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Taking a big bite, Beth said, “What else is there?”
But Maude didn’t join her in her teasing. “I’m serious, Beth. Life without friends is like pie without ice cream. You’ve lived in Blackberry for a year now, and yet you’ve barely made any friends at all.”
Beth tipped her head to one side, reminding herself that the old woman needed something to occupy her mind, and if worrying about her was the thing to do it, then fine. She would indulge her. Reaching across the table, she patted Maude’s hand. “I’ve made one friend, Maude. One very good friend.”
That got a smile out of Maude. She actually had to blink a little moisture from her eyes. “Oh, you. Now you’ve gone and made me misty.”
“Well, I mean it. I’m so glad you called me over here that first time.”
“Saw you walking by, then running by, day after day. Any fool could see you were lonely. Besides, I was curious to ask what it was you were running away from.” She took a sip of her tea. “Not that I’ve managed to get an answer to that question.”
“‘A woman without secrets has led far too boring a life,’” Beth said, repeating one of Maude’s own pearls of wisdom back to her.
“Score one for you.” Maude sighed, settling back in her chair. “You know, there are some nice people in Blackberry. You’re missing out on a lot by keeping so much to yourself.”
Here it comes, Beth thought.
“Take Jeffrey Manheim. Owns the coffee shop down on Main Street. Nicest unmarried man you could ever want to—”
She broke off there, looking up as a shiny white pickup truck pulled into her driveway. Beth shielded her eyes to try to make out who was inside, but already she was on guard. She didn’t recognize the man who got out of the truck and glanced their way. A younger man—maybe eighteen—got out from the passenger side and came around the truck to join him. Strangers. New in town.
This couldn’t be good.
Maude rose to her feet and stumbled a little as she started forward, so Beth got up as well, and grabbed hold of her forearm to steady her.
“Joshua?”
The man flashed a smile. “It’s me, Gram. It’s been way too long.” By the time he finished the sentence, he was mounting the steps, and then he swept Maude into his arms for a hug. Maude hesitated only slightly before returning it.
The man released her and stood back just a little to look her over. “You look wonderful, Gram. Just as pretty as ever.”
She smiled at him, and Beth could have sworn her cheeks went pink. “Well, I don’t know about that.”
“Bryan, get up here and say hello to your great-grandma.”
The boy joined them on the porch. It was obvious now he was the man’s son. He had the same milk-chocolate hair and the same jawline—as if it were etched in stone. But there was a brooding quality about him. He didn’t stand quite straight, didn’t meet his father’s eyes—or Maude’s, either, for that matter—and he didn’t look happy to be there. He kept slanting sideways glances at Beth.
She really should leave, she thought, as the boy took his hands from his jeans pockets long enough to give the old woman a halfhearted hug. “Hello, Grandma.”
“My, my,” Maude said. “What a fine young man you have here, Joshua.”
“He sure is,” Joshua said. “Gram, aren’t you going to introduce us to your friend?”
“Oh, of course. Where are my manners? Beth, this is my grandson, Joshua, and his boy Bryan. Boys, this is Beth Slocum. She’s a good, good friend to me. You be sure you treat her right.”
Joshua turned to face her fully for the first time, extending a hand to close it around hers. He met her eyes, and then something changed in his face. The smile seemed to freeze in place, and he looked into her eyes so intently it made her squirm. He looked stunned, shocked, and maybe there was a hint of recognition amid all the other things swimming in his eyes. It worried her.
Swallowing hard, she tugged her hand, but he didn’t let it go. “Um…It’s nice to meet you,” she said, wishing like hell that she could read his mind as she tugged her hand a little harder.
He blinked, glanced down at their hands, and let go quickly. “Sorry about that. You…remind me of someone.”
“Really? Who?”
His eyes were still dancing over her face. My God, she thought they might even be dampening. What the hell was with this guy? “Never mind,” he said. “It’s not important.” He tore his gaze from hers and looked at his son. “Bryan, say hello to Miss Slocum.”
