Now and Then and Always Read online

  He’d awakened early this morning in yesterday’s clothes, with only a dull headache in place of last night’s migraine and the first inkling of a plan. By the time he’d downed half a pot of coffee and trudged in and out of the shower, he’d made his decision.

  He stood in front of Beth now. His six-foot-four frame towered over her, but as usual, his height did nothing to deter her air of older sister authority—a perfect storm of love and bossiness. She had Mom’s eyes, blue and unflinching.

  Whereas he’d gotten the Hawkins murky gray. “Like that eerie color in the sky right before a thunderstorm,” Penny had said once before they were married. She’d assured him it was a compliment. A weird compliment, he’d countered. She’d replied with a kiss.

  Life had really been that simple once. That happy.

  Beth’s stare bore into him. If she hadn’t become a doctor, she’d have made a good cop. Maybe he should’ve brought her in to question the Price kid. Probably could’ve wheedled a confession from him. “I need to do this. I need to go.”

  “Go where?” A streak of something purple stained her shirt. Jam? One of the twins, surely.

  “I don’t know.”

  “To do what?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Marsh.”

  “Beth.” He wished he were the kind of brother who could place his palms on his sister’s shoulders. Find the words to assure her . . . of what? That he was going to be okay? That, sure, as of yesterday, he’d officially lost everything but he could troop on.

  “You’re really going to leave. Just like that? What about the townhouse?”

  He’d loved this place once. He’d renovated almost every room over the years, transforming it from a bachelor pad into a perfect first home for a young family.

  But it didn’t hold any importance to him anymore. Not with that empty bedroom across the hall. The empty space on the other side of the bed.

  “I’d ask you to water the plants while I’m gone, but . . . ” He shrugged.

  Beth’s fists landed on her waist. “A joke? You’re making a joke about my penchant for killing houseplants at a time like this?”

  He patted her head before moving to the dresser once more. “We aren’t all born with a green thumb, Bethany Lou. It’s all right.”

  “You can be the most maddening little brother, you know that?”

  “I’m thirty-five and have eight inches on you. Isn’t it about time you dispense with the ‘little’?”

  He lifted a handful of clothing from a drawer. Eventually Beth would see he was doing this as much for the rest of them as for himself. He was too much of a mess. Too . . . broken.

  A wad of shirts tucked under his arm, he closed his top drawer and opened the next. “Don’t worry, Beth. This is exactly what I need. I’m just going to get in the truck and drive and see where I end up. The townhouse will be fine. I’ll stop by the post office on my way out of town to have them hold my mail. Money-wise, I’m good.” The life insurance had seen to that.

  Before Laney’s death, he hadn’t even realized there was a children’s rider attached to his policy. Penny had always taken care of anything involving paperwork.

  Until she hadn’t anymore. Until she walked away, one last piece of paperwork left behind. Divorce papers.

  He dropped his clothing into the suitcase.

  “You’ve thought of everything then.” Beth tipped her head to look up at him from where she now sat on the bed.

  He rubbed his fingers over his unshaven jaw. “Glad you came over, though. I ordered a backyard playhouse online a few weeks ago. Figured I’d put it together for Ethan and Makena when the weather gets nice. But now . . . did you drive the truck today? If so, I can help you load it and maybe Alex can build it for them.”

  Beth just studied him for a moment, indecision blending with compassion in her gaze. He lowered to the foot of the bed—he on one side of the suitcase, his sister on the other. For a fleeting second, he almost considered staying. He could bring the playhouse over to her house himself, enjoy the twins’ squeals, have dinner at Beth’s big dining room table. Maybe they could even Skype Mom and Dad, who were still in Florida at their winter home. And all the while, Marshall could let his family’s company convince him for a few hours that life was okay. That he was okay.

  But eventually he’d have to come back to this bare townhouse. And in his aloneness, he’d remember how Laney used to wish for a backyard and a dog. He’d remember house shopping with Penny and their promises to Laney that eventually they’d find just the right one. Maybe even one like the home in that magazine ad she’d shown them. The one with the blue door and matching shutters.

