The Ground Beneath Page 12

  “You can’t blame him for everything,” Keith tells me. “He lost her too. That was the love of his life.”

  I stand up and shake my head. “This is why I don’t come home, Keith. You give Dad all these passes, and it just reminds me that none of you give a shit what happened to me, like I asked for it, like Dad doesn’t have any fucking culpability at all.”

  “No… no… that’s not it.” He gets up, reaches his hand out and touches my shoulder, but I shrug out of it.

  “It’s not? Then why don’t you just say it, Keith? Say out loud what happened to me when I was a kid.” My stomach grates, my heart beating like it might explode. I want to bury the past just as much as any of them do, but you can’t really bury something as life altering as being molested when nobody wants to speak those words, to admit it happened.

  He looks down, then up again. “Ah, come on. That’s in the past, little brother. You’ve got a great life now, so can’t you just leave it there?”

  My guts are still twisted, but my heartbeat slows to a crawl. “I can’t believe I thought you might be man enough to finally acknowledge it. But why am I surprised? Both you and Dad can go fuck yourselves, okay?”

  “Hunter… come on man.” Keith tries reaching for me again, but I’m already walking away. “Dad’s dying—don’t be like this!”

  Dad might be dying on the outside too now, but I’ve been slowly dying on the inside since Mom left us and my father turned a blind eye to the man who preyed on me. Alli, not my family, is the reason I want to live again. So, I don’t turn around because there’s nothing more to say, no reason to waste another breath.

  Chapter Nine

  ALLISON

  “Who was that dropping you off?” Mom asks once we’re back inside my childhood home, her brow wrinkled.

  “One of Sheila’s clients,” I tell her. “Hunter Lawrence. He plays football.” I’m hoping the name won’t fully register in her mind, even if he was born and raised five miles up the road, even if he’s the most well known athlete in Washington State, because sports are not my mom’s thing. She only very begrudgingly followed our high school football team because Wyatt was its star player.

  “Hunter Lawrence?” She stops, just after closing the front door, and looks at me like I’d just told her the world is going to end in five days. “The quarterback? That was him that drove you here?”

  I sigh. So much for her being oblivious. “He’s meeting his family in Wenatchee. Coalton was just on his way.” I’m about to add on a That’s all, but I remain set on telling her and Dad the truth today, that Hunter and I are in the very early stages of dating. At least, then, I won’t have to hide it from them too.

  “Have the Lawrence’s all decided to move from Mountainside to Wenatchee?” she asks, taking the coat I’d just shrugged off and hanging it in the foyer closet.

  “No. He’s just meeting them there for a doctor’s appointment. I guess I didn’t realize you paid any attention at all to Hunter Lawrence.”

  She doesn’t even crack a smile as she leads me through the long hallway and into the kitchen. “It’s hard not to, isn’t it? Him being from these parts, his mother dying in that horrible accident, and him making such a name for himself—not a good name if you ask me, though.” That last sentence comes out low, as if she’s talking under her breath.

  Not a good sign.

  “Oh, Mom, the stuff you hear about athletes and celebrities isn’t always true.”

  “No?” She goes to the stove, picks up a kettle and then puts the opening under the faucet while I perch on the stool in front of the very small kitchen island. “I’m not one to judge of course—judge not lest you be judged—but I wouldn’t want that man to be giving you anything more than a ride with the kind of reputation he has.” She finishes filling the kettle, then returns to the stove and turns on the flame.

  “He’s actually a really great guy,” I begin, knowing that I’m going to have to build him up a bit more before I break the news. “He volunteers and did a really great job with some kids at Children’s in Seattle. There’s a lot more to him than—”

  “Allison Marie Briggs,” Mom cuts in, using my full name, which always means business. “This is how it begins, isn’t it? A young girl goes to a big city, meets a bunch of wolves in sheep clothing, is shown only the best parts of them, allowing her to very slowly, but very surely, seep into a life that will eventually bring hurt and shame upon her?”

