She grinned and kissed his nose. “Forever?”
He could only nod and kiss her back and swallow his choking angst. His phone called out again—a text message this time.
But only after he’d settled Erin in the car, told Raegan they’d meet her back at the house, did he read the message. Beckett?
You need to get down to the police dept. It’s Jamie.
10
“Look, Chief Roberts—”
“That’d be Ross. But like I said, you can call me Sam.”
Bear stood with flattened palms on the waist-high counter in the Maple Valley Police Department. The man on the other side looked far too laidback considering he’d just accused Jamie of vandalizing the outside of Baker’s Antiques. Something about tipped-over flower boxes and eggs thrown against the front window.
“Chief Ross.” He spoke slowly. “If Jamie says he didn’t have anything to do with the vandalism, he didn’t have anything to do with the vandalism.”
Jamie sat behind Bear on a vinyl bench edged up to the wall. A mirror on the opposite wall captured his slumped posture, his crossed arms, an expression likely meant to portray defiance.
But all Bear could see was the distress hovering in his nephew’s dark irises. It was enough to make him want to pound his fist on the counter. “You might not believe him, but I do. And I won’t stand for Jamie being falsely accused.”
Chief Ross straightened, the faint streaks of distinguished gray at his temples a contrast to the rest of his relatively youthful appearance. At least compared to the only other police officers Bear had ever known.
The ones who’d arrested him in Atlanta.
Who’d booked him that first night in jail.
Escorted him to and from the courtroom.
It was all he could do not to ball his fists now. “Jamie will not be taking the fall for something he didn’t do.”
Chief Ross folded his arms. “I’ve not accused your nephew of anything. There’s no ‘taking the fall.’ Let’s not get overly dramatic. I’ve simply questioned him.”
“Without a lawyer.”
“Actually, Beckett Walker, who happens to be a lawyer, was here the whole time. I asked Jamie all of three or four questions.”
The way the man said Beckett’s name hinted at a personal history between the two. But Bear didn’t have patience for that now.
Nor had he had patience for Beckett when he’d first arrived at the station. He’d been too intent on seeing Jamie to pay attention to Beckett’s explanation then, but it replayed in his mind now.
Apparently Beckett had needed to run into town for something at Klassen’s Hardware. He’d brought Jamie along, had gotten distracted looking for whatever it was he needed in the store, and the next thing he knew, Jamie had disappeared.
He’d found him less than five minutes later, just down the block outside Baker’s Antiques, enduring a tongue-lashing from the store’s owner. The police chief had arrived on the scene right after.
“Why didn’t you just let Beckett take him home?”
Chief Ross—Sam—rolled his eyes. “Because a very disgruntled Mr. Baker was standing there outside his store expecting me to do something. And for all I knew, Jamie was lying. Thought it best to bring him here and wait for you.”
Now Bear’s fists did ball. “He wasn’t lying.”
“I can appreciate that you believe the best of your nephew—”
“He wasn’t lying.”
“Do you know how rare vandalism is in this town? Other than the annual TP-ing of the head basketball coach’s house, we don’t get so much as a peep of trouble. We’re as Mayberry as it gets.” Sam shook his head. “So I’m sorry, but when a local, well-loved business gets vandalized and the new kid in town is seen outside the store, can you really blame Mr. Baker for jumping to conclusions?”
Yes, Bear could blame him. He had half a mind to march right over to the antique store and give Mr. Baker an earful of his own.
“I didn’t do it.” Jamie jerked to his feet.
“I know you didn’t.” Bear clamped his palm on Jamie’s shoulder, looking to the police chief once more. The man did look genuinely apologetic. Had to give him that. “Are we done here?”
Sam nodded.
Without another word, Bear steered Jamie toward the doorway. Afternoon had given way to evening, but the day’s warmth held on. A mosquito landed on Bear’s arm. He slapped it away.
