Brush of Shade (2 page)

“That her?” one
of the boys asked, bouncing up and down with excitement.

“I thought you
promised to be quiet if I let you tag along,” the dad hissed.

My fingers were
inches from grabbing the door handle when the dad leapt forward, smoothly
opening the door and waving me through. “Thank you,” I said unable to hide the
surprise in my voice. I looked back at the car and the two boys smiling shyly
up at me. I held the door open for the father, but he’d already turned and was
heading back to his vehicle. From just inside the entrance I hesitated,
watching all three
pile
back into their Range Rover.

I shook off the
strange behavior and headed for a loaf of bread, rubbing my arms that felt like
spiders were crawling all over them. It must be something in the air or worse,
a reaction to one of my meds. An elderly couple—chatting about taking a drive
over to Aspen to enjoy the fall colors—fell silent when I joined them in the
narrow aisle. I scanned the shelf. Out of the corner of my eye I watched the
woman lean forward to get a good look at me. Sure I looked all rumpled from
traveling in the car since nine o’clock this morning, but it wasn’t like I had
something in my teeth or food dribbled down my shirt. I grabbed the closest
loaf and hurried off down the aisle, trying not to clump my crutch against the
linoleum.

Two teenage boys
about my age blocked the milk cooler. “Excuse me.” I waited. They continued to
talk. “Excuse me, if I could just get some milk?” I asked, smiling sweetly in a
way that usually worked with teenage guys. One ignored me and the other sneered
down at me like I was something disgusting he’d stepped in. Realistically, I
was never going to be called drop-dead gorgeous, but seriously the pickings out
in Podunk couldn’t be that high to risk being rude to the cute, new girl in
town.

The jerk with
the sneer squeezed my loaf of bread crushing the end. “Hey!” I yelled, pulling
it away.

 
“Anderson,
McDermitt
, move,” a male voice threatened.

Hate-filled eyes
glared over my shoulder at the intruder. They waited a beat before shoving past
me, laughing when I stumbled against the cooler.

A steadying hand
gripped my elbow until feet and crutch were steady. I turned slowly to thank
the Good Samaritan. A guy with a mop of russet curls shoved off the wall of
coolers. His hazel-brown eyes eased down my body then flicked back up to my
face. I felt a flush stain my cheeks. Guys were the same everywhere. At least
he hadn’t stopped at my chest. I gave him a point for that. Despite the
evening’s chilly fall temperatures, he wore cargo shorts and a snug, short
sleeve T-shirt that emphasized his muscular frame and his deeply bronzed skin.

“So you’re one
of the
Pepperdines
,” he said in that peculiar drawl
that seemed to be part of the local charm.

What did he mean
by that? Sure, I could trace my family tree back to the original settlers, but
I supposed that could be said for most of the folks in town. Maybe it was an
archaic, local custom where people were pigeonholed based on their family name,
a kind of Hatfield and McCoy sort of thing, hopefully minus the bloodshed.

I juggled the
bread and milk carton in one hand. “And you would be?”

“A Cassidy,” he
answered like it should mean something.

 “Does
everyone around here go by their last names?” I asked, not getting the
friendly, small town feeling that I’d been expecting.

His lips curled
up into a lukewarm smile. “Trent Cassidy, football jock and team captain,
pitcher on the Spring Valley High baseball team, student body president, and
hiking club vice president. I could get you my class rank, SAT scores, and
investment portfolio, so you’ll know I’m in the same league as the
high-society, boarding school guys you’re used to dating.”

I blinked. How
did he know anything about me? The nerve implying I was a snob. Did he just ask
me out? “Let’s leave something for next time, shall we?” I replied, squeezing
past him.

He chuckled and
before I could protest, relieved me of my groceries. On my way to the check-out
line, he added peanut butter and jelly along with a bag of apples to his pile.
While we waited in line, I twirled my beige-blond hair around my index finger
and asked, “How do you know who I am?”

“That’s easy. My
dad’s outside talking to your aunt. They’re old friends.”

