Nice To Come Home To

“I came for Zoey, whom I know very well. She’s hale and hearty, but I didn’t like the idea of her traveling cross-country by herself when she was grieving.” He gentled his voice. Cass Gentry wasn’t as slim as she’d been, and warm color washed the cheeks that had been ashen the last time he saw her, but he sensed fragility in the woman beside him. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.” She started toward her SUV, which was parked beside the pickup. “When can we talk about the business?”

“Whenever you like. When would you like the fifty-cent tour?”

“As soon as possible.”

“Tomorrow? There will be a hayride through the orchard at ten. It gives you a good view of the place.”

“A hayride? Seriously?”

He wasn’t quite sure if she’d meant to sound derisive or if that was just how it came out, so he pushed back impatience. “Yes. We have them for groups by appointment or spur of the moment if someone wants to go and there’s an available driver. In October, we have evening ones.”

“All right, Mr. Rossiter. I’ll see you at ten.”

“It’s just Luke. Mr. Rossiter’s my dad, who would tell you, no, Mr. Rossiter’s my grandpa.”

She nodded, looking uncertain. “Can you tell me where the nearest supermarket is?”

“Sawyer.” He pointed. “Three miles that way.”

“I remember.” She sighed. “I think that can wait until tomorrow. I’m sure Royce won’t mind going out for dinner. What’s available at the lake?”

“Anything Goes Grill and Silver Moon Café. There’s also a pizza place that does carryout. The bulk foods store is great for groceries and has an excellent deli section. Are you staying at the lake?” Why would she do that with Zoey rattling around alone in that twelve-room farmhouse behind the hill of the orchard?

“Yes. For two weeks. That’s how long I’m giving myself to decide what to do.”

“What to do?”

“Yes.” She turned in a tight circle on the gravel drive, lifting her chin and gazing outward.

He followed her gaze with his own, wondering what she saw. The apple barn was there, its retail store convenient for customers. The cold storage barn, newer and bigger, had been built farther up the rise. The replica round barn, smaller than an original but true in shape and scale to the ones built in the area during the early twentieth century, held pride of place across the parking lot from the apple barn. The grapevines were behind it. The pumpkin patch filled the area between the driveway and the apple barn.

Trees were everywhere. Close to a hundred varieties of apples grew in neatly rowed sections all the way back to where Cottonwood Creek created the farm’s boundary. The way the orchard’s land rolled made keeping up with everything a challenge sometimes, but it was always rewarding.

The drives and parking lot were still gravel. Something always needed fixing. There was evidence of too many ideas conceived of but never hatched—the round barn being the greatest of those, the grapevines behind it another. Luke thought it was the most beautiful place in the world.

He wondered what she saw. With more urgency than he liked, he also wondered what she thought.

CHAPTER TWO

“WHEN ARE WE going to go see your aunt?” Royce stood at the bar that separated the lake cottage’s minute kitchen from its living area.

Cass slid the take-and-bake pizza out of the oven. “Come and get it. Ouch!” She licked the thumb she’d accidentally dipped into pizza sauce. “I don’t know. It’s complicated with Aunt Zoey. You know that.”

“Not to be rude—” which meant that was probably exactly what the teenager was going to be “—but everything in your family is complicated. Once we move back to the real world and I go back to school, I’m going to write a paper on it. You and your aunt and your past and present stepparents and Dad can be my expert witnesses. Do you want some milk?”

Cass shuddered. “No, thank you. And don’t forget, you’re related to some of that family, too.”

Royce bit into her pizza, chewed and swallowed before saying, “Just you and Dad. Mom’s not weird like you guys.”

“No, she’s not.” Cass poured coffee, glad whoever had been in the cottage last had left an opened bag of breakfast blend in the pantry. “Your mother has been a port of calm for me ever since I met her.” She eyed her sister’s plate when Royce took two more slices of pizza. “At least until now. Can you really eat that much pizza?”

“In a heartbeat.”

A half hour and an entertaining conversation later, Cass was surprised to realize that she, too, could eat four pieces of pizza without so much as blinking an eye. “What do you say?” She got up from the table with a groan and put their plates into the dishwasher. “Want to take a walk along the lake? As I remember it, there’s a nice path. Or we can walk on the road.”

