CHAPTER 20
Luke watched the glowing green numbers on his dashboard clock tick by. He attempted to distract himself with his phone, flicking through the videos and messages Will had sent during the past two weeks. Only two weeks, and Luke already missed the kids so badly he was tempted daily to catch the next plane to Florida so he could kiss them good night. Eventually he always remembered that visiting the kids meant visiting Terry too. After their exchange at the airport, he definitely wasn’t ready for that.
The numbers finally clicked over to ten fifteen. He swung open the car door without even checking to see if any cars were coming up from behind him. The front path was still made of cement; a crack or two had been patched with darker cement than the original. He hopped over the cracks in between the slabs of cement, remembering the game he used to play as a kid. It was an unexpected happy memory from this house, a welcome change.
When he finally reached the glossy navy-blue door, Luke raised his hand to knock. Then he noticed the knocker. It was golden but covered with dark-bronze splotches where the gilding had peeled off. He knew that knocker. He knew that door. Nobody had taken the time to change either fixture. This was his house, and he’d be damned if he was going to knock. Turning the knob slowly, he pushed his body through the smallest crack he could fit in and shut the door behind him noiselessly.
The front room was dark, but he could make out the curve of carpet where it met the tile entryway. The house smelled of onions and potpourri, not at all familiar, and the carpet was a fluffy shag instead of the tight Berber of his childhood. But the ceiling fan was the same, the lights covered in those frosted-glass cuplike fixtures. Annie’s feminine laugh floated out from the kitchen, and the deep rumble of a male voice followed it. Luke pulled his eyes away from the fan and followed the voices, his feet sinking into the unfamiliar carpet, his pulse beating in his ears.
The kitchen was on the other side of the living room. To get there, Luke had to pass the hallway leading to the bedrooms. The last time he was in that hall, it was covered with blood. Logically he knew it wasn’t still there, but he still averted his eyes as he passed by. His feet were heavy, as though they were trying to tell Luke to turn around and go back. Then he heard Andy’s voice, and the world turned still around him.
“This house is great for a family. It’s been totally redone, inside and out. New plumbing five years ago, new carpet very recently, and the appliances are all still under warranty.”
“Wow, did you know the previous owners?” Annie asked, sounding distracted, probably wondering what was taking Luke so long.
“It’s a small town, so we all know each other pretty well, but lately we’ve had a lot of out-of-towners redoing houses and renting them out during the summer. I grew up in this town, so I did know the family who lived in this house before it became a rental cottage. Went to school with their kid.”
“You did?” Annie sounded actually interested, even though she didn’t know this used to be Luke’s house.
“Oh, yeah.” His voice deepened like he was going to share a secret. “It’s a very sad story. The father was an alcoholic, used to beat the mom and the kid. One day, when the mom was pregnant, the dad came home blasted and . . .”
No. Luke refused to listen to Andy Garner tell this story. His feet woke up again and let him walk the last three steps into the kitchen. As he rounded the corner, Annie was leaning back against the white laminate counter. Andy Garner stood in the middle of the gray-tile floor, tan dress slacks with a belt, tailored blue shirt tucked in neatly. He definitely hadn’t grown since their last meeting, still a head shorter than Luke. Every other thing about him had changed: his hair, what was left of it, was neatly trimmed, his clothes actually fit, and his midsection was thick, with twenty extra pounds.
“Hey, honey,” Annie said in a singsong voice, “you made it.” She stood straight and waved Luke over. That’s when Andy Garner turned around with his hand extended, ready for a shake. It only took two steps before he stopped in his tracks.
“Luke? Luke Richardson? Hey there! What the heck are you doing here?” He seemed happy to see him. “You want to buy your old house? I thought you hated this place!”
“Maybe I want to buy it so I can tear it down,” Luke quipped, an unexpected flash of anger escaping from deep within. Annie pushed off the counter, standing at attention.
“This is your house?” she asked quietly, like she was confused that he hadn’t told her this information earlier. Andy glanced back at Annie and back at Luke.