  Truth was, he’d lied to his sister just now. He hadn’t ordered that playhouse a few weeks ago. It’d been sitting in the garage for years. A Christmas present he never got to give.

  “By the way, Marsh, I, um . . . I ran into Penny at the grocery store the other day. She had her baby with her.”

  Any lingering thought of abandoning his plan vanished. He jerked to his feet, flipped closed the lid of his suitcase. “There are about a thousand things I’d rather talk about right now than my ex-wife.” Or her new family. The man she’d met mere months after walking away from Marshall. The baby she’d been pregnant with before the divorce was even finalized.

  “She asked about you.”

  His palms flattened atop the luggage. “You talked to her?”

  “She’s as worried about you as the rest of us. You were married to her for ten years. She still cares—”

  “Well, I don’t.”

  “You don’t mean that. Maybe it’d help if you talked to her. You could get some closure.”

  Closure. Right. As if all the gaping holes in his life could be filled with one conversation. No, he didn’t need to talk to Penny. He needed to take a cue from her. She’d moved on. He could too.

  And if he couldn’t, if this trip, wherever it took him, wasn’t enough to fix him . . .

  He couldn’t let his thoughts tow him there. Not to such a dark place. Not when his sister, who always read him too easily, watched him still.

  “Tell Alex I’m sorry about yesterday, will you? And give the twins a hug for me.”

  “Marsh—”

  “Please, Beth, just let me go. I’ll call, all right?”

  She stood. “Once a week or else I’ll have Alex put out a statewide APB for you.”

  Probably wouldn’t help to tell her he’d be across the state line by noon.

  “One more thing.”

  “Yeah?” He surveyed his room. Was one pair of shoes good enough? Should he throw in his work boots?

  “The pills.” Beth held out her hand. “I want every bottle.”

  “What?”

  “I’m not letting you hit the road under the influence of anything stronger than an aspirin.”

  “I can’t sleep without the Ambien, Beth. You know that.”

  “And you wake up drowsy, so you over-caffeinate, which gives you a headache. And on the days when the headache turns into a migraine, you gulp down a few Fioricet. Or more than a few. Which makes you so dizzy you can barely stand up straight.”

  “What, do you have a hidden camera watching me?”

  “You’re over-medicating and it’s making everything worse. I’m a doctor. I know the signs.”

  He stomped into the master bathroom. “You’re a pediatrician.”

  “And you’re acting like a child at the moment, so it’s rather fitting, don’t you think?”

  Her face appeared behind his in the medicine cabinet mirror over the sink. Stern, stalwart. Had she been hanging around Captain Wagner or something? He heaved open the cabinet, waved a hand in front of it. “Fine. Have at it.”

  “I want to see inside your sock drawer, your closet, your kitchen cupboards—”

  “Should I pull out every pocket of every pair of pants too?”

  “Be as sarcastic as you want but this is for your own good. I know the migraines are awf
ul. Keep one bottle of painkillers if you need to but promise me—please—that you won’t take them unless you truly need to. If you’re going to take a road trip to who knows where, you need to be clear-headed.”

  She might be annoying, but she had a point. And he wasn’t stupid. He’d been walking a tightrope between necessity and addiction for longer than he cared to admit. And with the threatening place his mind had gone to only minutes ago . . .

  Beth was right. This was for his own good. He’d give her every bottle, even the migraine meds. If he couldn’t function the next time one hit, so be it. It’s not like he’d be on the job.

  He walked to his nightstand, rummaged around for the half-full bottle of sleeping pills.

  “Marsh?”

  “Huh?” He found another bottle—prescription painkillers—under the bed. Already empty.

  “We’ll wait on the playhouse. The kids will love helping you build it.” She waited until he rose and faced her to finish. “When you get back.”

  When. Such assurance in the word. That he’d return and when he did, he wouldn’t be this same shadow of a man anymore. He was glad Beth believed it possible.

  Maybe someday he’d believe it too. Until then . . .

  He’d drive. Just . . . drive. And try to convince himself he cared where he ended up.

