Redemption Road (Jackson Falls #5) (14 page)

She didn’t want to do this. Didn’t want any part of it. Didn’t
want to dredge up old memories that were better left buried. But Rob MacKenzie
was a hard man to say no to. Beneath the easygoing, laid-back musician persona
he’d perfected so well lay a will of steel. Things, as he’d reminded her,
weren’t always the way they seemed.

“Fine,” she said, with an exaggerated sigh. “What do I have to
do?”

Mikey

He rapped softly on the sliding glass door. His Aunt Casey,
chopping vegetables at the kitchen island, looked up. Mikey raised a hand, and
her face lit up. She motioned for him to come in, and he slid the door
soundlessly and stepped into the kitchen. It smelled wonderful. Casey’s kitchen
always smelled wonderful. His stomach gurgled, reminding him that he hadn’t
eaten yet. “Come here!” she said, setting down her chopping knife. “Give your
auntie a hug!”

They embraced warmly, and then she held him at arm’s length and
examined him, head to toe, as if checking to make sure everything was in its
proper place. “I hear you did a pretty good job of riling up your parents.”

He rolled his eyes. “Nobody’s too impressed with me right now.”

“Have you eaten? I can whip up some breakfast for you if you’re
hungry.”

“If it’s not too much trouble.”

“When have you ever been trouble? Grab a stool and sit down. How
about a nice omelet?”

“That would be awesome.” He quietly pulled out a stool at the
kitchen island and perched on it. “You alone?”

“Right now, I am.” She wiped her hands on her apron, opened the
fridge, and took out a carton of eggs. “The baby’s asleep, Paige is at school,
and Rob had to run to Portland to pick up some new electronic toy he couldn’t
live another moment without.”

Mikey relaxed a little. He and Paige hadn’t spoken since the first
day he came home, and he didn’t want her to think he was stalking her, even if
he was going nuts waiting for some kind of response from her. He also wasn’t
too keen on the idea of coming face to face with her father. He had a great
deal on his mind, and a lot of it had to do with Paige. Sometimes, he thought her
father could see right through him. Read his mind. If Rob knew what he was
thinking right now, his ass would be grass, and Rob would be the lawnmower.

He watched Casey crack three eggs into a skillet. He loved to
watch her cook. She put so much of herself into it, and the end result was
always worth the wait. When he was a kid, a visit from Aunt Casey was a special
event. He’d loved her, deeply and with his entire heart, for as long as he
could remember. She was the one he came to when he couldn’t talk to his dad,
the one he came to when he needed to feel good about himself and the world. Casey
always spoke her mind, and she shot from the hip. But she did it with such a
natural grace and sweetness that he could never take offense. She’d told him
once, years ago, that they’d bonded when he was a newborn, that she’d taken
care of him while his mom was recuperating from childbirth. Sometimes, he
almost thought he could remember that time. Could remember her holding him,
singing to him, mothering him. But that was crazy thinking, because there was
no way he could remember being three days old.

But one thing he knew for sure: In the last ten years, Aunt Casey
had been more of a mother to him than his own mother ever had.

Talk about reading minds. “How are you and your mom getting
along?” she said, checking the egg for doneness.

“Better if you don’t ask.”

She moved smoothly to the fridge, took out a block of cheese. Unwrapped
it, sliced off a couple of strips, and threw them into the skillet. “You’re not
getting along?”

“Mom’s been pushing me to get a job.” While he watched, she
scooped up a handful of the onions and peppers she’d been chopping, and tossed
them into the skillet as well.

“Slim pickings around here,” she said.

“Yeah. I guess.”

She turned and gave him that Mom look she’d perfected, the one
that said she wasn’t about to listen to any excuses from him. It was a look he
wouldn’t have accepted from anybody else. “What does that mean, Michael Jesse
Lindstrom? You’re not looking for work?”

He squirmed a little, searched for a more comfortable position on
the stool. “No,” he said.

She checked the egg mixture again, found it to be satisfactory,
and folded it all together perfectly. “Your mother’s on a limited income,” she
said. “You do realize that?” Casey plated the omelet, set it down in front of
him, turned to the fridge and took out a jar of salsa. Plopping it down, she
said, “You at least need to help her out.”

He poured salsa on his eggs, replaced the cap on the jar. “I
didn’t realize.” But he should have. That awful car she was driving. The winter
coat that, while there was nothing wrong with it—if you didn’t mind the snow
bunny look—wasn’t her customary elegant style. Tucking into his eggs, he said,
“What happened?”

