Chapter 7
SEVEN
PRESENT DAY
The morning after Jane returned to Linden Falls, she opened her eyes and stared up at the unfamiliar light fixture hanging from the ceiling. It was a little dusty, a little dated—one more thing that would look glaringly out of place in LA. She supposed the light fixture wasn’t completely unfamiliar—it had probably been hanging there when Jane had last been in this house—but that was a decade ago, and she didn’t remember it. There were a lot of details of this house she’d forgotten.
And then there were some she never, ever would.
Jane rolled over to give her daughter a squeeze. All of that would be behind her soon. This house, the memories, and Los Angeles, too. Soon, she and Scarlett would start their new life, safely away from all of it. She had a week to put her plan into place.
When Jane reached for Scarlett on the other side of the bed, her hand fumbled in the rumpled sheets. She sat up abruptly. Scarlett was gone.
For a moment, panic seized her. What if Matteo had come in the night and?—
Before she could get carried away with that train of thought, Jane heard voices drift up from downstairs through the old heating vents: Mom’s chuckle, followed by a giggle from Scarlett.
With a relieved sigh, Jane slumped back against the pillows. Matteo hadn’t snuck in last night and kidnapped their daughter. Of course he hadn’t. He’d even approved this trip—albeit grudgingly.
“You told me you don’t get along with your parents,” he’d said, when Jane had broached the subject. She’d waited until he was in a good mood, right after he’d come home from his weekly poker game. He’d won. If he hadn’t, Jane would have given him a wide berth. “You haven’t seen them in ten years. Why would you bother to go now?”
Because it’s my only chance.
She’d told Matteo about Dad dying, that Mom needed help packing and moving into the retirement community in town. Matteo would check up on her—google Dad’s obituary and make sure she wasn’t lying or using it as an excuse to have an affair. Jane didn’t even go out with friends, let alone another man. Still, he liked to throw around accusations that left her defending herself.
“My mom is old and frail,” Jane had argued, knowing that Matteo would prefer that. Old and frail were no threats to him. “She doesn’t have anyone else to help her move.”
Matteo’s mouth had twisted up on one side. He was thinking about it.
Jane’s chest had filled with hope, but she’d done her best to smooth her face into a neutral expression. “We’ll drive and stay in hotels. Scarlett will get to see a little bit of the country.”
She’d held her breath then. Driving would buy her a couple of extra days if she needed them. She could tell him a fabricated story about a blown tire or dead battery and say they’d be a few days late coming back. He’d be angry about it, blame her poor driving or accuse her of leaving the headlights on all night. She’d pay for it later when they got home.
Except she’d never be going home again.
“Please, Matteo?” she’d whispered, and then flinched. Never let him know how badly you want it.
But Matteo had just smirked. He’d liked it when she begged, when he could exert even more power over her. Finally, he’d peeled off a wad of bills from his poker winnings and tossed it in her direction.
Jane had grabbed the cash and clutched it to her chest.
The minute he’d left the room, Jane had counted it. Two thousand dollars. Oh, thank God. If she and Scarlett stayed in the cheapest motels and brought their own food in a cooler, it was more than twice the amount of money they’d need to get to New York State.
Of course, Matteo had believed she’d use the other half to get back again. But with any luck, she and Scarlett would be long gone before he even knew to look for them.
With that thought, Jane climbed out of bed—and was hit with a wave of cold air coming from the direction of the drafty window with its peeling paint on the wood frame and latch that didn’t close completely. It was ridiculous that Mom thought she could stay in this big, rambling, old house all alone. It was surprising that she’d want to. It wasn’t just the upkeep. Didn’t Mom want a new start, too?
Jane threw on a cardigan over her T-shirt and pajama pants and headed down the stairs that creaked with each step. At the bottom, she heard voices from down the hall punctuated by the occasional giggle.
Jane entered the kitchen to find Scarlett standing on a step stool in front of the stove. Mom leaned against the counter next to her, holding a bowl with one hand and the handle of a sizzling pan with the other. Scarlett reached into the bowl, scooped some batter with a measuring cup, and carefully drizzled it into the pan. She looked up when Jane stopped in the doorway. “Mommy! Look, I’m making pancakes!”
Jane forced a smile and nodded in acknowledgment. Part of her wanted to run over and snatch Scarlett’s hand away from the hot pan before she burned herself. Scarlett had never learned to cook at home. It opened up too much possibility for chaos and mess. Matteo hated chaos and mess. But the pride on Jane’s daughter’s face stopped her. “I can’t wait to try them. I bet they’ll be delicious.”
