Authors: Dawn Atkins
“That’s a great story.” Rosie smiled. “He caught me stealing
electric typewriters from his office. That was before computers were everywhere.
Instead of calling the police or coming after me with a baseball bat, he asked
me out.”
“You’re kidding,” CJ said.
“Nope. I said yes out of pure shock. I was twenty, mixed up
with druggies, on a bad path. Eddie saw into my heart. Of course it didn’t hurt
that I had a great pair of tits.”
“Rosie.” Jonah nodded at Bunny.
“You’ve heard
tits
before, haven’t
you, Bunny?”
Bunny nodded eagerly.
“See?”
Jonah glanced at CJ, but she didn’t look upset.
“At first I figured he was after you-know-what. But he was a
complete gentleman. I had to make the first move. He was forty and thought he
was too old for me. But I didn’t care about that. I never looked back.”
“And you’ve kept the café going ever since,” CJ said.
“Forty years. A lifetime.” She got strangely quiet. Jonah
stared at his aunt. What the hell was up with her? She’d been reminiscing a lot
about Eddie, too, now that he thought about it.
Rosie cleared her throat. “So, anyway, New Hope’s a nice town.
Friendly people, lots to do for such a small place. We’ve got a big old bowling
alley, a couple bars and two movie theaters. Galleries up the ying-yang.
Magazines are always coming out to do stories on us. The schools are decent.
Because of all the artists who live here, the art teachers are great. Football
team’s for shit, but you probably don’t care about that.”
“You running for mayor, Rosie?” Jonah said.
“I’m just saying it’s a good town. You liked when you lived
here. Evan, too.” She turned to CJ. “The boys stayed with me when their father
had his troubles.”
“Rosie, don’t.” Heat washed through Jonah. He did not want
their private mess served up with supper.
“Your dad was my brother and I can talk about him as I see fit.
He was an angry man and a mean drunk and we all suffered for it—especially Evan,
who got the booze gene from him. The disease took my brother, God rest his
soul.”
“That’s enough.” The words came out harder than he’d
intended.
Rosie shot him a familiar look.
Don’t tell
me what to do, young man.
“What’s the big deal? Evan’s sober now.
All’s well that ends well.”
But the fight was far from over. Alcoholics were always in
recovery.
One day at a time
was what they taught in
AA. Jonah had sat through plenty of meetings with his brother, learning all he
could to stave off the next setback.
“Every family’s got problems, right, CJ?” Rosie asked. “You’re
divorced, aren’t you?”
“Leave her alone, Rosie,” he said.
“Kids complicate things. At least you didn’t have that, Jonah—”
Rosie caught herself, remembering too late about the babies.
He wished to hell he hadn’t told Rosie when Suzanne got
pregnant. He’d been so proud he’d gone and crowed to her over the phone.
Twin girls.
He hadn’t been able to believe it. For
those months it seemed like he and Suzanne both walked six inches off the
ground, grinning at each other like fools whenever their eyes met.
She was seven months along when it happened. Complications due
to uterine crowding. Not uncommon with multiple births, the doctor said.
“Divorce is hard,” Rosie mumbled. “That’s all I’m saying.”
“You managed to say a lot more than that.” He grabbed his plate
and stood, scraping his chair against the floor. “I apologize for airing our
laundry in front of you, CJ.” He took his dish to the kitchen sink and ran the
water hard. He hated that she knew something so private and painful.
When he turned around, CJ stood there. “Fresh-picked
strawberries for dessert. All I have to do is whip the cream.”
“No, thanks.”
“Okay.” She colored. “I picked too many. I could bring them
down to the café. I have a great French toast recipe, if you’ve got the bread I
need.”
“Just wait tables. That’s plenty.”
She blanched, so he knew he’d been too blunt. He was always
saying the wrong thing the wrong way. When he’d told her she was in good hands
with Rosie, her eyes had gotten so shiny he was afraid he’d made her cry.
“Night,” he said, wanting to get out of there before he made it
worse.
“When do you want me?” she said softly.
“When do I…” Her words caught him short, gave him that hot
spark again.
CJ flushed. “In the café. In the morning.”
“Sure. Yeah. Deliveries start at five, but I don’t need you
until—”
“I’ll be there at five. And I can do more than wait tables,
Jonah.” There was that glint again. He had a feeling he hadn’t heard the last of
that French toast.
