Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAR
The words hang in the air.
What if they’ve finally found me?
Before Liz can answer, the sound of rain tapping against the kitchen window pulls me back in time. Back to Virginia and that big white house in Reston.
Geoff had a way of making every room feel safer just by being in it.
His good cop to my mother’s bad. Maybe that’s why I never saw what she had.
My mother’s perceived threat. That her husband could be seduced by a younger version of her, when he was merely being kind.
And oh, how I’d yearned for someone to be kind.
I remember how touched I was when he’d brought home little trinkets for me.
Insignificant gifts really, from a business trip or two.
Then once, after hearing my mother say I wasn’t presentable enough to attend a charity function with them, he’d brushed off her biting tone, telling me I deserved nice things.
I was floored when he’d handed me a stack of dresses and encouraged me to try them on. “You should feel beautiful,” he’d said.
“You are beautiful, Kendal.”
And I’d believed him. Someone saw me. Felt I was beautiful and worthy. Someone finally cared.
He was always there to offer kindness when Mom wasn’t. When she snapped cruel words at me, he was the one to soften them. “She doesn’t mean it,” he’d said, voice smooth as honey. “Use this as a lesson. Other girls will be jealous. There’s something special about you.”
And I had believed that too.
At first, I’d thought Mom had just hunted him down for his money.
But later, I saw the kind and generous man he was and hoped this was what drew her in.
It seemed she’d been lucky to marry a man like Geoff.
That his money was merely the icing on the cake.
But deep down, I knew something was off. I should’ve known better.
Over time, I discovered what he gave wasn’t just generosity, it was control gift-wrapped in affection. Had that been how he lured my mother in? Before he turned his attention on me?
He’d been so attentive. Always there to listen, comfort, buy, or fix.
He talked about my future like it was worth something.
He pushed me to dream big. Told me I could go to college, that I was smarter than I realized.
When I said I wanted to study cosmetology, he didn’t laugh.
He’d smiled and told me to get my business degree first, so I could own a first-class salon one day.
Encouraged me to build something of my own. He made me believe it was possible.
Mom, of course, rolled her eyes, sneering that my dreams were foolish. “The only way you’ll end up on top is if you trap a guy beneath you,” she’d sniped once, glass of wine sloshing in her hand.
And she should know, right?
But Geoff had just looked at me, that same soft smile curving his lips as he came to reassure me before bed that night. “Don’t listen to her,” he’d whispered. “You’re going to do great things.”
The warmth of that memory used to comfort me. Now it burns.
Because I remember the shift. The day Mom started watching me differently. The way her jaw tightened when she caught him brushing a strand of hair from my face. It’s the day I should’ve run.
The accusations came later, her voice trembling with fury.
“You think I don’t see the way you look at him?
” she’d hissed. “You little tramp. You think you can take what’s mine?
” I’d stood there frozen, trying to understand how everything had become so twisted.
I’d looked to Geoff, silently begging him to defend me. To tell her she was wrong.
But he hadn’t. Was it all a game? Knowing what was to come?
Now, all these years later, sitting in Liz’s kitchen with the rain pelting against the glass, I can still feel the ghost of his hand on my shoulder. Can still hear the echo of his voice in my head. “You are beautiful, Kendal. There’s something special about you.”
My body tenses, recoiling at the song playing in my memory. The sound of everything that once felt safe collapsing into ashes. Because that was the night I stopped being a child. Believing people who said they loved you, all the while the house was burning down with you in it.
That was the night I learned that evil lurks among us. Sometimes so close, you can’t see the knife until it’s buried in your back.
“Char?” Liz’s voice pulls me back like a hand reaching through the mist.
I blink, the kitchen swimming into focus. The chipped ceramic mug in my hand, the faint scent of lemon cleaner, the hum of the old refrigerator. Everything feels ordinary again, but I’m still trembling. “Sorry,” I murmur, rubbing my forehead. “Just spaced out for a second.”
Liz studies me, concern etched in every line of her face. “You went somewhere far away,” she says softly. “You haven’t looked like that in years.”
I try to force a smile. “Just remembering things I’d rather forget.”
She reaches across the table and takes my hand. Her palm is warm and comforting. “You’re safe here, Charlene.” Her words are meant to soothe me, but they land hollow. The man outside the salon today watched me like he knew exactly who I was.
I squeeze Liz’s hand tighter. “What if… what if they’ve come to finish what they started?”
Liz’s expression hardens. It’s maternal, protective. The years may have softened her hair to silver, but that fire in her eyes still burns white hot. “Don’t you borrow trouble, Charlene. You’ve built a good life here. No one’s going to take that from you.”