“Are you hungry, Jamie? We can stop over at The Red Door for a burger if you want.” Raegan had taken Erin home. He could text her not to wait on dinner.
But Jamie shook his head.
“All right, then.”
They settled in the car where he’d parked it at the curb just outside the station. As soon as he’d flipped the ignition, Bear reached for the A/C knob. But he didn’t shift out of Park. Not yet.
“Jamie—”
“I didn’t do it.” Jamie shoved his seatbelt into its latch. “And I didn’t see who did.”
“You don’t have to convince me, so—” He stopped himself before using the endearment. Son. Last time, it’d only irritated the boy.
But if Jamie had noticed his near-slip, he didn’t let on. Only turned to the window.
“That boy is hurting.” Case Walker’s voice drifted in as the A/C puffed from the vent. “He might need to talk about his father, even if you don’t.”
Case had said to search his heart for a happy memory to share. But they were so few and far between. Buried underneath craggy failures, relentless regrets. When he tried to think of Rio, all he could conjure were the bad memories.
The morning he’d found the money in Rio’s bedroom.
The afternoon he’d followed his brother to the warehouse.
The evening they’d spent in the back of a cop car.
Outside his windshield, a V of birds pointed through the sky overhead. The whooshing air conditioning fanned Jamie’s thick hair and flapped his T-shirt against his reedy torso.
A happy memory, a happy memory . . .
Bear’s gaze roamed the gray pavement stretching in front of them—a dead end street that eventually reached the Blaine River, right at the foot of the Archway Bridge.
There it is.
He cleared his throat. “You know, Jamie, when we were kids, your dad and I used to play under this bridge in our neighborhood. There was a creek.” One filled with litter, water russet and sullied. Graffiti had covered the cement bridge, and what little grass cleaved to the eroded landscape was trampled and brown.
“I don’t know why, but it was our favorite place to play. Only your dad was constantly wading in the water and I was constantly telling him not to ’cause the water was so gross and there was always scrap metal lying about the riverbank.” He could still hear his own boyish, bossy voice warning Rio about tetanus and rashes. And Rio, who used to set his jaw just as Jamie had back in the station, ignoring every word and wading in.
The memory almost made him smile. Did Rio ever think of those days? Despite the struggles of their childhood—the absentee parents, the Goodwill clothes that earned them the other students’ scorn in school, the streetwise way of life at far too young an age—they had had happy moments. Brotherly moments.
Bear should have held on to that. When he’d graduated high school and moved into his own place the very same day, he should’ve taken Rio with him. He never should’ve left him behind. By the time he’d realized how much trouble his younger brother was in, it was too late.
And his last-ditch, drastic effort hadn’t done any good.
If he could go back . . .
But I can’t. There was no reversing time. No second chances.
His knuckles turned white over the gearshift.
“I thought I saw him. That’s why I left the hardware store.” Jamie’s voice was a mere whisper above the rasping A/C.
“What?”
Jamie turned to him, a tentative confession in his inky eyes. “I thought I saw Dad.”
 
; “Oh my word, what’s happening in here?”
At Dad’s voice, Raegan looked up from her cross-legged position on her bed, her hair fanned all around her face and Erin standing behind her. “Oh, we’re just playing beauty salon.”
Dad stepped into the room. “With markers?”
Erin’s bare feet bounced on the bed beside her. “I’m giving Raegan rainbow hair.”
Dad’s laugh lines deepened. “I see that.”
“Don’t worry. They’re washable markers.” Might take an extra shampooing but it was worth it for Erin’s delight. Now if only Bear would get home soon, or at least text or call. Let them all know things were okay with Jamie. Surely it was just a mix-up.
Still, out at the cabins, he’d already been so churned up before he even received the text from Beckett. There was a storm brewing inside that man—a man who’d done so much for so many. If only she could find some way to encourage him. She’d been racking her brain for the past hour.
“Can I color your hair, too, Mister Case?”
