The Truth about Family

Another officer walked by, offering a quick goodbye before heading out the door. Shaking himself out of the useless direction of his thoughts, he proofread his official report of the accident, reviving the memory of that night.

He’d been heading down Old Copper Road when he saw the vapor spiraling from the ruptured radiator into the frigid air. The front end of the older model Ford was wrapped around the solid trunk of an old yellow birch while a fresh drift of snow had started to fall on the wreckage. As Colin picked up speed toward the accident, he radioed for emergency crews and prayed whoever was in that mess was still alive. He glanced at his report again.

Driver #1, 58-year-old male, head lacerations, multiple injuries.

Passenger #1, 54-year-old female, severe head trauma. Dead on arrival.

The sterile report in his hands did little to communicate the horror of the fatal accident. Colin could smell the tang of copper drifting on the wind and mingling with the scent of wintergreen from the injured tree as emergency crews worked to save Charlie, knowing that Caroline was long gone.

Thank God no one else had been traveling that same stretch of highway that night. Colin shifted in his chair and let the paper slip out of his hands. Tomorrow he’d have to stop by the hospital and check Charlie’s status. He couldn’t help but feel bad for the old guy, seeing as he was broken all to hell without a soul in the world to care if he lived or died. The one person who had cared was dead; and the one who should care would rather walk the other way.

Colin could hear the night shift arriving, their voices rising in playful banter with one another. He recognized the voice of Mark Sporlan and the newest officer to join the small department, Missy Reznick. Then, he heard the voice of Roger Hampton, the chief of Granite Hills P. D.

“Got a minute?”

Surprised, Colin swiveled in his chair. “Sure, Chief,” he answered, following him to his office. Normally, the chief left before the night shift came in. The fact that he was still here and wanted a private audience gave Colin pause. Something was up.

“Take a seat, detective.”

“Something wrong?”

“I was hoping you could tell me.” He fixed Colin with a sharp stare that was piercing, yet showed concern. “I’m not one to meddle in personal affairs but I couldn’t help but notice that Danni got hauled in last night on a misdemeanor drug charge. What’s that all about?”

Colin tensed, immediately on the defensive. “Nothing I can’t handle. Just your run-of-the-mill teenage rebellion.”

“I’m sure you’ve got things well in hand, Colin. Look, I know I’m treading on dangerous ground here. No parent likes a meddler. So, I’m not going to do that. But if my officers are having personal problems that might affect their job performance, I like to know ahead of time what I’m dealing with.”

“The problems I’m having with Danni won’t affect my job,” he assured the chief. “She’s a good kid. This is just a phase.”

“What if it isn’t?”

The chief’s blunt question zeroed in on Colin’s worst fear. “Then, I’ll deal with it,” he answered with more confidence than he felt. How he was going to deal with it, he hadn’t a clue, but that was just one more problem he’d work through. If he could handle midnight feedings, diapers and daycare issues as a single father, he could handle this.

“Listen, Colin.” The chief drew himself up as far as his round belly would allow, his finger tapping his desk. “You’re a good cop. I’m only saying this to you because I don’t want to lose you. I’d rather authorize some personal time now so you can figure things out than lose you permanently because the problems have spun out of your control. I already had Bruce look at the books and you have plenty of vacation time banked. If you need it, just say the word and I’ll sign the paperwork.”

At a loss for an appropriate response, he gave the chief a curt nod. “Thanks,” he said. “I’ll keep your offer in mind. If things continue to go downhill…” God, he hoped it didn’t go that way. “Then I’ll take your advice and cash in some of that vacation time.”

“Good. Glad to hear it.” The chief stood and grabbed his jacket. As Colin approached the door, his mind returning to the situation with Danni, the chief’s voice stopped him.

“I heard Charlie McNulty was banged up pretty bad in that fatal accident with Caroline Walker on Old Copper. Is he going to make it?”

Colin stopped and turned. “Not sure,” he answered truthfully. “Did you know them?”

His expression guarded, the chief answered with a slow nod. “We used to be buddies. But we had a falling out years ago. Haven’t seen much of either one of them lately. It’s a shame about Caroline, though. She was quite a woman.”

Surprised at this admission, Colin started to ask him some more questions about Charlie, but suddenly Roger winced and rubbed at his breastbone. “You okay?” he asked, not quite liking what he saw.

The chief stopped the motion and waved away Colin’s concern. “Just a little bit of heartburn, is all.” Then, in a characteristic move, he winked. “Had hot sausage for lunch—don’t tell Vera or she’ll have my head.”

Relieved, Colin returned the conspiratorial grin. There wasn’t much he wouldn’t do for Roger Hampton. He was a great guy and a mentor to his officers. “Your secret’s safe with me Chief.”

