Something Like Family Read online

  PRAISE FOR HEATHER BURCH

  “Burch weaves the challenges of family and the hope life can bring into a book that will touch readers’ hearts in the most enduring ways.”

  —Booklist on In the Light of the Garden

  “Digging deep into the issues of loss and healing, this novel will take readers on a journey of rich emotions, deeply woven secrets, and the long-forgotten magic of childhood. The characters are dynamic, and their stories are utterly moving. This is a terrific story by Burch.”

  —RT Book Reviews on In the Light of the Garden

  “An engrossing coming-into-her-own tale with an intriguing magical twist, In the Light of the Garden expands the idea of what it means to be abandoned and then tenderly explores the wonder of being found.”

  —Serena Chase, USA Today’s Happy Ever After blog

  “Heather Burch has proven herself to have such an exceptional storytelling range that one might be tempted to call her ‘the Mariah Carey of romance fiction.’ One Lavender Ribbon blew my expectations out of the water and then swept me away on a wave of sweet romance. Don’t miss this one.”

  —Serena Chase, USA Today’s Happy Ever After blog

  “Burch’s latest combines a sweet, nostalgic, poignant tale of a true love of the past with the discovery of true love in the present . . . Burch’s lyrical, contemporary storytelling, down-to-earth characters, and intricate plot make this one story that will delight the heart.”

  —RT Book Reviews on One Lavender Ribbon, 4.5 Stars

  “Heather Burch draws you into the story from page one and captures your attention, your emotions, and your heart strings until the very end. She reaches into your very soul with a story that is so real that it stays with you for weeks after the last page is turned, the last sigh has floated away, the last giggle has played out, and the last tear is shed.”

  —Carolyn Brown, New York Times and USA Today bestselling author on Along the Broken Road

  ALSO BY HEATHER BURCH

  Adult Fiction

  One Lavender Ribbon

  In the Light of the Garden

  The Roads to River Rock

  Along the Broken Road

  Down the Hidden Path

  Young Adult Fiction

  Summer by Summer

  Halflings

  Halflings

  Guardian

  Avenger

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Text copyright © 2017 by Heather Burch

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Lake Union Publishing, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Lake Union Publishing are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781542045780

  ISBN-10: 1542045789

  Cover design by Laura Klynstra

  For the men and women of the Johns Creek Veterans Association. Thank you for your service and for being an inspiration. I shall never tire of hearing your stories.

  CONTENTS

  START READING

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  EPILOGUE

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Off in the distance, burning bright

  One flickering candle lights the night.

  Its flame is small but ever true

  It points the way for me and you.

  For we were warriors in our day

  Until the fight took us away.

  A whisper on the quiet air

  Says leave behind your empty chair.

  CHAPTER 1

  As an old man, there were certain things Tuck Wayne could no longer do. He couldn’t read the paper without bifocals, he could no longer please a woman, and he couldn’t eat the fire-spicy food he loved. As far as regrets went, he—like all men coming to the end of their lives—had some. But there was one that never let him rest. One deep regret that continually gnawed at his gut. One regret that kept him awake at night. And it was one of the few things he could try to remedy.

  Tuck walked to his back door and shoved the slider open. Lake Tears sprawled before him, the remnants of fog burning off her edges and evaporating in the warm Smoky Mountain morning sun. He used to go out on the boat on mornings like this. Now he only went when he knew the crappie were biting. This had been Millie’s favorite time of day. Beautiful Tennessee mornings when the mountains glistened with dew and the lake shimmered with life.

  He still missed Millie. Tuck felt the familiar tightening in his throat. It always came when his thoughts dwelled on her. But this time of year was the worst. This time of year, he could look out the back windows and practically see her stooped over a freshly added tomato plant in the garden. Sometimes, he’d catch her telling a tomato hornworm that though she had no hatred for the creature, he was a trespasser and not of good character so she’d not again make the mistake of sending him out. She’d be forced to end his life. But she’d never been able to follow through. Tuck wondered how many insects she’d carried to the edge of the lake. He smiled at the memory.

  Tuck stepped out, turned to close the slider behind him, and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror on the dining room wall. Sometimes it shocked him to see an old man staring back. Like anyone in his seventies, he’d been aging for years, but he never really saw it until lately, when the age spots had darkened and the lines of his face intensified. He placed his hands on his cheeks, making sure that was him. Yes. It was no trick of the mirror. Tuck Wayne, old and feeble, glared back at him with bushy white brows and springy, thinning hair. The skin around his eyes seemed to be pulling away, and the flesh of his body was loose, muscle tone he’d had since grade school lost to the rigidity of time.

  But that was OK. It was all OK, because he’d lived a life to be proud of. Mostly. Loved a woman who lit the sun. How he’d ever snagged a looker like Millie, he still didn’t know. He used to ask her what horrible thing she’d done in a past life to pay penance like this in the present one—being saddled with a man like him. She’d swat at his shoulder and he’d pull her into an embrace, and she’d squeal and pretend to fight. And they’d end up on the floor laughing.

