2. Chapter 2 #2
As her heart calmed, Skye’s gaze drifted beyond her parent’s well-manicured lawn to the awful and sterile poly fence that demarked an unofficial dividing line between Shiloh Hills’s upper-crust and everyone else.
Typically, Skye did a decent job of ignoring that fence when she answered her parents’ summons.
But maybe her vulnerabilities and insecurities had overridden her better sense because her eyes were drawn to that space between property lines.
That particular fence hadn’t always been there.
At one point it was open, sporting two rows of painted wood nailed to neat square posts.
She’d been only five years old when she heard the word rabble spat from someone’s mouth in her parents’ patio garden.
She didn’t understand exactly what or who a rabble was but she spent many days studying the fence the person indicated, wondering if clues were present in the wood grain or the way the white paint clung to the splinters.
The grasses that waved in the breeze, the wildflowers that danced around the posts, were the same on either side of the fence.
The crooked For Sale sign on the other side of the fence, maybe that was the rabble? Or was it the family that moved in not long after that garden party? Maybe it was the little boy who ran around in dirty bare feet and torn jean shorts.
Skye’s eyes drifted from the cold fence that mocked the memories she held dear, though they made her heart ache with sadness.
She forced her eyes away and back to the opulent home her parents occupied.
The idea of going inside made her stomach roll again and she couldn’t help but seek some level of comfort by glancing one more time at the place she’d spent such happy times.
The way the fence had changed through the years stood out, a stark comparison to those good memories and the corners of Skye’s mouth turned down as that ache in her chest grew.
Not every memory made at that fence had been positive, not all of them promised hope and companionship.
Graduation day held so much promise for Skye, not because of the numerous scholarships and school acceptance letters she’d received like the crowd seemed to think.
The principal’s list of her achievements went on forever and Skye slowed her steps to ensure the man had plenty of time to finish before she reached the podium.
She made it through her Valedictorian speech, reading the words she’d written without emotion.
The heat of too many bodies pressed in on her and she tried to focus passed the pounding headache she’d developed.
Not a single individual in the large school gymnasium saw her accomplishments for what they were. Chains.
It took far longer for Skye to escape the congratulations and well-wishes from fellow townsfolk than she would have liked. She breathed the late spring air deep into her lungs, relief lightened her chest and for the first time all day, she let herself feel that hope she clung to.
Her sandaled feet raced through the soft grass, passed the lilac bush whose blooms were fading in late May.
Excitement lit her eyes as she searched for a hint of him but the only thing waiting for her at that horrible sterile fence was a thick stack of papers, wedged between two slats.
That hope she’d carried with her crashed to the ground in a heap of splintered dreams. Skye pulled the tri-folded paper from the fence and opened it, her hands shaking with that familiar sinking feeling that crept into her chest and stopped the breath in her lungs.
The words, typed in an official font blurred before her eyes.
Blinking several times, Skye struggled to absorb the words before her, her mind refusing to comprehend.
She recognized the name on the paper, Matthew R.
Raden. Then, a horrible sense of finality overcame her as the words United States Army came into focus.
Skye crumpled to the ground, lost, heavy.
All of those chains finally weighed her down.
Skye swiped at her cheeks, the wet tracks there surprised and frustrated her.
She jerked her head away from that fence and yanked the sun visor down, exposing the mirror to her salt-stained face.
Sniffing, Skye dabbed under her eyes and hurried to hide the evidence of her weakness, frantically brushing at the reddened skin of her face.
Her efforts were in vain and she eventually growled at her image.
Slamming the sun visor shut again, Skye took a steading breath, ignoring the way it shuddered through her and focused on something, anything, else that would distract her from the memories that threatened to crush her heart.
Her eyes landed on the other vehicles in the driveway beside her own.
The concreted circle driveway held three cars and her trusty SUV.
Two of the brand names she recognized as expensive.
The other she didn’t know, but she had no doubt it was every bit as lavish.
Her SUV seemed like a cheap knock-off toy compared to those vehicles, and it took all her strength not to flush with embarrassment.
She alternated between hurrying toward the house, determined not to be late, and wishing she could turn around and flee. Years of avoiding disappointing her parents and operant conditioning won out, and she found herself rushing up the opulent stone steps.
The doorbell clanged the same as when she lived there, and she fought against other memories that tried to drag her under.
As proud members of one of the oldest families in Shiloh Hills, Max and Gayle Wellington exuded perfection in every facet of their lives, except for the ones behind closed doors.
From the outside, Skye’s parents were perfectly put together and socially acceptable.
She often wondered if her father had ever been happy with Gayle, who had been her stepmother for as long as she could remember.
While her parents would never leave each other legally, they’d given up on happiness a long time ago.
The door swung open and revealed Gayle Wellington, second wife of Shiloh Hills’s mayor.
Her hair was a warm cinnamon color from the roots to the tips—not her natural color but the result of expensive taste and a well-trained hairstylist. Willowy thin but proud, she coifed her hair perfectly, not a strand out of place or root left untouched, and accentuated her figure in a pink plaid suit jacket and pencil skirt.
Rubies dangled from her ears and rested at the hollow of her throat.
As she opened the door wider, her disapproving brown eyes slid over Skye and dismissed her.
She always expected Skye to show up and be less than.
Silently, Skye followed her stepmother into the house.
A staircase lined the wall on both sides, curving elegantly toward the second floor.
They passed under the obnoxiously grand, crystal chandelier, Gayle’s daringly tall heels clicked loudly against the cream marble tiles beneath their feet.
She led Skye through the foyer and past the expansive library to the formal dining hall at the back of the house.
One entire wall consisted of windows that provided a gorgeous view of the extensive backyard and endless woods beyond.
Skye’s father sat at the head of the needlessly long, dark-wood table.
The cream-cushioned seat to his right, pulled out slightly, waited for Gayle to take her seat again.
Across the table from Gayle, where Skye typically cowered, another guest stood and angled his body toward her.
“What are you doing here?” Skye could have smacked herself the minute the words flew from her mouth.
Gayle paled and sputtered while her father’s face soured to an unholy shade of red.
Dylan cracked a furtive smile, the mockery of pleasantness didn’t reach his eyes. “Skye, it’s been a long time.”
About four years actually. Not nearly long enough.
Dylan Santoro was not someone Skye would have willingly dined with ever again.
She hid her clenched fists behind her back; she not only despised his presence at this family dinner, but also what it might imply.
They’d briefly dated in college at the behest and urging of her parents.
Considering she had royally disappointed them by changing her major to education, Skye had agreed to a first date with Dylan.
His father was a state senator, a powerful ally for power-hungry couples and small-town politicians like Max and Gayle.
Apparently, Skye had been the only one to think their relationship was obviously going nowhere because he’d proposed to her after only a few dates, the ring a spectacular show of dazzling wealth and influence.
She doubted he would forgive her for turning him down, not that his smiling face spoke of any ill will today.
But despite his waving blond hair and crystalline blue eyes, something behind the pretty-boy facade made her skin crawl.
Skye slid into the chair Dylan pulled out for her, noting the pristine Armani suit he wore and rolled her eyes.
She slid closer to the table and took a healthy swig of the red wine already in her crystal glass. This was going to be a long night.