“I bet now that their nest is empty it’s best to call ahead.”
It takes a minute for her meaning to sink in. “Thanks, Bree. Now I’m always going to have that in my head when I stop by.”
She laughs while I make a big show of shaking that mental image out of my head.
My parents have a decent amount of property a little outside the town limits. Not a lot of neighbors. Perfect for target practice and bonfires. Two of my favorite things when I was a kid.
“Man, my legs always got a workout when Vince and I rode our bikes over here,” she remarks as I steer the truck onto the narrow mountain road leading to their house. “I was so happy when he finally got his license.”
“There’s a bus stop at the top of the hill now.”
“What? You’re kidding,” she grumbles, sitting back and folding her arms over her chest.
When Vince and Bree stayed over—which was often when they were younger—the long trek up the hill after school was brutal. Sometimes my mother would be waiting for us at the bus stop to drive us the rest of the way. Other times she told us the fresh air would do us good.
In the spring, Bree would stop to pick so many flowers, the walk took twice as long. Drove Vince crazy, having to stop and wait every five minutes, but I never minded. It was one of the few things that made her smile.
I haven’t missed Bree’s endless fidgeting the entire way. Without even thinking about, I reach over and settle my hand on her leg. “Relax. They’ll be so happy to see you. My mother’s always asking about you.”
She reaches up and pulls down the visor mirror. “You didn’t tell them…about Chad…about what happened to me, did you?”
I’d give anything to take the shame and uncertainty out of her voice.
“No. You asked me not to say anything to anyone, so I didn’t.”
“Thank you.”
“You could talk to my mom. If you need…I know I’m not…”
“I don’t think so. It’s too embarrassing.”
“She wouldn’t judge you, Bree. You know she loves you and your brother.”
She’s silent for a few seconds. “I feel terrible,” she finally says. “I love your parents. I haven’t called or stopped by to see them in so long. They always treated me so well, and I’ve been a shit in return.”
Anguish colors her words. Reaching over, I capture one of her hands in mine. “Stop. It’s normal to get wrapped up in stuff when you leave home for the first time.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch her shaking her head.
“Hey, you send them cards every Christmas and on their anniversary. They’re my parents and I don’t always remember their wedding date. But you do.”
“I remember because it always amazes me that two people can still be so in love after so many years,” she says so quietly, I almost miss the words. “Do you want that eventually?” she asks.
I’m not sure how to answer. Of course I do. Except when I try to picture myself with someone, she always looks like…“Doesn’t everyone?”
“No. I don’t think my brother does.”
“Sure he does. He just hasn’t met the right girl.”
“If by right girl, you mean he hasn’t met someone who can tolerate his grumpy butt for more than two weeks, then I guess you’re right.”
Laughter rolls through me as I park the truck in my parents’ driveway. “Ever since he dated the one who chalked “happy one-week anniversary” in front of his house, I try to stay out of it.”
“Wow, I never heard that story.” She chuckles. Love that I can break through the grim shadows she’s wrapped herself in, even if it’s only for a few seconds. “Ready?” I ask, tucking a stray wisp of hair behind her ear. “You look beautiful, Brianna.”
Her lips part, as if the compliment surprises her.
The sudden urge to kiss her overtakes me, but I pull away.
“Come on. You know Mom hates it when we’re late.”
“I remember.”
I meet her on the other side of the truck and take her hand, surprising both of us, I think.
“Liam,” my mother calls out as we step into the foyer.
“Bree,” she sings even louder as soon as she spots Brianna hiding behind me.
I bend down to kiss my mom’s cheek and allow her a few seconds to run her hand through my unruly hair. “You need a haircut,” she tsks at me.
“Where’s Dad?”
“Out back,” she answers, shoving past me to get to Brianna. “Look at you. Beautiful girl, come here.” She pulls Bree into a tight hug, which Bree returns. At the last second I catch Bree staring at me with tears shining in her eyes.
“I’m so happy to see you, Mrs. Hollister.”
“The house smells amazing, Ma. Are you planning to feed us or make us stand here and drool,” I say, hoping to move things along and make Bree a little less uncomfortable.
That does the trick. My mother takes pride in entertaining. Even the suggestion she’s not taking care of her guests sends her into a frenzy.
“Let me help, Mrs. Hollister,” Bree says, reminding me of when she was younger. She’d always been eager to help my parents do things around the house. As if one wrong move would get her tossed out.
Sounds of chaos erupt from the backyard and my mother sighs. “Please go help your father before he sets the place on fire.”
I leave the two of them and hope my mother’s able to work some of her magic with Bree.
CHAPTER NINE
Not much has changed in the Hollister household. Mrs. Hollister still adores her only son. She still welcomes me into her home with open arms.
“Good grief, young lady. You’ve known me long enough to call me Amanda by now.”
“Thank you, Amanda.”
“Or Mom,” she suggests with a quick look at her son. Painful longing rolls through me, twisting my stomach. How many times when I was little had I wished this woman was my mother? How many times had Vince and I sought refuge under the Hollisters’ roof?
Liam disappears out the back door, and Amanda sweeps me into the kitchen where she won’t let me do anything. Instead, she directs me to a stool next to the counter where she can pepper me with questions and feed me tidbits.
