Trinity Falls (10 page)

CHAPTER 13

Ean entered his mother's house. He removed his running shoes before walking to the kitchen. He filled a glass with cold tap water and drained it in one long gulp. He refilled the glass and drank it more slowly as he padded up the stairs. His thoughts raced with Ms. Helen's suggestion that he start his own law firm. There was office space for rent in the Trinity Falls Town Center. He'd contact the center's rental office after breakfast.

Twenty minutes later, showered and dressed, Ean jogged back downstairs. In the threshold, he stopped short at the sight of his mother sitting at the small honey wood kitchen table. She was reading the paper and sipping coffee. A red velour robe was wrapped around her. Fluffy brown slippers protected her feet.

How much longer could he delay a confrontation about his father's illness? He'd wanted to ask her last night, but couldn't find the courage.

“Good morning. Did you sleep well?” Ean walked to the fridge and pulled out the pitcher of ice water.

Doreen lowered the newspaper. “Yes, I did. How was your run?”

“Good.” Ean refilled his water glass. Was it his imagination or did their conversation sound stilted? “Can I make you breakfast?”

Doreen's eyes widened. “I'd like that.”

“Don't look so shocked.” Ean tossed her a wry smile. “It's not as though I've never cooked for you before.”

“And every time is a pleasant surprise.” Doreen shifted in her chair to face him. “Do you need any help?”

“No, thanks.” With his back to her, this seemed like the perfect time to introduce a difficult conversation. “Mom, Dad told you not to tell me he was dying, didn't he?”

Silence dropped into the room. He felt Doreen's tension beating against him like a blast of frozen air.

“What makes you ask that?” Her tone was brittle.

Ean pulled the pans from one cupboard and ingredients from another. “Why did you let me blame you for not telling me?”

Doreen was silent for so long, he thought his mother would ignore his question. “Your father and I had been together for more than forty years, you know.”

“I know, Mom.” Ean worried at the husky note in her voice. Was she going to cry? If she did, then so would he.

Doreen exhaled a shaky breath. “He meant everything to me. He gave me everything I needed to be the person I wanted to be.”

Memories of his parents talking, laughing and dancing to music only they could hear played across his mind like a favorite film. He recalled their public displays of affection that had grossed him out as an adolescent and had filled him with envy as an adult.

“I know, Mom.” Ean poured a glass of ice water from the refrigerator and offered it to his mother.

“Thank you.” Doreen's voice was a whisper.

His throat was too tight to respond. Maybe this wasn't a good idea, after all. Ean gulped his own drink.

Doreen continued. “We were lovers, spouses, parents, friends.” She hesitated. Her voice grew huskier. “The hardest role I had to play was caregiver.”

Ean returned to the stove and set his glass on the counter. He lifted an egg, intending to break it into the pan, but he couldn't do it. He set the egg back into the carton.

“Why didn't he want me to know he was sick?” He spoke with his back to his mother.

“Watching him die was unbearable for me. I tried not to let him see how much I was hurting—for him, for myself, for you. But he knew. And it was intolerable for him. He didn't want you to go through that.”

His eyes stung, thinking about the two people he loved most in the world in so much pain. He turned to face Doreen. “But I should have been there with you.”

Doreen raised her gaze to his. Her eyes were wet with unshed tears. Her voice was raw with sorrow. “This wasn't about you or me, Ean. This was your father's dying wish. And as much as it hurt me, I respected that.”

And he had to respect it, too. That didn't mean he had to like it. “I didn't get a chance to say good-bye.” The cold water did little to ease the burning in his throat.

“Yes, you did. Every time he spoke with you, you ended the call with ‘I love you.' What more was there to say?”

How was he to know that, to his father, “I love you” meant “good-bye”?

“He'd sounded so weak and tired on the phone. I kept asking him about it. He said he would be OK.”

“He is.” The muscles in Doreen's throat worked as she drank more water. “It gives me comfort knowing he's in a better place—that he's not in pain any longer.”

