Beth Andrews - Unraveling the Past

At least he could cross one item off this morning—though it was the last thing on the list he wanted to tackle.

Tucking in his shirt, he went out into the hall. Jessica’s bedroom door, as usual, was closed, the whiteboard hanging off it sporting her flowing script in red: Abandon hope all ye who enter here.

Ross squeezed the back of his neck. Guess a Keep Out sign would be too subtle.

He knocked. “Jess?” Nothing. No sound of any kind from the room. He tapped his forehead against the door several times. He really didn’t have time for his niece’s games. Lifting his head, he used the side of his fist to pound against the wood. “Jess! Open the door.”

Still nothing. Trying the lock, he raised his eyebrows when it turned easily. As with it usually being closed, the door was also often locked. He opened it wide enough to see inside. Sunlight filtered through the slats of the blinds covering the two windows, illuminating a lump on the single bed.

“Get up,” he said, flipping on the overhead light. Jess stirred then snuggled deeper into her pillow. Ross shoved the door open. It hit the wall with a resounding bang.

Jessica jackknifed into a sitting position with a gasp. Breathing heavily she twisted from side to side as if to locate what had woken her. She shoved her tangled, dirty hair from her eyes and blinked rapidly.

Ross leaned against the doorjamb. “Good morning, sunshine.”

She hit the bed with both hands. “What is wrong with you? Were you raised by psychopaths or something?”

“Is that any way to talk about your papa and Grammy?” And if his active, sixty-year-old mother ever heard him call her Grammy, she’d hit him upside the head with her tennis racket. “It’s time to get up.”

“It’s not even nine!”

“From now on, you’ll be up and out of bed each morning by eight,” he said, kicking clothes out of his way as he crossed the floor to one of the windows. He opened the blinds. “Which shouldn’t be a problem since your new bedtime is 9:00 p.m.”

“You’re kidding,” she said flatly.

“Not even a little.” He opened the second set of blinds and she winced, holding her hands up like some vampire trying to ward off the brightness.

Going by how many times she’d puked last night, she probably had one hell of a hangover. She groaned and flopped back onto the bed, one arm covering her eyes, her face pale. Sweat dotted her upper lip, dampened the hair along her forehead. Sympathy stirred. If he was a good uncle, a more caring guardian, he wouldn’t want her to suffer. Would offer her pain meds to stop the pounding in her head. Ginger ale to soothe the dryness of her mouth and ease the churning in her stomach.

A good uncle wouldn’t think she’d gotten exactly what she deserved for not only disobeying him and breaking the law, but following in her mother’s footsteps.

He stood at the foot of her bed, his hands on the curved wooden footboard. “You have piss-poor decision-making skills, no sense of right and wrong and way too much unstructured free time.”

She lowered the arm from her face. “Go. Away.”

“And while I can’t do anything about the first two, I’m taking control of the third.” He checked his watch, saw he had less than ten minutes to get to the station. If he used his lights and siren, he could make it there in three. “Which is why today you will mow the grass, sweep and mop the kitchen floor and do the laundry. And since all that shouldn’t take long, you can also clean out the garage.”

“Screw you,” she spat. “I’m not your servant.”

“This isn’t about servitude. It’s about taking responsibility and doing your fair share around your home.”

“This isn’t a home. It’s a prison!”

Ross scratched the side of his neck. Sweet God but she was as dramatic and rebellious as her mother had been at that age. And he was as clueless now as he’d been then as an eighteen-year-old watching his kid sister spiral out of control.

“Fine.” You couldn’t argue with certain segments of people. Stoners, sociopaths and teenagers. None of them listened to reason. “It’s a prison. And after today it’s going to be a clean prison with a neatly mowed yard.”

“That’s why you took me in, isn’t it? So you could have someone to clean up after you.”

His jaw tightened. He didn’t expect much from her. Obedience. Respect. Maybe a bit of gratitude for how he’d rearranged his entire life for her.

He’d settle for one out of three, and at this point, he didn’t even care which one it was.

“I took you in,” he pointed out, “because it was the right thing to do. And because you had nowhere else to go.”

Her lower lip trembled. Great. What the hell had he said now?

Before he could figure it out, her mouth flattened and she went back to glaring at him as if she wanted to carve his heart out with a spoon.

“After you’re done with the chores I’ve assigned you,” he said, “you are to spend the afternoon pounding the pavement.”

She pressed both hands against her head. Probably trying to keep it from exploding. “What?”

He headed toward the door. “Get a job.”

She scrambled onto her knees, tugging the material of her oversize T-shirt out from under her. “It’s summer vacation.”

“It’s summer,” he agreed, his hand on the handle as he stood in the doorway, “but vacation time for you is over. Working will help you realize what it’s like out there in the real world. Plus, last night’s little adventure proved how much you need some structure to your life.”

“You should be thanking me instead of being such a di—”

“Careful,” he warned darkly.

“—douche bag,” she spat. Not exactly a term of respect but better than what she’d started to call him. “I found that body,” she pointed out. “If it wasn’t for me, you never would’ve even known it was out there.”

This must be why some animals ate their young. So they didn’t turn into teenagers.

“Part of the reason we moved here was so you could get a fresh start. Instead you snuck out of the house and disobeyed my direct order not to engage in any reckless or criminal activity.” Though his hand tensed on the handle, he kept his voice mild. “But you’re right about one thing. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t know about the body. If it wasn’t for you, I’d still be in Boston, not trying so damned hard to make things work for us here.”

She looked so stricken he immediately wished he could take his words back. That he could tell her he didn’t mean them. But while Jessica was rebellious and mouthy, she was also bright and had a way of seeing through people’s bullshit. No way she’d buy an apology from him. One he wasn’t even sure he’d mean.

He cleared his throat. “I’ll be home for dinner at six. Seven,” he amended, figuring he’d have to put in a hellishly long day. “Be here.”

He stepped into the hall and had no sooner closed the door when something hit the other side of it with a loud crash. He tipped his head back and blew out a heavy breath. He didn’t know if he’d ever be able to get through to her. If he’d ever be able to save her from herself.

Some days he wondered why he even bothered trying.

* * *

LAYNE BACKED INTO HER SPOT in the police station’s paved parking lot. She stepped out of her cruiser only to reach back in for her aviators. The dark lenses hiding her eyes, she shut them long enough for the edginess in her stomach to smooth out. For her nerves to calm and her scattered thoughts to settle.

She doubted herself, the decisions she’d made, which she’d never done before. Couldn’t afford to do now. So she stood there, the bright, midmorning sun warming the top of her head as she inhaled deeply, the familiar briny scent of the sea filling her senses. She held her breath. When she exhaled, she opened her eyes and strode toward the entrance as if her moment of weakness had never happened.