Blurb
Noelle Dubois had the perfect life. She’d studied in
Paris, became a pastry chef at a vineyard, and had the love and support of both
parents.
In an instant, all that changed and now she’s back
home in New York, without a job, taking care of her eight-year-old brother and
living with her aging grandparents while waiting for her mother’s murderer to
stand trial.
Six months of limbo.
Six months of waiting.
Six months to learn that all she ever dreamed about
has gone up in smoke.
Sean Vines has dealt with his past and moved on.
He has goals and dreams, and only time and hard work
will see them accomplished.
Things are good until a pastry chef and an
eight-year-old boy churn up the memories from his childhood, and he learns that
some things don’t stay buried permanently, no matter how much he may want them
too.
Except this time it isn’t Sean who is facing horrific
circumstances, but a child, and it’s his turn to step up and be that adult to
help get him through this special kind of hell.
And just maybe, he’ll find a lot more than he dreamed possible.
The funny thing about dreams, they can be altered by
the people you meet, and that’s when you realize that maybe you just hadn’t
dreamed big enough.
1
SEAN
Can I afford to go a week without pay? No.
Do I need a week off of work to get the
basement done? Yes.
Those stars aligned this morning by way of
jury duty. I was all prepared to do my civic duty. I showed up early, hoping
there would be tables in the jury room so I could sketch comfortably. I was
able to do that, and calculate the amount of lumber and drywall I’ll need, before my
group was called to the courtroom for voir
dire. All it took was one question before I was dismissed: “Has anyone in
your family died as the result of another, whether by intention or accident.”
As I raised my hand, I looked over at the defense table to a clean-cut
gentleman in an expensive suit and wondered who he’d killed. We were in
criminal court, not civil, so the charge was murder.
As soon as I got back home, I headed to the basement
but so far I’ve not succeeded in escaping my memories.
All it took was being back in the courtroom and
that one question to bring the memories that I thought I’d buried, from the
scariest time in my life, to the surface. In an instant, the anxiety and terror
I experienced at the age of twelve clutched at my heart and gut, just like it
did when I had to testify against the person who killed Mom—my dad.
Damn, I thought all of those emotions were dealt
with and buried but right now they are front and center, and I need to get a
grip and push them back where they belong. I’m not that kid anymore and I did
what was necessary. I got through it, so why is it back haunting me?
Physical labor always helps and I’m hoping that
working on the basement to get it ready so I can move down here will help purge
my mind of the past and bury those emotions again. My radio station of choice
is helping too—NPR, and I’m reminded that there are shittier things going on in
the world and some people don’t survive like I did.
Heavy feet stomp down the stairs and I know
instantly that it’s Zach, one of my roommates. I’ve never understood how he can
tromp around, sounding like an elephant half of the time when in regular shoes,
yet practically glide on four inch heels.
“Hey, the Dempseys need you to open vents,” Zach
says as he jumps off the bottom step. “Their
granddaughter is going to be staying with them and is complaining about it
being sweltering upstairs.”
“I’m sure it is.” Fixing it to not heat the upper
level also keeps the rooms from getting air, and it’s been really warm lately.
“Give me a sec and I’ll head over.”
“Okay. I’m going to head back. Mrs. Dempsey is
kind of confused and Mr. Dempsey’s hip is bothering him.”
Zach heads back up the wooden stairs, taking them
two at a time as I gather the few tools I’m going to need.
The Dempseys live across the street and five
houses down. Zach is the one who always goes over because Mrs. Dempsey took a
liking to him. The two play Gin every Sunday afternoon, and he stops in to check
on them, a lot, because they remind him of his grandparents. Unfortunately, his
are dead. If they were still alive, maybe we would have never met.
Dylan, another roommate, sends over cakes, pies
and cookies when he’s baking and trying to get his head on straight or working
through a novel he’s writing. He also sends dinner at least one night a week
because the only means the Dempseys have for cooking is with a microwave. I
think Dylan has an arrangement with some of the neighbors to send meals on
different nights of the week, but he’s never really talked about it. I just
know that on Tuesdays he makes extra food.
