Redemption Road (Jackson Falls #5) (6 page)

Colleen

It had been eons since she’d stepped inside the five-and-ten, and
the familiar smells of dust and fresh-popped corn immediately transported her
back to her teenage years, when she’d spent hours in here every Saturday with
her best friend, sifting through the discount bins of Cover Girl and Maybelline
and the stacks of 45 records. A wave of nostalgia washed over her, so strong
she could taste it. Unsettled, she wrestled it into submission. Nostalgic
feelings only led to trouble. Colleen raised her chin and said, “Why’d you do
that?”

Five paces ahead of her in the home goods aisle, Casey examined a
bolt of blue and green calico print fabric with a frown of concentration. “Do
what?” she said absently.

“Invite that man to supper.”

Casey looked up in surprise. “Harley?  Because he’s our friend,
that’s why.”

“I don’t like him.”

“What do you mean, you don’t like him?  You met him once. You
don’t even know him.”

“I don’t trust him. There’s just something about him. And stop
looking at me like I have two heads.”

“You’re crazy. You do realize that?”

“Right back at you,
Siss
y.”

“In the name of all that’s holy, do
not
call me Sissy. Nobody’s
called me Sissy since I was twelve. And I’d just as soon it stayed that way.” Casey
tilted her head and studied Colleen’s face. “How can you not like Harley? He’s
a great guy. Is it because he bought Dad’s place?”

“I don’t know.” Irritated, she fingered a swatch of red velvet. “Maybe.”

“Don’t you think that’s a little unfair?  Not just to Harley, but
to Dad?”

She swung around and demanded, “How’s it unfair to Dad?”

Her sister’s eyes met hers squarely. Casey said, “You moved on. Shouldn’t
he have the right to do the same?”

For an instant, all the breath left her. It was like being socked hard
in the diaphragm. She’d forgotten how bossy, how self-righteous, her sister
could be. This was a lousy time to remember why she hadn’t wanted to come here
in the first place. A lousy time to remember that whenever they were together,
they regressed to a pair of squabbling eight-year-olds. It had been that way
ever since Mama died. Before that, they’d been friends. Now, they could barely tolerate
each other.

The wave of nostalgia returned, stronger this time, accompanied by
something even worse: regret. She gathered her resolve around her like a cloak.
“It’s probably better,” she said, “if we drop the topic of Harley Atkins altogether,
and concentrate on what we came here for.”

“Fine by me.”

After that, their interaction was polite but distant as they
selected, from the limited assortment available in this rinky-dink
establishment at the far end of the earth, the household items she would need
to get her apartment up and running. Because it had been designed as temporary living
quarters for visiting musicians, the place was furnished, the bathroom stocked
with soap and towels, the closet with bed linens, the kitchen with the
essentials. But she still needed other items:  a broom and dustpan, household
cleansers, sponges and cleaning rags, a mop and bucket. A set of matching
potholders and kitchen towels to dress up the kitchen. An alarm clock for the
bedroom. Coat hangers to hold the designer clothes that would be useless here
in rural Maine. Maybe a picture or two she could hang on the walls to make the
place seem less like a hotel room.

She even picked up a winter coat and boots. Neither made a fashion
statement of any kind, but this was Maine in winter. The state might be in the
middle of a January thaw, but winter in Maine was capricious. She still had
February and March to get through, and the light jacket and Ferragamos she’d
worn from Florida just wouldn’t cut it.

She still felt like a beggar, ever cognizant of the fact that it
was her sister’s money she was spending. It might be coming from her own wallet,
but it had originated as a cash loan from Casey, taken directly from her sister’s
bank account a half-hour earlier. While she realized the loan was necessary,
and she intended to pay back every cent, it still stuck in her craw, the
knowledge that she was dependent on her sister, obligated to her in a way that
was far too discomfiting.

The trip home was mostly silent, the tension between them palpable.
Turning the car onto Ridge Road, Casey said, “Did you talk to Rob about the
job?”

