The Truth about Family

“No, I suppose not,” he answered slowly, seeming reluctant to let her go, as if he could sense she was holding it together by a thread. Erin swallowed, wishing for a fleeting moment someone, perhaps even Officer Barrett, was here with her. She remained quiet, not quite trusting her voice any longer. The silence stretched and Erin was grateful when, after offering his condolences, he said goodbye.

Another memory popped into her mind, unwelcome and very recent.

“Please come home for Christmas, love. It’s been so long since we’ve seen you,” Caroline had pleaded, pulling at Erin’s conscience. “I’ll make all your favorite dishes…candied yams, mincemeat pie, fresh cranberry sauce…you name it. The sky’s the limit, if you’ll just come home, at least for a visit.”

Caroline’s insistence had coaxed a small smile, but Erin had shaken her head as she rolled a pencil back and forth on the surface of her desk. “I can’t, I’m shooting a holiday spread for the magazine. I’ll be booked before and after Christmas.”

That much had been true but Erin could have scheduled a few days in Granite Hills if she’d wanted to. Even Harvey Wallace had family. He would have granted her at least a weekend.

“Are you going to invite Charlie?” she asked after Caroline refused to let the subject go even after she’d politely declined the offer. There was a telltale pause on the other end. “Well?” Erin prompted, yet already knowing the answer. “Because you know if he shows up, I leave, and frankly, that’s a waste of airfare.”

Caroline let out a sigh. “Erin Mallory, why must you be so hard-headed? He’s your father for goodness sakes! And he deserves a second chance. He’s changed, really he has, and if you’d talk to him you’d see that,” she said, her tone openly disappointed. When Erin remained stubbornly quiet, Caroline changed tactics. “Erin, I know things were bad, Lord, how I know, but people change. Why won’t you give him a chance to show you he’s not the man you remember.”

Because men like Charlie didn’t deserve second chances. Men like Charlie were the human equivalent of a black cloud of doom hanging over a person’s head. He destroyed everything he touched. He was probably the reason Erin’s mother killed herself before Erin was even out of diapers. Of course, she didn’t know that for certain because Caroline refused to talk about it but Erin wasn’t stupid or blind. It hadn’t taken long for her to piece together that pathetic puzzle.

Erin had ended the conversation with an empty promise to call again but they’d both known she probably wouldn’t. As it turned out, Erin had spent Christmas Day in the same place she’d spent it last year—in her apartment alone. She didn’t even have a cat, unlike her Aunt Caroline, who thought it was unnatural to live without the company of a good animal or two.

Staring at the far wall, half-lost in memories, she sniffed back the tears that seemed to flow no matter how hard she tried to hold them back and bit her lip to keep from wailing. Why did bad things happen to good people? How could fate be so cruel a second time around? Hadn’t her family suffered enough? She closed her eyes but the action was useless. The dialogue in her head continued to rant with the single-minded purpose of a spoiled child. It just wasn’t fair.

Caroline was all she had. No mother, no father to speak of…no other family. She was alone. Cradling her head in her arms she sobbed until the tears had soaked the silky softness of her cashmere turtleneck. Finally, the sobs racking her body slowed to a trickle and she lifted her head with a watery hiccup. Arrangements…she had to make arrangements. What did that entail?

She dragged a fresh notebook from her desk and attempted to start a list, though her fingers felt stiff and useless. Where did she start? It was damn near overwhelming. Caroline had mentioned something about a living trust during one of their conversations, but truthfully, Erin hadn’t been interested in pursuing the details. Somehow it had seemed morbid talking about arrangements for the estate when her aunt was still alive.

“Oh, God.” Her eyes widened in alarm as she remembered Butterscotch, Caroline’s dog of thirteen years, midway through her list. “What am I going to do with the dog?”

She dropped the pen and ground her knuckles into her eyes, trying to stop the tears from flowing. Focus, damn it. You can fall apart later, she promised herself, sniffing back another wave of moisture that was gathering like an ocean swell after a big storm.

She supposed she’d have to call someone to go over to the house and pick her up, but who? Erin had long since lost contact with the people she’d once known in Granite Hills. Someone was bound to realize Butterscotch was alone at the house, right?

