Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
She couldn’t put this off any longer.
Emma closed the door to her bedroom at Lainey’s place, then crossed the room to the window.
Outside, fresh snow coated the grass, weighed down the evergreen trees’ branches, and covered two vehicles parked on the side of the road.
She slipped out of her jacket and hung it on the coatrack beside the full-length mirror, then pulled her phone from the pocket.
Lord, please help me. I don’t want to call her. She’s going to brush me off and I hate that. Give me patience. And the right words.
It wasn’t much of a prayer. But at least she was honest. After this morning’s sermon at church about talking to God throughout the day, maybe a few scattered sentences here and there were enough to rebuild her frayed connection with the Lord.
She wasn’t entirely sure He was listening.
Or that He even wanted to hear from her. But praying couldn’t hurt.
Blowing out a wobbly breath, she scrolled to her mother’s name in her contacts.
She had to tell her about the gold. Still, she stared at the number, her thumb hovering over the call button.
The memories of their last interaction at Kendall’s party, plus the lack of any calls or messages from her mother since she’d traveled to Alaska, had left her wounded.
Surely discovering gold would thaw her mother’s frigid attitude toward anything related to the property.
Sometimes a girl needed her mom to help her navigate hard things.
She tapped the icon, then gnawed on her fingernail as the phone rang once, twice, three times. Maybe it would go to voicemail and she wouldn’t have to have this conversation today. Then the call connected. Emma’s stomach clenched.
“Emma,” her mother’s voice came through. Clipped. Preoccupied. “This isn’t a good time. I’m trying to pack. We leave for Cairo early tomorrow morning.”
“Well, hey, Mom,” Emma said, trying to keep her tone light. “I’m sure you’re busy, but I need to talk to you. It’s important.”
There was a pause long enough for Emma to envision her mom examining her well-manicured fingers or striding across her bedroom to the massive walk-in closet.
“What is it? Are you still in Alaska? Because I thought we agreed you’d handle whatever—”
“Agreed? No, you basically told me I had to handle it because you wanted nothing to do with anything connected to Redemption.” So much for keeping things light.
She sank onto the edge of the bed. “Given that you used to live in the house, I thought you might be interested to know that I found something substantial.”
“Like jewelry? Money? Top-shelf liquor?” Her mother sighed.
“You know what? Forget I asked because I don’t have time for this.
Do you think I should pack scarves? They’re just not a good look for me, but Richard says the light in Egypt can be positively unforgiving in photos—not to mention the heat and the sand. ”
“Mom.” Emma closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Can you focus for two minutes, please?”
“Fine.” Another sigh. “What do you want me to do?”
“Did you hear me? I found something hidden in the house. I’m assuming it’s something Dad put there.”
“Please don’t tell me you found weapons or drugs or anything illicit, because the statute of limitations on that surely has expired by now.”
“Mom, it’s gold,” Emma said, keeping her voice low. “A lot of it. Hidden under the floorboards.”
A beat of silence dropped. Had the call disconnected?
“Gold? Now isn’t that interesting!”
Emma stifled a groan. That shift in tone, the sudden intrigue—it stung. She’d spent so long feeling like an afterthought, and the second money was involved, her mother was suddenly engaged.
“Sure is,” Emma said. “I don’t know how much yet. I didn’t weigh it, but it’s enough to fill a good-sized box. I thought you might want to know.”
Her mother laughed, airy and dismissive. “This sounds like a scheme. Knowing your dad, it’s probably not even real. He is in prison for fraud, after all.”
Emma gritted her teeth. “I’m well aware.”
“Are we talking nuggets? Flakes? Coins?”
“Nuggets. And it’s real. I’ve held it, touched it. Not just a small amount, either.”
Another pause. Then a thoughtful hum. “Well, that is quite the find. But what does this have to do with me?”
“Nothing, I guess, if you don’t want to claim ownership. I’m happy to sell it and use the money to pay the property taxes.”
In the background, hangers squeaked across a metal bar. “Don’t sell the gold. Not yet. You’ll need to make sure you get the best price per ounce.”
Ah, so she was interested. Emma rubbed her forehead with her fingertips. “I’m already prolonging my stay here to deal with some issues with the house. I can’t keep changing my flight back to Boston though.”
“Of course not. You’re getting married in July, remember?” Her mother’s voice softened, but it felt practiced, distant. “That house and your father are both ancient history. I’ve turned a new page. Richard makes me deliriously happy.”