CHAPTER THREE
W
HEN
C
ARA
WENT
to say good-night to
Beth Ann, she found her in bed staring wide-eyed at the ceiling, holding Bunny
tight.
She took a cheerful approach, since her daughter wouldn’t
welcome sympathy or comfort. “Look at you, all cozy in the toothpick room.” She
sat on the edge of the bed and pulled the sheet up to Beth Ann’s chin. “And
Star Wars
sheets. I’ve got race cars on my bed.
It was Jonah’s room. This room was his little brother’s.”
“It smells weird here,” Beth Ann said in a scared voice. “Dusty
and old.”
“You’re not used to it.” Cara brushed her daughter’s hair from
her forehead—one kindness Beth Ann allowed her mother. “Remember the first night
at Grandma Price’s? You hated how it smelled like cigarettes and hairspray.”
Beth Ann didn’t look convinced.
“This smell is old wood,” Cara said. “I like it. If you add in
baked bread, that’s how my grandmother’s house smelled.” She paused. “Rosie is
kind of like her.”
“Did she teach you poker?”
Cara laughed. “Nope. She taught me how to cook. She did like
jelly beans though. She used to bake them into rolls. Each color meant a
different fortune.”
“Really?”
Beth Ann seemed cheered, so Cara kept talking. “Green meant
good luck. Red meant you’d fall in love. Pink meant you’d make a friend.”
“That’s cool. Could you make those rolls?”
“When there’s time, sure.” She hadn’t baked in more than three
years. Barrett had poisoned that pleasure. His first act of violence had
happened over a burnt batch of banana muffins.
He’d come home early and found her registering for college
online. In her excitement, she’d forgotten the muffins. He’d thrown the
blackened rolls at her, one by one, berating her for neglecting her family, for
being selfish and foolish. That had been the beginning of the end.
“You used to let me cook with you,” Beth Ann said.
“I did.” Thankfully, Beth Ann had been out of hearing range for
the fight. Barrett had swept everything from the counter, shattering Beth Ann’s
special cooking bowl.
Cara didn’t want to think of that. “Anyway, my grandma was a
great teacher. So patient. No matter what little dish I helped make, she always
said it was the best part of the meal.” Dinners at her grandmother’s had been
celebrations, warm with love.
“I wish I could have met her,” Beth Ann said.
“She would have adored you.” Cara swallowed against that
sadness. Losing her grandmother had sunk her very low. It was only when she went
to work at Dolly’s that she bounced back. Dolly picked up where her grandmother
had left off, teaching Cara tons about the restaurant business, too. Cara had
soaked it up like a sponge.
“I miss Grandma Price,” Beth Ann said. “I miss her disco
songs.” All those nights her mother spent with men in clubs had come to some
good, Cara thought. At least her mother had been good to Beth Ann.
“And I miss Serena…so…much.” Tears welled in her eyes, and
Cara’s heart ached for her. “Can I call her one time?” Beth Ann pushed up onto
her elbows. “I could use the phone in Rosie’s kitchen. Just for three minutes.
Please?”
“You might slip and say something about where we are and Serena
might slip and talk to Grandma Price or your father.”
“We won’t. We’re good at secrets. Please,
please.
” The agony in her daughter’s face was almost more than Cara
could bear. Beth Ann had lost so much already. She was so vulnerable, so shut
down, unable to talk with Cara about what had happened.
What could it hurt? One three-minute call
on a stranger’s phone?
“We can’t risk it.” The domestic violence counselor had told
her of women who’d made one quick phone call home and been caught. If Cara let
Beth Ann break the rule once, her daughter would push for more. Better safe than
sorry.
Before they left Barstow, she’d broken apart their cell phones
and thrown the pieces in different Dumpsters because of the GPS locators. She’d
closed out their email accounts, too.
“You’re mean.” Beth Ann flopped back into the pillow, angry
now.
“I’m keeping us safe.” Beth Ann didn’t understand the extent of
the danger. Barrett was a family lawyer. He hired investigators all the time.
His wealthy mother would spare no expense in helping him track Cara down.