The elderly
couple from the bread aisle finished checking out. I pushed my stuff closer to
the cashier. A bouquet of white roses tied with a red bow had been added to my
pile. “Excuse me, you forgot your flowers,” I called after the couple, holding
out the bouquet.

“The flowers are
for you,” the cashier explained.

 
“Really?
That was nice of them.” I retrieved my wallet from
the bottom of my purse and held out a twenty-dollar bill.  

The cashier
exchanged a look with Trent that I didn’t understand. “No, dear, they paid for
everything.”

“But I can’t
take money from strangers,” I replied, staring out the glass door, scanning the
parking lot for the couple.

“Here, Little
Lady, you must be tired after that long trip.” A man dropped two premade turkey
sandwiches into my bag. “Put it on my bill, Rosie.”

“No, sir, that’s
not necessary.” I protested, sounding flustered.

“Course it is. I
was sorry to hear about the accident. I grew up with your folks. Your dad and I
played football together. Have Trent show you Ethan’s MVP trophy up at the high
school.”

Trent had his
hand on my elbow and was angling me towards the door. I think I mumbled a thank
you to the gentleman. At the moment, I was distracted by several conflicting
thoughts. One, I’d been told my mother grew up on a farm in Nebraska. Two, what
was it with these people giving me things? And three, why was Trent practically
dragging me out of the store?

 A black
Mercedes pulled up alongside the sidewalk. “That’s my dad. I’ll see you at
school. You can sit at my lunch table. As for the other items we spoke of, I’ll
have those ready for your consideration,” Trent said as though there was a
competition. He winked and hopped into the car.

All four pumps
were being used and yet not one person had eyes for anything else but me. I
climbed into the car. “Aunt Claire, everyone is staring at me.” I slunk lower
in the seat.

“Nonsense.
Have you taken your anxiety medication today? Oh
dear, you look exhausted. After the wake tomorrow, you’ll be able to move
forward.”

“Mom and Dad
died back in May. I don’t want to hold a wake here with strangers. The memorial
in Washington . . . it was awful. All those people wouldn’t leave me alone.”

“Your father was
a well-respected diplomat with many friends and colleagues. A large function
couldn’t be avoided. At least here you won’t have to deal with visiting
dignitaries and the press. Folks here genuinely care deeply for your family.
You’ll see. Before you know it, Spring Valley will feel like home.”

“I don’t want it
to. You had no right dragging me out here. I had a life. I had friends.” I
reached for my
earbuds
and the music that would wash
over me.

“Had, past tense.
You pulled away from that life. You
dropped out of everything. You weren’t even returning
JoAnna’s
phone calls, and don’t get me started on how little school work you were
getting done.” She turned off the highway, bypassing the town. Her fingers
tapped the steering wheel. “I didn’t come to this decision without careful
consideration. Dr. Martin’s agreed a drastic change was necessary to snap you
out of your listlessness. Take this gift of a fresh start far away from painful
memories. Spring Valley is special. It won’t let you down.”

***

My role during our
first Saturday in Spring Valley was easy enough. It required little out of me
beyond short sentences and expressions of gratitude. With that in mind, my goal
was simple. I was determined to face this particular day with dignity while
clinging ferociously to normal. I planned on ignoring all references to
anything peculiar.

The sweet smell
of gardenias and roses from the early morning wedding still permeated the
simple church with its white-washed walls and steeply sloped ceiling. According
to the minister,
Pepperdines
had been christened and
wed here since the valley was settled. I’d wanted to ask if I’d been christened
here as well, but my aunt had stepped forward, needing a word with the minister
before the service. Strangers filed into the pews set aside for the family.
Stories were recounted in hushed voices that I couldn’t help but overhear.
Someone made an offhand comment about the crowds spilling out across the front
lawn. Too many people, I shuddered. Apparently even here my father had quite
the circle of friends and acquaintances. As for my mother, I’d learned from
those hushed voices that she’d never lived in Nebraska. All these people with
their kind, solemn expressions owned pieces of my parents’ past. The fact that
neither of them had been inclined to discuss the days before their marriage had
never bothered me, until now. Questions that I’d never get the chance to ask
squeezed my throat tight.

