Page 2 of Love and Other Lost Things

Jane shook her head, focusing on the double yellow line bisecting the road in front of her. The only thing predictable about men like Dad was that you could never really predict anything. There might be long stretches where everything seemed like it was going to be okay. So, you’d get comfortable, let your guard down for just a moment, and start to believe that they really intended to change.

And that’s when they would hurt you the most.

Jane peered into the growing darkness down the road ahead. Nobody would be bracing themselves for Dad’s reactions ever again. It was the only way she’d been able to come home, back to the blustery Western New York town where she’d spent her childhood. Back to these old stone farmhouses, the skeleton trees stripped bare of their leaves by the lake wind, and those crows.

If Jane were the superstitious sort, she’d think those crows were an omen, but of what she had no idea. Hannah would know. Hannah, who used to flip to the last page of the local newspaper every day at the school lunch table and read their horoscopes aloud over their trays of cafeteria pizza. Hannah would’ve spotted those crows and grabbed Jane’s arm in excitement.

Jane, do you know what this means? Crows are a symbol of good fortune. This is a very auspicious sign.

But Jane hadn’t talked to Hannah since the day she’d taken off, down this same country road over a decade ago, on her way out of town. She hadn’t talked to any of her old friends—Hannah, Ali… Nik—and the chances of that changing on this trip were non-existent. No, Jane would be here just long enough to figure out what to do next. There was nothing auspicious about it.

Jane glanced in the rearview mirror to check on her sleeping daughter in the back seat. This trip had been hard on Scarlett. In a lot of ways, Scarlett had been forced to grow up faster than other kids her age. She’d understood why they had to go. But still, she was only nine. Packing up everything that was important to her—and leaving some things behind so it wasn’t obvious they weren’t coming back—would be terrifying for any kid.

Jane had been there once.

She slowed the car as she approached the same old sign that had welcomed people to Linden Falls for her entire life. It looked a little worse for wear—the blue faded to more of a dull gray now—but then again, maybe it had always looked like that. Everything lacked a certain luster compared to the artificial gleam of Los Angeles.

Jane’s car coasted down Spring Street past the Grassroots Café, the coffee shop where she used to play her guitar and sing in the Saturday open mic nights. A sign in the window told her that Pete, the café’s owner, still hosted those music showcases, but Jane looked away before she could see the name of whichever musician would be featured. She didn’t want to know if she knew them, didn’t want to know who’d replaced her.

Next up on Spring Street was the library, where Jane had spent more hours of her life than she could count. It was the sort of place you could hide out without anyone knowing that’s what you were doing. Dad had certainly never set foot in there. He’d tossed an occasional police thriller into his bag for fishing trips, but books hadn’t really held his interest.

Jane kept driving, her gaze slowly oscillating from the store fronts on one side of the street to the other. Except for the displays in the windows and a new sign on the dry cleaners, Jane could have been looking at the town on the day she left a decade ago. Another contrast to LA, where the restaurants and shops came and went so quickly nobody ever got too attached. Nobody got attached to much of anything in LA.

When the town’s municipal building came into view, decked out with a two-story Christmas tree, twinkling lights, and a life-sized nativity scene, the realization sank like a stone in Jane’s gut.

Christmas is in a few days.

How could she have forgotten? I might be the worst mother in the entire world. Glancing into the back seat again, Jane’s gaze traced her daughter’s face, from her long eyelashes fanned out against her flushed cheeks to the well-loved stuffed elephant tucked under her chin. When Scarlett was asleep like this, she still reminded Jane of a tiny baby passed out on her chest, little mouth working on an invisible bottle in her dreams.

Jane wished she could go back to those days, when everything still felt full of possibility and hope. The days when she’d still believed Matteo would be a good partner and father. Before she knew who he really was. Or at least when she’d still been able to convince herself otherwise.

Scarlett hadn’t reminded her about the upcoming holiday. She’d never really believed in Santa—Matteo had disabused her of that notion when she was practically a toddler. And back in LA, the holidays were usually more stressful than festive. The club where he worked was busy, crowded, and Matteo had to juggle all the regular patrons plus private parties. It left him tired, cranky, and—when he got home after a long day—ready to pick a fight.

Jane eased the steering wheel to the right and pulled up next to the curb in front of Ford’s Hardware and General Store. Scarlett didn’t even stir when Jane engaged the parking brake and turned off the engine. Jane considered waking her daughter, but then she wouldn’t be able to buy her a present in secret. So instead, she climbed from the vehicle, careful to close the door gently. Then she circled the car, checking the locks. It was silly, Linden Falls was the safest place on Earth, and she’d managed to get a spot right in front. The car would be visible through the wide window the entire time.

Still, Jane hesitated on the sidewalk. She’d been hoping to avoid downtown Linden Falls entirely, to head straight for Mom’s house and hide out until she could make a more permanent plan for her and Scarlett. Past experience had taught her that it would be nearly impossible to move through this town without running into someone she knew. But her desire to give Scarlett some semblance of a normal Christmas outweighed her fear of being spotted by an old acquaintance. Besides, it had been a decade. Maybe nobody would remember her.

Jane took a deep breath before pushing the door open. She was greeted by the cheerful jingle of the bells attached to the handle and the smell of cut wood, paint, and a mix of holiday spice. A quick glance at the cash register had her shoulders relaxing. It looked like a high school kid was working today, and he wouldn’t have been more than five or six when she’d left town. Maybe she’d get out of here unnoticed after all.

Jane’s gaze skated past the pile of snow shovels, an aisle full of kitchen gadgets, and a display advertising jars of local honey. It was a mystery how this place hadn’t been run out of business by the Walmart out on Route 8.

Jane made her way down an aisle displaying holiday candles in scents like Sugar Cookie and Pine Bough, and then up another lined with an assortment of toys. Her eyes were immediately drawn to an enormous box with a blond character standing in front of a Victorian house in various shades of pink. A Lego set of the Barbie Dream House. Jane ran a hand along the edge of the box. Scarlett would love this. But then Jane looked at the price and audibly gasped. A hundred and twenty-four dollars?

She backed away slowly. A hundred and twenty-four dollars was a huge chunk of the meager savings she had in her purse. The money she’d managed to wheedle from Matteo and squirrel away for this trip. All the money I have in the world. Exhaling a shaky breath, Jane turned to the other side of the aisle. Who wanted a gaudy cotton-candy house with a skinny blond doll anyway? She grabbed a sketchpad and a pack of colorful pens. Total: $26 plus tax. Still a significant amount of money, but it was Christmas, and Scarlett deserved it.

Jane spun on her heel to find the wrapping paper aisle, and in front of her stood a sixty-something woman wearing an unironic holiday sweater and a disapproving expression on her face. Edna Swanson, the receptionist at the police station where Dad had been chief for over two decades. She’d put on a few pounds and her hair was grayer than the last time Jane had seen her, but Jane would recognize that scowl anywhere.

Mrs. Swanson looked her up and down. “Jane McCaffrey. What a surprise to see you here.”

“Oh, hi, Mrs. Swanson. It’s—uh.” Jane shifted the gifts in her arms. “It’s good to see you.” She forced a smile to cover up the lie.

“I suppose you’re here to see your mother.”

“Yeah. Just for—probably for a week or so.”

Mrs. Swanson’s lips twisted with displeasure. “We were surprised that we didn’t see you this fall for the funeral. But your mother said you were busy with work.”

She did? Jane wondered what other stories her mother had been telling about her for the past ten years. Anything so people wouldn’t learn the real reason the great Chief McCaffrey’s daughter had taken off without a word.

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