P.I.s had access to all kinds of databases and tricky ways to
glean information. Barrett had once crowed that he’d located a deadbeat dad
through the man’s subscription to a hunting magazine.
She couldn’t take a chance. They had to stay invisible.
“Remember what we agreed. If you have to tell anyone where we’re moving, say
Denver, okay?”
Cara should have told Rosie that right off. People in small
towns were nosy and Cara had roused Rosie’s curiosity by evading her
questions.
She sighed and reached for the cord to close the blinds. Out
the window, she saw Jonah sitting on a wooden swing on his deck. A black cat
stalked toward him.
“Look at that,” she said, pointing. “A cat’s sneaking up to
Jonah.”
Beth Ann turned her body to look out the window.
“Jonah’s pretending not to notice.” He stared steadily
ahead.
The cat slinked up until its head was under Jonah’s dangling
hand. Without looking, he scratched the cat. From here, she could see he was
smiling. Cara felt a rush of tenderness.
“Do you think I can pet the cat?” Beth Ann asked.
“You can ask Jonah tomorrow.” She dropped the blinds, then
gazed at her daughter, who still seemed nervous. “Would you rather sleep with
me?”
Beth Ann took a deep breath and made herself be brave. “No,
thanks.”
It broke Cara’s heart every time her daughter refused her
comfort. She’d never forget when Beth Ann visited the hospital after Cara came
out of the coma. Cara had held out her arms and Beth Ann had backed away.
Losing her daughter’s trust felt worse to Cara than nearly
dying.
“If you change your mind, I’m next door.” She shut off the
reading light. The peace sign sent a golden glow from the doorway.
“Jonah’s kind of grouchy,” Beth Ann said. “Maybe he won’t let
me pet the cat.”
“I bet he will. He put in the night-light for you.”
“He did?”
“So you could see your way to the bathroom. And he made sure
you had this lamp to read by.”
“So he’s grouchy, but nice.”
“Mostly nice, I think.”
“I like the light.”
“You can tell him tomorrow. When you ask about the cat.”
“Okay.” She sounded calm now, thanks to Jonah’s thoughtfulness.
“Good night, Mom.”
“Good night, sweetheart.”
Back in her room, Cara undressed and got into the bed Jonah had
slept in as a kid.
When their father had his
troubles.
With alcohol, she assumed. And Jonah had been through
something awful related to children based on what Rosie had started to say. Had
he and his wife been unable to have any? Had he lost custody?
Not her business at all, but she couldn’t help being
curious.
Cara closed her eyes. She needed all the sleep she could get if
she was to start work at five. She was glad, really. Staying busy slowed the
churn of dread and panic in her head. Working at the café had distracted her
from her troubles. For those hours, she’d felt more herself. She enjoyed meeting
the customers, tracking orders, juggling tasks, timing her moves so no one
waited too long for a refill or their tab.
She turned onto her side, hoping to fall right to sleep. Five
o’clock came early.
What about Barrett?
He would go to Cara’s mother, of course, where he knew they
were staying. Her mother would tell him anything she knew. She’d thought Barrett
walked on water from the moment they met, when Cara was sixteen. He was the
attorney who convinced her mother’s unstable boyfriend to leave the state.
Her mother believed Cara had exaggerated Barrett’s behavior,
that Cara’s injury had been an accident. But then Deborah Price believed men
over women, even to her own detriment. Or her daughter’s.
The betrayal hurt all the same.
Cara would have expected it from Barrett’s mother. Alice Warner
had despised her from the beginning. The punitive prenuptial agreement she’d
insisted on should have been a clue, but Cara had been too blinded by love to
realize it. She would never forgive herself for being so trusting, so naive.
The divorce attorney Alice had hired had kept child support as
low as possible. Alice had offered a “supplement,” as long as Cara and Beth Ann
moved into her guesthouse and complied with her “house rules.” She was building
a case to win custody of Beth Ann, Cara realized.
The worst blow of all, the most outrageous, was that Barrett
had won supervised visitation rights with Beth Ann when he was released.
The judge’s rationale was that Barrett had never harmed or
threatened Beth Ann or struck Cara in Beth Ann’s presence. So, in theory, Cara
was breaking the law by keeping Beth Ann away from him.
As soon as she could save the money, Cara would hire an
attorney to reverse that decision, but that was down the road.