Aunt Claire
stuffed a tissue into my hand as she stood to leave. “Don’t take too long.
People are waiting outside to offer their condolences before our private
reception at the manor.”

Let the mourners
wait. They didn’t know my family, and they had no right to the pieces I
carried, I thought, shredding the tissue between my fingers. This was just a
temporary posting. Next year I’d be at college. Nothing here mattered, no
matter how much Aunt Claire said otherwise.

Muffled voices
faded as the last of the mourners stepped outside to enjoy the unseasonably
warm October weather. Finally, I had the sanctuary to myself. I propped my
crutch against the post for the low railing that extended in front of the first
pew. With my clasped hands hovering above the rail, I was able to stand with
only a slight wobble. My physical therapist back home would be pleased with my
progress. Scratch that; this was home, for now.

The static,
sixteen by twenty inch glossy photos of my parents arranged on easels next to
the pulpit reminded me of the posed pictures of strangers in store bought
frames. Only in this case, I knew the story of us behind the smiles and the
worry lines. Since their deaths, I’d cried over so many things without knowing
why the tears were flowing. But here in this setting, the division between then
and now had never been so undeniably clear. I remembered how we’d marched
valiantly forward when my brother Daniel had died in high school. Now I was
supposed to do it again. Only I couldn’t find the way this time. My chest
tightened. I wanted to rip the pictures aside and discover flesh and blood. I
wanted to be touched and held until the pain rolling over me, gouging and
ripping away at my heart, subsided. A tear trickled down my cheek. Behind it,
several more pooled in my blue-gray eyes, smudging the faces I needed to burn
into my memory. Shoulders quaked. A sob choked off my next breath. My hands
gripped the polished rail, holding on for dear life while my crutch clunked
onto the bare, plank floor.

My subconscious
had chosen this place, a town that held no meaning to me or ties that I cared
about, to finally let loose. It was too much; I couldn’t face this heartache
alone. “Aunt Claire, come back,” I said, my voice thick with tears.

 “That’s
it, let it out,” a kindly male voice said from the aisle.

Hands gently
gripped my shoulders and lowered me onto the pew. “I can’t do this. It hurts so
much.”

“Of course you
can. You’re a Pepperdine.”

“What’s that got
to do with anything?” I turned and drew a quick breath. Glints of ice
highlighted mesmerizing crystal-blue eyes. Comfort permeated my being,
loosening my constricted chest. I forgot what we were saying or even that I was
crying. A hot hand gently cradled my cheek. An electric shock blazed a trail
through every nerve in my body, lifting me off the pew. I gasped. The hand
quivered, and the man uttered a startled cry.

 “Forgive
me,” he said in a deeply, sorrowful voice. “Close your eyes. Take a moment.”

Emptiness washed
over me. My eyes popped open. I spun about in the pew towards the sound of
retreating footsteps. My brows knitted together. The sanctuary was empty. I took
a shuddering breath. A woodsy scent hung in the air where the man had been
standing. I couldn’t resist; I sucked in, filling my lungs.

***

A plate with two
pieces of fried chicken and a scoop of coleslaw materialized under my nose. I
pushed it to the edge of my desk and continued pretending to read.

“Eat something,
a bite at least,” Aunt Claire said, taking up a position alongside my dresser.
She rubbed the back of her neck and with her eyes half open, rested her head
against the wall. “It took some maneuvering, but I finally squeezed all the
casseroles into the fridge. At least we won’t have to worry about cooking this
week, now that we’re giving up our life of leisure.”

“The truck is
here?” I asked, heading over to flop onto my bed. Maybe tomorrow I’d have the
energy to unpack. 

“What? No, I was
talking about you starting school on Monday, and I’ve got—”

“Monday!”
I groaned. Small town, smaller school, I was
destined to be the new oddity.

“Principal Long
and I discussed your situation at great length. It’s time we established normal
day-to-day activities, school being one of them.”

 “Does it
matter? It’s not like they’re going to offer AP courses here,” I said with what
she called my snooty, big-city attitude. She was frowning at me, but I didn’t
care. I hadn’t been consulted when she made the decision to come to this
civilization deprived valley.