Raegan exchanged a grin with Dad at the term of endearment Erin had given him the day she met him. Dad had suggested “Uncle Case” but Erin had declared that would be too confusing, what with Bear being Uncle Bear and all.
“Oh, I’m not sure the markers would work as well on silver hair.”
“I bet the dark colors would, Dad.” Raegan gave him a teasing wink.
“All the same, I think I’ll leave the beauty salon-ing to the women of the house.”
Erin capped a red marker. “I’m not a woman. I’m a little girl.”
“Quite right. Forgive me.” Dad leaned over to ruffle Erin’s hair, then returned Raegan’s wink before leaving the room.
Raegan watched his retreating form, torn between the lightness of just now and the guilt that had refused to budge from her conscience ever since going to see Sara this afternoon. Dad had been so clear last week about his feelings regarding the woman, if not the reason behind them.
But he hadn’t specifically told Raegan not to interact with her. And even if he had, Raegan was a grown adult, capable of deciding who to spend time with.
But I live under his roof. The least I can do is respect his wishes.
This was Dad, after all. There was no one in the world she admired more.
Except, well, Bear came awfully close. More than close, really. Was she a horrible daughter if she admitted it might be a tie?
You have to tell him sometime.
She knew she did. Especially since she’d set up a standing weekly appointment with Sara. They’d only skimmed the surface this afternoon, but already Raegan could feel the slow turn of a key in a long-locked chamber of her heart.
“We’re going to talk about more than the panic attacks,” Sara had said. “You understand that, yes? We need to talk about why you’ve hidden them. Why you haven’t spoken to your family about it. We’ll probably talk about painting, too—why you stopped.”
“And if we talk about all that, you’ll be able to figure out what’s wrong with me?”
“Raegan, you’re not a broken toy. You’re a woman with hurts and struggles just like everyone else.”
“I Googled, Sara. I read about panic disorders. I might have a mental illness.”
“Which puts you in the company of about twenty percent of the population. Except unlike many people who walk around each day struggling with things like depression and anxiety, who choose to numb their emotions however they can, you’re here. You’re owning your story.”
Sara made it sound so . . . triumphant. Courageous. But if Raegan was so brave, why didn’t she go downstairs and sit down across the dining room table from Dad and tell him where she’d been this afternoon? Why could she tell Bear, a man who drifted in and out of her life, and Sara, a woman she’d just met recently, about the panic attacks, but not her own family?
Raegan’s gaze traveled her bedroom as Erin kept coloring her hair. Bear had called the room artsy, and she supposed it was. From the colorful hill of throw pillows on her bed to her violet walls, one ornamented with vintage frames she’d found years ago in a collection of thrift stores in Ames and Des Moines—back when she’d not been nearly as nervous about driving longer distances. She’d removed their glass panes, spray-painted them white, and hung them in a perfect collage. They complemented her white vanity and matching headboard.
Erin jumped on the bed beside her. “Look in the mirror, Raegan. I used every color.”
“You’re done already?” Raegan rose from the bed and reached her vanity in two steps. Oh. Boy. “You really did use every color.”
Beckett’s reflection appeared in the mirror beside her. When had he come home? “You look like Rainbow Brite.”
“You don’t know your eighties cartoons, Beck. Rainbow Brite didn’t actually have rainbow hair. Just a multicolored dress.”
“Now you should color my hair, Raegan.” Erin still jumped on the bed, markers bouncing at her feet.
“I’m afraid like Mister Case, your hair is just a little too dark. We’d have to dye it blond first, and I’m thinking your Uncle Bear might get a little upset with me if I do that.”
“No, he wouldn’t. He loves you.”
Raegan could only sputter in reply. Obviously Erin didn’t mean anything by the words. But that didn’t stop an unwieldy blush from creeping over her cheeks.
Or Beckett from folding his arms and pinning her with a glare. Really? Nearly two weeks and he still hadn’t warmed to Bear?