  From the slider door, Tuck stared at the dining room floor. It was going to be one of those days. A memory day, he liked to call them. A time when he’d graciously let Millie’s ghost roam the house, landing here and there and drawing him away from whatever task he’d begun. Into the eyes of the old man in the mirror Tuck said, “I miss you, Millie.”

  He blinked several times, but the tears still filled his eyes. Somewhere deep inside, Tuck knew what he had to do. It’s what Millie would want. It’s what he wanted. “Not sure I can make this right, but I’ll do what I can.” He told himself this because there wasn’t any other human to talk to. He talked to Bullet plenty, but Bullet was a dog, and though his giant brown eyes were usually full of understanding, he rarely gave an opinion. A
true friend, but not always the most helpful one in times like these.

  Tuck turned away from both the mirror and the memories and gave his attention to the shoreline, hands splayed on the rotting wooden banister. One day, he’d replace those boards. He yelled for Bullet, using his sharp, military voice because it carried across the entire lake and echoed back to him. It was oddly comforting to hear that voice—even though it came from Tuck himself. It reminded him of a time when he was strong, at the peak of his life physically, and knowing that at least a remnant of that man was left gave him hope. No matter where Bullet had gone off to, the voice would bring him home. The German shepherd came jetting out of the woods, making an arc as he ran into the wind along the shore, his feet moving so fast, Tuck could see the spray of water at the edge of the lake being kicked up by massive paws. He shook his head but had to smile. “You’ll be soaked by the time you get back here.” He didn’t really mind. At least Bullet could still move with the ease and agility of his youth.

  Bullet bolted up the back steps, taking them two at a time. Tuck reached down and scrubbed at his ears. Bullet instantly turned to putty, leaning in and groaning. His fur was peppered with dirt and water, but his shepherd undercoat was dry. “Come on,” Tuck said, and Bullet followed him to the door. “Dry your feet.”

  Bullet lifted and dropped his front paws before entering the house.

  Without taking time to think about it, Tuck grabbed the phone from its cradle on the kitchen wall while the scent of lake-wet dog rose around him. He dialed one of the only numbers he knew by heart. “Hey, Phil. You still got the information on that PI?”

  Tuck heard Phil riffle through papers. “Sure.”

  “Tell him to find my grandson.”

  There was a pause. “You sure about that, Tuck? There could be repercussions.”

  Maybe there would be. He could live with that. But the uncertainty of a grandchild living out there somewhere and Tuck not knowing him . . . well, it was getting where Tuck couldn’t live with that. Repercussions or no, he needed to reach out.

  “We might not find what you want to hear.” The words were deathly soft. Cautious words for a battle-hardened attorney.

  “He might be dead is what you’re sayin’. I’m an old man, Phil. Not a fool. I know the kind of life his mother led. I need to know what happened. Either way.” Tuck left no room for discussion. This was his call. His call alone, because alone he’d lived with the guilt and regret of not doing this sooner.

  “Long as you understand. When Vin finds him, I’ll go myself to talk to him.”

  A flash of emotion surprised Tuck. “I’d sure appreciate that.”

  Tuck hung up the phone and waited for Millie’s ghost to tell him he’d done the right thing.

  Tampa, Florida

  Two weeks later

  Rave Wayne sat at a booth in the greasy spoon where he’d worked the last year. His friend Allen sat across from him, talking about starting a band. Rave had gotten off at ten, but they served until eleven and he’d told Stacey, the waitress, he could hang around in case they got a late-night rush. But he had to leave at eleven, busy or not. He had big plans when he got home.

  My birthday is tomorrow. He willed the words into the air silently because almost no one knew, but if they did, they’d do something for him. A candle in one of the diner’s blackberry pie slices or a match in a Twinkie. He figured his roommates would buy him a case of beer, but with rent overdue, they’d all share it. That’s what you were supposed to do on your birthday, wasn’t it? Drink with your friends. He’d be twenty-two.

  Allen went on about the band. “So, you in?” Allen looked expectant. Rave was about to ruin his day.

  “Sorry, dude.” Rave swigged the last of his Coke. The ice had melted, but he’d sweated out so much water during his shift washing dishes, he didn’t mind the taste and lack of fizz. “I promised Ashley I wouldn’t join any more bands.”

  Allen made a face. “Dude, it’s not like she’s your wife.”

  Rave stood, annoyed at Allen and annoyed by a couple a few tables over who wouldn’t stop arguing in low voices. He’d listened to the cutting tone of the man, whose eyes, red with anger, stabbed holes in his girlfriend. Whining and fighting tears with each rise and fall of her chest, the girl just sat there and took it. Get up. Walk away, Rave wanted to tell her. He doesn’t own you. But he kept quiet. None of his business.

  Rave hoped the argument wouldn’t escalate.

  “Rave, sit down. I haven’t told you the best part.”