Perhaps. Then again, perhaps not.

Visions of a half-frozen dog waiting pitifully for her master to come home made her shudder, the very thought weighing like a two-ton bulldozer on her conscience. After all Caroline had done for her, she couldn’t possibly let her aunt’s favored companion die forgotten like day-old trash. But what was she supposed to do if she couldn’t get hold of anyone?

Her gaze returned to the assignment folder and she contemplated telling Harvey that she wasn’t going to do it. He’d no doubt spit bullets but there was nothing he could do if she chose to take time off under these circumstances. Of course, if she did that she could probably kiss off any chance of landing the senior photographic editor job. She drew a deep breath and leaned back to stare at the ceiling, her grief-numbed brain reminding her sharply to get her priorities straight. The promotion was the least of her worries.

Yet, she realized with a groan, time off with nothing but her grief to occupy her mind would probably drive her crazy. Photography had always been her form of therapy. Losing herself in the process of capturing a sliver in time enabled her to stay sane when the moment proved too much to handle. It was what had kept her on track those first few years after leaving Granite Hills; what had kept her from self-medicating with drugs or alcohol. Closing her eyes as another wave of anguish rolled over her, she knew with resigned certainty that she wasn’t going to pull out of the assignment, no matter the circumstance or her personal feelings on the subject matter. Once again, she would cling to her photography like a life raft in the hopes that she wouldn’t drown.

A fat tear slid down her cheek and she wiped it away, almost absently, her mind already attempting to work in some sort of productive direction. She glanced at the folder on her desk.

Hometown America—the fantasy of small-town life.

Granite Hills—the reality of what small-town life was all about.

Quaint pictures of cobbled streets and gabled churches didn’t always tell the story straight. Most of the time, the pretty picture was simply that—a nice illusion. Which was why she hated these types of spreads. She preferred urban settings—gritty and real.

But, as she soon realized, most people weren’t like her. They wanted the fairy tale, which was why American Photographic was going to give it to them in full Technicolor.

“Happy-sappy sells magazines,” Harvey had snapped when she’d tried to talk him out of a similar spread last year.

And that’s what mattered.

Ironically, Granite Hills was probably the place of Harvey’s photographic dreams. On the surface it was chock full of Mayberry goodness; almost enough to give a person a cavity if they stuck around too long. It was the kind of place that Erin distrusted. She’d always felt apart from the shiny, happy people around her; always felt afraid that someone might judge her by the actions of her father. It hadn’t been easy being the only child of the town drunk. It probably hadn’t been any easier to be his sister but Caroline was one of a kind; she never gave up hope that things might change for the better. Unlike Erin, who’d given up on that pipe dream the day she left Granite Hills.

“Erin McNulty, line two.”

Erin stared at the sudden appearance of the blinking red light on her phone and wondered what more bad news could be waiting for her on the other end. She was half-tempted to let it blink for all eternity. Not possible, a derisive voice answered back. Besides, whoever it was would probably just call back anyway. She scrubbed the last of her tears from her face, and made an attempt to appear as if her world hadn’t just crumbled around her feet, before picking up the phone.

The officer with the New York accent spoke and the corners of her mouth turned down as fresh tears threatened to ruin her mask of composure. What now?

“I thought you should know the results of the BAC tests,” he said, pausing ever so slightly. “Aside from a little Robitussin for a cough, he was totally sober. I just thought you should know that before you made your decision.”

Sober? Impossible. “How accurate are those tests?” she asked.

“One hundred percent.”

Erin recalled Caroline trying to tell her that he’d stopped drinking a while ago but she hadn’t believed her. Actually, she hadn’t given Caroline much of a chance to convince her either. The thought of a sober Charlie was too fantastical to entertain and it tugged too hard on a childish dream that Erin had let die the night he beat her nearly senseless.

“You must have caught him on an off-night,” Erin retorted, a different sort of bitterness flooding her chest. “Ironic. The night he ends up killing someone with his driving is the night that he’s, according to your tests, quite sober.” A mirthless chuckle broke free. “Fate is a fickle bitch, isn’t she?”

Knowing there wasn’t an appropriate response to her acidic comment, she let him off the hook and changed subjects. She didn’t want to talk or think about Charlie. Ever again.

