A Sinclair Homecoming (The Sinclairs of Alaska) (3 page)

Miranda was neither shocked nor surprised and proceeded to explain. “That’s the living room. Or at least, it used to be. See that tiny, clogged walkway? That’s the hallway toward what used to be our bedrooms. Simone’s bedroom is off to the left. And the kitchen...well, you ought to be lucky that picture isn’t a scratch-and-sniff. She’s been sleeping in the bathtub for months.”

Wade stared at his sister. His mother had been sleeping in a bathtub? “How do you know this?”

“Talen told me. She tried to deny it but it’s true.”

Wade returned the photo, sick to his stomach. The pounding behind his eyeball had turned into a battering ram against his skull. He’d wanted to believe that his siblings had exaggerated, that somehow this was all some big misunderstanding but there was no misinterpreting that picture. Mounds of unrecognizable garbage and clutter filled every nook and cranny that he could see. And if the entire house was like that? “How’d this happen?” he asked, talking out loud mostly to himself. He didn’t expect an answer.

“It’s too early to tell until I’ve done a full evaluation but I do know a little bit about your family’s personal history, and I’d say this may stem from grief that never found an appropriate outlet.”

Simone. Everything always spiraled back to Simone. Of course it did. “My sister.”

“Yes.”

Miranda piped in, saying, “Mom won’t let anyone into Simone’s room anymore. It’s weird, almost as if she’s trying to forget that Simone is gone. She spends a lot of time in that room.”

“Have you been in there?”

Miranda shook her head. “She guards it like a watchdog. I don’t know what’s going through that head of hers.”

So much for a quick three-day trip to sort out details. “What do you need from us?” he asked, resigned.

“Just your cooperation. She’ll need your support but she also needs to know that you’re not going to enable her to hurt herself again. It’s a delicate balance of support and tough love. I won’t sugarcoat things...these types of situations are hard on everyone involved but I have seen positive outcomes with proper therapy.”

“My mom will never agree to therapy,” he said grimly. “I can tell you that right now.”

“Well, you’d be surprised what motivates people. That’s where the support comes in. I’ll wait to introduce myself until tomorrow, seeing as I’ve already made contact with you. Likely, what I have to say is going to be upsetting.”

Upsetting?
That was too mild of a word. He nodded. “What time?”

“How’s 10:00 a.m.?”

He looked to Miranda. “That works for me. How about you?”

She nodded. “I’ll check with Trace.”

“Thanks.” He had no wish to talk to his brother at the moment. He returned to the doctor. “We’ll be here.”

Dr. O’Hare smiled. “Excellent. It was a pleasure to meet you. I wish it were under different circumstances.”

It was probably a standard comment meant to relax people but Wade caught a flash of genuine emotion in her eyes. Or at least, he thought he did. Hell, maybe he was seeing things. Everything in his world had just been tipped on its ass. He ducked his head to the doctor in goodbye and he and Miranda left the hospital to go pick up his mom’s car.

His last thought as Dr. O’Hare walked away—inappropriate and flustering—was how pretty she was and how he wished she’d been a wizened old man with a bald head and knobby knuckles.

If that were the case he surely wouldn’t be spending undue time thinking of those deep blue eyes behind those designer frames.

And what the hell was he doing thinking of any woman in that capacity? He’d told himself he was going to take a breather in the romance department after suffering through a particularly uncomfortable breakup with Elizabeth, his mostly casual bed partner. Well, he’d thought what they were doing was casual. When he realized Elizabeth had different ideas, he’d decided to cut ties. Better that way than dragging out something that was never going to go where she’d hoped it would.

So that left the question: Why was he noticing how deep and blue Dr. O’Hare’s eyes were? Had to be the strain of the moment because if he were thinking straight... Hell, no. It just wouldn’t happen.

Besides, he had a feeling things were going to get worse before they got better—and that pretty doc was going to be in the center of it all.

