Page 8 of Love and Other Lost Things

“I’m not sure I’d fit in at a fancy high-rise like that.” Mom placed a mat in front of Jane and set the bowl of soup on top, even though Jane had told her she’d already eaten.

“High-rise? Mom, it’s five stories.”

“Still, I’m comfortable where I am.” She followed the bowl with a napkin and a spoon right in the middle.

Steam rose from the bowl. It smelled delicious, but Jane didn’t think she could choke down a bite. Knowing Mom would be out of this old house and safely settled in a retirement community in town had helped Jane to come to terms with her own plans to move on. “You can’t take care of this place all by yourself. I counted about eight different things that need repair just from the front door to here.”

“Well, there’s that high school boy. I can ask him to help out. He’ll be happy to make some extra money.” Mom picked up a pot and began scrubbing it in the sink.

Once again, Jane was struck by the lines on Mom’s face. The circles under her eyes that looked darker under the overhead light. “What’s really going on here? Why are you so determined to stay in this house?”

“Despite what you think, there were a lot of good times here.” Mom’s gaze skated around the kitchen. “Birthdays… holidays.”

“What, like the Christmas Dad kicked the tree over because he thought you spent too much money on presents? Or the day he threw my birthday cake in your face because you left the oven on?” Jane shook her head. Sure, there were plenty of holidays and birthdays that weren’t blighted by Dad’s anger, but the possibility had always hung over this house like the smoke from Dad’s cigarettes. What would be the next thing that would set Dad off? What would have him kicking in the drywall or backhanding Mom across the kitchen?

Mom swiped at the pot with a dish towel. “That birthday—I should have remembered to turn the oven off?—”

“Just stop it!” Jane slapped her hands on the table, and Mom flinched. Old habits again. “Do you really not see who he was?”

Mom stared down at her hands. “He was your father.”

They were the same words Mom had used to justify his behavior a decade ago.

He’s your father.

Didn’t she see that made it worse?

“How can you still be defending him?” Jane shoved the bowl of soup away, and a few drops splashed on the placemat. She immediately grabbed the napkin to clean it up. Even now, even knowing he was gone, that old anxiety and fear had seeped back in the moment she’d set foot in this house. Her eyes darted to the doorway, waiting for him to come charging in, angry at the mess she’d made.

Jane crumpled the napkin, leaving the spilled soup on the mat. And then she stood up and marched out of the kitchen. Had she really believed she could come back to this house without talking to Mom about the day she’d left? They always managed to avoid that subject on their phone calls, focusing on Scarlett, and Jane had told herself she was over it.

Clearly, she wasn’t over it. She hadn’t even made it an hour in Mom’s presence, and the pain of betrayal was as sharp as ever.

In the hallway, Jane grabbed her jacket and yanked it on.

“Where are you going?” Mom called from the kitchen doorway.

“For a walk,” Jane muttered, hopping on one foot as she pulled on a shoe.

“It’s dark out.”

“I don’t think anyone would have the nerve to mess with the daughter of the late Chief McCaffrey, hero of Linden Falls, do you?”

“What about Scarlett?”

“Scarlett will sleep until morning. I won’t be long.” Without waiting for an answer, Jane swung the door open and headed out onto the porch, pulling the door shut behind her.

FOUR

TEN YEARS AGO

Jane slowly limped down Route 8, her heavy backpack cutting into her shoulders, ribs aching with the effort she needed to expend to stay upright. An occasional car sped past, the whoosh of the engine startling her as the tires kicked dirt and gravel in her direction. But so far, she hadn’t recognized any of the vehicles, and nobody pulled over to ask what the teenage daughter of the police chief was doing out here alone.

That was a miracle in a small town like Linden Falls. Jane knew the risks of walking the main road leading out of town. Anyone could come by and recognize her, but she didn’t have any other choice. If she wanted to get to Westbrook in time to catch an overnight bus, the two-lane highway heading out of town was the fastest route. And walking was the only way she could think to get there. Linden Falls didn’t have a taxi service, and Jane certainly couldn’t ask any of her friends to drive her. Not in her condition, which no amount of make-up could hide, and not if she hoped to make it without her parents or Nik finding out.

Thankfully, the dusk was doing a pretty good job of concealing her, and so was the small hill she’d slid down into the ditch by the side of the road.

Jane squinted in the dim light at the road sign ahead. One mile to go. Every part of her body protested, begging her to lie down in the weeds and rest. But if she did that, Jane was pretty sure she’d never get up again. So, she put one shaky leg in front of the other, and she kept moving.

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