Royce looked scandalized. “I don’t know if you’ve realized it, Sister Authority Figure, but it’s dark out there.”

“I know.” Cass put on one of the hooded sweatshirts they’d hung inside the entry closet and tossed the other one to Royce—the evening air was cool. “That’s why I’m taking you along. I might need protection.”

Royce was right about it being dark, but it seemed to be social hour on the lake’s narrow graveled roads. Not only were people walking and running, the bicycle and golf cart traffic rivaled that of the retirement community where Marynell had lived.

Cass had thought she might recognize people and had dreaded it. She’d also looked forward to it. She’d love to explain to them why she’d left without saying goodbye. Why letters forwarded by her grandmother had gone unanswered. Why, when people had looked for her, she hadn’t responded. Why, in an electronic world that fascinated her, she remained anonymous.

But she couldn’t even explain it to herself.

“Where was the house where you lived with your grandparents that year you were here?” Royce interrupted her admittedly maudlin thoughts.

“On the other side where the condos are. They sold it to a development company within a few years after I left. The lake has gotten a little more upscale than it was when I was in high school. We’ll drive around there tomorrow and see.” She pointed toward a large Craftsman house. “That’s Christensen’s Cove. Two of my friends lived there. Arlie’s dad, Dave, and Holly’s mom, Gianna, were married. They were some of the best people I’ve ever known.”

When they reached the south end of the lake, Royce stared at the two estates that took up most of the frontage. “They look really out of place here,” she said finally. “It’s like a what’s-wrong-with-this-picture thing.”

“It is. The one over there is where the Grangers lived. Chris and Gavin were always away at school, although they were here in the summer. I think their family owns the winery we drove past. What was it called?”

“Sycamore Hill. We liked its sign, remember?”

“That’s right. The other house is Llewellyn Hall. Everyone just called it the Hall or the Albatross. Jack Llewellyn was a senior when I lived here. He dated Arlie. His brother Tucker was in my class and he dated everyone, but he was such a nice guy you didn’t even mind it. Libby Worth—” she turned in a thoughtful half circle trying to get her bearings “—she was in my class, too. Her brother, Jesse, was a senior. They lived on the farm out by the winery. As a matter of fact, I think the winery used to be part of that farm.” She turned the rest of the way, heading back toward their cottage.

Royce stayed in step with her. “Who else do you remember?”

“Sam. We dated for a while.” The prom had been the last time they’d gone out. “His dad worked at Llewellyn Lures and his grandfather owned the hardware store. It was called Come On In. Sam had a bass voice you could lose yourself in. Gianna used to say he was Sam Elliott in training.”

“The hardware store’s still there,” said Royce. “I saw it when we drove through tonight. It was just down the street from the bulk food store where we got the pie from the Amish bakery.”

“We should probably get another one of those, since all that’s left of that is the pan,” said Cass drily. “Between that and the pizza, I’m still feeling fairly miserable, and we’ve been walking for at least a half hour.”

“I’m walking. You keep starting and stopping. There’s a difference.” Royce gave her a sisterly elbow that felt better than Cass could have begun to explain. “Come on. Who else?”

“Let me think. Nate Benteen. He was one of the best high school golfers in the country. He was so much fun! He and Holly kept us laughing all the time.”

“Which one was your BFF, the one you’d have stayed in contact with forever and ever if you had any normal social skills?”

“That was cold. And we didn’t say ‘BFF’ then,” Cass retorted. She walked a little farther, separating herself a few steps from Royce. Maybe her sister wouldn’t notice that her breathing had somehow gone awry or that the color had left her face—she’d felt the blood drain from her cheeks as soon as Royce asked the question.

She would say she didn’t remember if her sister pushed her for an answer. Chemo brain hadn’t entirely left her, after all. Getting lost in the middle of a conversation was nothing new. Rather, it was exhaustingly old. So was being pale and washed-out and a mere tracing of who she’d once thought she was.

“Cass, wait up.”

She realized her pace had taken her away from Royce as if her intent was to leave her behind. “Hey.” She stopped. “Can’t keep up with the old lady?”