“Tell me about school.”
I spill everything about the last four years of my academic life. As the words flow out of my mouth, it occurs to me that it’s a miracle I made it through my program and into graduate school. The fog I’ve been living in seems to lift.
Even though I’ve been gone for four years, in this house I feel at home.
When dinner’s ready, I help carry everything to the table.
Mr. Hollister gives me a big hug. “You must have gotten lost in the kitchen, since you didn’t come out to say hello.”
“Sorry.”
“Shush. She was helping me,” Amanda says, playfully pushing him into his chair. I’m pretty sure he reaches around and pinches her butt. Smothering a smile, I turn and find Liam watching me.
“They’re so cute.” I silently mouth the words at him, and his lips quirk. He pats the chair next to him, and I take it.
“So Liam says you just graduated,” Mr. Hollister says after all of our plates are full. “You’ll have to show us some pictures.”
He doesn’t say it unkindly. Maybe that’s why it makes me feel so awful. I duck my head, fiddling with the cloth napkin in my lap. “There aren’t any. I didn’t bother going.”
“Why the heck not, honey?”
“Dad—”
“I just didn’t see the point,” I answer, cutting Liam’s protest off. My shoulders lift. “They give you an empty folder and mail your actual diploma to you later.” Not to mention my brother was out of town and Chad said it was a waste of his time to sit through a three-hour ceremony for the whole five minutes I’d walk across the stage.
“We’ll have to do something for you to mark the occasion,” Amanda says, driving guilt down into my soul. It didn’t occur to me to ask
them or Liam to attend. I might have gone if I’d known at least one person who gave a shit about me was in the audience.
“It’s no big deal.”
“Mom, are you still working at the library this summer?” Liam says, thankfully changing the subject.
“Yes.” She happily rattles off a bunch of details about the children’s literacy program she’s taught every summer at the town’s local library since I can remember.
Somehow the conversation comes back to me, though.
“What are your plans now, Bree?” Mr. Hollister asks.
“I’m starting graduate school at the end of August.”
Next to me, Liam’s hand tightens around his fork and he lays it on the table with a thump. He knows I’m going back to school, doesn’t he? I can’t stay here forever. Although this time I promise myself I won’t let anything stop me from staying in touch with Liam and his family.
After dinner, I follow Amanda to the kitchen to help her clean up. As I’m watching her packing leftovers, I realize she plans to send them home with me. “You don’t have to do that,” I protest.
“Nonsense. Gabe and I can only eat so much. Besides, with the long hours Liam works, I know he doesn’t have time to cook for himself.”
“True,” I say without thinking.
She glances at me with a curious expression.
“I mean. From what he says—”
“I’m not stupid, dear. I know Liam’s staying with you at Vinny’s.”
Wow. How the hell do I respond to that?
“It’s not like that.”
To my surprise, Amanda’s shoulders slump.
“I had a bad break up, and he’s just looking out for me.”
She reaches out, cupping my chin and turning my head. Under her intense stare, my heart drums. She releases me without commenting.
“That’s too bad,” she finally says. Her gaze strays to the back door. “Are you and Liam going to light a fire tonight?”
Yikes. My mind goes someplace completely different than I think she intended.
“It’s not too late to join the guys for some target practice.” She raises an eyebrow. “If you’ve finally developed a desire to learn.” A smile tugs at one corner of her mouth. This has been an inside joke for years.
Mr. Hollister was a weapons instructor for a private company and used to travel a lot. He made sure his wife and son knew how to protect themselves. Mrs. Hollister would have made a great pioneer woman. She handled a shotgun as deftly as she baked a pie. My aversion to guns had always been a bit of a curiosity in this household.
“Maybe Mr. Hollister can give me some lessons this summer.”
“Oh, I think if anyone’s going to do that, it will be Deputy Hollister,” she teases. Her laughter stops abruptly and she takes my chin again, angling my head toward the light.
“Amanda,” I mumble through the tight hold she has on my face.
“Bad breakup, huh?”
“I’m handling it.”
“You’re done with him?” Her stern voice leaves no room for any answer other than yes. Coming from anyone else, that question would raise my hackles. “I left,” I whisper. “I was leaving him when this happened,” I explain, pointing to my cheek.
She glances at the back door again. “Did you know I was married before Gabe?”
“No. I had no idea.”
“Married right out of high school, against my parents’ wishes.” She rolls her eyes. “Young love, you know.”
I’d have to be an idiot not to know where she’s taking this story. Still, I’m riveted.
“He was very…volatile. That’s how Gabe and I met.”
“How?”
She lets out a long, slow breath as if she wishes she hadn’t brought this up. “We were at a gas station and Burt slapped me across the face for not topping off the gas tank. It didn’t take much to piss him off. Right out in the open. Gabe was at the next pump.” She shakes her head and I feel terrible that she’s sharing this story with me when it’s obvious she doesn’t like to think about those times. “Let’s just say, he intervened on my behalf. He dropped me off at my parents’ house. They were still furious with me, but Gabe sat down alongside me and explained what was happening. They helped me get the marriage annulled and move on.”