“My aunt had a dog,” she began, focusing on keeping her voice strong. “Her name’s Butterscotch. Can you send someone to get her? She’ll freeze out there by herself.”

“Sure thing,” he answered. He paused, then said, “We can hold her for three days, but if no one adopts her, I gotta be honest with you…she’ll be put down. Shelter policy. It’s a terrible thing but there’s just not enough space to hold all the animals we pick up.”

Of course. “Are you sure there’s no way the shelter could keep her until someone adopted her? I’d be willing to pay for her room and board,” she offered, yet, she knew that finding a family for an older dog was difficult at best. Most families wanted puppies or at least adolescent dogs who still had the energy to romp and play and fetch a stupid stick. She tried sweetening the deal. “I could even make a donation to the shelter, if need be.”

Money was one thing she had. If she had to she’d pay room and board for the dog until she died. If she had to empty her savings to build another wing for the animal shelter, she’d do that, too. But the man’s hesitation told her it wasn’t going to be that easy.

She could almost hear the man shake his head. “Sorry, ma’am, it doesn’t work that way. If the shelter ran like that it’d be a kennel,” he said, adding in a tone that was meant to soothe…or rile, she wasn’t quite sure. “But don’t worry, we’ll send someone out to get her. She’ll sleep warm tonight.”

But after that? Who knows. Criminy, what was she supposed to do? Fly to Michigan for a dog? She wasn’t a dog person. She wasn’t a pet person period. What was she supposed to do with the dog if she went and picked her up? Her apartment wasn’t conducive to other living things. The dog was probably better off taking her chances at the shelter. Someone was bound to adopt her. Judging by the pictures that Caroline always sent around Christmastime, she was fairly cute, as far as dogs went. A mutt of indeterminate parentage, but cute nonetheless.

And what if no one adopts her? a small voice shot back.

Then she’ll be put to sleep.

Can you live with that?

Don’t all dogs go to heaven?

Don’t be flip. This time the voice sounded a lot like Caroline’s and Erin actually flinched.

Caroline loved that dog. And Erin owed Caroline at least that much for all the times she stood by her, protected her, treated her like the daughter she never had the opportunity to have.

Once again her eyes strayed to the folder lying on her desk and she realized if she could manage it emotionally, this was an opportunity to hand Harvey his precious Hometown America wrapped with a gingham-print ribbon. But could she handle it?

She’d have to.

“Fine.” Erin closed her eyes and heard herself say the words that she never imagined herself uttering in this lifetime. “I’ll take the next flight out. I should be in Michigan by tomorrow afternoon.”

CHAPTER THREE

COLIN BARRETT’S SUV lumbered through puddles of slushy mud as he made his way carefully to Caroline Walker’s house. It was near nightfall and the rain had quickly turned to sleet with the promise of a full-blown, nasty snowstorm on the wind, but his wipers were doing a valiant job trying to keep his windshield clear and as long as he could still see, he wasn’t turning back.

A woman was coming all the way from San Francisco for this dog; the least he could do was make sure it hadn’t caught pneumonia by the time she got here.

He pulled onto the long, dirt driveway, his tires slipping a little in the mud, and turned the spotlight on. The dog, eyes reflecting the light, rose painfully to her feet from her place on the porch but managed to wag her tail in welcome.

“Poor thing,” he murmured, knowing from the dog’s stiff gait it wasn’t accustomed to staying outside for long periods of time. Caroline had probably let the dog out while she went with Charlie, figuring she’d only be gone for about an hour.

Colin pulled his slicker over his head and climbed out of the vehicle, narrowly missing a puddle that looked as if the Loch Ness monster could easily take a few laps in, and reached behind his seat for the control pole he’d borrowed from the animal control officer.

He walked slowly, offering soothing words of welcome until the old girl sniffed his hand and then gave him a warm lick with her tongue. Smoothing her damp fur, he started to slip the nylon loop around her neck but thought better of it. This dog was no Cujo, that was for sure.

“We don’t need this, do we, girl?”

She licked her chops and stared up at him expectantly. She was probably wondering where her master was, and if her dinner was coming, Colin realized.