And not in a good way.

CHAPTER FOUR

M
ORGAN
LEFT
THE
HOSPITAL
, thinking of the Sinclair family and everything they’d been through over the years. She remembered when the youngest Sinclair went missing and then was found the following day by Trace Sinclair, frozen to death on the mountain. The poor girl had been brutalized and left to die. So pretty, so young. It’d been a senseless tragedy that’d scared the entire town. For weeks everyone had been on hyperalert, terrified that the killer was among them. Her father had been paranoid, insisting on a strict curfew for his kids, particularly his daughters. Her younger sister, Mona, had actually known Simone. They hadn’t been friends, per se, but Simone had been a tidal wave of charisma and it’d been difficult to prevent getting swept up in her energy. Mona had told her how pretty and sweet Simone had been.

Cheerleader, dance team, pep club, French club—the girl had been into everything.

And then, just like that, she was gone. Her life snuffed out at the whim of a psychopath. Add in the fact that her killer had never been caught and well, it created a perfect cocktail for paranoia in a small town.

Morgan vaguely recalled Wade from school—he’d been older than she was in school—and of course everyone had had a crush on Trace, even though he’d been over the moon gaga for Delainey Clarke. But she remembered that Wade had been the quiet one. She also remembered that he drove a burgundy Chevy Blazer. Why she remembered that, she didn’t know. Well, time had been kind to the Sinclairs in ways that fate had not. They were a good-looking bunch. No quirks of DNA in that chain.

She also remembered that David hadn’t liked the Sinclairs, particularly Trace. More than likely because the Sinclair brothers were athletic, ruggedly handsome and smart and the girls were beautiful, both in different ways. Ahh, David and his opinions. He’d had so many of them. And of course, if she didn’t share his opinions, he’d had ways of impressing upon her his wisdom. Morgan suppressed a shudder and couldn’t help the glance over her shoulder, even though she knew her dead husband wasn’t going to be behind her, watching.

He’d always been watching. Waiting for her to screw up so that he could correct her. Lovingly, of course.

Stop thinking of him! He’s gone. Gone. Gone. Gone.
Morgan climbed into her Lexus and closed the door a bit more forcefully than she intended, and the sharp sound caused her to jump. Her heart pounded, and she emitted a shaky laugh at her foolishness. All she needed was time. Time to heal. Time to forget.

But even as she rattled off to herself the same advice she gave others, she knew, in her case, it was a lie because there were some things that not even time could erase.

The punishments. The rigid adherence to certain rules. David’s rules. That even now, three years later, she couldn’t free herself from. A part of her lived in fear that David might pop from the shadows and discover that the towels in the downstairs bathroom were not lined up properly nor were they color coordinated. It was a small thing. But not in David’s world. And subsequently not in hers. Usually, she could keep the memories from biting but tonight was proving more difficult as a particularly brutal one began nipping at her thoughts.

“Morgan...would you come here, please.”

Morgan stilled the chopping of celery and swallowed, a familiar trickle of fear following the knowledge that he was in the bathroom. Hadn’t she replaced the linens with fresh stock this morning? David preferred everything clean, particularly for the guest bathroom as that was the room others would see. Of course, it made sense to ensure the guest bathroom was spotless. Impressions were important.

“Coming,” she answered, placing the knife on the cutting board and carefully wiping her hands on her apron and not on the dish towel as David had taught her.

She rounded the corner and saw David scowling in obvious displeasure at the spotless marble counter. “Can you tell me what is amiss here?”

Morgan tried not to tremble as her gaze quickly searched for what was out of place. Her stare settled on the tiny soap ooze from the dispenser. Hadn’t she wiped it down after using it? A bead of sweat popped along her brow in spite of the subtle chill of the house. “I’m sorry. I’ll fix it right away,” she said, moving to clean the soap dispenser but he caught her hand in a tight grip, squeezing the bones until she winced. “I-I’m sorry...I didn’t mean—”

“What would people think about our home if they saw this? Can we not keep a tidy home? Are we slobs?”