“I knew I could count on you,” the chief answered, his lips twisting in a smile that was probably meant to be appreciative yet seemed ragged on the edges. A flutter of unease returned to his gut. He had no choice but to shelve it for the time being. The chief had already stayed later than usual on account of Colin and he didn’t want to keep him any longer.

He glanced at his watch and drew a deep breath. It was time to pick up Danni from school. Gathering his coat, he waved goodbye to the night shift and prepared to endure another emotional assault at the hands of his daughter.

CHAPTER FIVE

BY THE TIME ERIN PULLED into Caroline’s driveway, she was bone-tired, but even the fatigue wasn’t enough to dull the shaft of pain that went straight to her heart as she stared at the old house. Shutting off the ignition she pressed herself against the soft seat and fought against the well of tears that sprang to her eyes with the knowledge that Caroline wasn’t coming out to greet her, nor would she ever again. Despite her best efforts, a tear snaked its way down her cheek, and before she knew it, she was holding her face in her hands and sobbing.

Why were you with him, Caroline? What were you doing?

Erin stared into the darkness as the tears continued to fall unchecked. The questions were as endless as they were pointless. Butterscotch whined from the back seat, and Erin realized she was shaking from the cold. Logic dictated that she go inside, but she wasn’t sure if she could. Another whine from Butterscotch sounded, this time more urgent, and Erin reluctantly pocketed her keys. Drawing a deep breath, she ruthlessly shoved her heartbreak into a dark corner of her mind and focused on the situation. If she stayed much longer in the car, someone—more than likely Colin Barrett—would find them frozen to their seats, and dying from hypothermia with an old dog for a companion was not the way she envisioned going out.

A bright porch light illuminated the familiar house against the snow-topped forest and even through the milky light she could see signs of decay that tore at her heart. The house wasn’t what anyone would call fancy, but at one time it had been quite lovely. A frown crossed her face as more guilt pricked her conscience. If she’d known the house was in need of repair she would’ve sent the money. Of course, Erin couldn’t have known because she never came home to visit and Caroline, darn her stubborn soul, would never ask.

Without conscious thought she inhaled deeply the scent of fresh water on the air from Lake Superior as her breath plumed in frosty clouds. The crescent moon sheathed the wooded backdrop in pale light, giving the snow a luminescent glow, like something out of a fairy tale. The quiet stillness was soothing to her ragged nerves and for a moment she just stood and listened. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt such peace. In the city, the constant cacophony of busy streets, honking horns and loud pedestrians filled her apartment despite the windows that she kept closed and locked.

Erin shook her head free of the melancholy that had enveloped her and went to grab her gear. Obviously, jet lag was doing more than tiring her out—it was making her downright loopy. She did not miss this place. Opening the back hatch, she grabbed her suitcase along with her camera bag.

Glancing down at Butterscotch, who was waiting patiently by her side, she shook her head in disgust at herself and made her way to the front door.

She was here to take care of business, not wallow in useless nostalgia. Yet, when she came to the porch steps, she stopped and cast one last look at the wooded shoreline, hating it for its beauty and its ability to move her in spite of everything. She shut her eyes against the ghostly light of the moon and focused on getting through the door without collapsing.

Don’t think of it as Caroline’s house, she told herself fiercely when her breath hitched in her throat as she slid the key into the lock.

It’s just a bed and a place to shower.

No, it was more than that, a voice argued with the same vehemence. Caroline’s house had been the one place she’d felt loved, cherished and safe. The place where she could sleep an entire night without waking in a cold sweat, terrified of the agonizing, drunken bellows that echoed in the still night air. The place that Caroline had insisted she consider home—no matter how old she was.

Erin closed her eyes and swallowed, knowing with a fatal certainty that walking through that door would crack her heart in two, yet also knowing that the pain was inevitable.

She swore softly at the situation. Congratulations. You’ve made it as far as the porch before falling to pieces. Open the damn door already before you and the dog freeze your asses off.

Wiping the residual tears from her eyes, she opened the door and stepped inside as Butterscotch nosed her way past, intent on finding her own bed for the evening. Erin didn’t bother with the hall light. Despite the years that had passed since she’d been back, Erin knew her way around as if she’d never left. The fatigue that had been a constant companion as she drove returned with a vengeance and, for once, she welcomed it.

Walking like a zombie to the bedroom that had once been hers, she stepped over the threshold, flipped the light and sucked in a breath as memories assailed her.

It was exactly as she remembered, as if time had stopped or Caroline had been loath to change anything. It was both oddly comforting and disturbing. She crossed to the wrought-iron bed and sank onto the sturdy mattress, a small smile lifting her lips as the old springs squeaked from disuse.

