Sins That Haunt (7 page)

“That's fine, Josh. Can I just have the stew with the house red?”

“Sure thing,” he said, beaming at her order.

The man obviously loved to cook and she wasn't about to disappoint him by not ordering the house special. Twenty minutes later she
wasn't
disappointed. Heaven in a bowl, there was a reason stew was comfort food. She, contrary to what people thought, loved to eat. Whenever she'd attended a conference it was Shannon who sought out the best restaurants in the city; not just the high-end locations but also the dives locals said were the best whatever. Once, in Atlanta, the chef at Empire State South had allowed her to tour the kitchen. It had been the highlight of the trip. Not that she'd told anyone. Everyone had secrets, she more than others. But wishing she could cook, the urge to wear an apron and cook food, that would give her the same satisfaction as eating Josh's stew, was her biggest secret.

“How was it?” Josh asked.

“Can I have more bread?” she answered, wagging her eyebrows. Nothing said
I love it
like sopping up the gravy.

He fetched another basket of fresh buns and poured her more wine. At the end of the meal she returned upstairs stuffed and woozy from her second glass of wine and lack of sleep. The sun had finally set and the room was pitched in darkness. Crawling into bed, she pretended she was back in Vegas and fell asleep.

S
hannon woke with a start and instantly realized she wasn't in her own bed. For starters, she saw the sun. And, more importantly, she could smell something deliciously sweet. The guys were at it again. She glanced at her phone. Seven a.m. She remembered reading they served two breakfasts on Sunday, one before service, one after. Which meant the locals popped by to eat. As she didn't feel like being trapped in her room all day, she showered and decided to disappear until it was safe to return. Problem was, where to?

Once in her car she just drove, and when she'd stopped, she surprised herself. The familiar dilapidated office stood where it always had, at the entrance to her old trailer park. She could blame it on automatic pilot, her brain remembering the route to what had once been home, but she'd left Tweedsmuir long before she had her license. Closure. That was it.

Most of the people who'd lived here were good, honest folks. Unlike JJ. So she never wanted to say she was better than this place. That would make her as bad as the good townspeople calling her trash. Not having money didn't make you less worthy. Oh, they'd pretended to be the good Christian people Reverend Hopewell had beseeched them to be. But the glares they threw her way when she and Maggie hung out, the disapproving shakes of their heads, the way they'd ask Maggie if her father knew where she was, said otherwise. Like being with Shannon was breaking a rule.

Sure, once in a while she and Maggie got into trouble, but it was nothing other kids didn't do. Only it
was
Maggie, and she was spending time with
that
girl. Of course it never helped when JJ blew into town with loud cars and bad spending. Maybe if he hadn't acted like some big shot, the townspeople wouldn't have gossiped about where he'd gotten his money and why he wasn't using it to take care of his family. She'd wanted to tell the good people of Tweedsmuir that JJ just didn't give a damn. She'd wanted to tell JJ to go to hell. But her mother hated confrontation. She grew very agitated at the slightest disturbance. The woman didn't have much, including her sanity so Shannon kept the peace and always went along quietly with JJ, her mother oblivious to what the man made Shannon do.

She got out of the car, her shoes crunching on the stone driveway leading up to Wilbur's, the old guy who used to run the place. Maggie had learned he'd packed it up and moved to Florida with his daughter. She opened the screen door, but no one was inside. The park was quiet, people either in church or hung over from the night before. It was like that here: the good and those that didn't give a shit.

Her mother no longer lived in the trailer park. Years earlier, Shannon had arranged to move her to a complex in a great community just outside of Boston. There were nurses on staff and they would report back to Mrs. Hopewell should her mom go off her meds. Even the money she wired for her care went through Maggie's mom. Emma Lewis lived in her own little world, one with JJ still in it. Shannon had no idea why the son of a bitch hadn't left the poor woman alone.

Occasionally, Shannon tried to make her understand JJ was poison, but either because of the medication or something else, she wouldn't or couldn't see it. And getting upset served no purpose. Besides not being able to see her daughter, her mom saw life through a rose-colored kaleidoscope. Calling only served to agitate her. Except for paying the bills, Shannon cut ties.

As a kid, she'd seen her mother off her medication more than once. Shannon hadn't realized the severity of her mother's disease until the first time she'd gone off them. The doctors believed drug use in her teens played a part; there was no history of mental illness in the family. But whatever the reason, the woman had to stay medicated or risk another psychotic episode. And JJ understood only too well that prescription drugs required money. Now, with the man dead, Shannon guessed she could finally visit. It was an odd feeling, like a prison term at last over and done with.