“Irv’s kids, that’s what happened. I wouldn’t have let them get away
with it. I would have stayed and fought. They threw her out of her own house. I
would’ve held my ground and not left until they came back with a court order. That’s
the difference between us, I guess. One of them.” She leaned both elbows on the
counter. “So, you’ve left school. Are you really not going back?”

“I thought it was what I wanted. I found out it isn’t.”

“That’s pretty cut and dried. Is there any particular reason you
couldn’t give it half a chance?”

He glanced up from eating, met her straightforward gaze, and
flushed. “I gave it half a chance.”

“One semester?  You barely had time to dip your big toe into the
water. How can you know that you wouldn’t have discovered something wonderful
if you’d stuck it out?”

“Now you sound like Mom.”

“We love you. We don’t want to see you make some monumental
mistake.”

“Look,” he said, “I’m eighteen. I’m an adult. I have the right to
make my own decisions.”

“Oh, honey. You think you’re so grown up, but the truth is, you’re
still wet behind the ears. We do things at eighteen that we look back at, years
later, and just shake our heads. When I was eighteen, I eloped with a man I’d
known for three days.”

“That seemed to turn out okay.”

“Oh, Danny and I loved each other. No question about it. But did
we have a good marriage? Let’s just say it had its rough spots, and leave it at
that.”

“Besides,” he said, “I’m not about to go and do something stupid.”

“That’s very good news. So what are you going to do?”

“Geez, why does everybody keep asking me that question?”

“It bears repeating. You must have dreams, goals. Things you’re
naturally drawn to.”

“You mean like you were with your music?”

“Exactly. Like your dad was drawn to teaching, and writing.”

Flatly, he said, “And like my mom was drawn to rich husbands.”

“That’s not fair. Everything I’ve seen and heard has led me to
believe she really loved Irv.”

He snorted. “And his money.”

“If she’d been there for the money, she would have fought his kids
tooth and claw to hold onto it. I think she was just so sad, so discouraged,
after Irv died, that she let them trample what was left of her spirit. And
that’s heartbreaking.”

“I’m sorry, but I have a hard time being sympathetic. She walked
out on me. I was nine years old, and she walked out on me.”

“Sweetie?  You need to forgive her.”

“That not so easy to do.”

“I understand that. But we don’t know why she did what she did. She
obviously had her reasons. Those reasons might not make sense to you and me, but
to her, they did. And she’s your mother, Mikey. She loves you.”

“Maybe I don’t give a damn about her reasons. Maybe I don’t give a
damn that she’s my mother.”

“And yet, when the chips were down, you came running to her. Why’s
that?  You could just as easily have come to me. Or Trish. But you didn’t. You
came to your mom. Don’t you think that says something?”

He squirmed, uneasy, pissed off, unable to come up with a response
that wouldn’t make him look like a hypocrite or an outright liar. Casey caught
his wrist in her hand and held it tight. “I know the truth can hurt, sweetheart.
But in the end, you’re better off getting it out into the open. Shining a light
on that truth, even though it might hurt like hell. Because denial, keeping
things in the dark, hiding your head in the sand, will destroy lives. Yours and
hers.”

“Whatever.”

“Promise me one thing. Promise me that you’ll try. That you’ll
give her a chance to be your mother. Will you do that?  Will you do it for me?”

He couldn’t remember ever being this ticked off at his aunt. She
was asking for the impossible. And what was the point?  He wouldn’t be here
that long, anyway. He’d just get his mother’s hopes up, and then he’d
disappoint her by leaving again, the way she’d disappointed him when she walked
out of his life.

It was a lose-lose situation, no matter how you looked at it.

“Fine,” he said, freeing his wrist and dropping his fork onto his
empty plate. “But when it all goes to hell, just remember that I told you so.”

Colleen

The studio door opened, and a gust of wind swept in, carrying a
thousand bejeweled particles of snow. It was followed by her sister, wrapped in
a black wool dress coat, baby cradled in her arms. She’d bundled Emma in a
quilted pink snowsuit, its hood too large, the drawstring pulled so tight that
the kid’s ruddy cheeks and wide green eyes were all that was visible. “Holy
mother of God,” Casey said, slamming the door behind her, “it’s cold out
there.”

“You keep bundling her that tight,” Colleen said, “the kid’ll
suffocate.”

“She’s breathing just fine.” Casey propped the baby on her hip and
unwrapped the scarf she’d wound over her head and around her neck.

“No thanks to you. Hi there, Miss Emma. Want to come see Auntie?”

The baby gave her a wide grin that turned her heart to mush. Colleen
got up from her chair, walked around the desk, and took the baby from her
sister. Setting Emma atop the counter that separated her work space from the
rampaging hordes, she loosened the hood and pulled it down, freeing Emma’s damp
hair. She unzipped the snowsuit and relieved her niece of the offending garment.
“Poor thing,” she said. “Mom has you wrapped tighter than a lunatic in a straightjacket.”