Mom reached an arm around Scarlett to give the pan a shake, a smile lighting up her face and smoothing out the hard lines around her mouth. For the first time since Jane arrived home, Mom looked her own age instead of decades older.
A long-buried memory flashed in Jane’s head. Mom pulling a tray of cookies out of the oven, giving Jane that same easy grin. They’d dug in before the gooey discs had even cooled, melted chocolate smearing on their hands and mouths. Then they’d left the dirty bowl in the sink all afternoon while they spread a puzzle out on the coffee table, with no concern for whether they’d be in the way.
Jane had lived for those weekends when Dad took his fishing trips. When it had been just her and Mom at home, and nobody had to hold their breath or tiptoe around him. When Mom’s smile had come readily, and her shoulders hadn’t tightened in fear.
“Can’t he move out?” she’d asked Mom on one of those magical weekends. “Can’t he get one of those apartments in town and we can live here alone?”
Mom had sighed. “No. He doesn’t want to move out.”
“Well, then we can leave.”
“It’s not that easy.”
Something about the sadness in Mom’s eyes had told Jane to stop asking questions like that.
So, late at night, when she was supposed to be sleeping, Jane used to imagine something happening to Dad—an accident on the boat, maybe. There’d be a solemn knock on the front door, and then Mom would swing it open, her face going pale. On the step would stand two officers from the police station, their eyes darting over Mom’s shoulder when they broke the news that Dad would never be coming home.
It had been a shocking, terrible thing to wish for. What ten-year-old relishes the image of their father suffering such a terrible fate?
But then Dad would come home from his trip, and the cloud of fear would settle back over the house. It had become harder and harder for Jane to muster up much guilt over her secret fantasies for it to be just her and Mom, forever.
Jane watched Mom hand Scarlett a spatula and help her flip the pancakes. It looked like Jane had gotten her wish after all. Something had happened to Dad on one of those fishing trips. The police officers went looking for him when he didn’t come home on Sunday night, like he usually did. They’d found him alone in the boat, the fishing rod and cooler of food Mom had packed on the seat next to him. The thermos of chili half-eaten. They suspected he’d died on Friday. A sudden heart attack.
The doctors had told Mom that even if Dad had been in town, just minutes from the hospital, they didn’t know if they could have saved him. Smoking two packs a day for decades had taken a toll. He’d been on medication for his blood pressure and cholesterol for years. Dad’s heart had just given out. They’d assured Mom that he hadn’t suffered.
Jane had to admit she was a tiny bit sorry about that last part.
And now, Mom was finally free.
And Jane…
Somehow, she’d ended up living her own version of Mom’s story. But soon, she’d be free, too .
“After breakfast, maybe Scarlett can open one of her presents. Santa came early!” Mom said in an upbeat tone, for Scarlett’s benefit. And then, quieter, to Jane: “In case you won’t be here for Christmas.”
Jane felt a stab of guilt as Mom’s smile faltered. But Mom knew that Jane was in Linden Falls just long enough to figure out how to leave. It had been the plan from the moment Mom had called to say that Dad had passed. Mom hadn’t protected her when Dad was alive, but this temporary sanctuary would be her parting gift to Jane for the start of her new life.
Scarlett nodded eagerly, clapping her hands, and Jane gave her a sideways smile when Mom wasn’t looking. A little thank you for playing along with the Santa story. That could be their parting gift to Mom: a handful of special moments with her only grandchild before she and Scarlett disappeared into thin air. It wouldn’t make up for the decade Mom had missed. But it was something.
Jane peeked into the living room where Mom had set up a small, plastic, table-top Christmas tree decorated with lights and all the handmade elementary-school art class ornaments Jane had made throughout her childhood. Jane’s gift to Scarlett—the sketch pad and pens—was tucked under the tree in its simple star wrapping paper. Next to it sat a much bigger box encased in sparkly silver paper tied with a giant red bow. Santa’s gift, most likely.
They took their plates into the living room, something they never would have done if Dad were still here. Jane was grateful to focus on the gifts because she wasn’t up for making chit-chat with Mom over the breakfast table. It wasn’t like they could talk about life back in LA—she wouldn’t be going back there and there was no use pretending—or Jane’s plans for the future, since she didn’t have any plans without a thousand holes. And Jane really didn’t want that last fact to become glaringly obvious to Scarlett .
Up to this point, she’d been able to pass this trip off as an adventure, but Jane knew her daughter suspected more than she was letting on. For now, it was Christmas—an early one, anyway—and maybe, for once, Scarlett could just be a kid.