“She’s on her way,” he said, feeling only slightly ridiculous for trying to make a dog feel better.

Suddenly his radio crackled to life.

“SR4, ten-nineteen.”

Return to station?

“This is SR4, ten-four.” Holstering his radio, he made quick work of getting the dog settled in the vehicle and jumped in himself.

Once inside, he switched to his Nextel for privacy.

“Hey, Joe, this is Colin. What’s going on?” he asked the dispatcher.

“Sorry, Colin, but Danni was hauled in while you were heading out to the Walker place. Thought you’d want to know right away.”

As soon as he heard his daughter’s name he felt a flush travel up his neck that was surely a result of his blood pressure hitting the ceiling. He bit back an oath, needing a moment before he was able to speak again without clenching his teeth. “I’m on my way.”

Twenty minutes later he was sliding his ID card into the back door of the police station, silently fuming. It had taken every ounce of training he possessed not to speed down the snow-covered streets of the quiet town as he drove to pick up his only child. This was becoming an all-too frequent occurrence and he didn’t know what to do about it.

“Hey, Col.” Joe Boland waved and gestured toward the holding cell. But before he could enter, Joe stopped him, his face grave. “They had to book her this time. I’m sorry.”

Colin pressed his lips together but nodded in understanding. “With what?”

“Possession,” he answered. When Colin swore and shook his head, Joe tried lessening the blow. “It was just a bit of weed—a misdemeanor—but she’s going to have to go to court. I think Marty’s already processed the citation, you can probably take her home.”

Colin thanked Joe for his help. This wasn’t the first time Danni had been caught hanging with a group of kids with a shady reputation, but the officers had let her off with a warning. This time, Colin knew, she’d gone too far. He couldn’t expect his buddies to keep covering for her. It wasn’t right. The law was the law.

A sense of loss filled him as he pushed open the holding cell door. Where was his little girl? And was she ever coming back?

Colin’s heart contracted at the sight of Danni slumped in the metal-backed chair, chewing at the cuticle on her index finger as she stared glumly at the dull metal table. She looked up as he entered the room, her expression changing quickly to the picture of defiance but not before he saw the relief in her eyes. Colin ignored the pain that lanced through him and made a curt gesture for them to leave. “Let’s go. You’re supposed to be at your Aunt Sara’s. She’s probably worried sick.”

“Yeah, right.” Danni shoved away from the table, the legs scraping against the old tile floor, as she shouldered her backpack and stalked past Colin with more attitude than an MTV diva on concert night.

“An attitude like that won’t land you anywhere but more trouble, young lady,” he said to her back as they walked out of the station and into the biting cold. He hit the automatic door lock on his key ring and both locks popped up in unison. “You’re in enough trouble as it is. Do you have any idea what could have happened to you out there? The weather alone made it dangerous, never mind the company you’ve recently taken up with. And what about your homework? Or the fact that you have school tomorrow?”

“Whatever.” Danni jerked the door open and slid in, noticing after she took her seat that there was a dog in the back. Startled, she dropped her scowl long enough to give him a questioning look. “What’s with the dog?”

“The shelter’s closed and, as you can tell, there’s a bad storm. I didn’t want her to freeze to death,” he answered, amazed he was able to keep from yelling. He was so mad he was shaking.

“How sweet,” she said, reverting back to the sour-faced teen that he’d found sitting at the station. She gave the dog a long look then wrinkled her nose. “It smells like wet dog in here.”

“And you smell like cigarettes and stale beer,” he returned. “Frankly, I think I prefer the smell of the dog.”

The black look he received was completely out of place on the face of his thirteen-year-old daughter and made him wish that he could turn back time—to change what had gone so horribly wrong between them.

But he couldn’t and because of that he could feel her slipping further and further away from him with each sullen glare, each angry exchange. Lately, she seemed to hate him.

They drove home in silence, the endless swish of the wipers the only sound between them. Colin risked a glance at his daughter as she leaned against the window frame, her cheek resting against the cool glass. Her profile, so much like her mother’s, made him ache. Danielle had been classically beautiful, yet her delicate features could not have hinted at the vulnerability hiding in her fragile mind. Years ago, geneticists had warned him that Danielle may have handed down her condition to their only daughter. Colin swallowed against the lump that had risen in his throat. All he could do was hope that Danni had dodged that bullet.