Erin’s fingers skimmed the soft fabric of the quilt covering the bed, remembering how her aunt had patched it together especially for her from old odds and ends that’d been collected over the years. Erin had spent many a night snuggled into its protective warmth.

The hardwood floor still had a bare spot by the entryway from the many comings and goings throughout the years and the antique armoire that had once been part of a glorious collection of hand-crafted Victorian furniture stood sentinel against the wall near the bed. Caroline had inherited the piece from her mother, who had inherited it from her husband’s family before that. Erin had loved having something with such history. It’d made her feel as if she were someone important instead of always feeling forgotten.

Spurred by the flash of a memory, Erin rose, despite her fatigue, and walked to the armoire. Bracing her hand against the opposite door, she gently opened it and peered inside. The sharp smell of aged wood and dust motes tickled her nose but her gaze immediately fell to the far left corner. She knelt, a pained smile curving her lips, as she traced her fingers over the tiny scratched initials of a lost, scared little girl whose tears were locked deep inside so that no one would know just how much it hurt to feel alone.

E.M.McN.

Erin rocked back on her heels. If it hadn’t been for her Aunt Caroline, she’d often wondered if anyone would have noticed or cared if she’d disappeared. Her father certainly wouldn’t have. An old familiar ache crept into her chest. She groaned when she realized she was doing exactly what she’d sought to avoid for the past fourteen years. Rising, she shut the armoire doors and wearily dusted her knees. She needed sleep, not a trip down memory lane.

After quickly changing, she burrowed under the thick quilt and closed her eyes as she gratefully surrendered to a deep, dark, dreamless exhaustion.

A RESPECTFUL MURMUR filled the air from the crowd that mingled beneath slate-gray skies outside Barstow’s Mortuary as mourners made their way out of the funeral home following Caroline Walker’s services two days later.

The dreary weather seemed to fit the occasion as Caroline had been well-liked within the community despite her brother’s wild reputation and often unpredictable nature, and everyone had come to pay their respects.

As Colin searched the line of mourners for a familiar face, he realized there was only one face he was looking for.

He spotted Erin standing outside the mortuary doors, looking brittle in her stylish, black pantsuit, and nearly frozen to the bone as she accepted hushed words of kindness from virtual strangers. She had grace despite the grief that dragged on her slight shoulders and he was reluctantly drawn to the aura of sadness and vulnerability that she was struggling to hide. As he approached, he noted the quick flare of relief that followed recognition and he was glad he came.

“Quite a turnout,” he acknowledged once he was by her side, his voice low. She nodded, the motion so filled with sorrow he hastened to say something soothing. “Your aunt will be missed in this community.”

Her chin wobbled in a subtle motion but she managed to hold it together. “Did you catch the ceremony?”

He gave a short nod. “It was beautiful. Caroline would’ve been proud, I’m sure.”

The shine in her eyes told him that his comment hit a nerve that was particularly sensitive but he wasn’t sure why. Before he had the chance to ask, she looked away, her gaze wandering over the assembled crowd. “I had no idea she had so many friends.” Her voice caught and she cleared her throat a moment later. She tried again. “I didn’t get home very often. My schedule—” She stopped, as if an internal alarm had warned that she was in danger of sharing too much, and the smile that followed was short-lived. “Well, as I said before…my schedule didn’t allow for much visiting,” she finished, her stare dropping to the frozen ground.

Feeling useless in the face of such heartache, yet knowing that there was little he could do to ease her suffering, Colin merely stood by her side as she received the long line of mourners offering their condolences. He caught a few questioning glances but Caroline’s friends had the good grace to leave it be for the time being. He didn’t blame their curiosity, he hardly knew her; that much was true. But it didn’t seem right to leave her alone.

He watched as she received a warm handshake from an elderly gentleman and weighed the measure of her apparent grief against the magnitude of a past transgression. Whatever Charlie did, it must have been a doozy to keep her away from her Aunt Caroline. The love she’d had for her aunt was almost palpable; as was her anguish for not being able to say goodbye.

He considered his major screwup with Danni and inwardly flinched. For all he knew, he was catching a firsthand glimpse of what his own future held with his daughter.

“Thanks for coming,” she said, once she had a free moment, jerking him out of his troubled thoughts. “I know we just met but it feels good to see someone I recognize.”

Her comment startled him. “I thought you grew up here.”

“I did. I used to think I knew everyone there was to know in this town. I figured I would recognize at least a few people,” she admitted almost to herself as tears welled in her eyes despite her attempt to blink them back. “But, just when I think I know who they are I can’t seem to remember their names and I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

The last part came out sounding like a confession and the force of her statement hit him like a punch to the gut.

There was little he could do to stop the grief but he could help in one small way. He turned to survey the crowd, looking for people he knew. He nudged her gently.

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