“Not yet. I didn’t get a chance. He disappeared right after
breakfast.”

“But you are planning to ask him.”

“I don’t have much of a choice, do I?  I have to eat.”

“You’re not in any danger of going hungry. You know better than
that. You’re welcome to stay in our guest room indefinitely if that’s what you
want. I just thought you’d rather be independent. Maybe I was barking up the
wrong tree.” Casey wheeled the Explorer around a curve. “You know, I’m doing
this for you out of the kindness of my heart. I’m not asking you to be grateful,
but gracious would be nice.”

Like invisible spiders, the tiny beginnings of a tension headache
crawled around her temples. “Thank you,” she said stiffly. “I realize you’ve
gone out of your way to accommodate me.”

“You’re missing the point. I’m not
accommodating
you, like
you’re some stranger who got lost on a back road to nowhere. I’m helping you
out because you’re my sister, and you’re in a bind, and I love you!”

She let out a hard breath. Said, “I love you, too.” 

“Then why are we fighting?”

“We’re not fighting. I just…don’t want to be obligated to you.”

“Oh, for the love of God. You’re not obligated! If I never see a
penny of that money back, I won’t care. I’m not exactly hurting for money.”

Colleen studied her sister’s profile. “You do understand that this
is temporary?  That I won’t be staying here for long?  That once I have enough
money saved up, I’ll be leaving again?”

Casey’s mouth thinned, and her fingers tightened on the steering
wheel. “Of course. Running away seems to be your default setting.”

“Isn’t that a little like the pot calling the kettle black?”

“I didn’t run away. I got married. It’s different.”

“Oh? Just how is it different?”

“Because I didn’t run
away
from something. I ran
to
something. And I didn’t leave anybody behind.”

“That’s not the way I remember it. I seem to recall that you left
Jesse behind.”

“And you certainly took advantage of that situation, didn’t you?”

The two sisters glared at each other. It was Casey who capitulated.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I can’t imagine what made me say that.”

“You didn’t want him. I did. Why are we dredging up old wounds?”

“I don’t know. This isn’t like me. I’m usually calm and
agreeable.”

“I think maybe it’s time we called a truce, before one of us has a
stroke.”

Casey clicked the blinker switch and turned into her driveway. “You’re
right. No more squabbling. I can’t believe we’re fighting over a man neither of
us wanted, so long ago we barely remember.”

Colleen bit her tongue, hard, to keep from blurting out the truth.
It was better that nobody know. Not even her sister. Besides, she’d been lying
for so long that even she couldn’t really remember what the truth was. At
least, that was what she kept telling herself.

“You’ll talk to Rob?” Casey said, turning off the engine.

“I’ll talk to Rob. Just as soon as I get things settled.”  She
studied her sister’s face. “Are you okay?  You look pale.”

“I’m fine. Do you need help carrying your bags?”

“I can handle it.”  She examined her sister more closely. She
hadn’t seen Casey in several years, but she was still familiar enough with her
to recognize that something was a little off. “You sure?” 

“I’m sure. Maybe I’m coming down with something. There’s been a
bug going around.”

Colleen unlatched her door. “Look, I’m sorry. I really don’t want
to fight with you, and I do appreciate everything you’re doing for me. If not
for you, I’d be sleeping in my car.”

“You wouldn’t be sleeping in your car. If I wasn’t here, you’d
have gone to Bill and Trish’s house.”

“Trish hates my guts.”

“No, she doesn’t. I don’t know where you got that idea.”

“It seems pretty self-explanatory to me.”

“You know what I think?  I think you’re laboring under several
misapprehensions. But I won’t try to change your mind, because I know it’s
pointless. You’re going to have to learn the truth all by yourself.” Casey
opened her door and exited the car. Turning, she gave Colleen a last, searching
look. “I’ll see you at suppertime,” she said, and slammed the door shut.