  “If it was the best part, you would have started with it.” But Rave indulged his friend and dropped back into the booth. He was tired. He just wanted to go home. It had been a long night, and he’d woke to no hot water, making it impossible to take a decent shower.

  Near them, the man noisily shoved his chair out and tossed some money on the table.

  “My cousin knows this guy down in Miami who works at a studio. If we can get some decent tracks down and send them, he’ll get them to the studio for us.”

  “Dude. Not interested.” Rave hated being so blunt. Well, actually, he didn’t. He wished the rest of the world said what it meant instead of softening everything. People needed to toughen up. Allen needed to toughen up if the wounded look entering his eyes was any indication.

  “You’re a jerk, man.” Allen slid out of the seat. “I’m offering you a real opportunity.”

  Rave bit back a laugh and raised his arms. “What? Something better than all this?”

  Allen huffed and followed the couple out the door. The girl was being dragged along, and Rave couldn’t stop watching them as they continued to argue at the side of a newer-model Honda. He drove a ’98 Accord himself. It was battered, but it still got him down the road.

  He imagined what they were fighting about. The guy had probably accused her of sleeping around. That’s what always happened between his mom and her string of loser boyfriends.

  When Rave saw the guy bring his hand back, he jumped to his feet. It was either a warning or the prestrike. When the man’s flattened hand connected hard with the girl’s cheek, Rave burst through the café door. Gravel crunched beneath his feet, and he saw the girl’s head of brown hair snap to one side. Rave reached, grabbed the guy by the shirt, and planted a fist in his face. That’s all he remembered until people were dragging him off.

  His shirt and knuckles were bloody. His front tooth felt a little loose, so the guy must have landed at least one punch. It would tighten up. He’d had loose teeth before. He ran a tongue along the top and bottom teeth. None missing, so that was good.

  When the blue lights lit up the landscape in front of the café, Rave’s heart sank. He didn’t need this. Especially now. He was doin’ good. Around him, the parking lot was littered with people and the hushed tones and accusatory looks that always accompanied scenes like this.

  The sheriff talked to the couple—united in their despair—before coming over to Rave. Stacey, the night shift server, had wrapped some ice in a kitchen towel and handed it to him. When he stared at it, she cupped his hand and lifted it to his right eye. Oh. Shiner. That’d be great for his birthday tomorrow. His eye stung the minute the towel hit it.

  Sheriff Parker stopped at his feet. “Evening, Rave.”

  “Evening, Dick.”

  “You can call me Sheriff Parker.”

  Rave swallowed the bits of dirt that had been caught between his teeth. “I thought we were closer than that. First-name basis.”

  “Stand up, Rave.”

  When Parker reached behind him for his cuffs, Rave huffed. “Seriously? You’re arresting me?”

  “He said you attacked him.”

  “Did he also tell you he was knocking around his girlfriend? He hit her in the face, Parker.”

  Sheriff Parker sighed. Honestly, he didn’t look like he wanted to arrest Rave any more than Rave wanted to be arrested. “Turn around.”

  He’d be in jail for his birthday. Happy birthday to me.

  Pa
rker cuffed him and left him standing beside the patrol car while he went back to talk to the couple again.

  Allen materialized from the side of the building, smoking a cigarette. “Saw the whole thing, man. This sucks.”

  “Allen, tell Parker what happened. Otherwise, it’s my word against theirs. Look at them.” He nodded toward the couple, who were obviously corroborating each other’s stories.

  Allen took a long draw. “I’d like to think you can count on me. Just like I can count on you for the band.”

  Rave sighed. Closed his eyes. He’d made a promise, and with all the things that were out of his control, keeping his word was one within his power. “I’m not joining your band.”

  “Too bad.” Allen flicked his cigarette butt at Rave’s feet. “Good luck.” He disappeared beyond the dark corner of the building.

  Sheriff Parker reappeared and placed a hand over Rave’s head as he lowered him into the backseat of his patrol car. The lights shone, blue swirls running along the café windows, lighting the darkened street, and disappearing only to reappear and follow the same track again. Thirty-six times per minute. Rave had counted. It was almost a beat.

  Parker sat in the front seat, doing paperwork while Rave remained silent.

  “Doesn’t seem that long ago when I picked you up last. You told me you were changing things. I thought we’d had a good talk.”

  “Yeah.” Rave dropped the side of his head to the window.

  “Hey, you’re almost twenty-two. Happy birthday.” Sharp eyes looked into the rearview, making contact with Rave. Whether it was sarcasm or sentiment, Rave wasn’t sure, so he didn’t answer.

  “If memory serves, Judge Gavin gave you a final warning. If I haul you in tonight, you’re going away.”

  Rave could hear him clicking a pen. “If?”

  “I told the guy it was in his best interest not to press charges.”

  “Why would you do that?” It was Rave, not the other guy, sitting in the back of the cop car.

  “I could see the welts on his girlfriend’s cheek. As much as I hate to say it, Rave, you did the right thing. If it wasn’t at the tail end of a lengthy string of wrong things, I’d even be buying you a cup of coffee.”