Gilt Hollow (17 page)

M
rs. Innes pulled her tiny yellow eco car into the driveway of Keller House and stopped behind a painter's van. Before Willow could even open the passenger door, her mom flew down the porch stairs with her zebra-striped dreads streaming behind her.

“Sweetie, are you all right? The nurse called. I was so worried!”

“She's fine, Mrs. Lamott,” Mrs. Innes reassured as Willow climbed out.

“What happened? The message only said she collapsed at a pep rally.”

Willow walked around the front of the car, working to disguise the way her bruised knees caused her to limp. “I'm fine now. It was a panic attack.” She leaned into her mom and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, inhaling her familiar scent of lilac and herbs.

Mrs. Innes propped her bent elbow on the open window and winked. “I think it helped that a cute boy came to the rescue.”

“Really?” Mom gave Willow's arm a squeeze and asked, “Who's that?”

“Um . . .” Willow needed to change the subject . . . or did she? Maybe if her mom heard something good about Ashton, it would improve her opinion of him. “It was Ashton, Mom.”

Willow felt her mom stiffen, but before she could respond, Mrs. Innes gushed, “You should've seen him! He held her in his arms and talked her through it. It was like they were the only two people in the world.”

She let out a dreamy sigh, and that's when Willow remembered Mrs. Innes and her husband were new to Gilt Hollow. As part of the staff, she had to have heard the rumors about Ashton, but she hadn't let them cloud her opinion of him, making her Willow's favorite teacher of all time.

Willow faced her mom. “He remembered the breathing techniques and the panic script the doctor gave me right after Dad passed away. I was on the verge of passing out, but he pulled me back from the edge.”

Her mom's lips tilted in a mechanical smile. “I'm just glad you're all right.” She turned to Mrs. Innes. “Thanks so much for bringing her home.”

Willow and her mom waved as Mrs. Innes drove away, then looped their arms around each other's waists and walked back to the house in silence. Wood-and-metal scaffolding was set up on two sides of the house. Men in white uniforms worked like busy little ants, painting and repairing siding. One even dangled from a harness from the third-floor turret, welding the iron railing of the widow's walk. The dizzying height sent tingles down Willow's spine, and she looked away. She'd always been terrified of heights.

They mounted the porch stairs, skipping the broken step in tandem. Inside, Willow put down her book bag in the foyer and looked up at the grimy, cobweb-covered chandelier, unable to meet her mother's eyes. “If we get permission to have the Halloween party here, let's not dust that.”

When her mom didn't respond, Willow lowered her gaze. Arms crossed over her narrow chest, jaw set, brows slightly arched, Dee Lamott gave Willow the
mom look
. Willow swallowed. Her mom had asked her to stay away from Ashton, and Willow had done the exact opposite. Maybe it was time to come clean.

Mom held out her hand. “Let's make some tea and have a chat.”

Perched on a stool at the kitchen bar, her hands wrapped around a steaming mug of chamomile, Willow struggled with how to begin. After Mom agreed to let her talk without interruptions, Willow decided on a selective truth. Some things, like Ashton breaking into the house, would only freak her mom out. So she started with how Ashton had been sleeping in the tree house because he had nowhere else to stay, and how he'd given his parole officer this address as his place of residence. When she got to the part where she'd told him he could sleep in a third-floor bedroom, Mom sucked in a breath and gripped her mug until her knuckles turned white, but she remained silent.

“He wanted to ask for your permission to stay here, but I kind of talked him out of it.” Willow took a slow sip of tea and watched her mom bite her lip, her cheeks flaming. She rushed ahead to explain. “I knew what you would say, and I couldn't kick him out of his own house. I couldn't let you do it either.”

Mom opened her mouth, shut it, and then opened it again.

Willow hated arguing with her, but this confrontation had been coming for weeks. Mentally bracing herself, she sighed, “Go ahead.”

Mom shook her head and set down her cup, but instead of lashing out, her eyes liquefied. “You're just like your father. Always standing up for the underdog.”