“And Gabe?”
“I didn’t see him for a while. Needed to take care of myself first, otherwise I was no good to him.”
“Oh.” Is this her way of telling me to stay away from Liam?
“You,” she says. “Are a very different woman, yes?”
“What do you mean?”
“You didn’t need a man to rescue you. You didn’t marry this guy.”
My heart squeezes. She’s the most amazing woman I’ve known. Someone I admired very much growing up. How can she blame herself for what happened? “Amanda. It’s not your fault.”
Her eyes widen as if she’s happy I finally understand the point she’s trying to make.
“Anyway, Gabe and I always wanted more children.”
This doesn’t surprise me at all, but I’m not sure why she’s sharing that now.
“Even though we were only blessed with Liam, we always thought of you and Vince as our own.”
Shame threatens to drown me. When I walked out of town and cut ties with everyone, I’d also cut ties to the family who had been my safe haven.
“You always treated me more like a mother than my own did,” I choke out.
Amanda pulls me into a hug. In her arms I feel like a giant. How this tiny woman created Liam defies logic. “I know your mom had problems. But you and Vince turned into wonderful people, so she couldn’t be all bad.”
Except, I’d ended up no better than my mother.
“I think that had more to do with you and Mr. Hollister than my mother.”
“Oh, honey,” she soothes. “I wasn’t trying to upset you. What I meant was, I always hoped, well, you know.”
Confused, I just stare at her.
“The way he looks at you is different than any other girl he’s ever brought home,” she explains.
Just how many women has Liam brought home to meet his parents? Swallowing down a wave of jealousy that I have no right to feel, I shake my head. He can bring whoever he wants home. It’s not my business. “I’m nothing more than an annoying kid sister to him.”
Amanda blows out a frustrated breath—clearly disagreeing with my assessment of Liam’s feelings, but she doesn’t press me further.
The back door screeches open and Liam steps into the kitchen. My heart speeds up as soon as his gaze lands on me.
“I’ve got a handful of sticks ready. Dad wants to know if you’ve got dough and pudding for him?” he asks without taking his eyes off me.
“Is the fire ready?”
The corner of his mouth tilts up. “Getting there. Dad got sidetracked showing me the newest addition to the family arsenal.”
“Why are you pestering me when it’s not even ready?” Amanda swats at him with a dish towel. “Get out of my kitchen. Bree and I were having an important discussion.”
Liam bites his lip, trying not to laugh, and ducks out of range of the wet terrycloth his mother’s still wielding.
“Ooo! Are we making campfire éclairs?” I ask, bouncing up and down on my toes a little. “I haven’t had those in forever. No one else knows what the hell they are.”
I attempted to make them for Chad once and he acted as if I’d tried to light him on fire instead of a few strips of dough. He didn’t eat low class food he’d informed me. No wonder I hated to cook, I got slapped down—sometimes literally—every time I tried.
“If I’d had more time,” Amanda says, giving her son a healthy dose of side-eye. “I would have made everything from scratch.”
“That’s all Liam,” I explain, winking at him.
He raises his eyebrows and taps his chest in a who me? gesture, making me laugh.
Amanda’s gaze shifts from Liam to me. “I figured
.” She gives me an affectionate pat on my arm as she moves past me to the refrigerator. “Here,” she says, flailing a tub of pudding around in the air. “Liam, dammit, do you want the stuff or not?” she huffs.
“Sorry, Ma.” He grins at me as he rushes to grab the tub out of Amanda’s hand.
“See what I mean?” she asks after he leaves. “Too busy staring at you to do what he came in here to do.”
“Do you read minds now, Amanda?”
“No. I just know my son.” She loads my arms down with a bunch of items and pushes me out the back door. “Ask Gabe to come in here, will you, sweetheart?”
Liam and his father have a pretty decent sized fire going when I walk up and set the tubes of crescent roll dough, jar of Nutella, foil, cooking spray, and a bunch of utensils on the table.
“Your presence in the kitchen has been requested,” I tell Mr. Hollister. He chuckles and motions me over to where he and Liam have set up a target about ten yards away.
“I was showing Liam this revolver I picked up for Amanda,” he explains, offering the gun to me with the cylinder open to show me it’s not loaded.
“Wow. It’s heavier than I expected.” I’m holding it away from my body as if it might explode at any minute.
His dad smiles. “Good instincts already, Bree. Always assume it’s loaded and never point it at anyone.”
“No problem there,” I mutter.
Liam reaches over and pries it from my hands. “I’ll take it, sweetheart.”
I give it another look. “Your mom really shoots that thing?”
Both Hollister men chuckle at me.
“Yes,” Mr. Hollister says. “She wanted this particular one for concealed carry.” He slides a finger over the smooth metal. “All the edges have been taken down, nothing to snag when you draw.”
“How about throwing a laser grip on it?” Liam suggests.
“Yes.” They discuss grips, sights, and other gun stuff that goes right over my head until I hear my name.
“Would this be a good one for Bree to start with?” Liam asks.
His father’s already shaking his head before Liam finishes the question. “Not loaded with .357.”
“No, no, with defensive thirty-eights.”