“I'll have to take comfort from that, too.” How much longer before that comfort replaced his guilt and grief? Ean carried their empty glasses to the sink. “I'm sorry I blamed you, Mom.”

“Better that you were angry with me than your father. We have the time to reconcile. Your father didn't.”

He washed the glasses and set them on the drain to dry. “I understand why Dad made his choice, but I still don't like it.”

Doreen stood. “I would be upset, too.”

Ean crossed to her, wrapping her in his embrace. “I wish I'd been there with you, Mom.”

She hugged him tighter. “You were, baby. You were with me when I needed you most, and I'm glad you're here with me now.”

And he'd continue to be there with her, giving her the love and support she'd given him all of his life. Now that they'd cleared the air, they could start this new phase of their relationship—whatever it might be.

CHAPTER 14

Quincy tensed when Ramona took the stool beside him at Books & Bakery's food counter early Tuesday morning. Thinking about his last exchange with Ean almost cost him his appetite. How long had Ramona known he'd been in love with her? Why hadn't she ever said anything? Why, after fourteen years, couldn't he fall in love with someone—anyone—else?

“Good morning, Quincy.” Her greeting was like salt in a wound.

“Ramona.” He kept his attention on his breakfast of scrambled eggs, turkey bacon and wheat toast. If it killed him, he'd act as though nothing had changed.

Ramona leaned into the counter to see Darius seated on Quincy's other side. “How are things at the paper, Darius? Still making up what you don't know?”

Darius chuckled. “Why don't you tell me what I got wrong, Mayor?”

“You didn't get anything wrong, Darius.” Quincy's protective reflexes, honed since their days on their elementary school playground, kicked in. “But it sounds like you hit a nerve.”

Ramona turned on him. “Do you even know what you're talking about?”

Quincy steeled himself to meet her ebony eyes. “Do you?”

Ramona narrowed her gaze. “This doesn't concern you.”

That's where she was wrong. If it involved one of his friends, it definitely concerned him. “Why are you here, Ramona, at eight in the morning? You're not usually an early riser. Is your conscience giving you a hard time?”

Looking into Ramona's seductive eyes while speculating on her sleeping habits was a mistake. His body temperature spiked. In his peripheral vision, he caught the stares of the other breakfast patrons. Quincy feigned disdain as he returned his attention to the safety of his bacon and eggs. He took a deep breath to calm his pulse and drew in the warm, mouthwatering fragrance of baking bread wafting from the bakery's kitchen. And Ramona's perfume beside him.

“You have a point, Quincy.” Darius's tone was taunting. “What part of my ace reporting caused you to lose sleep, Mayor?”

“This blowhard doesn't know what he's talking about.” Ramona jerked her head toward Quincy. Her voice tightened, an indication that her renowned temper was about to snap.

“Blowhard.”
Quincy shook off the inappropriate images her insult brought to mind. “If Darius's reporting had been inaccurate, you'd have confronted him in his office at a much more convenient time for you, like noon.”

Ramona pointed a finger at Darius while the dark inferno of her gaze scorched Quincy. “His irresponsible reporting implied that I was raising fees and taxes on the stores in the shopping center to run them out of business. That sort of reckless writing will hurt my reelection campaign.”

Darius turned away from his plate of steak and eggs. “That reckless reporting came from your quote. You said you were hoping to attract higher-end businesses to the vacant stores in the center.”

Ramona inclined her head. “Yes, that's what I said. But you took that statement out of context. The way you positioned it in your article made it seem as though I chased those stores out. I didn't run them out. They left.”

“You're splitting hairs, Ramona.” Darius shrugged. “Those businesses left because the town's increased fees and taxes amounted to extortion. You should have thought about how that would play during the election before you asked for the increases.”

Quincy sipped his coffee. “But since she's running unchallenged, she doesn't have to worry about how her decisions will affect her reelection.”