Underdog
wasn't a label Willow would ever assign to Ashton Keller. Gothic hero perhaps. Or dark champion. But what did that make her in the story? The maiden? The nurturer? No, thank you. Maybe a crusader . . . like Dad.

Mom gasped as if realizing something. “He's our Pop-Tart-eating ghost.” She glanced at the open doorway to the den where Rainn's cartoons were blasting, punctuated by his occasional laughter. “Does your brother know?”

“No! No one knows. Not even Lisa.”

“What about Ashton's parents? I know they weren't the closest family, but why didn't he go to them?”

Willow shook her head. “They disowned him. He hasn't heard from them since his conviction.”

“At all?” Mom's eyes flew wide. “He was fourteen years old!”

Which brought up another uncomfortable subject. “Mom, what happened to the letters I wrote to Ashton?”

Her mom's face froze, giving Willow the answer she'd expected. But she wanted to know why. “I don't understand. Why would you do something so horrible?”

“Willow, I'm sorry, but it wasn't your job to support him. That should've been his family's responsibility.” She crossed her arms and stared up at the ceiling. “I thought cutting off your communication was the right thing to do . . . I was trying to protect you.” She lowered her gaze, her eyes pleading for understanding.

Willow looked away, her fingernails digging deep into the flesh of her palms as she tried to maintain control. Picturing Ashton locked up and alone . . . year after year . . . thinking no one believed in him or cared what happened to him, made her heart ache. He'd always been a protector, but who was protecting him?

Pushing down her anger, Willow realized this was an opportunity to bargain. She leveled determined eyes on her mother. “Ashton has no one. And you kept us apart all these years. This is your chance to make that up to him. Do the right thing and let him stay here.”

Mom turned and stared out the kitchen window, watching the workers as they gathered their things for the evening. When she spoke, her voice was barely audible. “I can't. I'm the only one watching out for you and your brother now. I can't allow someone I don't trust to stay under the same roof with you.”

“I bet Pastor Justin would encourage Christian charity.”

Mom glared and crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Leave him out of this.”

Her double standard of secret keeping lit a fire in Willow. “Why don't you like Ashton, Mom? He served time for something he didn't even do!”

“How can you know that?”

“Because I
know
him.” Willow shot to her feet. “Unlike you! You've never trusted him. Even when we were kids. Why? What did he ever do to you?”

Rainn appeared in the doorway, eyes darting between the two of them. “Why are you guys yelling?”

Mom crossed the kitchen. “Honey, everything's fine. Your sister and I are just having a difference of opinion.” She ruffled his hair and smiled. “Why don't you head to your room and start your homework?”

“All right,” he whined, his mouth twisting in a grimace before he stomped down the hall.

Mom came back and slid onto the stool across the bar. Willow took a gulp of tepid tea and waited for her mother to answer her question. “Why?”

“At first, it was more of an instinct. I didn't like the way you changed when you were with him.” A small smile lifted her lips. “My little type A, structure-loving daughter became a wild thing. Do you remember when you came home with night crawlers slithering through your fingers, mud caked in your hair?”

Willow nodded. She and Ash had gone on a mission to dig up bait for fishing the next day, and she'd wanted to gross her mom out by bringing the worms into the house.

“Your dad said it was good for you. That Ashton helped you release your inhibitions and just be a kid. But it was more than that. Once Ashton came into your life, he was all you talked about, the only person you wanted to spend time with. It felt almost unnatural, the way you two bonded. Like . . .” She shrugged and looked away. “Like you imprinted on each other or something.”

Willow could tell there was more. So she waited, her shoulders tensed as she braced for some horrid revelation—whatever Ashton had done that convinced her open-minded, peace-loving mother to distrust a little boy. But she wasn't prepared for what she heard.

“One night before a trip to the zoo, Ashton spent the night on our sofa. I had a nightmare about you . . . a dark force hovered near you. You were in danger.”

“Momm,” Willow groaned.

“Honey, you know I believe in spiritual dreams, and this one was unmistakable. When I got up to check on you, Ashton wasn't on the couch. I looked everywhere before I found him.” One side of her mouth dipped down and she swallowed. “He was in your room, sitting on the edge of your bed, watching you sleep.”