The three trailers to her right she didn't recognize. Either her neighbors had moved on or passed on. Mrs. Miller was eighty when she lived here, and Mr. Sicero well into his seventies. He used to give her caramels. Shannon always had her suspicions about those two. Had they found happiness with each other? She hoped so.

At the end of the long path and to the left was the dump where she'd grown up. Someone had given it a fresh coat of paint and it looked as if an attempt at landscaping was on its way. She assumed her mother'd had the common sense to sell their trailer. It had been the one detail of their life together Shannon wanted no part of. Next to it was old man Bench's place. Did he still live here? To a kid, he'd been a crazy fart who never bathed but was always there to make her smile.

On an old milk crate a few feet from the front door sat a little blond kid with curls bigger than her head. In her hands was a dirty rag doll, by her feet a carriage that had seen better days. On hearing footsteps, big brown eyes shot up. She visibly relaxed when she saw Shannon, then returned to playing with her doll. Who had she been expecting?

“Hi,” Shannon said.

The child didn't answer but instead began to quietly hum . . . as if purposely shutting her out. Struck by an odd sense of déjà vu, Shannon shivered. The kid couldn't be more than seven, eight tops. Perhaps she should go back before she freaked the tyke out.

She really had no interest in seeing the trailer. The memories she had of it weren't worth reminiscing about. And maybe the little girl and the stupid song reminded her of when she'd sat out here, alone, playing with whatever new toy JJ had bribed her with. Honestly, it might have been the echoes of the countless unheard wishes, whispered by a girl who desperately wanted to escape, but whatever it was, Shannon found herself knocking on the front door.

When she got no answer, she knocked again, not surprised but still disappointed no one was home. Not for herself, but for the little girl, sitting alone. She turned to find the kid staring at her. “Hey, is your mom home? Maybe she's sleeping?” It was Sunday, although she doubted whoever lived here was a nine-to-five, weekends-off kind of person.

The little girl shook her head, exactly as expected. You didn't leave children this young alone, but if you couldn't afford a sitter or there was none, you didn't have much of a choice if you wanted to feed them. Hopefully that would be the worst of it. She grabbed the second milk crate and sat near but not close enough to frighten her. “I'm Shannon. I used to live here.”

She didn't appear skittish, which meant she was used to being left alone and probably had a strong independent streak. She'd need one.

“I'm Leah and I'm not supposed to talk to strangers.”

“True enough. But I bet you're not supposed to be out here either.”

Leah shrugged her tiny shoulders. “No one ever comes around in the mornings. You're not going to tell my mom, are you?” she asked, suddenly panicked.

“I don't know who she is. So,” she indicated the trailer twenty yards away, “who lives in that one? When I was a kid it was Mr. Bench.” Then she lowered her voice. “We used to call him Mr. Stench, on account of he stank.”

Leah giggled. “I guess not anymore.”

“Wow, no kidding? And he still lives here?” The man could never remember her name or which trailer was hers so there was no chance he'd place her now.

“He told me he got married last year and she makes him take a bath. They went to church this morning. She's a nice old lady. I get to have lunch with them today.”

“They watch you when your mom works?” She recalled Mr. Stench used to help her mom too, but the guy made it hard to eat Cheerios when garbage smelled better.

Leah nodded. “I'm supposed to stay in the trailer when they're out and Momma's working. You're not going to tell?”

“No. But why don't you go watch TV or something?”

“It broke when we moved here. Momma says maybe next month we'll get a new one. When her check comes.”

Shannon had noticed a satellite dish on the trailer. TV was a luxury item but at the same time a necessity when no babysitter could be found. “Where does she work?”

“You said you weren't going to tell her,” she said, once again nervous.

“And I won't. I'm just making small talk. I live in Las Vegas. You ever heard of Vegas?”

“No. I live here now. Momma works at Captain Tony's. She's a waitress, but on Sunday she cooks. On account of the captain being sick on Sundays.”

“
Every
Sunday?”

“So far. She's supposed to work every Sunday.”

“No, I mean he's sick
every
Sunday?” That was weird.

Leah nodded, her curls bobbing up and down. “That's what Momma says. A bottle makes him sick. But I don't know why he doesn't throw it away if it keeps making him sick.”