“I'm not doing this to hurt the town. I'm trying to help the town.” Ramona spoke as though she believed what she said. “It's not my fault the original center owners defaulted on the loan the town granted them. Those increased business taxes will generate more revenue for Trinity Falls.”

“Revenue for what?” Megan joined the discussion. She greeted Quincy and Darius as she strode past them to stand behind the counter. “What will the town do with the money?”

“We haven't identified the use yet.” Ramona flipped her heavy raven locks behind her shoulder.

Quincy recognized the gesture as one she often used when she was uncertain. He softened his response. “That's backward, isn't it? You raise taxes to generate revenue for something. You don't tax your constituents just because.”

Ramona stood, sharing her glare equally with the other three people at the counter before resting it on Darius. “If I can't get you to curb your reckless reporting, I'm sure your publisher will.”

Quincy watched the irritated swing of her firm hips as she stormed out of the bookstore. Was she on her way to talk to
The Trinity Falls Monitor
's publisher? “Do you think Susan Liu will listen to her?”

Darius grunted. “Liu doesn't listen to anyone.”

Megan caught Quincy's eyes. “Why don't you tell her how you feel?” Her question was just above a whisper.

CHAPTER 15

Quincy looked over his shoulder, surprising several other breakfast patrons, who promptly glanced away. He turned back to Megan. “How many people know?”

Darius swallowed a bite of steak. “Who doesn't? Your inner twelve-year-old takes over whenever you're around her. What I want to know is what do you see in her?”

“She's smart.”

“She's conniving.”

“I like her sense of humor.”

“She has one?”

Quincy scowled at him. “Do you want an answer to your question or not?”

Darius held up both hands in a gesture of surrender. “Sorry.”

Quincy tipped back his head, staring at the off-white ceiling. What was there to love about Ramona? A woman who couldn't see beyond her own reflection, who used his feelings to taunt him with her other men and who'd barely acknowledged his existence in fourteen years. Why was he lost in love with her?

He must be a masochist.

Quincy addressed Megan. “She makes me feel protective. There's a vulnerability about her.”

Darius's eyes widened. “She's a shark.”

Quincy opened his mouth to blast Darius. Megan's hand on his shoulder quieted him.

“Ramona and I don't always see eye to eye, but I agree with everything Quincy's said.” Megan squeezed Quincy's shoulder before releasing him. “Darius, you've obviously never been in love. Sometimes you can't explain your feelings. You just feel.”

Quincy couldn't have put it any better.

“I wish I could stop feeling.” He offered Megan the bill and his credit card, then followed her to the cash register. “I hope the University of Pennsylvania offers me that faculty position.”

Megan ran his credit card through the card reader, then returned it to him with his receipt. “It's been six years since Ramona and Ean broke up. Why haven't you asked her out?”

Quincy was shaking his head before he heard the end of Megan's question. “I'm not competing against Ean. I don't want to be the runner-up.”

“You're right. You're not competing against him. You're competing against yourself.” Megan held his gaze. “Give yourself a chance, Quincy. Give Ramona a chance.”

Megan glanced at Wesley Hayes, one of her part-time assistants, who walked the aisles of Books & Bakery with her as they closed the shop Thursday night. The high school junior was a great employee—smart, efficient and dependable. She started to tell him that when the chime above the store's front door interrupted her.

“I'll be right back.”

“All right, Ms. McCloud.” Wesley's response was preoccupied.

Megan checked her red Timex as she hurried to the front of the store to greet the last-minute patron. It was five minutes to eight. Why would someone arrive so late? Everyone in town knew the store closed promptly at eight P.M. during the week.

Her steps faltered when she recognized Ean strolling forward. She hadn't seen much of him since Sunday. She'd begun to think the last kiss they'd shared had never happened. His loose-limbed grace drew her eyes to his faded denim jeans and his long, strong thighs underneath.

Megan jerked her gaze upward. “We're closing in a few minutes. Is there something I can help you find?”

