“I miss North Carolina weather,” I comment, taking a seat in the chair across from him.
Because of its proximity along the Pacific coastline, San Francisco has a rainy season from November to March, and the temperatures are mild throughout the year. Compared to Fallen Brook, it was like living in another world. A place I never truly belonged and never wanted to be.
Fallen Brook is my home. It’s where my heart longed for. My favorite memories of growing up are the swelteringsummers spent with Liz, Julien, and Ry—exploring the forest that bordered our backyard, going to the beach, Friday nights spent at the Fields. All the late afternoon thunderstorms Liz and I would sit out in and watch from her back patio, because she loved the chaos of nature.
“Speak for yourself,” he replies, blowing on his coffee before taking a sip.
Needing to know, I ask, “How was Liz when you spoke to her?”
He swallows, licks his lips. “Worried about you. I, uh…I talked to Bethany last week.”
A fist reaches inside my chest and strangles my heart. Liz and Ry aren’t the only people I hurt. My daughter became a casualty of a marriage I didn’t want and of the drinking that controlled me.
I met Diana at a bar soon after I arrived in San Francisco. I don’t even remember sleeping with her, but the result of that drunken night was Bethany. So, I married Diana, wanting to do the right thing. Huge mistake. Our marriage struggled for ten years. Ten years of her cheating and me not giving a damn. Bethany grew up in a home where her parents hated the sight of one another. A home filled with yelling and a father who was never present, even when he was physically there.
But it was the constant disappointments that had her cutting all ties with me. She couldn’t depend on a father who only cared about the oblivion alcohol could bring him. I let her down too many times to keep track. Story of my life so far.
“How is she?” I ask.
“Good. She said she has a new boyfriend and plans to move in with him soon.”
Julien sounds as happy about that as I feel. He used to keep me informed about what was going on with her. Bethany has left a long line of jilted boyfriends in her wake. She jumpsfrom one man to the next, always finding some fault with him. Never happy. Never settled. Never in love. I don’t have to be a psychologist to understand why she’s that way.
“She started a new job.”
I stab a forkful of scrambled egg, even though I’m no longer hungry. “Which one this time?”
Just like with her boyfriends, Bethany doesn’t stay at one job for more than a few months.
Julien sets his coffee down and snags a piece of bacon from my plate. “Receptionist at a vet clinic. She says she likes it. Likes being around all the animals.” He takes a bite and says as he chews, “Jay, what the hell is going on?”
“What do you mean? And no, I’m not trying to be obtuse,” I reply to preempt the vulgar quip he’s about to say.
He leans forward in his chair, elbows to knees, his countenance all business. “I’m just trying to understand what’s changed. Why now?”
I gaze out over the balcony at the Highland cityscape with its busy streets and tall buildings. It’s transformed a lot in twenty years, unlike Fallen Brook. The two towns sit adjacent to one another, but one has grown into a thriving city, while the other has never left its small-town roots.
Why now?Because my demons will chase me back into hell unless I make things right. Make amends for my past and all the pain I caused.
And that starts with Liz.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
ELIZABETH
My Silver-Eyed Prince
I pullinto the driveway of my childhood home on Fallen Brook Drive and shut the engine off, needing a moment before I get out.
Through the front windshield, I gaze up at the house that was both my sanctuary and my nightmare. A house that has seen life and love, as well as death and horror.
The family that had been leasing it moved out a couple weeks ago, and it waits patiently for a new family to fill its walls with laughter. I should sell it, but I don’t have the heart to do it. It’s the only thing I have left of Mom and Dad, and I can’t bear to part with it. Peter took so much from me, but he could never take the love that existed in this house.
My attention is naturally drawn to the old oak tree that sits between my house and the Jamesons’. Mitch would turn on the tree lights at Christmas when I brought the kids over. The wood swing Jayson made for me rotted after fifteen years of being exposed to the elements. The wood became brittle and splintered, and one of the hemp ropes disintegrated. Instead oftossing it out with the trash, I put it in a storage box that lives in the attic with a lot of other keepsakes I refuse to part with.
Pushing open the driver’s side door, I get out and walk over, craning my neck to look up the oak’s towering height. It amazes me every single time I see it. Almost seventy feet high, its large lobate leaves completely block out the sun and provide a sanctuary of cool shade to escape the scorching summer sun. Mitch keeps the branches trimmed so they don’t touch the sides of either house or damage the Hardie plank siding.
Jayson, Julien, and I were insane to climb this thing all the time like we did, but we mainly kept to the branches that spanned between our bedroom windows and didn’t venture much higher than three stories up.