  I close my eyes, listening to the sound of the water in the kettle begin to hiss with heat. What my mother is saying now is not so different from the things she has said to me over the phone in the last month. She is vehement that she fears for my very soul, that the money and celebrity I’m close to in Seattle will corrupt me. But in truth, I think it’s just her way of trying to get me to come home, to frighten me. She wants me here with her so that she doesn’t have to miss Abe so much.

  “There are people like that,” I say, opening my eyes and deciding to be more truthful with her than I’ve been during all of our phone conversations, downplaying the interactions I’d had with people like Scott Tomlinson and Theresa Carmichael. “I won’t lie to you Mom. I’ve met some people that literally make my skin crawl, but that’s not who Hunter is, not at all. And if you’re worried about Sheila being a bad influence, then—”

  “We don’t even need to go there with Sheila. She’s not even the issue, okay?”

  But Sheila is an issue with my parents. I’ve got my theories as to why they don’t talk anymore, but now doesn’t seem like the right time to share them. We’ve got plenty of other things on the front burner to discuss.

  “Fine,” I say, shaking my head and wiping at my eye as the kettle gets close to whistling. “How’s Dad? I thought he was going to be here.”

  “He will be,” Mom says, opening one of the cupboards and pulling out her stash of loose teas. “He’s taking care of something at the church. Ministering doesn’t end after Sunday’s sermon, you know?”

  “Yes, I know, Mom.”

  Dad’s church is fairly small, but big enough to have kept me very busy when I worked for him. The members of the church may be relatively few, our entire congregation hovering just around three hundred, but those members are very active and drawn to hear my father speak. Many of them see him during the week for counseling sessions, whether for couples, families or singles. He guides his flock with what he calls God’s hand, but it’s not a hard hand—it’s led by compassion, love and lack of judgment.

  If only Abe had the same faith in our father’s compassion and unquestioning love as I do.

  “He misses you more than he’ll ever say. You realize that, don’t you?” Mom fills a sachet with the loose tea, putting it into her favorite ceramic teapot and then pouring the hot water from the kettle over it.

  “It’s only been a month, Mom. And you and Dad both left home when you weren’t much older than me. Don’t you think your parents missed you guys too when you left Pennsylvania?”

  “That’s not the same,” she says as the tea steeps. “Your father and I had a mission, to take over a church in need of a priest. Your grandparents were very understanding, considering it was God calling us.”

  “And how do you know it’s not God who called me to Seattle? If you could see how much joy Hunter brought to those kids he visited, then maybe you’d understand.”

  Mom purses her lips, turns to the cupboard and takes out a tin that she then opens and sets on the small island between us. Inside are oatmeal raisin cookies, no doubt freshly baked before my arrival. She goes back for plates, then pours two cups of tea. “Sounds like you’re developing a regular crush on this man, Allison. Seems a little soon for that, doesn’t it?” She looks at my hands, her eyes widening, her expression aghast.

  “What?” I ask, examining my hands and seeing nothing out of the ordinary.

  “Your rings. Where are your rings?”

  Of course. The rings.

  “Wyatt’s been gone for over a year
,” I say with the most respectful tone I can. “This isn’t Victorian England, Mom. I knew it was time to move on, so I took them off.”

  She sighs and shakes her head. “So any man out there who doesn’t know a thing about you would know that you’re available. Is that it?”

  “And so what if I am?”

  “Oh… Allison. I’ve just tried so hard to keep you on the right track, to help you see just what beautiful things God has planned for you.”

  “No, it’s what you see,” I tell her. “And you might as well know that Hunter isn’t just some guy. I’m dating him, okay? As in he and I have kissed.” I’d not planned on it coming out without my father here, but it doesn’t seem any amount of preparation will make this acceptable for my mother.

  Her face turns a shade of pink that slowly starts to burn red. Then she closes her eyes and takes in a long, deep breath. “Tell me you’re simply trying to shock me.”