I’ve been over more times than I can count, not
that I mind. It’s an old house, like ours, and Mr. Dempsey is pushing eighty
and can’t keep up on the place like he once could. I’ve done everything from
change a light bulb to renovate the bathroom to add a shower. The couple pretty
much lives on the main level with their bed in the dining room. It’s a five-story
brownstone like ours with the living room, then dining room and last the
kitchen on the main level. They just don’t need that big of a house anymore and
Mr. Dempsey once thought about selling it because all they did was rattle
around inside. Last winter he finally had me seal off the upper floor and shut
off the vents so they weren’t heating rooms they weren’t using.
They do have a son, but Mr. Dempsey doesn’t like
to bother him because his son’s work is too important—Russell. I’ve never met
the guy. Hell, I don’t even know what he looks like because all of the pictures
in the house are from when the Dempseys’ two kids were babies, or maybe grade
school. It’s like they never grew up.
There are three grandkids too, but the only pictures they have are from
when they were babies too. It’s like they didn’t want the kids and grandkids to
grow up or maybe they wanted to keep them forever young or something like that.
Of course, Russell
could be there a lot more, which by my estimation is never, because nobody goes
in the front door of the Dempseys, only the back because the front is locked
and blocked.
My steps slow as I start to cross the street and
see two motorcycles parked outside of the Dempseys’ house. They aren’t just any
bikers either. These guys belong to a specific chapter. One I’m all too
familiar with, or was a long time ago, and as soon as I see the emblem on the
back of the black leather jackets, I’m that kid again.
What the hell? Is this let’s go down an ugly memory path day? First the courtroom, murder
and now these particular bikers?
What I don’t understand is why they are here. The
Dempseys don’t have any kids and these particular bikers only help kids.
The biggest one turns and I catch the tattoo on
his forearm. I can’t fucking believe it. Am I being punked? There are too many fucking
coincidences happening today and if this is a joke, it is a fucking terrible
one.
“Tink?” I finally ask, still unable to believe I’m
looking at that all-too-familiar tattoo.
The biker with him gives me a side-eye, but Tink
slowly turns and his brows draw together in confusion. “Do I know you?”
So, not a joke, or he wouldn’t be confused. “Once
upon a time you did.”
There is no recognition in his eyes, but I get
that. It has been twelve years. Tink was the first positive male influence in
my life. He taught me how to mold clay and swing a hammer. He may have only
been in my life for a short time but he left the biggest impact. I wanted to be
like him when I grew up but I haven’t even come close. “I’m sure you don’t
remember me, but you were there when I needed you.” I hold out my hand to shake
his. “You and Bull. I just want to say thanks.”
“Bull?” He cocks a brow and thinks back. “Over ten
years ago,” he finally says. “That’s when we lost Bull in an accident.”
My heart squeezes. Bull was a great guy. About
half the size of Tink but I still wouldn’t want to tangle with him.
“Sean Vines,” I say, just in case the name rings a
bell. He’s probably helped so many kids since then that he’s not going to remember
me after twelve years.
His eyes widen and he starts to grin. “Damn,
you’ve really grown into yourself. Told you that would happen.”
I was really small for my age back then. All arms,
legs, knees and elbows, shorter than everyone else in my class, which didn’t
earn any points with my dad. “I always
wanted to find you one day and tell you thanks. You guys got me through the
worst days of my life.”
“That’s our goal, though I wish it wasn’t a need
to be filled.”
“Why are
you here?”
“Kid’s afraid his dad will find him.”
Maybe he’s got the wrong place. “What kid?”
“Nephew,” he answers. “He and my niece are moving
in.” Then he sees my tool box and his eyebrows shoot up. “What are you doing here?”
“Just need to fix the vents.” I shrug, but my mind
is kind of racing to try and catch up. The Dempseys are going to have a niece
and nephew with them. The niece must be the one that was in Paris because
Tink’s kid wouldn’t need to move in here. So, the Dempseys’ daughter that was
killed, by her husband, had a son? And, she was Tink’s sister?
Then it hits me and my jaw drops. I literally feel
it go. “You’re Russell?” The useless
son who never comes around? Not that I say that part, of course.