She shook her head, tears springing to her eyes.

“No, we are not,” he agreed, tossing her hand away and grabbing a handful of hair in a move so fast she almost didn’t see it coming. Almost. Pain exploded as he wrenched her to her knees, practically dragging her from the bathroom. “I do this because I love you,” he yelled, his face livid with rage. “You must enjoy these punishments because you make me do these things.” He shook her hard. “Do you hear me? I love you! Someday you will learn and I won’t have to do these terrible things to you anymore. Don’t you want that?”

“Y-yes! Please, David! Please!” She cried, her knees bruising from the hardwood floor. “I’ll do better next time. I promise!”

“Lies...all you do is lie to me when I give you the best of everything. How did I get saddled with such an ungrateful bitch for a wife?” He tossed her away like garbage and she nearly shuddered with relief, believing his rage was spent but she was wrong. Suddenly, he buried his booted foot in her stomach and she blacked out from the pain.

The next day she’d bled out the remains of the child she hadn’t known she was carrying.

Six weeks was barely pregnant, she’d told herself as she’d tried to get over her grief. If David hadn’t been worried that he’d ruptured something internal when she wouldn’t stop bleeding, she might never have known about the child.

And David had been so remorseful.

Almost sweet—for a time.

“Baby, you’re my life. I am nothing without you,” David had cried, clinging to her, demanding her comfort even though she was numb with shock. “I don’t know what came over me. I am completely distraught over what happened. You know it was an accident, right?”

“Of course,” she murmured, stroking his hair with mechanical motions. David liked his hair gently stroked in a certain way. Although the hospital had recommended that she stay overnight, David had been insistent that he would care for her. Lying in their bed as David wept, Morgan had wished for the solitude of a hospital room. “It’s okay.”

“Why do you push me to do those things?” he asked plaintively. “And why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant?”

“I didn’t know.”

He pressed a tender kiss to her belly and hugged her tightly. “To think...my child had been growing right here... I am beside myself over what happened.” His words had seemed so sincere, so racked with grief that she’d actually begun to wonder if things were going to get better. Perhaps a child would heal what was broken between them. “Can you ever forgive me, my love?”

“Of course,” she whispered, tears slipping down her cheeks. Six weeks pregnant was hardly pregnant at all. They could try again. They would try again. And everything would be wonderful again.

Morgan closed her eyes, hating that she was stuck remembering old history when she tried so hard to forget. Maybe it was the Sinclair case dredging up the past. Or maybe it was her failed attempt to go to grief counseling. But either way, she wanted to be done with it.

Startled, she realized tears were tracking down her face.
Damn it.
She wiped at her face with a tissue and forced a bright smile.
That’s it. Smile. David is dead. No one knows your secret and everything is fine.

Just fine.

Morgan squared her shoulders and put the car into Drive, making a mental note to order new tires before the snow season started.

* * *

W
ADE
WAS
SILENT
most of the drive to their parents’ house but his mind was anything but still. “I don’t understand,” he said finally, shifting in the passenger seat as he tried to make sense of everything. “How did this happen?”

“I don’t know. It didn’t happen overnight. You know me and Mom have always had a rocky relationship so I wasn’t spending a lot of time at the house, plus with Dad doing his marijuana growing, I didn’t want to know too much. And frankly, I had my own stuff I was going through. I didn’t have time to try and figure out what was going wrong with Mom and Dad. I thought they’d work it out somehow. It wasn’t until a few months ago that I realized that things had gotten way out of control. By that time, it was more than I could handle on my own.”

“But this sort of hoarding takes years to accumulate, right?”

“Yes and no. I mean, Mom’s always been a collector so I was used to seeing gobs of stuff piling up here and there but it didn’t get to this point until the last year. I think it has a lot to do with Dad moving out to the shed to be closer to his marijuana. Maybe it was the final straw.”

