Something Like Family Read online

  That’s when he noticed the empty spot where Rave had parked. Grass flattened, dying from a lack of sun and rain and utterly empty. Tuck’s gaze shot to the key nail—as if the keys would be there, and the car would magically appear once he laid eyes on them. Like the driveway, the nail was empty. His own truck keys looked lonely there without their comrades. He ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time. At the top, he flipped the light switch and looked around Rave’s room. The closet was empty.

  “No . . .” Tuck grabbed the frame for support. He drew one steadying breath, his heart hammering in his ears and nausea working its way through him, souring his stomach. His eyes searched the room and landed on a notebook sitting beside Rave’s bed. Tuck rushed to it and flipped through the pages. They were filled with song lyrics. He held it against his chest.

  Tuck made his way downstairs and went to the kitchen. The lid on the cookie jar was off, and a piece of paper stuck out from inside. He snatched it, holding it between trembling fingers, and tried to make out the words.

  I took two hundred dollars from the jar, along with five hundred I sent to Ashley. When I get home to Tampa, I’ll send the money back when I can.

  Tuck squeezed the paper until it crumpled. He held the mass to his chest. He’d thought he’d heard a car less than half an hour ago, but even if he started now, he’d never catch him. Tuck groped for the phone and called Phil. Words rushed out as he explained what happened. “I just meant to give him some space, I didn’t know he meant he was leaving when he said good-bye.”

  “I’ll find him, Tuck. Don’t worry. If not here, back in Tampa. At least we know where he’s headed.”

  But that wasn’t good enough for Tuck. He’d head out, too. Look for Rave. Search everywhere. He was sweet on that girl, Rebecca. Maybe Rave would stop by her house on the way out of town. Even if he had a girl back home, Tuck knew a young man smitten when he saw one. He had to find him. After what happened today, there was no way he’d lose Rave. At least, not like this.

  “What am I doing here?” Rave asked himself for the tenth time. He barely knew Becca. And she wasn’t interested in him. Still, they’d shared a few nice nanoseconds, and it seemed wrong to up and leave town without saying good-bye.

  And yet, he was still in his car parked in front of her coffee shop, Sustenance, with no explanation as to why he found it impossible to go in. He glanced into the rearview mirror at his own reflection. Cautious eyes stared back at him. Fearful eyes. He blamed Tuck for that because in the three weeks he’d been in Barton, Tuck had chipped away at the stone encasing him, the rock that dispersed pain and kept hurt from permeating his flesh. He wished he’d never come.

  At the same time, Rave also knew there were things about him that needed to change. Had to change if he was ever going to be worthwhile to anyone on this planet. He was going home to Ashley and Daniel. Daniel deserved better than what Rave had to offer.

  He thought about them for a moment. Ash and Daniel. A new sensation entered his chest. He needed to let her know he was coming. She’d be so happy. He could practically hear Daniel squealing. In the rearview mirror, Rave saw himself smiling. His eyes searched for the pay phone he knew was there. Like a tiny sliver from days gone by, a single anchor keeping the past alive. He dug change from his ashtray and jogged the distance to the phone booth. Silently, he prayed.

  “Hi,” Daniel answered, and Rave smiled so big it made his cheeks hurt.

  “Hey there, Rock Star.”

  “Rave! I’m watching SpongeBob. My favorite episode, where SpongeBob and Patrick paint Mr. Crab’s house.”

  Overwhelmed, he practically blurted out the news but stopped just short of saying he was headed home. He was trying to be more responsible about things. He’d tell Ashley first. “I want to hear all about it, buddy, but first can you put your mom on the phone for a second?”

  “No.” No explanation. Rave could hear him crunching potato chips in the background.

  “Come on, Daniel. I need to talk to her. Then we can talk for a while, OK?”

  “I can’t. Aunt Nicole is here. Mommy’s leaving.”

  Cold shot into Rave’s gut, but he dismissed it. She was probably just running to the store or something. “Where’s she going, Daniel?”

  “She’s in the driveway, and Barry’s picking her up. Aunt Nicole told me not to leave the couch until she comes back in.”

  The cold spread, chilling Rave regardless of the early-summer sun above him. “How long is she going to be gone?”

  “Just for two nights.”

  Rave pressed his head against the wall of the phone booth. “Where are they going?”

  “I dunno. Somewhere for car keys or something.”

  “The Keys?” His voice cracked on the word.

  “Yeah. That’s right.”