  I shake my head. I walked on eggshells after Wyatt and Abe died, always afraid of upsetting my mother more than she already was, then trying to deal with my own grief at the same time. “It’s not about shocking you. It’s about being truthful with you. I’m a grown woman, and I think I can make—”

  “You are nineteen years old. Nineteen!” she reminds me like I don’t already know this. “And what is he, pushing thirty? You’re far too young to even be thinking of diving into waters as deep as the ones he swims in.”

  “He’s twenty-nine. And you certainly didn’t think I was too young when I married Wyatt a year ago! And you don’t seem to think I’m too young to be thrown at Micah because you and Dad have it in your heads that God decided to murder Wyatt and Abe just so I could be with him!”

  I’m breathless after I’ve said it, and I expect her to come back at me with something just as fierce. But she’s silent, a silence that confuses me until I see her face turning, her eyes grazing past my shoulders. And then I know. I don’t even have to turn around to confirm my father is standing behind me.

  I wanted to give my dad a giant hug upon first seeing him. At least that had been the plan before my argument with Mom. I might not always agree with my parents, but I love them both dearly, my father especially. I’d always looked to him for guidance and acceptance, and it had pained me knowing he didn’t fully support my move to Seattle. And yet I had to do it for myself.

  I still would have given him that hug, regardless of the disagreement with my mother, had he been standing there alone. But seeing Micah at his side had thrown me for a loop, made me quieter than I’d like to be as the four of us now sit in the living room over freshly brewed tea and my mother’s homemade oatmeal raisin cookies. I’m at least thankful Dad and Micah don’t seem to have caught the specifics of my argument with Mom.

  “You look really nice, Allison, the hair too—it looks better shorter,” Micah tells me from the chair he’s sitting in.

  I’m next to Mom on the couch, while Micah and Dad are both in armchairs, and I’m thankful neither of my parents have had anything negative to say about my new look.

  “Thank you,” I say, offering him a faint smile. I’d never go out of my way to be rude to him, but I don’t want to give him the idea that I actually buy into our pairing being ordained by God. “So do you. How is it being Sheriff?”

  He’s not in his uniform today, instead dressed in a dark blue shirt and a pair of khakis. Micah isn’t unattractive—in fact, he’s quite handsome—but I’d only ever had eyes for his younger brother, and even with Wyatt gone, there isn’t any spark at all with Micah.

  “Well, I think it’s what I was meant to do,” he says. “Feels that way at least. Can’t say it’s always easy though. Just busted a guy up near Mountainside who’s been dealing heroin all over the county.”

  “You’re doing good work,” Dad tells Micah with a nod. “And I appreciate you making it to church every Sunday. You’ve been a real rock for us.”

  Mom tilts her chin up and gives me a look, as if to say, See, Allison? See what a good man Micah Mitchell is?

  “I’m glad that you’ve been here for them,” I say to Micah, hoping his intentions are good, that him being here for my parents doesn’t only hinge on getting to me.

  “It’s a pleasure,” he replies. “Both of our families lost so much. We really do need to be here for one another.”

  I nod. He certainly knows how to say the right things, doesn’t he? I pick up my cup of tea and take a long sip of the cooling liquid, wishing it were just me and Dad here, where I’d feel free to talk, free to tell him that I’d met a wonderful man in Seattle, the first man I’ve even looked at twice since Wyatt.

  “Tell us about Seattle,” Dad says with the same smile on his face he’d shown during those Saturday hikes or in welcoming his congregation on Sunday mornings. “What has my daughter been up to in the big city?”

  All eyes are on me, except for my mother’s—she chooses to look away, as if her already knowing that I’m dating Hunter is akin to having witnessed some unspeakable atrocity.

  “Well, you already know that I’m working for Sheila Andrews.”

  Dad nods, as does Micah—he’s surely been told that I’ve gone to work for a woman my parents no longer speak to.