“Not that anybody calls me that except Mom and
Dad.” He shakes his head then stops and narrows his eyes on me. “You’re
the Sean who fixes shit?”
Apparently Mr. Dempsey has told Tink about us. “I
do what I can. We all do. It’s no big deal.”
“Hey, thanks man.” Tink holds out his hand. “I’ve
told my dad time and time again not to bug you guys but to call me when
something needs fixed but he never does.”
Because what you do is a hell of a lot more important
than what I do and I’m just across the street anyway. Not that I know where
Tink lives, but now that I know why Mr. Dempsey doesn’t like to call his son, I
sure as hell don’t mind doing my bit to help out.
“It’s not that big of a deal. I am just across the
street.” I glance at the other biker. “I take it that the guy is out on bail or
you wouldn’t be here.”
“Trial started today. They’re still picking the
jury.”
“Hopefully it will be over soon.” I know nothing
about Tink’s nephew, but this part is almost as hard as the death and funeral.
You just want to get through it and have it be over.
“That son-of-a-bitch should begin his rot in
prison before the week is over, hopefully. Kaden is really afraid of
testifying.”
Again my stomach tightens. “He was there?”
He looks me in the eye. “Just like you were.”
That surprises me. “You remember that?”
“We remember them all.”
That’s a hell of a lot to carry. It’s hard enough
being one of those kids, but I can’t imagine carrying the stories of dozens, if
not hundreds. For me it was twelve years ago and Tink was helping kids before
me. I wonder how many he’s helped since.
Do I really want to know?
“You know, all this time when your parents
mentioned Destiny, I never knew they were talking about your little girl.” Of
course, it’s not like there is only one girl named Destiny in the world.
“My little girl is seventeen, can you believe
that?” He’s shaking his head again. “It’s just not right.”
“In my mind she’s still a smart-mouthed five-year-old.”
“Oh, she’s still smart-mouthed.” He laughs then tilts
his head. “Did my dad call you to fix something while I’m fucking sitting right
outside.”
“Just to open vents,” I laugh.
“Need help?” he asks.
“I got it. You just do what you need to do.”
NOELLE
Sweat is dripping down my neck, back and between
my boobs. I’m pretty sure my shirt is soaked, but there is no point in taking a
shower since I’ll just sweat all over again. Instead, I open up all the windows
on the third floor of the brownstone and pray for a breeze, which doesn’t come.
I would have just settled on the second floor, but of the two bedrooms, only
one has furniture and I don’t want Kaden on a separate floor. He doesn’t want
to be that far from me either. I’m still not certain he won’t crawl into my bed
tonight.
This is the same floor I lived on with my mom
until she met and married the asswipe who murdered her. I’ve given Kaden my old
room and took my mom’s. There’s not much of her in here anymore, just the
furniture, but the memories still linger of lazy Saturday mornings when I’d
cuddle up between her and Dad to watch cartoons while they complained about
trying to sleep.
This was Mom’s room when she was a kid, with the
same four-poster bed with the lavender canopy, white bedspread, and pale yellow
walls. The bedspread is in the washer and I don’t want to think about how much
dust is sitting on top of that canopy. If I had the energy, I’d tear it down
and throw it in the wash too, but then there’d be dust everywhere that I’d have
to clean up and I just don’t want to deal with it right now. I figure that as
long as I don’t disturb it, the dust won’t bother me.
Flopping down on the bed, I stare up, remembering
how I used to feel like a princess when I got to stay in this bed, because only
princesses had canopies. My parents were the king and queen and one day I’d be
ruler of all of their kingdom, which happened to be the third floor of the
brownstone, but it was still a kingdom to a four-year-old.
Why couldn’t my parents have stayed together? That
was my biggest complaint when the jerk showed up in Mom’s life, but my parents
explained that they weren’t meant to be married. I refused to believe them
because even after the divorce, they still got along. I don’t remember my
parents ever fighting and they sat together at all my recitals, plays and soccer
games, with never a negative word between them.
They were friends and one time best friends, then
lovers and then pregnant at seventeen. Way too young to marry, but they thought
it would work. It did, until I was about five. I guess trying to go to college,
work and raise a kid on a limited budget took its toll. They even lived here,
with my grandparents. We had this floor, their kingdom, all to ourselves. Then
one day, without warning, at least to me, the king moved, leaving the queen to
rule alone.