Cara’s mother would help Barrett however she could, Cara knew.
She had told her mother nothing of their plans, simply packed up, traded
Barrett’s BMW for her mother’s sedan, said goodbye and driven off.
What if her mother had overheard a phone call with the domestic
violence counselor or peeked at Cara’s laptop’s browser history? She’d tell
Barrett. What if he was on his way here?
The thought burned through her.
They were sitting ducks, trapped here, just off the highway,
with a broken car. She gulped air and sat up, dripping with sweat, scared out of
her mind. She felt small and helpless, like the mouse she’d been in the
marriage.
Cara heard the whine of a saw. Looking out the window, she saw
golden light glowing from Jonah’s woodshop windows. He was working in there. It
was a peaceful thought.
What had he said to her?
You’re in good
hands.
The words had felt so right, she’d almost cried. Remembering
felt like a cool cloth on a hot forehead.
She lay back down. Barrett couldn’t know they were here. The
shelter expected her sometime this week, so there was no urgency there. She’d
already made over a hundred bucks, which would help pay for the car.
You’re in good hands.
Her muscles
loosened, her mind let go, and the next thing she knew her travel alarm was
giving out its high-pitched beep.
She dressed in stretchy capris, a cool yellow blouse and
comfortable sandals, peeked in on her sleeping daughter, then followed the smell
of coffee to the kitchen.
“Left you a mug’s worth,” Rosie said, not looking up from her
paper.
Cara filled the rooster-shaped mug Rosie had set out for her
and took a sip.
“Paper guy told me Rusty’s still not back from the bachelor
party,” Rosie said, sipping from a matching mug. “Long drive from Yuma.”
“That’s not good.”
“I don’t know. You’ll get a better price tomorrow. People with
hangovers want someone to pay.”
Her stomach burned. Another delay. Another day’s wait and she
still didn’t know how much it would cost to fix.
Rosie leveled her gaze at Cara. “You’ve got your troubles.
That’s clear. I’ve been there. Like I said, I was swirling the drain when Eddie
hauled me up.”
Her words caught Cara short. She sucked in a breath, nervous
about what Rosie had guessed about their situation. Would she tell anyone? The
police? Barrett, if he showed up? Or an investigator he sent?
“I’ll pay cash under the table and you can live here free.
That’s the deal.”
“That’s very kind of you, Rosie, but as I explained—”
“You’ve got a mysterious job in some secret city. Right.”
“Denver. It’s not a secret. And I do have a job. No
mystery.”
“Doing what?”
“Secretarial.” She wasn’t sure, but it was a good guess.
Rosie looked at her the way her grandmother would have—not
buying it, but not minding the lie. “A job in the hand is worth one in the weeds
any day. We both know that.”
“I appreciate that. I do, but—”
“I can keep my mouth shut when it counts, if that’s your
worry.”
“I’m sure you can, I just—”
“Think about it. That’s all I ask.” She went back to her
paper.
“I will.” Cara gulped the coffee, rinsed the cup and started to
go.
“There are a hell of a lot of strawberries in the fridge.”
“I got carried away, I guess.” She’d had so much fun in the
garden she’d lost track of all she’d harvested.
“You going to let them rot in there?”
“I thought I’d make French toast in the café and use them.
Jonah said no.”
“Your French toast any good?”
“Very. Plus, baked goods have a big profit margin.”
“Is that so?”
“The lady who owned the diner where I worked told me that.”
“Then get down there and get toasting.”
“But Jonah said—”
“Hell’s bells, he’s all bark and no bite. Go down there and
tell him that junk about profit margin. Stand up for yourself.”
“Okay. I will.”
“Good. And remind him my sink needs fixing.”
“Will do.” She grabbed the gigantic bowl of sugared berries
from the fridge and left. She liked Rosie. She’d taken the same tone that her
grandmother would have. Her grandmother had overcome tough times, too. She’d
been poor, done most of the raising of her five younger siblings, but she’d
plowed ahead, no matter what. She knew who she was and what she wanted. Cara
wished she were more like her grandmother. And Rosie, for that matter.
Rosie’s offer was tempting, it was true. The Phoenix job would
be minimum wage, so it would take forever to save for new IDs and legal help.
And being around Rosie felt reassuring.