“No, thanks. I've already found her.” Ean tossed her a boyish grin.

Did he think those pretty words and that sexy grin would make her forget his five days of silence? He was right.

She returned his smile. “Did you come to walk me home?”

“Yes.”

Megan blinked. She'd been joking, but he looked serious. “Ean, that's very kind of you, but I'll be fine on my own.”

“I know, but I'd like to walk with you tonight.” His casual words played with her heart.

Megan glanced around. If she looked at him too long, his hypnotic olive eyes would claim her soul. “It'll take me a while to get ready. We're making sure everything's in order before closing the store.”

On cue, Wesley emerged from one of the aisles. His blue button-down shirt was slipping free of the waistband of his navy pants again.

“Ms. McCloud, I've straightened the shelves in the back.” The seventeen-year-old jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “I'm going to . . . Hey! Aren't you Ean Fever?”

“Yes, I am.” Ean extended his right hand. “Who are you?”

“I'm Wes Hayes. I play ball for Heritage High.” A broad grin lightened Wesley's usually solemn features. His lanky body vibrated with excitement. “I want to be just like you one day. Leave this place behind and make a name for myself in the big city.”

Ean shot a glance toward Megan, releasing Wesley's hand. “Keep your grades up. Not everyone makes it in the pros. I didn't.”

Wesley shook his head. His thin brown braids swung above his shoulders. “No, but you were making serious jack with the law firm. I wanna do that.”

“How are your grades?”

“They're all right.” Wesley shrugged, still staring at Ean as though the lawyer was a pop star.

Megan smiled at Wesley's modesty. The high school junior was taking Advanced Placement classes and his grade point average was almost a perfect 4.0.

Ean knitted his brows. “Your grades will have to be better than ‘all right' if you want to get into a good college and law school.”

“Yes, sir.” Wesley's grin remained in place. “Maybe you could give me some tips. I'd like to attend the schools you went to.”

“Sure. Since we're going to be neighbors, you can stop by my office anytime. It's just a few doors down.” Ean nodded to his right.

The air drained from Megan's lungs.
“Your office?”

“Cool! Thank you, Mr. Fever.” Wesley's brown features glowed with joy. “See you later, Ms. McCloud, Mr. Fever.”

Megan regained her breath. “Your office?”

Ean watched Wesley jog from the store, closing the door behind him. “Does he remind you of me when I was his age?”

“No.” Megan turned toward her own office. She knew he would follow. She was right. “Wes has a quiet intensity. He thinks things through. You were much more outspoken. You said whatever was on your mind, always assuming you were right.”

“I usually was.”

“Or so you thought.” Megan rolled her eyes, even though Ean couldn't see her.

Why wasn't he answering her questions? What did he want? And why was he renting office space in the Trinity Falls Town Center?

“If I was so obnoxious, why did you have a crush on me?”

Megan stopped mere steps from her door. Why had she armed him with that information? Ean bumped into her from behind, causing her to stumble even closer to the threshold.

“I have no idea what I was thinking.” Megan began the ritual of leaving for the evening. “Are you really renting office space in the center?”

“Yes. I'm opening a law practice.” Ean turned away from her to examine the bookcase across the room.

Megan contemplated his broad shoulders, covered in his gray London Fog jacket. He reached out to handle the framed photograph of her and Ramona posing with their grandparents and a children's book author. It was the closest Ramona had gotten to reading that summer.

“Why?” She turned back to her desk and logged off her computer.

Ean returned the picture to the bookshelf. “Trinity Falls could use a local lawyer.”

“And you're going to fill that role?” Megan collected her purse from her bottom desk drawer and shrugged it onto her shoulder. “For how long?”

Ean turned to her. “How can I convince you I'm home to stay?”

“You'd have to stay.” Megan led Ean from the room and turned off the lights. “Even then you'd have a credibility problem because your goal in high school was getting out of Trinity Falls and never coming back.”

“I'm not in high school anymore.”