“Wait, you got married again?” he asked. It sounded more like an accusation than a question. He could hear the word Andy had left out of that sentence. “You got married again . . . already?”
“No.” Forget the plan. There was no way Luke was going to let Andy Garner act as the morality police. “She’s just a friend.” Andy snuck a quick look at Annie, who was standing erect, arms crossed tightly, face completely white.
“When she called,” he tipped his head in Annie’s direction, “she said she was your wife. Said your name was Charlie Fairbanks. What the hell is going on here, Luke?”
Andy’s voice surged, all friendly curiosity gone. Luke instinctively took his hands out of his pockets, ready for a fight. He’d never hit a man before, but he wasn’t about to let Andy Garner get one in without any warning, especially not in this house. No one was going to hit him in this house ever again.
“I needed to talk to you,” Luke said simply.
“And calling my office didn’t seem like an option?” Andy’s signature sarcasm leaked through his professional exterior. For a moment Luke could see him like he had on the quad—oily hair, baggy clothes, steely brown eyes.
“This conversation needed to happen in person.” Luke paused to gauge his response, but Andy’s face was hard and mocking. No sign he knew what was coming. “Tell me about Maranatha House, Andy.”
After the words left his mouth, it took a few seconds for them to register with Andy. But when they did, Luke could see the impact. Andy let out a deep sigh and shrunk at least three inches, like one of those Thanksgiving parade balloons deflating.
“Natalie promised me she’d never tell,” Andy said, using up his last bit of oxygen. He took another breath; this one stuttered as it went in. He placed a hand over his eyes. “My wife doesn’t even know.” His voice was thick with emotion now. He looked up, panic in his eyes. “You aren’t going to tell her, are you?”
Luke’s mouth was completely dry. So, it was true. How could it be true? Every time his mind took him to this moment, the moment when he found out Will was not Natalie’s first child and that his wife had been lying to him his whole marriage, he’d talk himself out of it.
He’d remind himself that Natalie hated dishonesty. Once, when they were kids, she’d gotten two gumballs out of the vending machine at the IGA, so she went to the counter and gave them an extra quarter. The owner was so impressed he’d put a picture of her behind the help desk with the words “Most Honest Customer” underneath. She’d never had a speeding ticket, cheated on a test, or snuck candy into a movie theater. How the hell did she keep this a secret?
Annie cleared her throat, still standing by the sink. Forming words became difficult through the red haze of anger creeping in around Luke’s vision.
“Luke,” she whispered, “you okay?”
He ignored Annie, narrowing in on Andy, who was standing in the middle of the room with his hands still over his mouth. He took a deliberate step toward the ever-shrinking man.
“Maybe we should tell her,” Luke growled through gritted teeth.
“Luke”—Annie’s voice was full of caution—“you never said anything about talking to his wife.”
Luke curled his hands into fists, over and over, wanting to hit something, someone. He’d spent so much of his life forcing himself to be gentle, kind, to never let anyone flip the switch inside him that might turn him into his father. Now he was close, closer than he’d ever been, to surrendering to the force of a man who still haunted the memories of his childhood, even though he was long in the grave.
“I think she has a right to know.”
Andy begged him, “Please, you can’t.” Luke felt no sympathy.
“Did you hold the baby when it was born? Did you kiss his head? What about my wife? Did you kiss her too?”
“Wait.” Andy yanked at his collar. “I’m lost. This is about Natalie?” Andy began to inflate again, his nose nearly close enough to touch Luke’s shoulder. “Listen, if you’re not interested in the house, I need to ask you to leave or I’ll call the cops.” In a flash Andy had his phone out.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Luke pushed back a sudden urge to slap the phone out of Andy’s hand. “What were you two hiding, Andy?”
Andy jutted his chin out and shook his head slowly. “I can’t believe Natalie married you,” he said softly, like he was talking to himself. “I tried to warn her. You’re a total psycho, like your dad.”