“Listen, Rae, can I talk to you for a sec?”
“About Jamie? What exactly happened? Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine, but . . .” He glanced at Erin. “Hey, Erin, I saw Mister Case down in the kitchen with a package of Oreos. I bet you could talk him into sharing.”
She scrambled off the bed and out of the room before Raegan could blink.
“Wow, that was impressive. I mean, I’ve been known to run for cookies, too, but she might’ve just bested any of my personal records.”
No chuckle from her brother. Not even a smirk.
“Look, Beck, if this is about what Erin said—”
“It’s about Bear.”
Her hands found her hips. “What about him?” And why did she have a feeling she wasn’t going to like the direction of this conversation?
“How much do you know about his life before Maple Valley?”
“This stint or the last one?” Not that she knew that much about either. Anytime the topic of Brazil came up, he’d either turned vague or dodged the subject entirely, segueing with the finesse of a dance master.
She did, however, know a little more about his childhood now than she had before. Not much, but it was enough to break her heart. She’d taken her own family, her relatively stable growing-up years for granted far too often.
“The last one,” Beckett said.
“I know he lived in Atlanta as a kid. I know at some point he was a paramedic.” She returned to the bed, picking up Erin’s markers and replacing them in the Crayola box. Would her colored hair stain her pillowcase tonight? “I know his home life wasn’t a cake walk.”
“So you don’t know . . .” Beckett took a breath, as if wavering on whether or not to say what he’d obviously come to say. “You don’t know about the prison sentence?”
She dropped the box of markers. “What?”
“Multiple felonies, Raegan. Car theft. At least one drug count.”
“I don’t . . . what?” Not Bear. He didn’t have a lawless bone in his body. “How do you even know?”
“Google. It’s a thing.” He leaned against her vanity. “I’m a little surprised you never looked him up online yourself.”
“I don’t pry, Beckett. I don’t feel the need to research my friends. Why would you even think to do that?” Her mind dizzied. Bear had said his parents dealt drugs. He’d insinuated his brother was in and out of jails and prisons. He hadn’t said anything about himself.
“Jamie’s spent
time at the orchard. He’s said some things. Just offhand comments, but they made me wonder.”
“So instead of asking Bear, you went and Googled him? And now you’re coming to me with this? What do you want me to do? Have some big confrontation with him?” Heat spread through her. She strode across the room, pushed lacy curtains aside, and flung open the window.
But the only air to seep into the room was thick with humidity.
“The A/C’s on. Dad hates it when we open windows when—”
“I don’t need a lecture on Dad’s rules, Beck.” She dropped to her bed.
Beckett pushed away from the vanity. “Look, I’m not trying to be the villainous bearer of bad news. I care about you. Bear’s living in our house. He’s got secrets, baggage.”
“You’re a fine one to talk. You, who stayed away from Maple Valley for six years because of an arrest warrant waiting back at home.”
Beckett’s gaze darkened. “Not the same thing and you know it.”
“Wait. That’s what this is, isn’t it?” She looked up at him, realization skimming over her like the clammy air pushing into the room. “You’re feeling guilty. You weren’t around for years. You didn’t get to play big brother last time.”
“Raegan—”
“Kate and Logan both had their chance to tease me and advise me and do all the older sibling stuff where Bear is concerned the first time around. But you only got in on the aftermath. You’re making up for it.” She rose to her feet once more. “You guys always do this. If it’s not sitting me down on the front porch to tell me to get my life together, it’s going behind my back to do an amateur background check. You know what I’d love? I’d love it if for once somebody in this family saw me as more than ‘the little sister.’ If you trusted me to make my own choices, use my own judgment.”
Beckett just stared at her from the middle of the bedroom. He ran his fingers through hair that could’ve used a trim ages ago. “Raegan.” He clamped his lips together, clearly not yet grasping the words he wanted to say. He turned away from her.