicious. “What good would it do? Destroy your marriage? Cause an unnecessary scandal? Allow my father to carry on his reign of destruction?”
She shook her head. “I thought…I thought I meant something to him. He always promised once you were out of the way, we’d be together. Then when you left, he spent all that time trying to mend fences with you…” Her voice trailed off at the look on my face.
“He hated me,” I told her. “He sent me away—there was no mending fences. He was cruel and stole my life for falling in love with someone he didn’t approve of. Because I didn’t follow his rules, everyone I cared for suffered.”
“I-I didn’t know. He said…he told me so many lies,” she murmured, then held up the pictures. “Why are you giving these to me if not to manipulate me?”
I sighed. “Rightfully, they belong to you. I think, Martha, your esteem for my father has been misplaced. I thought if you saw them, you would realize the memories you are clinging to perhaps weren’t real.” I cleared my throat. “I suggest you try to make your peace with it and move forward.”
“You aren’t going to say anything?”
“No.”
“Ask me to do something for you?”
I barked out a laugh. “That had been my plan. But I can’t. I have to step back and let Sunny deal with her business on her own, as much as it kills me. I’ll be leaving Mission Cove today.”
“But you’ll be back?”
I shook my head. “No, the history here is too much to overcome.”
She looked down at the pictures in her lap, then stuffed them into the envelope. “I want these destroyed.”
“I don’t have a shredder.”
“A match?”
I indicated the fireplace. “Help yourself.”
She placed the envelope in the grate and I obligingly opened the flue, not really wanting to choke on the fumes. I handed her the box of matches and a piece of paper I crumpled into a loose ball. She bent, lighting the match, and we both watched as the flames curled and flickered, growing as they gained strength, the envelope catching fire, the edges coiling, the photos slowly disappearing into nothing.
Deciding it was as good a time as ever, I grabbed the other files and added them to the pile, watching as my father’s legacy of fear died in a pile of ash. I would destroy the USB drives. I wasn’t remotely interested in their contents.
It was over. And despite what I had lost, I felt lighter.
Martha turned, heading toward the door. There was too much bad blood between us for there ever to be anything but the most tenuous of business relations, but perhaps going forward, the hate would begin to dissipate. Maybe she could forge a new relationship with her husband.
Stranger things had happened.
She paused at the door.
“I knew your mother.”
I snapped up my head, prepared to fight.
“She was one of the kindest girls at school. Always willing to help someone out. She refused to let bullies win. She used to lecture them, pointing out their wrongs. Your father was one of the worst ones in school—that was how they met. He seemed to change, but I suppose he never really did.”
“I guess he hid it for a while.”
“Or maybe he tried, but his true nature won out. He was very selfish—even when he was younger. Your mother was the exact opposite. I think she thought she could make him a better person.”
“That obviously didn’t work.”
She smiled. It was the first real one I had ever seen from her. “Even angels can’t always perform miracles.” She tilted her head. “You are very much like her.”
No one had ever said that to me. No one ever spoke of my mother.
“Thank you.”
She turned to leave, stopping as she gripped the door, not looking back. “She would be very proud of you.”
Then she was gone, her footsteps hurrying away and fading.
I blinked at the empty doorway.
I wasn’t my father.
I was like my mother.
Her son.
And that, going forward, was how I would act.
22
Sunny
I wiped my hand ac
ross my eyes as I scrubbed the already clean wall. My shoulders burned with the strain, the pain radiating down my arms.
I ignored it, the throb in my bones nothing compared to the pain in my chest. My heart ached with loss.
Linc.
He was all I could think of. What he insisted he had to do. It was going to kill him. All of his work—everything he’d strived so hard for would be wiped out with one horrible move to try to protect me. He refused to listen to me. To Abby. He was hell-bent on destroying himself, refusing to believe there was any other way.
I would clean this bakery a hundred times over—close it, in fact—if it meant he didn’t stoop to the level of his father. I had been serious when I told him he was on a slippery slope. He would justify this action. Then do it again. Over and over until it became a part of him—until the good I knew he had within him was gone, and he became the one thing he fought against.
The wall in front of me became blurry, and I had to blink my eyes to clear them. The sound of a throat clearing behind me was startling.
“Um, boss? Someone here to see you.”
“Tell them to come back,” I ordered. Lots of people wanted to see me today, asking why we were closed, what the notice on the door was about, demanding to be allowed to help.
“I think you’ll see me.”
At the sound of Martha Tremont’s voice, I froze, turning my head to meet her gaze.
“A moment of your time, Ms. Hilbert.”
I slid from the stool, wiping my hands, wondering what was about to happen. She looked like herself, but different. The usual frown was missing from her face, the look of distaste she always wore when she looked at me, gone. Her expression wasn’t friendly, but it was no longer hostile.
“I received an incorrect report about your bakery. The notice has been removed.” She handed me the green and white pass form. “You can stop cleaning now.”
The Summer of Us (Mission Cove Book 1) Page 19