  Mara had given herself twenty-four hours to digest the letter from the bank that could ruin everything. But now she was done waiting and worrying. It was time to take action.

  That’s what she’d told herself while she drove the two miles into Maple Valley. As she walked into the First State Bank. And out again.

  And now, as she neared the Sugar Lane Bakery, the same determination coaxed her onward. For Lenora. Wherever she was.

  A gentle rain pattered atop the bakery’s yellow awning and the mingling scents of coffee and cinnamon curled in the damp air. A chatty customer at the bank had told Mara to come here when she’d overheard her asking to speak with the bank’s senior loan officer.

  “Everybody knows Jonas takes a midmorning coffee break at the bakery.”

  Another customer had nodded his agreement. “Even on rainy days he walks. Take Elm Street then turn onto Main. If he’s on his way back, you’ll run into him.”

  Apparently Maple Valley fit the small town stereotype of everyone knowing everyone. Mara gave her soggy umbrella a shake before closing it and reached for the bakery’s door.

  But the scene inside stopped her cold even as the bell overhead jangled and the door bumped into her backside, nudging her over the threshold. Sooo many people. Nearly every seat in the place was occupied. Chatter cluttered the air.

  Huh. Were the pastries that good?

  And why hadn’t she thought to ask that lady at the bank for a description of Jonas Clancy?

  Mara swallowed as she dropped her umbrella into her tote bag. It was a stylish bakery with dark walnut flooring, shiplap on the walls, glass display cases up front. Maybe she could ask the person working behind the counter to point out Mr. Clancy.

  Minutes later, peppermint tea in hand, she had her target. Gray coat on the back of his chair and a newspaper on the table in front of him. He was seated near a lanky window—alone, thankfully, with one of the only vacant chairs in the place across from him.

  She squeezed past the last table between her and the banker. “Excuse me, Mr. Clancy? I’m sorry to interrupt, but I was wondering if I could talk to you.”

  “Of course. Have a seat.” Thinning hair and lines etched into the man’s face bespoke his age. Despite the curiosity in his expression, his grandfatherly gaze almost put her at ease.

  She lowered into the empty chair. Pulling the foreclosure letter from her bag, she willed a grin into place. Confidence. Determination. “My name’s Mara. I’d like to talk to you about the Everwood.” She lifted the letter.

  “Oh. I . . . I see.”

  “This says the mortgage hasn’t been paid in three months. That doesn’t make sense. Lenora wouldn’t have skipped payments.”

  Mr. Clancy scooted his newspaper off to the side. “That letter is addressed to Lenora Worthington. Are you a family member or an employee? I don’t think I caught your last name.”

  She took a drink of her tea, barely tasting it for all her swirling anxiety. She wasn’t off to a good start here. She’d practically pounced on him. There’s no reason not to tell him your name. He’s not going to blast your identity and whereabouts to the world . . . to Garrett.

  She reached one palm across the table for a handshake. “My name’s Mara Bristol. I’ve been staying at the Everwood since last summer—about eight months now. I help Lenora run the place in exchange for room and board. I guess you could say Lenora gave me sort of an unofficial job.”

  It was a paltry description of what Lenora had truly done for Mara. From Mara’s first day at the B&B, Lenora had offered rest and kindness and security. Eventually she’d invited Mara to stay and help run the inn—no matter the shoestring budget or slowing business as winter set in.

  Peaceful days had unfolded, one into another, until eventually Dad, Mom, Garrett, and all her lonely years bouncing from family to family as a nanny had started to fade as if from a different lifetime altogether.

  The plain truth was, Lenora Worthington was the sole reason Mara was still here. Here in Maple Valley at the Everwood. But also here. Alive and closer to whole than she’d been in so long.

  She’ll come back. She has to.

  Mara could see Jonas Clancy’s churning questions, but a bump from the chair behind her—along with an unfamiliar voice—interrupted. “You’re staying at the Everwood? That old haunted house?”

  Mara angled around. The voice belonged to a woman, probably about Mara’s age, with raven hair pulled into a sleek bun. Her bright red lips spread into a friendly grin.