***

She’d finished unpacking her clothes, and they now hung neatly in
the surprisingly large closet. The cleaning supplies were stored, the handful
of groceries she’d picked up at the IGA safely put away, the picture she
planned to hang lying on the kitchen table, awaiting a hammer and nails. Colleen
sat on the foot of the queen-size bed and bounced on it a couple of times. The
mattress was firm, but still had some give. Not too hard, not too soft. Like
Goldilocks, she seemed to have serendipitously hit upon the perfect place to
sleep. Except that in her case, it probably wouldn’t matter if it was
comfortable. She hadn’t slept—really, truly slept—since Irv died, and she
suspected it would take more than a comfy mattress to change that.

She glanced around the room and grimaced. The décor was tasteful,
but bland. Generic, like a hotel suite.
Home, sweet home.
If she didn’t
do something to make it hers, she’d never last those three months. Picking at the
soft chenille bedspread, Colleen sighed. The real problem wasn’t the décor. The
real problem was that she didn’t want to be here. She wanted to be home, in
Palm Beach, in her own house, with Irv. But that wasn’t possible. Irv was gone,
and life as she’d known it had come to a crashing halt. Without Irv, home no
longer existed. She’d tried to hold on for as long as she could, because
sometimes, she could still feel him there in the house, his love surrounding
her like a soft, warm blanket. But in the end, a house was just a house, given
meaning only by the bonds between the people who lived there.
Until death do
us part.
It had parted them, all right. Suddenly, inexplicably, and irrevocably.

She supposed she had to go downstairs now, track down her brother-in-law,
and ask him for a job as a glorified gofer. It wasn’t something she could put
off indefinitely. She needed to work; for each day that she spent living on a
MacKenzie grant, it would grow increasingly difficult to meet her own eyes in
the mirror. At least if she was working for Casey and Rob, she could delude
herself into believing she was earning her keep. But asking for the job would
be painful. One more thing that made her feel like a beggar. One more
mortifying hit to her self-esteem.

Colleen got up, threw on the new winter coat, and headed down the
outside staircase to the studio on the ground floor. Inside the studio, musical
notes floated on the air: a single acoustic guitar and a man’s soft voice. She
followed the sound, past the reception desk, piled high with stacks of paper
and other clutter, to the door of her brother-in-law’s office. Guitar in hand, Rob
sat on his tailbone, sneakered feet propped on the desktop and bony ankles
crossed, his fingers creating magic from those six strings. He was singing some
vaguely familiar song from her childhood, and she just stood there, mesmerized,
because she’d had no idea the man could sing like this. Danny Fiore had always been
the front man, the singer, the star, and he’d been brilliant. Who knew that Rob
MacKenzie had this sweet, slightly husky tenor that could more than hold its
own?

The sad truth was that she knew very little about Rob. She knew he
was Casey’s songwriting partner, and that he’d spent years playing second
banana to Danny Fiore. That was pretty much the sum of her knowledge about her
sister’s second husband. As he segued into the guitar solo, making those
strings resonate so sweetly she almost wept, she wondered why he’d done it. Why
he’d remained Danny’s silent partner, a shadowy figure in the background, when
he was so visibly talented. Had Danny simply steamrolled over him, or was there
more to the story? She’d seen the way he and her sister looked at each other. Had
that been part of the reason? Had he made that sacrifice, remained in Danny’s
shadow for years, because he was in love with her sister?

The idea intrigued her. Colleen had dearly loved Irv, and he’d
loved her. They’d had a good marriage. But they’d never come close to having
the kind of relationship her sister had with Rob MacKenzie. There was something
between the two of them, some connection that was palpable. When she’d heard
that her sister had married her late husband’s best friend, she’d assumed they
had simply been longtime friends who grew close after Danny died. But there was
much more to it than that. Watching them, seeing the way they were together, it
was impossible to miss seeing the truth: these two people had loved each other
for a very long time.