Scarlett looked genuinely happy about the sketch pad and pens, giving Jane a wide smile, and Jane’s heart squeezed. She had so little idea of what would be next for them. But Jane vowed that by this time next year, they’d be settled, safe. Not just physically away from Los Angeles and all the trauma they’d endured, but finally on their way to healing and putting it behind them.
Mom placed her pancakes on the side table and bent over to pick up the large, wrapped box. She pressed a hand to her back as if the effort pained her, and Jane set aside her own plate and jumped up to help. “You have back pain, too?”
Mom shrugged. “I’m getting older.”
“You’re forty-eight.”
“I pulled a muscle climbing out of the rowboat at the lake. The last time Dad wanted me to go with him. It acts up sometimes.”
Jane huffed. Mom hated the lake. Hated boating and was afraid of the water. Dad usually let her stay home, said he couldn’t relax with her shaking like a dying fish on the bench next to him. But every once in a while, he used to drag her along. Jane knew it was to prove to Mom that he was in charge. That he had the power to make her go. And maybe he liked watching her shake like a dying fish on the bench next to him.
Jane pressed a hand to her temples, surprised by how quickly the bitterness rose up in her, eclipsing any compassion she might have felt for Mom’s pain. It was just more proof that Jane was doing the right thing, leaving Matteo like this, even if it felt daunting, and terrifying, and sometimes nearly impossible. She never wanted Scarlett to look back on her childhood the way that Jane did. To remember that her mother got in that boat, even though she couldn’t swim, because Dad told her to.
She never wanted Scarlett to think that was what love looked like.
Jane had already given too many years of her life, too many years of her daughter’s life, to a man just like her father. She set Mom’s gift in front of Scarlett and watched her daughter’s eyes light up. Maybe for today, they could just enjoy this. Pancakes and presents and Scarlett being a kid.
Scarlett tore off the shiny silver paper, revealing the gift beneath. The Barbie Dream House Lego set. “Oh, Grandma, I love it!” Scarlett clambered to her feet and threw herself in her grandmother’s direction. “Thank you!”
“Careful, Grandma has a bad back,” Jane called, but halfheartedly, because Mom’s face was shining as brightly as Scarlett’s as she wrapped her arms around the girl and pulled her in tightly.
“Can I put it together now, Mommy?” Scarlett asked, jumping up and down.
Jane nodded, but as Scarlett turned back to admire all the colorful photos on the side of the box, her heart twisted. They might not be able to take a Barbie Dream House with them when they left. It was too big, and it would draw too much attention. Jane didn’t know yet if they’d have a car.
But she’d face that soon enough. For now, she’d let Scarlett enjoy the moment.
Scarlett tore into the box, and soon she was blissfully buried in a pile of tiny plastic blocks and miniature Barbie figurines. Jane was just finishing her pancakes when Mom reached under the tree and produced a small red envelope. Wordlessly, she passed it to Jane.
“Oh,” Jane said, turning the folded paper over in her hands. She should have thought to pick up something for Mom when she’d stopped in Ford’s last night. One of those pine-scented candles. Or a card, even.
Jane trembled at the memory of those brief moments in Ford’s. She’d barely been able to remember her own name when Nik had walked in. And then he’d cornered her in the far aisle of the store, towering over her like a California redwood, all broad shoulders and long limbs. His hand sliding across her cheek had haunted her dreams last night. Jane couldn’t remember the last time a man had touched her like that. With such gentleness and care.
The last time might have been the last time Nik had touched her.
Jane dragged herself back to Mom’s living room. When she looked up, Mom was watching her, head cocked. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Jane sat up straight. “I’m sorry, we left LA so quickly, and I didn’t bring you anything…”
Mom waved it off. “You did. You brought—” Her attention shifted to Scarlett on the floor and her lips tugged into a wistful smile. “And you. You’re the best gifts I could ask for.”
Jane didn’t answer, sliding a finger under the flap to open the envelope instead.
Inside was a basic Christmas card with a photo of Santa sitting next to a tree, the kind printed on slightly flimsy card paper that comes in a multi-pack. Mom used to buy piles of those cards to send to their neighbors and acquaintances in Linden Falls. She’d tuck a family photo inside with the date scrawled on the back. On the card, she’d print, Love from Chief McCaffrey and family . Jane and Mom didn’t even get to have their full names in that card. It was all about Dad.
It was always all about Dad.
The inside of this card was blank, though, other than the printed Merry Christmas sentiment. But a slip of paper slid out and fell into her lap. Jane picked it up. A check with Jane’s name printed on the top line. Pay to the order of. Then she focused on the amount.