  “Uh, yes.”

  Intrigue lit the woman’s face, but before she could say anything more, another voice cut in.

  “Huh, so you’re Mara.”

  Mara stiffened against a pang of dread, her gaze darting past the woman to the man sitting across from her. He wore a uniform, his badge glistening despite the lack of sunlight. A hint of silver at his temples tapered into dark hair that matched his deep-set eyes.

  Why would a cop know her name? Nobody here should recognize hers as a familiar face. She’d been so careful . . .

  “You know her?” the woman asked.

  The police officer pushed away an empty mug. “No, but I know Lenora.”

  The woman tipped her head, one of her large hoop earrings brushing her shoulder. “Who?”

  “The owner of the Everwood B&B. Bought the place, oh, about nine or ten months ago, I’d guess.” The cop glanced at Mara as if seeking confirmation.

  She gave a slight nod. Lenora had bought the Everwood last June. Mara had arrived in July.

  “Sam Ross,” the man said. “Police chief. I used to run into Lenora all the time at the library. She mentioned you.”

  “She . . . she did?”

  He didn’t have a chance to answer before the woman across from him spoke again. “I didn’t even realize the Everwood was under new management. Some newspaperwoman I am.” She shook her head, laughter in her eyes as she looked to Mara again. “I’m Jenessa Belville, editor of the local paper. Well, editor, reporter, and photographer all in one. My BFF here is—”

  “Not your BFF, Jen.” Sam leaned back in his chair, arms folded.

  Jenessa’s dimpled grin deepened. “Sam’s always grumpy. Ignore him.”

  Mara would love to, but his dark-eyed study of her was too unsettling. It reminded her of Mr. and Mrs. Lyman’s stares when she’d finally gotten brave—or maybe desperate—enough to complain about their college-aged son, Garrett.

  She’d nannied the Lyman family’s younger children for more than two years by that point. She’d been reliable, responsible, well-loved by the kids. Shouldn’t that have been enough for her employers to trust her? To know she wouldn’t make up stories?r />
  And what reason could the local police chief have for looking at her with the same sort of skepticism now?

  “Uh, nice to meet you both,” Mara finally said.

  Jenessa’s fingers tapped against her covered cup. “So tell me all about the Everwood. I haven’t been there since I was a kid. Is it still as creepy as it used to be? Do you live there? Does it get much business anymore?”

  “Sheesh, Jen, give her break,” Sam broke in. “She’s here to talk to Jonas, not get interrogated.”

  Great. Just how much of her conversation with Jonas Clancy had they overheard?

  Jenessa flashed an exaggerated pout toward Sam before turning to Mara again. “He’s right, I totally interrupted. But don’t be surprised if I show up at the Everwood one of these days. My curiosity is piqued.”

  “Maybe I’ll come with.” Sam balled a napkin in his hand, gaze unmoving.

  The bakery’s front door opened, ushering in a gust of cool air. Oh, why hadn’t Mara just stayed back at the Everwood today like she had every other day?

  And what? Clean all its empty rooms all over again for guests who wouldn’t show? Sit around wondering when Lenora would return? Wondering why she’d gone so suddenly and where . . . and if she was coming back at all?

  “How long has she been gone, Ms. Bristol?”

  The banker’s soft question drew her back around in her seat. Too much was happening at once. That police chief’s disquieting stare. Jenessa’s disarming chatter. The banker reading her situation far too well.

  “About five weeks.” Lenora had taken off on an early February morning, all casual and cheery, with every indication she’d be back soon.

  If only Mara had asked more questions. Insisted on contact information.

  “And you’re staying at the Everwood? Alone?”

  Why did she get the feeling the police chief was still listening? She offered only a bare nod.

  “I’m not sure how appropriate it is to discuss Lenora Worthington’s business with . . . as you said, an ‘unofficial’ employee.” He laced his fingers atop his newspaper. “But since you’ve already read the letter, I can tell you it’s accurate. Three months’ worth of mortgage installments have gone unpaid. And unless they’re paid in full in thirty days, we’ll have to begin foreclosure proceedings.”