Ashton was watching me sleep?
Willow's jaw had fallen open, so she snapped it shut. That didn't sound like him at all. She thought back to the zoo trip. Ashton would have been around twelve years old. “He was probably going to wake me up or something. He's always had insomnia. Too much energy.”

“But the way he was looking at you, Willow. It was
almost . . . possessive. I didn't like it.” She took a slow sip of tea. “I felt like I was losing you to him.”

“So you tried to separate us all of these years because a stupid dream made you question a twelve-year-old boy's intentions?” Willow's voice had risen again, but she didn't care.

“It was more than that, Willow. A thousand tiny things that set off my maternal instincts. When he was convicted, it confirmed my suspicions.” Mom's lips pressed together and she lifted her chin. “I'm sorry. I did what I thought was right. Which is what I'm doing now too.” She stood, her back rigid. “He can't stay here, Willow.”

“But this is
his
house!” Willow shot to her feet. “He inherits it in less than three years!” When Ashton's grandfather left him the house, it had been a big deal. Ashton had seen it as the key to independence from his parents while still maintaining a connection with the grandparents he'd loved. But his father had not been pleased, and it had driven an even bigger wedge between them.

“Not right now, it isn't,” Mom insisted. “My caretaker contract gives me full legal rights to use the home as my full-time residence.”

“You don't think he could fight that if he really wanted to?”

Her brows drew together over her nose. “He wouldn't!”

A knock sounded on the front door. Willow offered to answer it, anything to escape their terrible conversation, but her mom was already halfway there.

Willow slumped over the bar and cradled her head in her palms. This discussion was not going as planned. Her mom truly believed Ashton was some sort of creeper. If studying history had taught her anything, it was that the best generals knew when to retreat. On her tiptoes, she crept across the kitchen and slunk into the hallway. Turning into a side
corridor, she opened the first narrow door. A musty smell whooshed to greet her. The back staircase had been used by servants in the Victorian age. Crooked and eerie, Willow hadn't used it since they'd moved in. But desperate times called for—

A familiar deep voice immobilized Willow midstep. “I apologize, Mrs. Lamott. I'll have my things out tonight.”

Spinning on her heel, she rushed down the corridor and into the foyer. “Ashton?” His hair stuck out on one side, his nose and cheeks ruddy, like he'd been riding his bike without a helmet. As usual.

He met Willow's gaze over the top of her mom's head. “Hi.” He lifted a hand in an awkward wave before jamming it into his pants pocket. “I stopped by to check on you, but . . . um . . . how are you?”

Willow met his deep-blue gaze and had to push down the urge to close the space between them and throw herself into his arms. Instead, she walked around the tiny barricade that was her mother and offered him a warm smile. “Other than some bruises from my fall, I'm fine. Thanks to you.”

The concrete set of his mouth relaxed a fraction, and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Plainly confused and unable to speak freely in front of her mother, he pinned Willow with a questioning gaze.

Her mother broke the tension. “Ashton, where will you stay?”

Was that concern Willow heard in her mom's tone?

Ashton ran a hand through his hair, taming the wind-tossed waves. “Well, I'm not sure. I might try to rent a room at Hersey's B&B until I can find a more permanent place. Which reminds me—I'll need to get into the garage so I can sell one of my grandfather's bikes.” His lips quirked in
a self-deprecating grin. “I doubt many people would hire me around here.”

“Sure, take whatever you need . . .”

“Thanks for everything you're doing, Mrs. Lamott.” Ashton glanced around the foyer. “The house is starting to look familiar again.”

“I'm just doing my job, but . . . thank you.” Mom tugged on the tip of one dread, twisting it in a circle; a sure sign of turmoil brewing.

Willow stared hard at the familiar lines of her mom's face. Her mouth was slightly pursed, her eyes soft, head tilted to the side. Could she be having second thoughts? And if so, how could Willow nudge her to make the right decision and let Ashton stay? “Mom, do you think Ashton could eat dinner with us? You're making quesadillas, right?”