Bryan looked at her. “Hi.” Then he turned to his father. “I’m going to get my MP3 player out of the truck.” He turned on his heel and marched back down the steps to the truck, where he took a few suitcases and duffels from the back.
“He’s not happy to be here,” Beth said.
“He’s had a tough year,” the stranger explained. “His mother and stepfather were killed over the summer. Plane crash. Then I had to uproot him from the West Coast and move him to Manhattan. He’s not dealing well.”
Those words wrapped themselves around Beth’s heart and squeezed. “His entire life has been stripped away from him,” she said, her throat tightening. “There’s no way to deal well with something like that.”
Josh was looking at her again. “Sounds like the voice of experience.”
She shrugged and lowered her eyes. His were too intense. Too filled with something she couldn’t name, and too intent on probing, on digging into her soul.
To change the subject, she said, “Maude, I always assumed you and Sam didn’t have any children.”
“Now why would you assume that?” Maude asked, fussing with the sleeve of her blouse.
“I don’t know. You never mentioned any kids, and there were no pictures around the house.”
“I really do need to get some photos put up,” she said, as if that explained everything perfectly.
Beth glanced at Josh, saw the way he was watching Maude, watching her responses to Maude’s explanations. He looked a little nervous.
“There was a death in your family over the summer, and you never said a word?” Beth asked.
Maude blinked. “Well, the family’s so estranged, you know, I never even heard about Bryan’s mother until a week ago, when Josh phoned me.”
“Kathy kind of cut my side of the family off after the divorce,” Joshua said.
Beth nodded as if it made perfect sense, when in fact it made none.
“Honestly, none of that matters,” Maude said. “All that matters is that they’re here now. Come from Manhattan to spend some time with me.”
“That’s nice, Maude.” Beth watched the boy, felt the pain coming off him in waves. She loved kids and felt an empathy for this one. Maybe because she, too, had been stripped of everything in her life. “Is he still in high school?” she asked.
“This is his senior year.” Joshua looked guilty now. “But I could barely get him to go when the semester started. He hated everything about Manhattan, but especially going to school there.”
“So what are you going to do?”
He shrugged, then faced her. “This parenting thing is like rocket science to me. I’m damned if I know what to do with him.”
“Beth can help with that,” Maude said. “She’s a teacher. You two sit down and chat. I’m going to get more cookies.” She went through the door and into the house without another word. The screen door banged.
Josh said, “So you’re a teacher?”
“I used to be.”
Josh sat in one of the wicker chairs, waving her to the other one. She glanced toward the young man, but he was sitting on the tailgate now, with headphones on.
“So why did you stop?”
She sent him a quick look. Was he a little too interested in her past? Or just being polite? “Needed a break. I still tutor, though.”
“Really?”
She nodded. “So how long are you going to be here?” she asked, turning the tables by asking questions rather than answering them. It was a skill she’d perfected over the past year.
“To be honest, I don’t know. It depends on a lot of things.”
He had a way of answering a question without revealing a thing. She recognized the tactic, because it was another one she’d grown deft at employing.
“Why is it Maude’s never mentioned you?”
He shrugged. “There’s been a rift in the family.” Then he met her eyes. “It’s kind of personal.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s not a problem.” He looked toward his son again. “I wish I knew what to do about Bryan.”
“I could talk to him…if you want.”
He looked at her as if surprised. “Do you have kids, Beth?”
Jesus. The innocent question knocked the wind out of her. She tried not to let it show in her face, turning away quickly, just as Maude called for Joshua to come help her for a minute.
“Did I say something wrong?”
“Why don’t you go help Maude with those cookies? And tell her I’ll see her in the morning.”
Beth walked down the steps, but she didn’t take the flagstone path. She went out the driveway, pausing by the pickup to tie her shoe and pull herself together. It wasn’t Joshua’s fault, she told herself. He couldn’t possibly know her chance to raise her only child had been stolen from her because of some toy soldier with an itchy trigger finger eighteen years ago.