Before he was aware of it, a growl started in Luke’s lungs and crawled into his throat. His feet shuffled toward Andy, closing the gap between them. His hands curled into themselves, like he was getting ready for a workout on the bag at home. It’d only take a swift uppercut with his right, jab in the stomach with his left, and if that wasn’t enough, an elbow to Andy’s back as he fell to the ground.
Suddenly Annie was wedged between the two men, one hand on Luke’s chest and the other on Andy’s shoulder. Her touch was gentle but firm, and it brought him back to reality. Luke’s hands fell limp at his side, aching from how hard he’d been squeezing them. He’d almost hit someone. When that thought sunk in, it was heavy, like the sins of his father were suddenly his as well.
“Stop,” Annie said, giving Andy’s shoulder a sharp thrust. “Luke, tell him about the picture. Tell him.”
“What picture? Who are you?” he asked, glaring at Annie before taking a large step back, making Annie’s hand fall.
“Like he said, I’m a friend.” She yanked out the brochure peeking out of Luke’s shirt pocket and flipped it open. A polished fingernail pointed at the younger version of Andy, more hair, gigantic smile, and Natalie’s arm hanging around his neck. “Tell us about this, Andy. Tell us about Maranatha House—why you were there with Natalie and why there are pictures of you all over that place.” Annie held the trifold, cream-colored brochure up to Andy’s face, other hand on her hip.
“How did you get that?” Andy asked, flustered.
“Luke’s son found an envelope from Maranatha Adoptions. It was postmarked from around the time he was born. It had Natalie’s name on it.” She listed the facts like accusations. “That led Luke to Maranatha House. Okay. Your turn.”
Andy reached up and took the dangling brochure from her hand and took a step back, staring at the open booklet. He touched the sepia-toned picture, and the corner of his mouth turned up like he was remembering something happy.
“I never had a child with Natalie,” Andy said, still lost in the picture, “but I do have a daughter. Her name is Jill, and she lives in South Carolina with her adoptive parents, Carol and Jim Fletcher. She attends Davidson University. She has black, curly hair like me and light eyes like her mom.”
“What?” Luke blurted, the paralyzing haze of anger lifting a little. Annie seemed to sense it and moved out of his path. “A daughter?”
“Yeah. I met her last year. Natalie helped me find her before she . . .” Andy’s words caught in his throat. “Luke, you know Jill’s birth mom, Nancy Gillingham.” Andy’s bravado was gone. “She sat between us in Mrs. Tillman’s fourth-grade class. I had a huge crush on her. Junior year when she was a cheerleader and I was suddenly cool because I’d learned guitar, we went out for a few months.
“Then she got pregnant, and it felt like the end of my world. But Natalie, she knew what to do. She told me about this place her pastor worked at, this home for unwed mothers, or at least that’s what they used to call it. Nancy lived there till she had the baby. No one knew but me and her parents and Natalie. The other kids thought she was living with her aunt in Indiana. Natalie drove with me to visit her at Maranatha. Every year they have a reunion and fundraiser in June. This year was the first time I’ve ever gone without Nat.”
Andy looked right into Luke’s eyes. “I didn’t know she was lying to you. I’m sorry. Nothing ever, ever happened between us. I mean, I was in love with her, but she never could get over you.” He chuckled like there was something funny about it. “I never really thought you two would make it, but after a while I stopped hoping she’d leave you, and I got on with my life—a pretty damn good one too.”
He refolded the brochure and handed it to Luke, then retrieved a worn black wallet out of his back pocket. Slipping his pointer finger behind a stack of credit cards, Andy pulled out a wallet-size photograph and held it up for Annie and Luke.
“This was her senior picture. Jill sent it to me after she turned eighteen, after Natalie helped me track her down. Nat said she looks a little like a younger version of Minnie Driver.”
Luke took the picture and flipped it over. In feminine handwriting, the name “Jill Fletcher” was written across the back with a phone number. Luke tried to memorize it, still not sure if he should believe Andy, but finding fewer reasons to question his story. The girl looked nothing like Natalie, and until that moment Luke hadn’t realized that fear was lurking in the back of his mind. Luke passed the picture to Annie.