“Y’know what?” Her sister caught up with her and tilted her head, waiting. Cass couldn’t look away from the blue-green eyes she knew were replicas of her own, a gift from their father.

“No,” she said lightly. “What?”

“You don’t have to answer me. I get that you’re the grown-up and I’m the kid. But don’t make things up or fluff things like those ‘alternative facts’ they talk about on television. If you don’t want to talk to me, just say so. I’ve been on my own most of my life, just like you. I can deal with it fine. I’ll see you back at the house.”

Royce took off at a run Cass couldn’t have kept up with on her best day, so she didn’t try. She went down to the path that followed the curves of the lake and sat on a park bench. She thought of those friends she’d told Royce about. They’d been closer than anyone she’d met in all the years both before and since. Although there’d been much to grieve for in that time, she mourned nothing more than the empty space she’d created in herself when she left the lake without looking back.

Cass closed her eyes, leaning her head back because suddenly it felt too heavy to hold up. With the scent and sound of the lake filling her senses, she remembered that year and gave herself permission to wallow in it.

Her father had been in Iraq, her mother in a new state, job and marriage that didn’t allot room for a recalcitrant daughter. Her grandparents had been willing to keep her for the school year, but not one minute longer. She was sixteen when she arrived at the lake, five feet eight inches of long brown hair and attitude. Especially attitude.

By the time she’d been there a week, improved posture had given her an additional inch and her hair had been streaked by the sun in a way she’d maintained until chemotherapy robbed her of it fifteen or so years later. She’d made more friends than she’d ever had at one time. She’d even been recruited for the high school volleyball team. “We suck,” Arlie had said complacently, “but we have so much fun.”

And they had. She’d spent as many nights at her friends’ houses as she had in her grandparents’ cramped cottage. She’d never missed attending a football or basketball game and the volleyball team had managed—for the first time in a history the length of which they exaggerated when they talked about it—to garner a winning season. She’d asked Mr. Harrison, the high school principal, if there was a writers’ club in the school, expecting to be either ignored or forgotten. Instead, he’d said there wasn’t such an organization at the present time and suggested she form one.

She wondered if the Write Now group still existed. Holly had thrown in with her to start monthly meetings. It had been a thrill, but not really a surprise, ten years before when she’d been in an airport bookstore and found a Holly Gallagher romance on the shelves. Cass had bought that book and at least one copy of the dozen the author had released since then. Sometimes in reading them, she thought Holly had written subliminal messages directly to her; however, life had taught her not to be fanciful, so she always set the notion aside. Mostly.

Sometimes, hidden in the chapters of her own Mysteries on the Wabash stories, Cass left messages to the friends she’d left behind. Of course, those friends didn’t know who Cassandra G. Porter was—they’d never understand the messages.

The sound of footsteps on the paved lake path brought her out of the pleasant reverie of memory, and she straightened in her seat on the bench.

“Hello.” The voice was cheerful, welcoming. A blast from the past that made Cass’s heart feel as if it blossomed in her chest, one whose name had been in her mind only seconds before. “Beautiful night, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” She cleared her throat to make her voice audible, but her breath still hitched and hesitated on its way in and out. “It is.”

Not only did she know the musical voice of Holly Gallagher, she recognized the tall profile of the man who walked beside her. Jesse Worth. Always quiet, always a loner, and one of the good guys she’d known in her life. He’d been a gifted artist, but he had gone into the navy after high school and eventually become a veterinarian, opening his practice on the farm where he’d grown up.

Panic rose in her throat.

Cass hadn’t thought it through long enough before she came back. She hadn’t considered that she’d come face-to-face with the one person who would never want to see her under any circumstances. The one who’d loved Linda Saylors—the BFF Royce had wondered about—as much as Cass had. The one who would remember more than anyone else that Cass should have been sitting in the van seat Linda had occupied. The one who would know that on that prom night so long ago, it should have been Cass who died, not Linda.

* * *

LUKE STOPPED BY Zoey’s the next morning as he often did. It gave him a chance to keep her up on business concerns and to see if she needed anything done. She would never ask, but he was nosy enough that he could usually find out on his own.