Five thousand dollars.
Her gaze flew to Mom. “What?”
“For you. And Scarlett.”
“I—” Jane opened her mouth to say she couldn’t accept it. That she didn’t need Mom’s money. But the words would be a lie. She desperately needed every dollar that would help her escape Matteo. But— “I can’t.” Jane held the check in Mom’s direction. “You’ll need this to fix up this old house. If you decide to move?—”
Mom folded her hands in her lap. “Your dad had a good pension and some retirement savings. I’ll be fine.”
Jane stared down at the check. Before she could answer, Mom continued. “You could use it to hire an attorney. Someone who specializes in cases like yours. They could help you to leave Matteo and take full legal custody of Scarlett.”
Jane peeked at Scarlett who was engrossed in the Lego instructions and didn’t seem to be paying any attention. “We shouldn’t talk about this here,” Jane murmured.
Mom stood and picked up her coffee mug. “Why don’t we go and clean up the breakfast dishes?”
Check in hand, Jane followed her down the hall.
“You can’t be serious about this,” Jane said, when they were safely in the kitchen. She set the check on the counter. “Matteo would never let us go like that.” Jane grabbed the pan off the stove and ran a sponge over it. “You of all people should know that.”
In the sunlight streaming through the kitchen window, the lines around Mom’s eyes looked deeper than they had last night. “Do you remember Martin Lefkowitz from high school? He just took over his father’s family law practice, and he handles divorces and custody cases. He’s handling Dad’s paperwork, and everyone says he’s really smart. He went to Harvard Law and then practiced in New York before he?—”
Jane cut her off. “All the Harvard lawyers in the world aren’t going to stop Matteo if he wants to come here and drag us back home again.” She scrubbed harder at the pot. “He won’t care that they practiced in New York.”
“The police, then.”
Jane’s eyes widened. “The police ?” She banged the pot onto the drying rack on the counter and grabbed a mixing bowl. “You really think the police are going to help me? The police in this town?” A wave of anger washed over her. “They can’t get involved in a little domestic dispute, remember?”
Jane’s body tensed at the decades-old memory. Dad in a rage about something. She couldn’t even remember what it was now, but she knew it was something that wouldn’t even register in a normal family. Dad’s rages were always over some small infraction, that’s what made them so dangerous. You’d never know if the wrong toothpaste or a pair of shoes in the hall would set him off. It was part of how he exerted his control. By leaving you constantly afraid.
Jane also couldn’t remember why Mom had finally called 911 on that particular day. Had she feared for her life? Or was it that she’d finally had enough? But Jane’s memory was clear on one point. In her hiding place under the porch, she’d watched Officer Wylie pull up in his patrol car and climb out slowly. Almost reluctantly. From inside the house, Jane could still hear Dad yelling. Mom crying.
Why aren’t the police officer’s lights flashing and his siren on?
Mom had run out onto the porch, her bare feet thumping on the wood slats above Jane’s head. Jane had heard the tears in Mom voice, the desperation as she’d begged the police officer for help. “He did this to me,” Mom had said.
Later, Jane would see the full extent of what Dad had done. The bruises, the fractured wrist. But at that moment, Jane could imagine. She’d seen it before.
Officer Wylie had cleared his throat. “Uh, sir…” He’d trailed off then, one black sneaker kicking at a stone on the path leading up to the porch, not meeting Dad’s eyes.
Dad had descended the steps. Put a fatherly arm around the young officer, and calmly explained that he and Mom had been having a little argument when she’d slipped on the bathroom rug. “There’s no need for you to get involved in our silly domestic dispute.”
A moment later, Officer Wylie had been back in the patrol car on his way down the street. It had always struck Jane that he drove faster on his way out than he had on the way in.
She would never, ever trust the police to help her.
“It would be different with you,” Mom cut in. “You’re Chief McCaffrey’s daughter. If you tell them Matteo is threatening you, those officers will protect you.”
Jane turned away to grab a dish towel and vigorously swipe it over the mixing bowl. “I’m Chief McCaffrey’s daughter, who took off and abandoned him.” Mrs. Swanson had made that clear last night in Ford’s. “I think I’ll take my chances with my plan.” Even with all its flaws, it had to be better than going to the police.
Mom sank down on a stool across the counter and absently straightened the placemats piled there. “Jane,” she whispered. Her hands were shaking. “I’m just saying that there are options. There are other ways to protect yourself and Scarlett. You don’t have to run. You can stay here and give your daughter some stability. You can fight for the life you want.”