When she rose it was to see Bryan staring at her. She glanced back toward the porch. Joshua had gone inside. The porch was empty.
Bryan had stacked suitcases on the pickup’s tailgate, though it was completely unnecessary. “Don’t worry, my father has that effect on a lot of people,” he said.
She looked at him, then allowed a smile as she realized he’d witnessed her reaction to Joshua’s question, though he probably hadn’t heard the dialogue. “Then it’s not just me?” she asked.
“Nope.”
“That’s good to know.” She rolled her eyes and saw Bryan’s smile turn from polite to amused. “Your dad tells me you’re in your senior year.”
“Yeah. But I’m taking a semester off.”
She nodded. “What do you still need to graduate?”
“History, Spanish Four, English Twelve.”
Beth smiled a little. “I used to teach English Eleven and Twelve.”
“Used to? What, you don’t anymore?”
“I’m taking a semester off.”
He smiled at her, his eyes, and interest, sincere.
“Actually, more like a few semesters. I still tutor, though. Let me know if you want to get those English credits out of the way while you’re in town. Give me an hour a day and I’ll have you ready for the final by Christmas.”
“I doubt we’ll be here that long.”
“Then give me two hours a day and make it Thanksgiving.”
He looked at her. “You know, it’s actually not all that bad an idea.”
She liked Bryan, she decided. She liked him a lot. Dawn would like him, too, if she were here. “Well, it’s up to you. I’m not pushing. And it would be tough on limited time. You’d have to be up for a challenge.”
“English is my best subject. How much do you charge?”
“What are you, kidding? You’re Maude’s great-grandson.”
“I don’t want a free ride.”
“Well, we can work something out, then. Maybe you could help me with a few chores?”
He nodded. “Okay. Sounds good.”
She smiled, pleasantly surprised. “You mean we’re on?”
“We’re on,” he said, extending a hand.
She shook on it, feeling buoyant and knowing why. She could help this kid. And he was going to let her. “We can start tomorrow. My place at noon. Maude can tell you where.”
“Great. See you then.”
“You’ll see me sooner.” She jogged down the driveway, turned left onto the lane, and fell into an easy rhythm.
She didn’t think she liked the man. Then again, she didn’t like any man. She didn’t trust them. But she liked his son. Maybe that was because looking at all the grief and loss in the boy’s eyes was like looking into a mirror. Or maybe it was because she knew that no matter how much the people in his life would like him to “get over it” there was no such thing. He could deny it, defy it, or learn to live with it. But he couldn’t get over it.
God knew she never had.
Mordecai had set himself up in one of the seven perfect Victorian homes situated in a neighborhood halfway between the towns of Blackberry and Pinedale. The houses had been purchased by some brilliant entrepreneur twenty-odd years ago, according to Mordecai’s research—he didn’t believe in going anywhere without all the information. The houses were rented out to wealthy families as vacation homes in the summer and to foliage-seeking tourists in the fall. In the winter, the skiing enthusiasts took over, and from February through March, they were inhabited by folks in town for the maple syrup season, and all the festivals and events it brought. In April the houses were closed for upkeep.
The others were all occupied. This one should have been, too—by Oliver Abercrombie, who’d made his reservations six months in advance. Unfortunately for the late Mr. Abercrombie, he was the only tenant without an immediate family, or anyone else close enough to miss him right away.
Mordecai had also learned that the school districts of the two tiny towns had merged a decade back, when the population of students had outgrown their buildings and the cost of educating them had outgrown the towns’ respective tax bases. Now the Pinedale-Blackberry Central School System had its elementary building in Pinedale and its high school in Blackberry. The towns were eight miles apart, and this hamlet—which wasn’t a town at all, but was called Bonnie Brook by the locals—was halfway between the two.