“And Dad is sitting things out in jail right now?”

“Yeah. Both Rhett Fowler and Trace tried to bail him out but Dad refused. So he’s there to stay at least until we can get things figured out with Mom. Honestly, I’m glad I don’t have to deal with him, too.”

Wade agreed, rubbing at his eyes. “Do you have any aspirin? My head is splitting.”

“Glove compartment.”

Wade reached in and grabbed the bottle, shaking out two tablets and tossing them back without water. He’d crunch them like candy if he had to to make this pain stop. They rolled up to the house, and he hated how desolate and empty the place looked. Helluva homecoming. They exited the car, and he surveyed the land. Still beautiful. His parents’ place was backed up to the national forest, which gave it an enviable backdrop but an unenviable position of fending off the wildlife at times. “Nothing changes about those mountains,” he murmured mostly to himself. “Brings back memories.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.” Miranda smiled and then gestured grimly for him to follow. “Let’s get this over with. The tour is a short one.”

Wade followed his sister to the house and after unlocking the door, ducked under the caution tape stretched across it and walked into what used to be his childhood home.

Used to be
was the appropriate phrase. “What the...” Ah, hell—the picture didn’t do the actual situation justice. “She lived in this?” He covered his nose as the smell hit him. “Oh, God. What is that stench?”

“Your guess is as good as mine but as far as I can tell, it’s coming from the kitchen.” Miranda pushed past a pile of magazines and books and danced out of the way as they tumbled to the floor. “Careful. You never know what might come tumbling down.” They pushed toward what had once been Simone’s room and bracing himself, Wade opened the door.

“Are you kidding me?” he breathed against the reveal. In stark contrast to the rest of the house, Simone’s room looked as it did the day she died. He looked to Miranda and she appeared just as stricken. “What the hell is going on? It feels like a shrine.”

“That’s because it is.” Miranda was just as horrified. “I can’t believe that dotty woman would do this. Simone didn’t even live here anymore when she died! She lived with me that summer.”

As Wade surveyed the room, creeped out by the feeling that Simone might pop from a shadow, he realized any hope he might have harbored of a quick resolution died as the knowledge that their mother might very well need professional help, after all, sank in.

“I’ve seen enough,” he said curtly, motioning for Miranda to leave. He closed the door behind them, and they made their way free from the claustrophobic clutter of their parents’ home. Once clear, Miranda locked the front door and handed Wade the keys, which also had the car keys. He accepted the keys and drew a deep breath, even though his chest felt as if an elephant had stomped on it. He opened his mouth but didn’t have the words. Miranda seemed to understand. She hugged him tightly and simply nodded. He appreciated her silence. He didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t want to stay. In the end, he knew he’d have to do both.

“Where are you staying?” she asked as they broke apart. “You can stay with me if you want. I live in town. Trace and Delainey live outside of town. Both of us have a spare bedroom. Take your pick.”

“Thanks but I booked a hotel. I managed to find something in town that was reasonable.”

“Talen is going to be bummed. He was looking forward to meeting Uncle Wade in person.”

Wade always made sure to send his only nephew a birthday card with money but he’d actually never met the kid. He forced a smile. “I’d love to but I think I need a little time to process. But let Talen know that I will definitely see him before I leave, okay?”

“He’ll be so excited. He said you always send the best presents. How about dinner tomorrow night?”

Well, his secretary, Nancy, deserved most of the credit for his gift choices as she had a son around the same age and always pitched in with suggestions when Wade was unsure. He ought to come clean but he was tired and ready to put an end to this day. “Dinner sounds good,” he agreed, and they hugged again before climbing into separate cars and driving off in separate directions.

He needed to put some distance between himself and everything he’d just discovered.

Hell, he needed a beer and sleep.

Tomorrow would come all too soon—and with it, one helluva fight.