Chapter 5 - Lucy #2
One by one, he lights the candles until the room is bathed in a soft, golden light. Outside, the storm rages on, but in here, it feels like we're in a cocoon of warmth and safety.
Riley returns to his seat, running a hand through his damp hair. In the candlelight, his features seem softer somehow, the hard lines of his face gentled by shadow and flame.
"I should probably get going," he says, but makes no move to stand. "Once the storm lets up a bit."
"You don't have to," I say quickly, then feel heat rise to my cheeks. "I mean, the roads might be flooded. It could be dangerous."
He studies me for a long moment, and I resist the urge to fidget under his gaze. I'm not sure why I want him to stay. Only that the thought of being alone in this strange house, in the dark, is less appealing than having this gruff, taciturn man for company.
"Could be," he agrees finally. "Roads around here flood easily."
Relief washes through me. "I have coffee. Or there's tea, if you prefer."
"Coffee's good."
I rise, grateful for something to do. "I'll have to make it on the stove if that's okay. I haven't unpacked my electric kettle yet."
"Need help?" he offers, half-rising.
"No, stay. I can manage." I grab a candle and head to the kitchen, where I start opening cupboards by candlelight, searching for the coffee Mrs. Abernathy mentioned in her note.
I find it in the third cupboard—a sealed bag of what looks like locally roasted beans. There's a hand-cranked grinder beside it, and I set to work preparing the coffee, grateful for the small, normal task.
From the kitchen, I can see Riley in the living room. He's leaning forward in his chair, elbows on his knees, staring into the candle flame with an expression I can't quite read. There's something vulnerable about him in this moment—something almost boyish beneath the hard exterior.
I wonder what he was like before the Army, before whatever brought him back to Cedar Falls. I wonder if he was always this guarded or if life taught him to be.
As I heat water on the gas stove, I find myself wanting to know his story—all of it, not just the carefully edited highlights he's shared so far.
It's a dangerous curiosity. I came to Cedar Falls to solve the mystery of my father's past, not to get tangled up in the life of a brooding mechanic, no matter how intriguing he might be.
And yet…
When the coffee is ready, I carry two mugs back to the living room, setting his on the side table next to his chair.
"Black, right?" I ask, having noticed how he drank it at the shop.
He nods, looking surprised that I remembered. "Thanks."
I settle back on the sofa, cradling my own mug. "So, the historical society. You think they might have information about my father?"
"Depends how far back your family goes," he says. "Records aren't complete, especially from before the 1900s. Fire in 1912 destroyed a lot."
"But you said the Mitchells were a founding family?"
He nods, taking a sip of his coffee. "Mitchells, Carters, Abernathys. All came out west together, founded the town in 1873. Started the lumber mill. Built the first church."
"Were they friends? The founding families, I mean."
A shadow crosses Riley's face. "Some were. Others... complicated."
"Complicated how?"
He sets his mug down, considering his words carefully. "Feuds. Business rivalries. The usual small-town politics, but with more at stake because they owned everything."
"And the Carters and Mitchells? Were they friends or rivals?"
Riley's eyes meet mine, and there's something almost challenging in his gaze. "Depends who you ask. The official history says they were business partners. Other stories say they were bitter enemies."
"And what do you believe?"
He shrugs. "Truth's usually somewhere in the middle. Families are... complicated."
The way he says it makes me think he's not just talking about history anymore.
"Do you have family here?" I ask him.
His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. "A brother. Josh."
The name is offered reluctantly, like something pried loose.
"Are you close?" I press gently, sensing I'm approaching dangerous territory but unable to stop myself.
Riley's laugh is short and without humor. "No."
I should change the subject, back away from whatever painful thing I've stumbled upon. But instead, I find myself saying, "I have a sister. Emma. We haven't spoken in over a year."
His eyes lift to mine, surprised by this offering.
"What happened?" he asks, his voice softer than I've heard it before.
I take a deep breath. "Our father died. Left everything to me, nothing to her.
She thinks I manipulated him somehow, turned him against her.
" I stare into my coffee. "But the truth is, she hadn't bothered to visit him in five years.
Barely called. While I was there every weekend, taking him to doctor's appointments, making sure he ate properly. "
"And now she blames you."
"Yeah." I look up at him. "Family is complicated."
Something passes between us in that moment—a recognition, perhaps. Two people who understand what it's like to be cut off from those who should be closest.
"Josh blames me for leaving," Riley says suddenly, the words coming out in a rush. "For not being here when our father was at his worst."
I stay very still, afraid that any movement might stop this unexpected confession.
"He was abusive," Riley continues, his voice low. "Our father. Mean drunk. Josh was fifteen when I enlisted. I thought... I thought I was escaping. Didn't realize I was leaving him behind."
My heart clenches at the pain in his voice. "You were eighteen. Just a kid yourself."
Riley shakes his head. "Old enough to know better. By the time I realized my mistake, it was too late." His hands tighten around his mug. "When I finally returned, he was already back in Cedar Falls and wanted nothing to do with me."
"Have you tried talking to him?" I ask softly.
"Many times. He's made his position clear." Riley's eyes meet mine, "Some breaks can't be mended."
I think of Emma, of the hateful words we hurled at each other after the reading of Dad's will. The silence that has stretched between us since.
"I don't know if that's true," I say, more to myself than to him. "I hope it's not."
Outside, the storm has begun to subside, the thunder now a distant rumble, the rain lessening to a steady patter. The candles have burned lower, casting longer shadows across the room.
Riley seems to notice the change, too. "Storm's passing," he says but makes no move to leave.
"Yes," I agree, equally still. "But the power's still out."
We look at each other across the candlelit room, and I feel something shift between us—a barrier lowering, just slightly. We've both revealed parts of ourselves tonight, shared hurts we usually keep hidden. It's created a connection I wasn't expecting and suspect neither of us was looking for.
"Another coffee?" I offer, not ready for him to go.
He looks at his watch, then back at me. "Sure," he says. "I've got nowhere to be."
As I take his mug and head back to the kitchen, I can't help but smile to myself. It's not much—just coffee and conversation in a power outage. But it feels like the beginning of something. A friendship, at least.
And right now, in this new town where I know almost no one, a friend is exactly what I need.