“Why is it I feel like I’m seventeen again, not thirty-two?”
Her silence answers for her. The clock ticks between us.
One, two, three beats of dread. Then she exhales and rises from her chair, moving to the window.
Her reflection flickers in the glass. “We’ll reach out to our contact at the agency in the morning,” she says, her voice steady but low.
“I haven’t spoken to anyone there in so long, I’m not sure who that is.
But I’ll ask if someone can reach out to the police chief here.
Perhaps they can check the cameras near the salon.
Maybe it was nothing. Just an overbearing tourist watching a pretty girl across the way. ”
I nod, though the pit in my stomach disagrees.
Liz turns back, offering me a small smile. “For tonight, you’re staying here. Lock the doors. I’ll set the alarm.”
I rise, glancing toward the front door where rain streaks the glass. For a moment, I swear I see movement, like a shadow slipping past the mailbox, just beyond the porch light. My pulse kicks up again. “Liz?” I whisper, my voice catching.
She peers out beside me, but the street is empty now. Only the rain, soft and steady. Still, I can’t shake the feeling that someone’s out there, watching. And that the past I’ve spent half my life running from may have finally caught up to me.
Bang, bang, bang.
“Gah!” We both shriek.
I instantly cower in the adjoining living room corner. My hands cover my ears as if that will offer any protection, when Margaret suddenly crouches in front of me, gently placing her hands over mine.
“Oh, Charlene. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to make an already tense situation worse.” She pulls me in for a hug, rocking me to and fro as she often did when I was younger. “Liz called me when she was on the way to get you. I got here as fast as I could.”
I met the remarkable Margaret Montgomery not long after arriving in Candy Cane Key.
Her cousin Liz was related by marriage. She’d married into the Montgomery family, only to find herself divorced a few years later when Margaret’s two-timing first cousin walked out on her for a younger version of her petite blonde self.
In true Margaret fashion, she immediately took Liz under her wing.
From the way Liz tells it, she even paid for the best divorce attorney around.
This ruffled more than a few family feathers.
But Margaret stood behind the decision. Liz had moved back home to New York to stay with her parents during this time.
That’s when she met her new husband, Frank. God rest his soul.
Margaret pushes my hair behind my ear and lays a tender kiss on my temple. “You okay?”
I nod, my nerves shot. Rubbing my hands up and down my arms, I try to reassure her, “I will be.”
With another kiss, she helps me to my feet and walks with me into the kitchen.
“I’m going to put on another pot of tea.
English Breakfast?” she asks knowingly. Once I nod, she continues, “Then you take one of these.” She holds out a small white pill.
“It will let you shut your mind off for the night so you can get some sleep.”
“Drug dealing now?” I chuckle half-heartedly.
“It’s just an extra-strength Benadryl, dear. Nothing hardcore. But it will help.”
“Okay.” I gratefully accept the pill and watch as she scurries about the kitchen as she often did when her and Liz would cook together.
“Try to get some sleep. Don’t worry. We’ve got this.” She stands up as tall as her five foot four height will go, balled fists on her hips. “They don’t know who they’re messing with.”
A real laugh escapes this time. She’s right.
Margaret gives her cousin a hug, whispering a few words to her low enough I can’t hear over the whistling of the teapot.
After pouring another cup, I turn to find Liz double-checking the locks.
Walking toward me, she gives my shoulder a squeeze before disappearing down the hall.
The soft creak of her bedroom door echoing behind her.
Admittedly, the place seems different now that Frank is gone.
But perhaps it feels this way because it’s simply not my home anymore.
I stay at the kitchen table, tracing the rim of my mug with one finger, watching the rain streak down the window. The rhythmic patter should be calming. I used to find it soothing. Yet tonight, it just feels like a ticking clock, counting down to something I can’t name.
My phone buzzes beside me, making me jump. Glancing down, I discover it’s simply a reassuring text goodnight from Liz. “You’re safe,” I whisper into the empty room, as if saying it out loud will make it true.
The air conditioner kicks on. I take that as my cue to get up, rinse my mug, and head to the small guest room Liz keeps for me.
Entering, I take in the space. It hasn’t changed in years.
The quilt stretched over the twin bed smells like lavender and the memories of the only real home I’d ever known.
Yet, when I slide beneath it, sleep refuses to come.
Every creak in the house, every gust of wind against the shutters, makes my pulse jump.
When I finally drift off, it’s to the faint sound of thunder rolling in, and a flash of memory I can’t shake. A pair of dark aviators, glinting beneath the summer sun. And the ghost of a voice whispering in my ear.
“Shh. It will be our little secret.”