I hated my step-dad from the moment I met him. It had
been just me and Mom since I was five with weekend visitations, school breaks,
and one week in the summer with Dad. As I got older I saw Dad more. When Mom
married that asshole, I saw Dad a hell of a lot more. Everyone tried to tell me
that my hatred for Gary was because of my age since I was in my bitchy teen
years, and that I’d grow out of it. I never did. I recognized evil the moment
Mom brought him home and then they married.
Two years later, Kaden was born and two and a half
years after that, I went off to college and only came home that first summer
and then I moved to Paris.
I should have come home sooner, but it was so easy
to stay.
Mom made it easy for me to stay. But if I had come
home, maybe she’d be alive today.
She’d been keeping secrets. I just don’t know for
how long. How far back did the abuse go? Did it start when I went off to
college? After Kaden was born? Did Uncle Tink know?
No, he couldn’t have because he would have gotten
Mom and Kaden away. Mom worked him just as she worked me.
My mom, dead at age 41. That age used to seem so
old, but it’s not. It’s young. Too young to die and I’m going to make sure that
bastard pays!
Sitting up, I glance around the pale yellow room
that probably hasn’t had a fresh coat of paint in twenty-five years. Cobwebs
fill the corners and the windows need washed. Boxes surround me but I can’t
bring myself to clean or unpack anything. I should clean before anything else,
but I just don’t have that kind of energy. I feel lucky to have gotten Kaden’s
bed made and mine will be set after the bedspread comes out of the dryer.
It’s just too damn hot to do anything and I’m
drained from the first day of the trial. Not that it’s actually started since
they’re still picking a jury. God, I hope this doesn’t drag on for weeks. I
need it done and over. Kaden needs it done and over.
With a sigh, I push boxes to the other side of the
room and stack them all on top of each other. Some are from the small apartment
Kaden and I shared and hid in for six months and the others are shipments from
Paris. I didn’t exactly pack much when I left because I was in a hurry and now
Moira, my best friend is slowly shipping my stuff to me since I won’t be
returning to my old life.
“I’ll get everything opened up and they’ll have
cool air soon, Mr. Dempsey.” Heavy footsteps climb the stairs.
In the blink of an eye, Kaden rushes into my
bedroom and hides behind me.
He’s not the only one who’s afraid. My heart is
pounding and I glance out the window. Uncle Tink and Frog are still there. If
they let the guy pass, then he should have checked out. At least I hope. What
if Tink doesn’t even know he’s here since the only way to get into the house is
through the back door?
The footsteps near and I hold my breath. He barely
glances into the room as he heads down the hall but I recognize him
immediately. Are my eyes playing tricks on me? Is that the same guy who was
dismissed from the jury? A lot of guys were dismissed for various reasons, but
he is the only one who raised his hand when asked if a family member had been
killed.
He slows and turns into the room. “I’ll get these
vents open and you should have cool air soon.”
“Juror 6?”
He grimaces. “Only for a short time. Sean,” he
says as he holds out his hand. Recognition sparks in his light brown eyes. “You
were in the back of the courtroom today.”
All I can do is nod, not sure if this is a good or
bad coincidence.
“Your uncle explained,” he says.
“Noelle Dubois.” I finally say. His grip is
strong, but not crushing, and heat rushes up my arm. Is it possible to feel
comfort from such a simple gesture? There is such warmth in his brown eyes that
I immediately feel safe.
How’s that even possible? I don’t know him. I know
nothing about him.
“Thank you,” I finally say.
He tilts his head and looks around me. I can feel
my brother shift, but he doesn’t come out. Sean sinks down so that he’s
balanced on the balls of his feet.
“Hey, Kaden, right?” he asks.
My brother leans around but stays firmly behind
me.
“I’m Sean.” He holds out his hand. “A friend of
Tinks and I help your grandparents when they need something fixed around the
house.”
My brother trusts very few people. It took him
days to warm up to the other bikers, and I have no idea how he’s going to react
to Sean.