“Glad to hear it.” Emma blinked back tears. “You might have moved on, Mom, but I didn’t have a choice. Nobody asked me what I wanted to do. I was fifteen, and unlike you, I didn’t have the luxury of starting over with a new husband in a new state.”
“Oh, here we go.” Her mom sighed again, that defensive edge creeping in.
“I rescued you, Emma, from absolute despair. Do you know how humiliating that was for me, begging my aunt to take us in? Then raising you alone, dealing with your father’s deception and his arrest. It was all a horrific nightmare. I did what I had to do.”
Did you? Emma pressed her lips tight to keep back the words burning on her tongue. There was no point in rehashing details that would only get twisted.
“I thought you might want to know about the gold because I thought it might make up for some of what we lost. Maybe—I don’t know—I guess I was foolish to think this would serve as a bookend to a really dark time.”
Her mother didn’t answer. Emma heard the faint rustle of fabric. Mom was probably holding a scarf up beside her face in the full-length mirror, trying to decide which color looked best.
“So what are you planning to do next?”
“I don’t know,” Emma admitted. “It’s in a safe place for now, but it’s not just mine, is it?”
“Well, if it was in the house, then technically it is ours. We need to be smart about this, Emma. Now that I think about it, I need you to get the gold appraised and probably retain a lawyer.”
Appraised? A lawyer? Emma stood and started to pace. This was not how she thought this conversation would go. “Wait. I’m so confused. You just said you didn’t want anything to do with the house. Now that I’ve found gold, you do?”
“Oh, when you say it like that, you make it sound tawdry.” Another light laugh. “You did say this changes things, right? It’s not just about that old house anymore. This is about our future.”
The future.
Why had she been so dumb to think the gold would bring them closer? Would bridge the chasm that had grown canyon-sized between them over the years?
“You know what? I’ll figure it out. You’re right. This is my responsibility.”
“Now don’t be hasty, darling. Let me finish my trip to Egypt, and when I get back, we’ll talk about this properly. Richard can help us sort this out. He’s very good with money.”
“I’m sure he is,” Emma said. “Have a great trip.”
“Thanks, darling. Don’t do anything rash, okay?”
“Don’t you worry, Mom,” Emma said, and then ended the call.
She sat back down on the bed and stared at her phone. Outside, wind howled around the house. The gold might be safely tucked away at the resort, but worry crept in, its icy fingers slithering around her heart and squeezing tight.
Her mother’s words had uncovered something she wasn’t prepared for.
Not just her mom’s greed. That was familiar. But a deeper fear. Maybe her father hadn’t been the only one with secrets.
She mentally replayed the way her mother had said, “He’s in prison for fraud…retain a lawyer…”
Why?
She opened the notes app on her phone and made a short list: get gold appraised, ask Luke about a lawyer, ask Dad what really happened.
She stared at the words on the screen. That was the problem. She didn’t know if she could ask. Not only because she hadn’t spoken to her father in several years, but because he might not tell her the truth.
Or worse…what if he did?
He had to see Hank because that guy always had the right answer.
Snow crunched under Luke’s boots as he approached the modest two-story home tucked away on two acres east of town.
A ribbon of smoke curled from the chimney.
Pink and orange streaks crisscrossed the late afternoon sky as the sun dipped behind the mountains.
Fresh snow blanketed the Miltons’ yard, and two chickadees perched on the barren branch of a willow tree near the corner of the house.
The aroma of his mom’s homemade chicken soup wafted from the insulated bag he carried.
His stomach growled, but this food wasn’t for him.
He’d brought dinner rolls and a container of oatmeal chocolate chip cookies.
A meal was the least he could do for Hank and his wife after all they’d done at the resort.
Hank had been a fixture in his life for as long as Luke could remember.
A steady presence, fixing broken pipes, shoveling snow, and keeping the old buildings running smoothly.
Above all, Hank had always doled out the best advice.
There was no way Luke would stand by and let pneumonia take Hank down.
Somehow, he felt responsible for checking in on him.
As he approached the door, he spotted Hank in the recliner through the window, soft yellow light glowing through the panes. He knocked softly.
The door creaked open, and Hank’s wife, Willa, stood on the other side, her white hair pinned into a neat bun, her brown eyes crinkling at the corners as she smiled.