“She’s here, then?” Zoey handed Luke a cup of coffee and set a piece of coffee cake in front of him. “How does she look? Healthy?”

He hated the anxiety in the voice of the woman who’d slipped effortlessly into the place of the favorite aunt he’d never had. “Still thin, I think,” he said, “but not like she was at your sister’s funeral. She’s not wearing a wig and her color’s good. Her hair—it’s about the color of maple syrup with gold stuff in it—is pretty. About this long.” He shelfed his hand just below his ear and squinted at the woman who’d sat across her kitchen table from him. “I thought she had your eyes, but they’re more green than blue.”

“They’re like her father’s. Marynell’s were darker, like mine.”

Luke thought of Seth, of Rachel and their sister, Leah. They’d been fighting each other all their lives. Their parents made a practice of professing amazement that they could have four so completely different children. Yet the siblings had never stopped speaking to each other, even when most verbal communication was done in shouts.

“What happened?” He didn’t want to pry, but the sadness in her expression prodded him.

Zoey shrugged, staring past him out the floor-to-ceiling windows in the dining area of the farmhouse kitchen. “Just one of those family stories they make TV movies about.” She lifted her cup, then set it down without drinking. “I was engaged to Ken when he discovered he preferred my younger, prettier sister. While I was covering the afternoon shift for her one day at the orchard, he picked her up in his snazzy convertible and they eloped.”

“Ouch.” Luke remembered when Rachel and Leah had argued over a friend of his they’d both liked. It hadn’t gone well for the guy. Afterward, the girls had sneaked cheap wine into their room and played the “Sisters” song from White Christmas until they’d emptied the bottle and nearly wore out the videotape.

He needed to call his siblings.

“Marynell came back here with Cass when they divorced two years later. She left her with me and married a navy pilot. It was a pattern. She was married several times, lived in different places. If Cass couldn’t spend her summers with Ken or if he or Marynell just needed time with a new spouse, they shipped Cass back here.” She stopped, as if gathering her thoughts, and regret deepened the lines in her face. “The last time, when Cass came for her junior year, I had said no, she couldn’t come. The folks had retired and weren’t well, and I was working half the time at the orchard and half of it as a phlebotomist in Indianapolis. Marynell brought her anyway and left her with our parents, even though dementia and rheumatoid arthritis were severely limiting their ability to take care of themselves, much less a teenage girl. My sister told Cass I didn’t want anything to do with either of them and I was too exhausted to argue the point.”

“And that was it? Seriously? A whole family split asunder over that?”

She sighed. “Pretty much. Marynell and I made up, of course. She came and visited and helped when our parents’ illnesses progressed and later when they died. She created no difficulty with the management of the orchard after we inherited, although she chose to remain uninvolved.” Zoey chuckled almost soundlessly. “Oddly enough, the thing she never quite forgave me for was introducing her to Ken. He’s one of those men who is ethically and maybe even morally good, but is an emotional empty shell.”

“What about Cass?”

“She and I always exchange birthday and Christmas cards. I sent a gift when she got married right out of high school, but I never really connected with her again until her mother died. I know she was ill, that she had chemo, but that’s all I know. I thought I should go and help then, but she said she was all right, that it would be better if I helped with her mother. It probably was—Cass could take care of herself, but taking care of her mother at the same time was too much. We would see each other in passing, but that was all.”

Luke heard all that she said, but his focus stayed on one point. “She’s married?”

“Not anymore.” She raised her hands, palms up. “I sent money when she got the divorce, just in case she needed it. She sent it back with a very nice thank-you.”

“Children?”

“Not that I know of. Her little sister’s a sweet one, though. I think I know her better than I do Cass, and I only met her when Marynell died.” Zoey looked away from him again. A tear crept unchecked down her cheek. “There’s this part of me that says Cass should have been my child and that failing her is like failing as a mother.”

“That’s crazy, Zoey.”

She smiled at him, just a little curve of lips that had thinned and paled over the years. “You have a problem with crazy?”