Slowly Kaden extends his arm and shakes Sean’s
hand, then yanks it back.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Sean says before he
stands back up and looks at me. “Will you be in the rooms on the upper floors
or just this floor?”
“Just this one.”
“Then I won’t open the upper vents.” He smiles.
“It shouldn’t take long and I’ll be out of here shortly.”
“Thanks,” I say again as he heads out of my room.
There is something about Sean that’s almost
comforting. It’s not that he’s big, which right now I equate with safety, or
that he’s cute with the soft beard and bald head. Maybe it’s his eyes…warm and
comforting just like melted chocolate.
What the hell? My mind must be really slipping.
This is not the time to notice a handsome guy or his nice eyes. My step-dad is
about to stand trial for murder of my mother and it’s going to take everything
I have to get my half-brother through this.
Maybe it’s because I’m tired of being alone and
would give anything to have someone that is there for me, that I can curl up
next to for a short time for comfort or regain some energy and strength. Selfish,
I know, but I’ve been going for months, almost on empty, trying to take care of
my brother. It’s not his fault and I love him and I’d never leave his care to
anyone else, but sometimes, it would be nice to have someone for me. I’ve got
Uncle Tink, Destiny and my grandparents, but it’s not the same. They are all
dealing with the fallout of this. While we are there for each other, we are
still dealing with everything personally, and we’ve also been so focused on the
trial that we haven’t really been much help to each other.
I am tired. Exhausted! There is no place in my
life now for guys, but maybe I should make room for some chocolate. Molten lava
cake, or a chocolate soufflé. Yes, that is what I really need. A few hours in
the kitchen cooking and then after dinner is done, I’ll bake. Nothing releases
tension better than time in the kitchen and with any luck, maybe I’ll be able
to finally sleep. I don’t think I’ve slept since my plane landed six months
ago.
Kaden slips his hand into mine when I glance down
at him.
“Is it going to be over tomorrow?”
I know he’s worried about testifying. Hell, not
just worried, but scared to death. “If they get a jury, you’ll be the first to
testify and then you won’t have to go back.” I pray they get a jury. Once Kaden
testifies he’ll be able to stay at home with Grams and Gramps until the trial
is over. However, I’ll be there every moment of every day to make sure Gary
pays. That ass killed my mother and I won’t rest until he’s sentenced, and
hopefully to life in prison.
“I wish it was over,” he whispers.
My heart constricts a bit. “Me too.” Though, it
won’t be over for a long time. Even with my step-dad in prison, my brother is
still going to need help. Help that I’m not sure I can give. If I could shield
him I would. But, I can’t protect him from what he already saw.
“What if they don’t believe me and they let him
go?” my brother asks.
“They will
believe you, I promise.” An eight-year-old boy should not have to be afraid
like this. He should be worrying about making a baseball team or something like
that. Except, my brother doesn’t like sports, other than soccer, but Gary had
him on every team he could as soon as Kaden was old enough. My step-dad just
couldn’t accept that his son would rather play the piano and he made Kaden’s
life hell.
I sink down to my knees so that I can look Kaden
directly in the eye. He needs to know that he is safe and will stay that way. “Your
father will go to jail. But, if for some reason he doesn’t, I am still your
guardian and he can’t get you back.”
“He can still find me.”
“Not if I take you back to Paris with me.” Not
that I’ll be returning to Paris, but I don’t tell Kaden that. My life in Paris
ended when I got the call telling me that my mom had been murdered. I hopped
the first plane home and found a mess bigger than I imagined. A mess I’ve
inherited. A mess I can’t abandon to return to my other life. A mess my Uncle
Tink and Mom shielded me from. I can’t talk to her about it, but as soon as
this is over, Uncle Tink has a lot to answer for.
“How about
we head down and see what I can make for dinner?” I stand up. “We’ll tackle our
rooms once it’s cool up here.”
He just gives me a nod. Kaden says very little and
it worries me. Before Mom was killed, he talked non-stop when we connected on
Facetime or Skype. At least he did when Gary wasn’t home. When his dad was in
the house, Kaden’s conversations were limited to a few syllables, as if he were
afraid to say the wrong thing.