Either Leah didn't understand what her mother meant or she understood only too well. “Silly man.”

Leah agreed with another bob of her curls. “Want to see my doll?” she asked, thrusting it out. “I just got it.”

Shannon took the well-loved doll, gently cradling it in her hands. “What's her name?”

“Samantha Ashley Denise.”

“That's a mouthful.”

“Mr. Bench gave her to me. He said the doll was sad and needed a friend. But sad isn't a nice name for a doll, so I changed it. She's not sad anymore.”

Sad? Ah, Samantha Ashley Denise. Smart kid. “I see. Well, you did good.”

“Yup. He said the little girl who used to own her didn't want Sad anymore. So Mr. Bench saved her for someone who did. He said if I gave her a good home maybe the other little girl would be happy too.”

Shannon glanced at the doll in her hands and did a double take. No way. It was a rag doll like any other, made by the thousands. It couldn't be hers. Why would he keep it? Had her mother left it behind in the trailer when she'd moved? She lifted the tiny dress, and there around the sewn belly button was the ink heart Shannon had drawn. She handed the doll back to Leah. “I bet you he was right, especially if you've taken really good care of her.”

“I have.”

And here she'd thought she'd been so clever, hiding her misery for no one except Maggie to see. She guessed the crazy old coot wasn't so crazy after all. Had he known what JJ was making her do? She and her mom would go through periods when her mother's assistance barely fed them. Then JJ would show up and take Shannon on a “trip.” She'd return to a fully stocked trailer and new toys in her room. As she got older and the cons more elaborate, JJ would buy her fashionable clothes, jewelry even. On occasion he'd given her a loaded credit card for groceries and anything else they'd need. Bribes, payment, insuring her silence, call it what you like. Shannon knew it for what it was—blackmail. Help him or she and her mother would starve and who knew what else.

The sound of two people arguing stopped her miserable walk down memory lane.

“It's Mr. and Mrs. Bench,” Leah whispered conspiratorially. “Momma says they argue after church. I gotta stop them. Momma says God doesn't like fighting.” Then the little girl ran down the tree-lined path to meet up with the Benches.

Shannon took off in the opposite direction. If he'd kept her doll, he might remember her. Clearly she'd read him wrong and he'd been aware of more than she'd figured. She dashed off into the bushes just as she heard, “God don't give a hoot if I'm gassy in church. Get off my back, woman.”

She managed to make it back to her car without being seen. As it was too cool for swimming, Shannon headed to the old quarry, certain she'd be alone. From town it was a thirty-five-minute walk, from her trailer park fifteen, and just down the street from the cemetery. On a hot summer day it had felt like forever. On occasion they'd been able to convince one of the older boys to drive them as long as they promised not to tell Reverend Hopewell about the drinking and make-out sessions. Her mother hadn't been fond of the quarry for her own reasons. She herself couldn't swim and feared her only daughter would drown.

Shannon parked in the lot where they'd once kept machinery. The pit hadn't seen dump trucks for at least thirty years, but the rain had made one very cool swimming hole. She got out and walked the rest of the way. The empty beer cans along the path told her kids still used the place to do what kids did behind their parents' back. She sat down on one of the larger boulders just as four ducks flew in for a dip. As they swam, occasionally dipping their bills into the water, she was reminded of all the times she and Maggie had swum here . . . and Noah of course. Maggie had been a good sport about him tagging along. Then there was the time she and Noah had been alone.

Damn; she hadn't come to reminisce. It was ancient history. They'd changed on so many levels she couldn't fathom it. She was no longer JJ Lewis's daughter, the girl everyone thought wasn't good enough for the town's golden boy. And he . . . he was an ass.

To think she'd considered herself the luckiest girl on the planet. The richest, smartest, and best-looking boy in school wanted her. He'd fallen in love with her. Well, as much as a teenager was capable of love. He'd been so perfect. Even his family hadn't shunned her. Not to her face anyway. It had killed her to leave him behind. But what was she supposed to do? Ask him to run away with her? To give up the education his parents had planned, the future everyone knew was bright and full of opportunity?

She didn't know if he was happy or whether he loved his career, but it didn't matter. It might have been fun for a while, but Noah had a family, one that loved him. He couldn't cut ties with them, nor could she ask that they keep her secret without revealing why she didn't want JJ to find her. He may think her a selfish bitch—and part of her was—but Noah was better off without her. She'd told herself that for years. And kept telling herself every time she thought of him.