“She’s beautiful. I can definitely tell she’s your daughter.” She handed the picture back to Andy and grabbed her purse, the metal clasp scratching against the countertop.
“We should go.” She sighed, and hooked the strap over her shoulder as she turned to face Andy. “Thanks for your time, Mr. Garner. We’ll get out of your hair now.”
Annie brushed past Andy, who had his hands back in his pockets. Luke stared at the short, balding, thirty-something man he’d wanted to punch in the face only a few minutes earlier. Did he really believe Andy’s story? The part about Natalie helping him was definitely convincing. He could even reason why she’d keep it secret, never one to break promises to friends.
“Sorry about the misunderstanding.” Luke put out his hand, and Andy shook it briefly.
“I’m sorry for the stuff I said about your dad,” he mumbled back. Luke was more sorry that, at the moment, Andy had been right.
“Yeah, well, we both were saying things we didn’t really mean.” Andy nodded and followed Annie out the door.
Alone in the front room, Luke took one last look around. The house was only a shadow of the home he’d grown up in, but paint and wallpaper wasn’t strong enough to disguise the film of evil still clinging to the hallway where his sister died. Luke shook off the memory. It was just a house.
As Annie and Andy filled the awkward exit with small talk on the front porch, Luke counted the steps from the kitchen to the door. Twelve. When he’d walked out of the house with the CPS agent twenty-two years earlier, it had been nearly double, twenty-three. Back then he cried as he was escorted into the waiting car. Today he felt relief.
“I can’t believe that just happened,” Annie said, staring at the ground as she walked across the lawn while Andy locked up. “I’ve never seen that side of you.”
“I . . . I didn’t plan it,” Luke said, coming up beside her. “And I think I could say the same thing of you, stepping between me and Andy. That was . . . bold.” Not a word he’d usually use to describe Annie. A few months ago she couldn’t get a word out when that bartender was coming on to her. Today, she was strong and stood up to both Luke and Andy.
“I know.” Annie stopped at the curb to look both ways. Luke wanted to laugh because the road was visibly empty, plus the speed Nazi, Mr. Slattery, strictly enforced the ten-miles-per-hour speed limit. If he still lived there, he’d call the police if anyone edged above twelve. But Luke wasn’t ready to make jokes, so he paused and pretended to look up and down Winter Lane. “Once you two started arguing, it was obvious Andy knew more than he was telling us. Something snapped. I didn’t expect his story, though, did you? About Natalie’s pastor helping Andy and his girlfriend? Then the picture of the girl who looked creepily like Andy.”
“I still don’t know what to believe.” Luke’s foot hit asphalt as Andy’s car beeped open in the background. There was something about his story that struck a nerve. It wasn’t Nancy hiding away at Maranatha or Andy keeping the whole thing a secret from his wife or even Natalie helping them in a difficult situation. Luke pulled the keys out of his pocket and handed them to Annie. “I’ll be right back,” he said and took off across the street without looking before she could respond.
Andy was already buckled in his seat, window up. He’d barely clicked the gearshift into reverse when Luke reached his door. Luke beat against the glass with an open palm. The music was loud inside the car, so it took three attempts to get Andy’s attention. Noticing Luke on the other side of the window, Andy rolled the window down with a whir, letting out a gush of cool, conditioned air.
“Uh, did you forget something?” Andy asked, holding the wheel tightly, the gold band on his left hand catching the light.
“I had one more question.” Luke took a few deep breaths, still worn out from running. Andy didn’t look eager to wait, so Luke blew out his last breath and leaned into the car window. “The pastor you mentioned, the one Natalie referred you to . . .” Andy nodded. “What was his name?”
“Uh, that was a long time ago. Natalie contacted him when we were looking for Jill. His name was”—Andy scratched the top of his bare head—“Townsend, I think.”
Luke let out a breath and cracked a very brief smile. He was being silly, thinking Andy and Natalie had some big adoption scheme going on. Stupid.
“Yeah, that was it,” Andy added, rolling up the window. “Pastor Neal Townsend, but Natalie always called him Pastor Neal.”