Was this why Mom didn’t want to move to that retirement home in town? Because she imagined that Jane and Scarlett would move into this old house? Jane’s first instinct was to shudder at the thought and open her mouth to refuse. But as she gazed around the kitchen, something held her back .
Last night, in the dim light, the room had looked shabby, rundown, an aging monument to all her worst memories. But now with the sun shining in, Jane could see subtle changes. Mom had set flowers in a mason jar on the island and hung colorful curtains in the window. There were rainbow sprinkles in the spice rack and a set of pink butterfly cups in the china cabinet. Was all of this for Scarlett?
And for Jane, too?
It was only nine in the morning, and already this had been Scarlett’s best day in years. Chocolate-chip pancakes and Barbie Legos spread across the living room floor. Earlier, Jane had heard her talking about building a snowman. Linden Falls had four seasons, good schools, and speed limits that people actually respected. In a house like this, Scarlett could have her own room where her friends could come over. A backyard where she could play with the local kids. A neighborhood she could roam without worrying about drug dealers or traffic.
This would be Scarlett’s Dream House.
Jane’s heart tugged with longing.
But she knew how the system worked. She’d talked to a lawyer once, just like Mom had suggested. There are laws , she’d thought. Mechanisms in place to help women.
A protection from abuse order .
A piece of paper signed by a judge. It told the abuser to stop the abuse, to stay away from the victim or face serious legal consequences. If the judge was involved, signing a paper, shouldn’t the abuser already be facing serious legal consequences?
It doesn’t work that way.
A protection from abuse order from a judge wasn’t going to stop a man like Matteo. Jane knew he’d show up and promptly step right on it, grinding in his heel along the way. If Matteo was told to do something, he took it as an invitation to do the opposite. A PFA wasn’t worth the paper it was written on .
Matteo would never let her go. Mom had to understand that better than anyone.
“At least meet with Martin,” Mom urged. “See what kind of advice he gives you.”
Jane shook her head. “I can’t. It would never work.” There was no sense in entertaining these wild ideas that she could ever come home, ever live a normal life, ever stop looking over her shoulder.
“Think of Scarlett—” Mom began, but Jane cut her off.
“Stop.” Jane whirled on her. “Just stop.” The last thing she needed was Scarlett overhearing them and getting her hopes up. In the midst of pancakes and Legos, she’d only have her heart broken. “Did you try to leave Dad? Did you fight for the life you wanted? No.” Jane slapped the dish towel down on the counter. “At least I left. You stayed. You chose him. ”
When I desperately needed you to choose me.
At age eighteen, scared and alone, all she’d wanted was for her mother to protect her. To save her. That’s what mothers are for. But Mom had said no.
“Everything I’m doing is for my daughter,” Jane snapped. “Which is more than I can say for you.”
And with that, Mom’s shoulders hunched, her head hung, and her arms wrapped around her midsection as if that would protect her from Jane’s words. It was as if she made herself smaller, maybe she’d become invisible.
Jane felt a shudder go through her. That posture was so familiar. She’d seen Mom shrink into herself just like that every time Dad had berated her for something. But this time it wasn’t Dad’s fault—it was Jane, and her self-righteous anger, who’d caused Mom to look like that. Anger that wasn’t justified. Because what right did she have to blame Mom for staying when she’d waited a decade to leave Matteo? Waited for the right moment, for it to be easier.
Waited to stop being so afraid .
To have something to do with her hands, Jane yanked open a drawer to look for a dry dish towel but, finding silverware instead, she slammed it shut and pulled open the drawer next to it. Two cartons of cigarettes slid to the front. They were the kind Dad used to smoke. The tobacco scent drifted up, taking her back to her childhood.
Jane remembered the faded square on Dad’s pants pocket, where those cigarettes had permanently lived. The way he’d slap them against his palm to pack the tobacco to one end. It used to make her jump, that sound.
“Why do you still have these?” She glanced up at Mom, who seemed to be turning an unnatural shade of red. “Don’t tell me you can’t even get rid of his cigarettes.” Jane slammed the drawer. “He was an abusive asshole. And he’s dead. How can you ask me to stay here when you can’t even get rid of his old cigarettes? He’s like a ghost, still lurking around here. You’re even holding on to his old things. The recliner in the living room and now these…”
Jane turned to look out the window. It had snowed again last night, and the sidewalks were covered. She couldn’t even flee like she had yesterday. But she couldn’t stay here, mired in all the pain in this house’s walls.
Jane pushed away from the counter. “I’m going to shovel the walk.” One more task Mom would have to handle on her own once she and Scarlett took off. Because Jane sure as hell wasn’t staying.