Page 4 of Return to McCall

“Well, you got me there, Moxie.” Sam sent a quick text to the officers outside to let them know the suspect had been disarmed, and they were on the way out. “I’m not a cop. I’m McCall’s Chief of Police.”

Chapter Two

Lily Larimar slammed the car door shut and leaned back against the headrest, kneading her forehead with tense fingertips as she fought back the memories of the book signing from the previous night.

A random woman grabbed my ass in public? Seriously? Lily rolled her eyes and wished for the tenth time that the water bottle in her console was vodka. Who does that?

Lily pulled swiftly into the sun-soaked LA traffic on the way to the airport and ignored her agent’s frantic texts pinging the phone she’d just tossed into the passenger seat. She’d skipped out on the meet and greet after her book signing the previous night; everyone was expecting her to be there, smiling and charming the readers, but being grabbed by random strangers was where Lily drew the line. Her ninth novel, Embers into Fire, had dropped a few weeks ago, and she’d been doing nothing all month but signings and personal appearances at all the lesbian hot spots in Southern California.

The last few days had been a blur of gin-soaked conversations with overeager singletons and pitches from “industry insiders” who all seemed to want to break off a piece of her mind and take it home with them. Promotion was part of her job, but it was the part she hated. And it had gotten significantly worse after her agent booked her a couple of guest spots on The L Word: Generation Q; suddenly, she felt like she couldn’t go anywhere without someone recognizing her.

Lily blew a lock of hair out of her face and focused her attention back on the road. She was due in Toronto tonight for the TIFF film festival to meet a director interested in turning one of her books into a movie, and her flight left in just a few hours from LAX. The glare of midmorning sun slid like liquid gold across her windshield as her phone buzzed again with another call from her agent. She turned to click it off and realized the next second that she’d missed her exit. Lily slowed, watching cars whiz past her on both sides before forcing herself to accelerate back into the crush of commuters. She’d take the next exit and circle back, but she needed to switch her phone off if she had a hope of making it to the airport alive in this traffic.

She had just reached for her phone again when a sky-blue Maserati slid like sudden water into her lane and cut her off as she tried to pull back into traffic. That’s when she felt it starting. Again. Her seat belt was tightening across her chest with every breath, and a fine mist of chilled sweat broke out over her face and neck. She fumbled in her purse for the pills her doctor had given her after her last panic attack, then remembered she’d taken the last one stashed in her purse that morning and had packed the rest into her suitcase, which was impossible to reach now that she was in the middle of eight lanes of cutthroat traffic. She glanced behind at the densely packed cars and counted the minutes until the airport exit would appear on her right.

Just breathe in and out.

Lily whispered the words through the warm salt of tears on her lips. Everything about her life was overwhelming now, and as much as she tried to push that fact to the back of her mind, it seemed her body was hell-bent on reminding her. All the yoga, meditation, and green juice in LA weren’t going to fix the fact that she hated being looked at and talked to and just…crowded every minute of the day. She’d become the product her publishers were selling just as much as her words on paper, and the harder they pushed, the more the real Lily Larimar shrank until even she couldn’t picture who she was before. It was like she’d just disappeared.

The sign for LAX loomed with a sudden shout over a semi-truck to her right, and she swerved just in time to squeal into the exit on what felt like two tires. Her heart was still pounding in her throat as she followed the signs to the parking garage and circled up several floors to the open-air top level. It was almost deserted, just a single dented Buick LeSabre in the far corner slot surrounded by the late afternoon heat, shimmering like a desert mirage just above the concrete surface.

Lily threw off her seat belt and jumped out, gulping in the air and open space around her. The hot metal of the car door slid down her back as she sank to the stained concrete beside the car. Tears stung her eyes, and Lily felt the air being squeezed from her chest as if the life she’d never wanted was getting heavier by the second. She didn’t have the breath to scream; the only option was to lean forward, cement and gravel cutting into her palms, and remind herself that she was safe, that no one was watching. For the moment, anyway.

It was twenty minutes before Lily finally stood and noticed her gold filigree bracelet still on the ground. She’d bought it four years ago, the day her first novel was released, and hadn’t taken it off since. The gold felt heavy and too warm against her fingers as she picked it up. The sun was setting now, dripping past the concrete edge of the parking structure, and the last of the deep orange glow melted into the bracelet links as Lily closed her fist around it. She felt deliciously alone for the first time in forever and stared into the horizon as she walked to the edge of the parking deck.