Putting the SUV into Park, he turned to tell Danni to go straight to bed, but she hadn’t waited for instruction. She was already out of the truck and stomping her way through the snow to the front door. By the time Colin made it to the house she was already ensconced in her bedroom with the door closed firmly behind her.

“Well, girl,” he said to the dog, which to his best guess looked to be some kind of yellow lab cross, her face nearly white with age. “It’s just you and me. How about something to eat?”

The dog looked up at him with big brown eyes that were sweet and trusting and he found himself hoping that Erin McNulty didn’t flake on the poor thing. He didn’t know her from Adam but she made it pretty clear that coming home to Granite Hills was as appealing as having a nail pounded into her foot. He went to the fridge and pulled out some ground beef he’d planned to make into burgers tomorrow and crumbled some into a bowl for the dog. He’d hate to have to put her into the shelter. By the way she moved, stiff and slow, it looked as if she had some level of hip dysplasia. If the McNulty woman pulled a no-show and he had to check her into the shelter, the odds were slim that she’d find a home. He wasn’t a bleeding heart, by any means, but he didn’t like the thought of putting the old girl down.

“It ain’t steak but it’s better than nothing,” he murmured, giving the dog a gentle pat on the head as she bent down to eat what was offered. A small smile lifted the corners of his mouth. At least someone would go to bed happy. His gaze strayed to his daughter’s closed door, knowing that he was, no doubt, playing center stage as the villain in his little girl’s dreams, and his brief moment of satisfaction evaporated. After placing a bowl of water on the kitchen floor, he retired to the small room he’d converted to an office, wishing he could sleep but knowing that he couldn’t. Despite the late hour, he sighed as he picked up the phone and made a quick call to his sister so that she wouldn’t worry. With Sara’s husband in Iraq and a six-month-old to care for, she certainly didn’t need the grief Danni was dishing out on a daily basis to everyone she felt had betrayed her.

A box of chamomile tea sat unopened on his desk, part of a care package his mother had sent. He wasn’t much interested in it, but his mother swore by chamomile when things looked rough. She said it had a soothing touch. He eyed the box without much hope. He knew what he needed wasn’t in that box but at this point he was starting to feel a little desperate.

God, he missed his parents. They’d bought a condo in Florida last year in search of warmer climates. With her arthritis getting worse each year, Ma said she couldn’t take the winters here anymore. They were coming back for the summer, but it just wasn’t the same without them. Although his sisters lived close by, they were busy with their own lives and he hated to bother them with the problems he was having with Danni. Turning to face the large bay window, he watched as Mother Nature did her level best to ensure that Granite Hills was buried under a soft layer of snow come morning. Colin thought of the McNulty woman and wondered if her flight would be delayed due to the weather.

He closed his eyes to relieve the burning behind them and briefly thought about giving that damn tea a shot. He needed sleep but he knew that if he went to bed he’d just end up tossing and turning, punching his pillow in frustration or staring at the ceiling. He was only thirty-six but he felt one hundred. The last few weeks with Danni had been hell.

And he blamed himself. He should’ve told Danni the truth a long time ago but he’d chickened out. Now, the secret was out and his daughter hated him for it.

A seemingly innocuous slip of paper, he mused bitterly, had driven a wedge between him and his only child.

How many times since that afternoon had he wished he’d burned it the moment it’d been put in his hands? A dozen, a hundred, a million? Countless. But he hadn’t. Like an idiot he’d put it in his file cabinet and forgotten about it.

Until he came home one day three weeks ago to find Danni standing in his office, holding it in her hand, her eyes full of wounded disbelief, demanding an answer.

“What is this!” Danni had screeched, tears streaming down her cheeks, jerking the paper away just as he’d reached for it—no, grabbed at it—in horror. “You lied! You said she died in a car accident when I was a baby but she didn’t!” She thrust the document at him, the broken-hearted look reflecting back at him nearly sent him to his knees apologizing. “This says she died five years ago—” her voice dropped and wavered, suddenly sounding much younger “—of a drug overdose.”