Chapter 11 #2
I was short on friends in Clifton Forge. My girlfriends in Colorado called sometimes. I’d call them other times. But with every passing week, they were getting on with their lives and I was getting on with mine. Soon, we’d drift apart because we had nothing in common.
They all thought I’d gotten swept up in a whirlwind romance. Most thought I was crazy, and though they’d never admit it, I think they were waiting to welcome me home when it fell apart.
They weren’t wrong.
Isaiah nodded. “Friends.”
“Good. I like your mom.” Despite my earlier meltdown, it was important he knew that.
“I’m glad. She’s . . . she’s the best person I know.”
“Will you tell me more about your family?” At dinner, his mom had talked endlessly about Isaiah and Kaine, her two sons. But there’d been no mention of their father. “What’s your brother like?”
“He’s a good guy. He builds custom furniture that’s more like art than tables and chairs. He’s always had that kind of raw talent. I used to get jealous of how things came so easily to him. I’d probably hate him if he weren’t the second-best person I knew.”
“And he lives in Montana?”
Isaiah nodded. “In a little town called Lark Cove. It’s different than Clifton Forge. Sits right on a lake.”
“Why did you pick Clifton Forge over Lark Cove? Did you not want to be close to your brother?”
“The job. Dash’s garage is pretty well-known and not a lot of places will hire an ex-con.”
I forgot most days that Isaiah had been in prison. That his record would follow him for the rest of his life. “And your dad?”
“I didn’t really know him. Mom divorced him just a few months after I was born. They were already separated. I was an accident.”
“We have that in common,” I muttered.
“I honestly don’t remember him much. Couldn’t tell you what he looked like. Can’t even think of the last picture I saw of him. Weird, right?”
“No, not really.” People were more easily forgotten than anyone wanted to think, certainly about themselves.
Would I forget Mom one day? I didn’t want to. Angry as I was, I didn’t want to forget her smile. Maybe if I kept enough pictures around, I’d never lose her.
“Anyway,” Isaiah continued, “he worked for a company that did a bunch of overseas development. They ended up moving him to Asia. He’d call.
I remember Mom taught me to use the phone when I was little so I could say hi.
But he didn’t visit more than once or twice a year.
He’d send me gifts on my birthdays and Christmas.
Then when I was eight, Mom sat Kaine and me down and said that Dad was sick. He died eight months later.”
“Oh my God,” I gasped. “What was it?”
“Pancreatic cancer.”
“I’m sorry.” I put my hand over his.
He lifted a shoulder. “I was just a kid. When it came to the stuff that a dad should teach a boy, I had Kaine. He taught me how to ride my bike. How to throw a ball. And a punch.”
He had a tight-knit family, sort of like mine. Given his shock at Suzanne’s reaction to the news of our marriage, Isaiah must have expected them to go ballistic at our out-of-the-blue relationship. I could see why he’d kept it from them. It wasn’t about me. He didn’t want to disappoint them.
I bumped his shoulder with mine. “Thanks.”
“Welcome.” He bumped it back.
“Why did you think I wouldn’t like you?” Nothing he’d told me seemed bad. I didn’t care what his family situation was. Look at mine. His was tame compared to the tale of my origin.
“Those were safe questions, doll.”
“Oh.”
Maybe he’d expected me to ask about Shannon again. But I’d gotten the hint last week. That was a no-fly zone.
Who was she? His ex-girlfriend? Or . . . ex-wife? Had he been married before? All these questions I wanted to ask, but they didn’t seem safe. And he was talking—finally talking. I was worried that with one wrong question, he’d shut me out.
“How about this? What should I know about you?”
He leaned forward, dropping his elbows to his knees. “Not many people here know I was in prison for three years. I don’t hide it. Won’t deny it. But I’m not broadcasting it either.”
“I can understand that. Will you tell me why you went?”
He stared at the door.
Second after second ticked by. The tension that normally came when Isaiah ignored a question wasn’t there. This was different. He was ashamed. It pulsed off him in guilty, thick waves. It was hurting him. He was enduring it, because I’d asked for an answer.
“You don’t have to—”
“I killed someone.”
I froze. “Who?”
“A woman and her unborn baby.”
I flinched. I didn’t want to, but it happened involuntarily.
He hung his head.
This couldn’t be real. Isaiah wouldn’t kill a pregnant woman. It had to have been an accident, right? The Isaiah who’d saved my life wasn’t a murderer.
He was kind and reserved and thoughtful. I refused to picture this man as a cold-blooded killer.
Wait, was that why he didn’t drink? Did the woman’s death have something to do with an addiction? He hadn’t spent long in prison. Three years plus parole was common for manslaughter. So it had to be an accident. Maybe drunk driving?
Or drugs?
My mind whirled with the possibilities but stopped when a loud pair of footsteps echoed up the stairs outside. That staircase was better than any doorbell. No one could sneak up here unnoticed.
Isaiah was off the bed in a flash, striding to the door. He opened it just as our visitor knocked.
“Dash.” Isaiah waved him inside.
Dash strode in and scanned the room.
I stood from the bed, wishing his first visit to our apartment wasn’t when it was covered with paint supplies. The brush I’d thrown at Isaiah was on the edge of a plastic drop cloth—thank God—not the carpet.
“What’s up?” Isaiah asked, closing the door.
“Got some news,” Dash said. “The Warriors are making a move. Tucker called me today and said they’re coming over Saturday and expect a meeting.”
My heart dropped. No. Nonononono. Had they learned that Isaiah and I had been in that cabin?
“About?” Isaiah asked.
“The fire. They’ve spent time trying to figure out who started it but haven’t had any luck.” He turned to me. “They want to talk to you and Bryce about the guy who took you.”
“We don’t know anything,” I blurted. “We told you everything.”
“Now you’ll tell them.”
“Why?”
“Because.” He scowled. “We’re cooperating with them. The last thing we need is a war that we’ll never win. These guys don’t play by the rules. They kill first and ask questions later.”
I gulped. “So what do we do?”
“You tell them what you know.” He pointed at my nose. “And it better be the exact same story as the one you told me.”