Grams glances at me and Kaden as we come down the
stairs and frowns. “Where’s Caroline?”
Pain slices across Gramps features. “She’s dead,
Doris,” he says.
I know that Gramps has explained to Grams several
times over the last six months but her brain won’t accept that her daughter is
gone.
Grams frowns, light eyes clouded in confusion.
“No. I don’t think so.”
“Remember, we lost her,” I say without reminding
her of the real horror of Mom’s death.
At that, Grams brightens. “Oh, well I’m sure we’ll
find her soon.”
It’s the same conversation we’ve had since I came
home. Grams even chastised Mom at the funeral for being asleep when so many
people had come to see her. That’s the first time that I realized just how far
Grams had slipped. Mom used to tell me she was just having memory problems and
it was to be expected at that age.
She sugarcoated and made light of Gram’s
condition, just like she hid a lot of things.
“There you go, Mr. Dempsey.” Zach hands over the
remote to my grandfather. “Just don’t hit that button and all will be good.”
I don’t know what Zach is pointing to, but at
least the television is working again.
Grams slaps the flat of her hand on the small
table by the window. “Sit!” she practically barks and picks her cards back up.
I hadn’t met Zach until today, when we got here
from the courthouse, but Grams seems to love him. “He has the prettiest
dresses,” she told me.
I’ve stopped questioning many of the things she
says since most of the time it doesn’t make sense.
“We’re going to fix dinner while Sean gets air up
to the rooms.” I walk through the living room and then their bedroom, former
dining room. Kaden curls up at the corner of the couch and pulls an afghan up
around him and stares at the television. It’s not cold in here. Not even close,
but my brother cocoons himself whenever possible, as if he can protect himself
somehow.
This kitchen is so old and has hardly any counter
space, mainly because of clutter everywhere, just like the entire lower portion
of the house, but Grams won’t let me straighten anything up.
Crossing to the opposite wall, I open the fridge
to see what is available to cook, but it’s essentially empty. There is some
fruit, cheese slices, milk, butter, orange juice, cream, eggs and bacon. All of
it fitting on two shelves.
Inside the freezer is nothing but microwaveable
meals. I’ll suffer through one tonight, if I have to, but I’m going to the
grocery store the first chance I get. In the door of the freezer are three
cartons of ice cream. Is this how my grandparents live and eat? If so, their
daily diet is going to improve greatly now that I’m living here.
There is absolutely no meat in the freezer. Not
even a pound of hamburger.
Had my grandparents gone vegetarian?
No, they have bacon, so why no other meat?
There has to be something to cook, but all the
cupboards contain is cans of soup, tuna and spaghetti.
I close it and look around, mentally creating a
shopping list. At least they have bread. I’ll just make up some breakfast.
Tomorrow, I’ll make a real dinner.
Grabbing a skillet, I flip on the stove, but it
doesn’t come on. It’s a gas stove, but there’s no pilot light and I quickly
turn everything off and go to the doorway. “Gramps, what’s wrong with the
stove?”
“Doesn’t work,” he answers.
“Why didn’t you get it fixed?”
“Nobody knows how.”
“Buy a new one.” How can anyone live with a broken
stove?
“Too expensive.”
“I want to cook too.” Grams pushes herself out of
her chair.
“It’s broken, remember,” Gramps says.
“Get it fixed,” she orders then sits back down.
Did Mom know how bad it was here, or did this all
happen since she died?
Doing a slow turn I notice a microwave. Besides
the toaster, it’s the only thing in here that can heat up food.
Returning to the freezer I open it and groan, then
shut it again. I can’t eat one of those. Not today. Not ever.
Grabbing a discarded notebook, I lean against the
counter and begin making a list. Not of groceries, but of all the things that
need to be done around here. If I’m going to be living in this house, the stove
needs to be fixed and if it can’t be, I’ll purchase a new one, along with an
updated microwave. Hell, I’d love to renovate the entire kitchen but until I’m
making more money, that isn’t going to happen.
Ha! Making more money. I’m not making any money.
Kaden has taken up all of my time since I returned and I haven’t been able to
leave him long enough to look for a job, let alone work at one, but I can’t
continue to live on my meager savings since it’s almost gone.
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