Cherise Sinclair - This is who I am

Twenty years ago, the starchy woman had been the first to welcome Linda and Frederick to the street. I didn’t get to say good-bye.

Linda blinked back tears. She’d been in captivity two months and spent another three in California. Almost half a year. She’d changed—oh, she had—but she’d counted on Foggy Shores to stay the same.

But no matter. She was home now, ready to pick up her life. To be the respectable mother of Brenna and Charles, the owner of Foggy Treasures, a good neighbor, a member of the Methodist choir. A normal woman who dated nice normal men.

Not a pervert.

Pulling her suitcase, she entered her house. Here, everything was the same. Brenna and Charles had checked on the place every week.

“I’m home.” She pulled in a shuddering breath as her voice echoed in the silence. She should be grateful her sweet terrier had died a while before her kidnapping, but now there was no excited yapping to welcome her home. No one at all. Maybe she should have let the kids come today, but unsure of the trial’s length, she’d told them to hold off. They both had college classes, after all.

They’d visit next weekend. No reason to feel so…let down. Ignoring the hollowness in her chest, she went to the bedroom to unpack. Time to get back to routines. She’d wallowed in her emotions long enough.

Sunlight filtered through the sand-colored draperies in her bedroom, danced over the cream-and-white, lacy bedspread. Peaceful, lighthearted colors.

So different from the Shadowlands last night. She bit her lip, trying not to remember Sam’s voice. His hands. The pain he’d given her in such a mixture of caring and roughness she’d had no choice but to submit. She closed her eyes, hating herself for wanting more. For wanting a sadist. For not being normal.

The phone’s ring made her jump. She glanced at the display. Unknown number . “Hello.”

A shrill man’s voice said, “This is Italy’s Pizza, calling to confirm your order.”

Linda laughed at the familiar game. “That’s a good one, Charles. Yes, I’m home.”

“Aw, Mom. How come I can fool everyone else?”

“Your friends aren’t singers, sweetie.”

“Guess not. I’m glad you’re back, Mom. I missed you.”

She smiled. Since being freed, she’d talked to him every few days, and he and Brenna had joined her in California for Thanksgiving and Christmas. “I missed you too.” More than I can say.

“Are you going back to work now?”

“I’m going to spend today setting things in order and restocking the refrigerator, and then go in on Monday.”

“Oh good. I was hoping your vacation would be over.”

Her fingers tightened around the phone. Vacation? Depression so black that she’d stared at the ceiling, unable to find a reason to get out of bed. Erratic crying fits, throwing up, panic attacks. She was hardly having fun. Charles knew she’d gone to her sister’s to recover from the kidnapping. Well, he was only twenty, and she’d tried very hard to hide her shattered mental state from the children. He wouldn’t know she’d needed all that time to pull the pieces of herself back together. “Not much choice, I’m afraid. My funds are pretty exhausted.”

“Does that mean you don’t have any money to spare?” A long sigh came over the phone. “Fuck.”

She closed her eyes. Exhaustion was setting in, and she sagged against the dresser. “Watch the language, my boy.”

“Sorry. But…I’m broke.”

“I transferred money into your account on the first. That was supposed to last you all month.”

Silence. “Well, it didn’t. Things cost more now. I need some money, Mom.”

She frowned. “For what?”

“To eat, dammit.”

“Your job at the cafeteria pays for your meals.”

“I quit, all right? It was taking too much time and—” He broke off.

And his friends didn’t have to work. She frowned. Frederick’s life insurance paid for the children’s tuition and books, and she took care of their rent and gave them a small allowance. He wasn’t being abused, despite his whining. “I’m sorry, Charles. You’d better get the job back. I don’t have the money to spare.”

“I… Fine.” The silence grew. Then he muttered, “Right.”

She blinked back tears, unable to speak, and after a second heard the brat turn back into the sweetheart she’d raised.

“I’m sorry, Mom. And I really am glad you’re back. See you next weekend.”

“Bye,” she whispered to the dial tone. She listened to the hum for a while, too tired to set the receiver down. Too afraid of starting to cry. Normally she’d have taken his behavior in stride. It was just…now…that everything seemed to abrade her feelings.

Saying no was the right thing to do. Even if she’d been rich, she’d make him work for part of his college expenses. People didn’t value anything unless they themselves put some effort into getting it. Which meant if she handed him all the money, he’d actually be more liable to flunk out.

Logic didn’t help. She’d disappointed her baby. Welcome home, Linda.

At the end of that week, Linda stood behind the counter in her beachfront store, ringing up the sale of a canvas, hand-stitched beach tote. Her feet were screaming at being forced back into her favorite high-heeled sandals, her legs ached from standing so much, and her shoulders were knotted from evenings spent on the accounting backlog. Yet it was wonderful to be home. Her life was returning to normal.

“You have a lovely store.” The customer signed the charge slip.

“Thank you.” Linda beamed as she handed over the receipt. “Have a wonderful day on the beach.”

After growing up in a tiny Florida town, she’d thought she’d simply be a teacher. Or maybe a preacher’s wife like her mother had been. Who knew that she’d love running her own business, love the interactions with customers? And after the slavers had tried to convince her she was nothing more than a slut, she needed the reassurance that she was good at what she did.

The store door was latched open, letting customers on the boardwalk flow in and out. Inside, a young couple, hand in hand, were checking out the etched coffee cups. A trio of older women studied the wall of Florida shore paintings. On the right, her clerk was restocking the glass case holding the handcrafted jewelry.

Linda inhaled, enjoying how the sand candles’ scents mingled with the salty air off the Gulf. Her tiny store specialized in handcrafted items for tourists. It held no shot glasses or T-shirts made overseas by the thousands. Instead, everything was created by Florida artisans. She even commissioned some of the more popular items. To her delight, the baskets she made also sold well.

She’d never make a fortune but had enough to pay bills and help the children with their expenses—although not working for five months had come close to being a disaster. Thank goodness that after Frederick’s death, she’d set up her affairs so the children and business would be handled in case of her death or disability.

But even though the accounting firm had handled the bills and payroll, everything else was behind. In fact, she’d only managed to join Lee for lunch once. Seeing the guy she’d dated off and on before her kidnapping had been…awkward. But Lee was a nice man. He hadn’t pushed her and had turned their conversation to local affairs, letting her fill in as she wanted. Although he’d asked her out, she’d put him off for another week. She really did have too much to do.

In fact… She frowned at the window display, which needed to be redone as well.

By the open door, two townspeople slowed to look inside. As their voices dropped to whispers, Linda stiffened.