Redemption Road: Jackson Falls Book 5 (Jackson Falls Series) Page 12

  “Nice to not have to worry about where your next meal is coming from.”

  “Yeah, well, your sister and I have been there.”

  “So have I.” She held out a hand. “Let me take a look at it. I’ll see what I can do.”

  He hesitated, then said, “If you make it any worse than it already is, it might be incurable.”

  “I think I can handle it. I have a business degree. I minored in accounting.”

  His mouth fell open. “You have a college degree?”

  The hackles instantly rose on the back of her neck. “Is that such a stretch? Is it so hard to believe I could complete a college degree?”

  “Are you kidding? Right now, I want to get down on my knees and kiss your feet.”

  She drew in her claws. “Well, don’t go overboard. It’s not any fancy MBA. Just a basic Bachelor’s degree from a community college in Florida. But I should be able to handle your books.”

  “You do that, you’re getting a raise. A big one. Look, I know you’re bored here, and way overqualified for the job. And things are slow right now. But they’ll eventually pick up. We’re still in start-up mode, and—”

  She ticked her fingernails against her coffee mug. “Short-term employee,” she reminded him. “Three months. Gone by spring.”

  “It’s a damn shame. I think the world of Ali. She’s cute, she’s perky, she’s personable. Great receptionist. People love her. But she’s also a little ditzy. Drifty. I know, I’m not one to talk. I’ve been known to cover that territory myself a time or two. But I’d kind of hoped to find an assistant with those organizational skills that I’m missing. She’s a good kid, and I’m a softie. I haven’t had the heart to tell her it’s not really working out.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah. Me, too. Listen, there’s something I’m hoping you can help me with.” He perched on the corner of the desk, set down the ledger, stacked the papers on top of it. “We’re having the Saturday-night get-together at our house this weekend.” He opened the lid to the doughnut box. “I’d like you to be there.”

  “Oh, goody. Does this fall under other duties as assigned?”

  “You know,” he said, studying the doughnuts with the same intensity some men would employ to choose a diamond ring, “sometimes you’re more like your sister than either of you wants to admit.” He chose a sticky glazed doughnut from the box and dropped the lid back into place. “You have that same sassy mouth. If you’re not careful, it’ll get you into trouble one of these days.”

  Dryly, she said, “I’ll try to keep that in mind. So what is it you want from me?”

  He took a bite of doughnut, chewed, swallowed. “I heard a rumor that back in the day, you and my wife used to sing together. In front of audiences.”

  She snorted. “If you could call it that. My mother dressed us up in these hideous matching outfits and dragged us around to church suppers and nursing homes.”

  He studied his doughnut with intense interest. “I hear you were pretty damn good.”

  “That’s ancient history. Why are you digging it up now?”

  “I bought a Karaoke machine. I want you to sing with my wife on Saturday night.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me.”

  “Why, for the love of God?”

  “Because Casey’s my wife and I love her, and she’s beautiful and talented and she deserves to be heard.”

  “Maybe she doesn’t want to be heard.”

  “Bullshit. Everybody wants to be heard. We humans crave attention. We starve without it. When we have that kind of talent, we have an inborn need to share it.”

  “So why isn’t she out in the world, making hit records?”

  “I bet you didn’t know that she sang backup vocals—anonymously, of course—on most of Danny’s albums.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “This I did not know.”

  “I’ve been trying for years to get her onstage. Will you help me?”

  Colleen drummed her fingernails on the desk. “What makes you think I don’t have stage fright?”

  “Because you’re brassy and bold and utterly fearless.”

  “And you base this on having known me for what—two weeks?”

  “I’m a good judge of character. I also know that things aren’t always the way they seem. Sometimes, there’s more going on than people see.”

  “What are you trying to say?”

  “Nobody’s all good or all bad. You claim to be the black sheep. But I see a lot of good in you.”

  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.”