“It’s cold out there,” Casey said, dropping her folded scarf on
the counter.

“It is.” Colleen held the baby on her hip and eyed her sister. “I
hope you’re not looking for Rob. He’s in the middle of a recording session
right now, and he gave me strict instructions not to bother him. Something
about a torture rack and slow death by poison, if I remember correctly.”

Casey unbuttoned her coat. “I wasn’t looking for him. I was
looking for you.”

“Did you hear that, Emma?” She bounced the baby a couple of times.
“You came to visit Auntie Colleen, not Daddy.”

Wide-eyed, Emma peered past her shoulder and said, “Da?”

“Traitor. So much for familial affection. So, what’s up?”

Casey dropped her gloves on the counter and rubbed her hands
together. “I had a call from Aunt Hilda. Teddy told her you were in town, and
she wants us to come visit her.”

“Us as in you and me?”

“You got it, chickie.”

“Ugh.”

“Be nice.”

“That is being nice. I don’t even remember the last time I saw the
old bat.”

“Show a little respect. She’s Dad’s sister.”

“She raised a son who’s a scourge on humanity.”

“I can’t argue with you there. You do realize you’ve always been
her favorite?”

“No. That can’t be.”

“Would I lie about something like that?”

“She’s also a lush.”

“She’s not a lush. She just tipples a little.”

“She swills cooking sherry like it’s about to be outlawed.”

“You should meet Rob’s Uncle Seamus. Sweet and kind and lovable, and
loaded with Irish charm. Has an accent that could give Pierce Brosnan a run for
his money. I don’t think I’ve ever met him when he wasn’t falling-down drunk. Except
that he never falls. He’s like a cat in the dark. Even if he hits the catnip a
little hard, he always lands on his feet. Compared to him, Hilda’s practically
a teetotaler.”

Warily, she said, “Teddy doesn’t still live with her, does he?”

“No. He married some woman from Stratton, or maybe it was Eustis. They
built a raised ranch in one of those new housing developments across the
river.”

“Teddy actually found somebody willing to marry him?”

“I know. It boggles the imagination.”

“He must have something on her. Is she a fugitive from the law? In
witness protection? Maybe she used to be a he.”

Casey rolled her eyes and said, “You have a vivid imagination.” But
there was a smirk on her face.

“Thank you. I take that as a compliment. So I really have to do
this?”

“We can do it some evening next week. Make it short and relatively
painless. Come on, Coll. Give the poor old woman a break. She hasn’t seen you
in years.”

“Don’t tell me you socialize with her.”

“Not really, but she and Teddy came to my wedding. And after Emma
was born, Hilda crocheted her a lovely afghan. She means well. It’s not her
fault Teddy turned out to be a mutant.”

“Well, whose fault is it? Surely not poor, sweet Uncle Buster’s.”

“Maybe that’s part of the problem. Uncle Buster was so sweet, and
so—”

“Invisible?”

“—ineffectual, and Hilda so clearly wore the pants in the family. Something
royally screwed Teddy up.”

“Maybe it was all those drugs he did as a teenager.”

“Teddy did drugs?”

“Jesus, Casey, don’t be so naïve. Teddy smoked dope like there was
no tomorrow. God only knows what else he did.”

Casey raised her eyebrows. “I am not naïve. And you know this
because?”

“I know it because I used to smoke dope with him.”

Her sister let out a monumental sigh. “You realize that’s not the
answer I was hoping for.”

“Too late to do anything about it now. Don’t worry, I haven’t
touched that stuff in years. And don’t tell me you never—”

Casey shook her head vehemently. “Never.”

“Seriously. Ever?”

“That’s what I just told you.”

“How the hell did you manage to survive all those years in the
music industry without at least trying drugs?  They must have been all around
you, all the time.”

“I just never had any interest. And I had strict household rules. Nobody
used drugs on my property. Not if I knew anything about it.”

“Wow. Only you could say that and mean it. My sister, little miss
goody-two-shoes.”

“I am not a goody-two-shoes. I am, however, enjoying the irony of knowing
that Teddy, who did a ton of illegal drugs when he was a kid, is now a cop,
arresting other people’s kids for doing illegal drugs. There’s something in me
that likes the circularity of that.”

“Circle of life, baby.”

“So you’ll do this?  You’ll go with me to visit Aunt Hilda?”

“What do you think, Emma?” She juggled the baby on her hip. “Should
Auntie go to visit that mean old woman?”

“Colleen…”

“Fine. It doesn’t sound like I have a choice. So, yes, I’ll go
with you. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”