“No.” He tilted his head, looking at Zoey’s long neck and the shiny white sweep of her short hair. “It wouldn’t be much of a stretch. I think Cass favors you more than she did her mother.”

“You’ll let me know if she needs anything?”

“I will. Or you could let her know yourself. You come to the orchard nearly every day. Are you going to stop because your niece might be there?”

Zoey frowned. “I don’t know.” She filled his go-cup and gave him a push. “But you have given me something to think about.”

CHAPTER THREE

“WHERE ARE ALL the fall colors we’re always hearing about?” Royce peered out the windows as they drove along Lake Road toward the turnoff onto Country Club Road, where the orchard was.

“It’s only the first week of August. The fall colors start up next month and peak in October.” Unless something stilled the restlessness in Cass’s mind, they wouldn’t be here. They’d be back in California with Royce in her old high school and Cass going to the coffee shop every day to sit in a corner booth and work.

“You can do what you do anywhere,” Royce had remonstrated when Cass had informed her they were making the trip to Indiana.

It was true. She could. Being the author of a bestselling mystery series gave her a lot of residential latitude; however, if they stayed at the lake, someone would eventually find out that Cass Gentry and Cassandra G. Porter were one and the same. While it was true that neither of her personas had anything to hide, keeping them separate had worked for a long time, both personally and professionally. “We’ll see,” she murmured, braking for the turn.

“See what?”

Cass started. She hadn’t realized she’d spoken until her sister replied. “Oh, nothing. Well, yeah, we’ll see how you feel about hayrides. I went on a few when I was here. They were fun.” They’d been at night, though, under starry skies and the harvest moon, and she’d had a boyfriend—that had made all the difference. Not that she and Sam had ever been serious, but they’d had a good time.

“He owns the hardware store,” Holly had said last night, holding onto Cass’s hands as if she’d been afraid she’d disappear again. “He’s married to Penny and they have three little Sams—all that’s missing is the eye patch.”

They’d sat together on the park bench while Holly had filled Cass’s mind and an empty place in her heart with reports of the friends from that year of her contentment. Arlie and Jack had married in June. Libby and Tucker were engaged and so were Holly and Jesse. Gianna had been dating Max Harrison, the high school principal, for years. Nate owned the golf course and spent half his time in Indiana and half of it in North Carolina. His wife’s name was Mandy. Linda’s family lived in Fort Wayne.

“It’s like there are no scars.” Cass had known even as she’d said it that it wasn’t accurate—all of the survivors of the prom night accident had scars whether you could see them or not.

“Oh, they’re there.” Holly had pointed at her prosthetic foot. “We miss Daddy. We miss Linda. Tuck and Jack have had to get past knowing their dad caused the accident. But we’ve all reached the point of not letting the scars define us. We had to give up some dreams, but we’ve found new ones.” Her dark eyes had searched Cass’s face. “How about you?”

Cass had shrugged. “When I was here that year, I thought I’d found perfection. I even wrote a paper one time about how the lake should have been called Lake Utopia. I’ve been looking for that same thing ever since, so in a way I guess I do let it define me.” Something needed to because she didn’t really have a clue as to who she was.

Holly hadn’t asked why she’d left, although Cass could read the question in the other woman’s dark eyes. Jesse had spoken little, greeting her and then stepping aside.

“Will you see all of us?” Holly had asked. “We’ve all wondered. We’ve all looked for you at one time or another. We wanted to respect your privacy, but we wanted to know you were all right, too.”

“I want to see you all.” That decision had been instant and much easier than Cass had anticipated.

“Are you lost?” Royce’s voice interrupted her reverie. “I think we drove past the orchard back there.”

“Oh, good grief.” Cass looked in her rearview mirror and braked. The wreck had happened somewhere near the country club that sat at the top of the hill on her left. She didn’t want to be reminded, but no sooner had the thought crossed her mind than she saw the beautifully carved crosses at the side of the road. One for Dave Gallagher and one for Linda Saylors—she knew without looking. Jack and Tucker’s father had died instantly when he’d hit the van carrying one set of parents and ten prom-goers, but no one would have included him in the roadside memorial.

“Sorry, Roycie,” she said. “I didn’t realize coming back here would be so overwhelming.”