Megan locked her office door. “Trinity Falls wasn't able to hold you fourteen years ago. What's changed?”

“I have.” Ean paced beside Megan as she strode to the store's front exit.

Megan set the alarm before joining Ean outside. Was he really home to stay? That couldn't be possible. A longer visit—he'd already been back for more than a month—was more plausible. He'd reconcile with Ramona and then they'd both return to New York. That was a scenario she could believe. She was far more familiar with people leaving than with people actually wanting to stay.

Then why was he opening a solo practice and claiming his relationship with Ramona had ended? Ramona probably would have something to say about that.

Megan joined Ean on the sidewalk. “Did you ask Doreen about your father's illness?”

“You were right. It was his idea not to tell me he was dying.”

She turned toward home. “So now you have the answers you were looking for.”

Ean shoved his hands into his front jacket pockets. He kept pace beside her. “I'm beginning to think you don't want me here.”

“I don't believe you want to be here.”

His chuckle was dry. “Because when I was eighteen, I wanted to leave. I'm thirty-two now.”

“And you now know that you no longer crave the bright lights of the big city. After fourteen years, you've finally realized that you're a small-town boy at heart.”

“That's right.”

Megan smothered a sigh of frustration. Were all men this difficult to communicate with, or was Ean a special case? They walked for several blocks in a preoccupied silence. The evening breeze carried a sharp chill. Megan pulled her overcoat tighter around her body.

Another peaceful night in Trinity Falls. It was only a little after eight o'clock, but already the streets were empty of traffic. Their footsteps echoed against the redbrick pavement. A few townspeople were gathered in quiet conversations in front of darkened storefronts. The intermittent streetlights kept the deepest shadows at bay.

Megan inhaled the clean, crisp fall air. If she stood still and closed her eyes, she could imagine she was the only person on the planet. She'd attended the University of Illinois and had experienced what the big city had to offer in Chicago. The noise, congestion, sirens, shortened tempers. Chicago, New York, Philadelphia—they could all keep their cultural attractions, nightlife and skyscrapers. She was more than happy with the peaceful solitude of small-town life, thank you very much.

But what about Ean?

“After seven years in New York, what made you decide to come home?”

Ean's introspection ended with Megan's quiet question. She was persistent. He'd give her that. And she didn't shy away from confrontations, another formidable trait. But why didn't she believe him?

He looked at her cool chocolate eyes beneath her knitted brows. “Why are you angry?”

Megan didn't hesitate. “I'm not angry. I'm concerned. I don't want Doreen—or the town—to be disappointed when you return to New York.”

“I won't.” What about her? Would she be disappointed if he left?

“Then explain why you've come home to stay after achieving your dream in New York.”

Ean would have laughed if the statement hadn't been so absurd. The dream had become a nightmare. “I hadn't realized my father was dying. What does that say about my dream life in New York?”

“That your priorities were wrong.”

Ean flexed his shoulders, trying to dislodge the tension growing there. “I got tired of the rat race. In seven years, I was home a total of six weeks. That's less than a week each year.”

“I remember how disappointed your parents were when you stayed only two or three nights.”

That didn't make him feel better. It only added guilt to the anger and resentment he still felt toward the demands of his previous job. Ean drew a deep breath. The scent of burning wood sweeping out of the nearby chimneys settled him. It was a marked contrast from the stench of trash and exhaust that had assailed him in his former New York neighborhood.

“I worked every waking moment, but still couldn't keep up. I made partner two years ago. But when I realized I'd been billing hours for the firm instead of spending time with my dying father, I knew I'd made a mistake.” Even as he spoke the words, he knew he'd failed to mask his resentment.

“Your father was proud of you, Ean.” Megan's tone had softened.

Ean closed his eyes briefly. She felt sorry for him now. That was worse. “I was using my law degree to find loopholes for companies to get out of lawsuits and government investigations. That's not something to be proud of.”

“He was proud that you'd achieved your dream of becoming a lawyer and working in New York.”