  “Her giving me a chance to be her assistant has been amazing,” I continue. “There are people who have graduated from Harvard that would kill for a job like mine and the kind of connections you can build from it.”

  “And what exactly does your job entail?” Dad asks me.

  We’d never really covered this over the phone, our conversations mostly Dad asking me if I was okay and to remind me I only had to ask if I needed anything at all, even a ride to move back to Coalton.

  “It’s scheduling and setting up events, talking to Sheila’s clients and working with some of them.” I pause, bite at my lip, then go on and say, “Actually, I’ve been working a lot with Hunter Lawrence, accompanying him when he volunteers, making sure things run smoothly, that kind of thing.”

  “Hunter Lawrence, huh?” Micah looks pale all of a sudden and sets his cup down.

  “I didn’t realize she represented such a big name,” Dad adds in, small lines of concern etching on his face. “And Sheila has you spending time with him?” He turns to look to my mother who nods at him, blinking slowly like she’s trying to silently spell out the danger this poses.

  “He’s such a nice guy,” I say a little too eagerly. “He’s from Mountainside, you know?” Of course they know. They all know. And reminding them he’s from just up the road is not going to make them think any better of him.

  Micah clears his throat, waiting for my eyes to turn to his face when he says, “He’s dating that actress, right? The one who’s in that show… uh… the one they film over the border?” He’s nodding, his eyes widening at me, as if waiting for me to fill in some generic actress’s name and give him confirmation that Hunter is off the market.

  I shake my head. “No. He’s not dating anyone like that.”

  “But he has in the past, right?” Micah pushes, sitting forward. “He’s always dating someone new before he gets tired of them.”

  “I guess so,” I say, wanting to calm Micah more than I want to convince him Hunter is free and single, single enough to date me.

  “I’m afraid that young man turned his back on good moral standing a long time ago,” Mom says. “It’s unfortunate someone with that kind of talent and material blessings hasn’t found himself a good woman to build a home with.”

  Maybe he has now.

  Maybe one day Hunter will build his home with me.

  “He’s just so misunderstood,” I say, nearly cringing at the cliché coming out of my mouth.

  “That’s entirely possible,” Dad says, “and it’s not our place to judge him even if that’s not the case. However, it certainly would be easy to be drawn into that world… for anyone.” He hones in on me. Then, just as quick, he turns his attention away. “Micah, didn’t you say you were hoping to take Allison out for
an early lunch?”

  Micah moves forward, his voice eager. “Yes, that’s right.”

  I look to the grandfather clock ticking away in the corner of the living room. It’s barely half past ten. “I think it’s a little early for that.”

  “Then coffee, or a late breakfast,” Mom supplies.

  “We’ve just had tea,” I remind her.

  “I’d really appreciate it,” Micah says, clearing his throat again. “It’s been hard on me too, Allison, losing my brother. I was hoping you and I could talk.”

  I know full well that Micah could talk to my father about his feelings of loss, and I’m sure the single young women of our county would jump at the chance to be taken to an especially early lunch by Micah Mitchell where they would patiently listen and then very lovingly console him. Becoming the county sheriff has made him an exceptionally good catch, if he wasn’t already. But he’s asking me, and while I’d much rather spend the time with my parents, I don’t have the heart to say no.

  “Okay, Micah,” I relent. “I’m ready when you are.”

  He takes me to The Harvest Plate downtown, the kind of diner that serves up breakfast all day with as many coffee refills as you want. It’s always busy, made busier on weekends and especially at the height of tourist season each summer. I’m fairly hungry, but I just order a bowl of fruit and side of toast because I don’t want a bigger meal keeping me here any longer than necessary. Micah has the opposite idea, ordering the biggest plate of food they offer.

  “I appreciate this,” he says when the waitress takes our menus away, a steaming cup of coffee in front of him. “I know you felt kind of pressured to come, but it really does mean a lot to me. It’s been really strange around here since you left.”