There was no one there to watch as she leaned against the safety wall and uncurled her fist. No one else felt the liquid slip of the gold falling from her fingers or watched her close her eyes to listen for the metallic clink against the pavement below. The gold cage that had circled her wrist for the last few years had disappeared as silently as if it was never there.

The last of the molten sun slipped out of sight as Lily tilted her face up to the darkening violet sky and drew in the first cool, deep breath of her own air.

* * *

Sara Draper swiped a floury hand across her forehead as she opened the door to the oven and was suddenly awash in a savory cloud of potpie-scented steam.

“Damn, girl. I’d have married you myself if Sam hadn’t beat me to it.” Mary winked at Sara as she popped the top on a cold beer bottle, staring with impatient longing at the golden crust of the chicken potpie Sara slid onto the prep counter in Gus’s Place. “I said it at your wedding, and I’ll say it again: I’m still not convinced she deserves you.”

“Well, at least I’m good for something.”

Sara shed her oven mitt and scooped up the flurry of blond waves that now reached to the middle of her back, twisting them into a hurried bun before she went for Mary’s beer and took a long swig. It had been five years since she’d landed in McCall, still reeking of smoke from the fire that had burned down her riverfront restaurant in Savannah, Georgia.

Mary was her first friend in McCall, and they’d grown even closer over the years, which was why Mary sat back on her stool and put down her fork when she saw Sara reach for her beer.

“Oh, honey. I’m so sorry—” Mary stopped abruptly when Sara held up her hand. After five years of friendship, she knew when to change tack. “On second thought.” Mary reached into the prep fridge under the counter and popped the top on another beer. “Talking is overrated. I’m just going to dig into that pie and burn the tar out of my mouth as the good Lord intended.”

Sara put the bottle down on the counter a little too hard and managed a weak smile. “I was only four weeks this time.” Her voice cracked as she laid the palm of her hand over her belly. “It wasn’t as bad.”

“Wasn’t that bad, my ass.” Mary held out her arms. “That shit hurts. I know it does.”

Sara smiled as she walked around the corner of the prep table and sank gratefully into the hug. She and Sam had been attempting in vitro fertilization since they’d gotten married three years prior, and every round had either failed or she’d suffered a miscarriage after the first few weeks. She’d never really thought about having children until she’d met Sam, but once they’d decided to start a family, she couldn’t think of anything else.

“I’m getting past my prime anyway, age-wise.” Sara stood and dried her eyes with the edge of her sleeve, selecting a knife out of her chef’s roll to cut the perfectly cooled pie. “I’ll be thirty-eight next month. I need to give it up.”

“Well, I’m calling bullshit on that too.” Mary held out a wide, shallow bowl. “I had my youngest at forty-three, and you know it. So don’t you dare give up. Both of you have so much love to give.” Mary winked at her and gave the steaming pie in front of her a loving look as she lifted the flaky crust and admired the creamy gravy and tender vegetables underneath.

Sara watched, finally cracking her bright, trademark smile. “What do you think? I’m thinking of doing five or six of these for the locals’ dinner this Sunday.” Mary held up her hand for silence and closed her eyes as she savored the first bite, making Sara laugh hard enough to reach for her napkin and dab at her eyes. “Mary, I swear, a fresh potpie is no less than a religious experience for you.” Sara smiled as she dished up her bowl and climbed onto the stool she’d dragged over to the prep counter.

Gus’s Place, her modern spin on a retro diner, had become the heart of the little town of McCall, Idaho, in the five years it had been open, and Sara fell more in love with it every day. She still closed every Sunday afternoon for family dinner, which was really just a big potluck for the tiny mountain town’s colorful locals. Mary, who had become convinced cell phones would be the inevitable death of polite society, had started collecting them at the door at some point and holding them hostage, and it had only brought the town closer. Everyone from teenagers to seniors crowded into the diner right on time on Sunday afternoon, carrying foil-covered casseroles and side dishes. Sara always provided the main course, and the next few hours flew by in a familiar flurry of laughter, hugs, and local gossip. There had been a couple of marriage proposals over the years, one near fight over the last slice of Sara’s French silk chocolate pie, and more than a few friendships started and deepened amid the warmth of Sunday afternoons at Gus’s Place.

Mary broke off a piece of the hand-rolled piecrust and peered over her glasses. “How has the retreat been going this summer? The second session starts tomorrow at Lake Haven, right?” She popped the crust into her mouth and picked her fork back up to spear a tender piece of chicken from Sara’s dish.

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