  Rave bit into his cheek and tasted blood.

  “I gotta go, Rave. Aunt Nicole is coming in.”

  Rave started to say good-bye but heard the click before he could. He didn’t blame Daniel for hanging up—the boy got in trouble for answering the phone. But he also couldn’t mistake the distance in Daniel’s voice. Like day by day, he was forgetting Rave, forgetting who he was and how close they’d been. Children have short memories, he supposed. And yet, he recalled every time his mother slipped out late at night and left him in the house alone.

  Slowly Rave hung up the phone as if the receiver was the umbilical cord connecting him to his past life. Ashley’d played him. That was the only explanation for this. And now she was headed to the Keys on Rave’s dime. With Barry. Something deep in his heart told him he’d known she was like this. She took. She never gave. Except to Daniel. Ashley was a good mom. But Rave had always assumed her preoccupation with money was in Daniel’s interest. Now he knew Ashley was out for herself. She’d probably always been, but she was a chameleon—good at hiding what she wanted to hide and good at convincing everyone around her that she was sweet and innocent.

  He made his way across the courtyard of the town square. The flowering trees above him had dropped white and pink blooms on the ground to be trampled by passersby. How odd to plant a tree knowing you’d only appreciate the blossoms while they hemmed the sky. Never giving a thought to them once they fell to the earth.

  Inside his car, he leaned back against the headrest and closed his eyes. Where to now? Not home. Tampa had felt like home before Tuck. Before that stupid attorney showed up and ruined what semblance of a decent life he had. Now he was homeless. Again.

  He brushed a tear from the side of his face. It had collected in the outer edge of his closed eye and ran from his temple through his hairline to the corner of his ear. Another followed.

  He’d been here before. But it had been a long time. He could start over somewhere. Maybe head east to North Carolina’s shoreline. But shoreline meant ocean, and ocean made him think of Daniel and endless numbers of sand castles and shell collecting. No, he couldn’t go to the beach. Not for a long, long time. He’d head west. Rave sniffed, swiped his eyes to remove any remaining moisture, and threw one last long look toward the window of Sustenance. He didn’t need to say good-bye. After all, he owed her nothing.

  “You think you can will that young man to come inside?” Alexandra Sheffield stood behind Becca, her wide hands clamped on Becca’s shoulders and staring out the same window she’d redecorated earlier in the day with the new coffee flavors and the new book club books.

  Beyond the window, beside the town square, Rave sat in his car looking . . . lost. Why Becca’s heart was so drawn to him, she couldn’t say. There was something damaged, shattered, about him. And yet, he was made of iron-clad pieces that could easily be forged anew. It was a strange mix, to be sure. Somewhere between haunted and hunter. His eyes were the color of the sky at night, endless and powerful. There was depth to Rave that she rarely found in young men her age, an old soul filled with ageless wisdom.

  “He’s been out there for at least fifteen minutes. I don’t know what he’s waiting for.” Be
cca gave a questioning look to Alexandra.

  “Young men. I’ve had my share of them, and I can tell you this, they don’t know what they want.” Alexandra had lived a life. The kind that could make a sailor blush—if even half of her stories were true. She’d come to Barton seven years back and opened the first coffee shop/bookstore. Culture for the ladies, java for the men. On any given day, a bevy of farmers would sit at the small round tables and talk politics and almanacs. Alexandra mostly stayed out of the discussions but frequently rolled her eyes at the “Yes sir, this country’s goin’ to hell in a handbasket” commentary. Same conversation every day.

  It had prompted her to come up with a new brew. A decidedly strong, dark coffee she affectionately called Helena Handbasket. She was—on one side—a mentor to Becca. On the other side, Becca was learning what not to do from listening to the worldly, uninhibited Miss Sheffield. Becca was a good girl. She liked that about herself. It was important not to follow Alexandra’s example too closely. But wisdom laced her words, and Becca found it impossible not to learn from her forty-year-old boss.

  Alexandra toyed with the new streak of purple in her too-long bangs. Her hair was short and jet black, except for the chiseled bangs overhanging her forehead, the long spikes now sporting a violet hue. “Go on out. Your shift’s over in half an hour anyway.”

  Becca chewed her bottom lip. “I really need the hours.”

  Alexandra nudged her shoulder. “I’ll clock you out on time. Go.”

  Becca turned to face her. “You do realize you’re cheating yourself by paying me for time I haven’t worked?” She’d worked for Alexandra all through high school and took the full-time position when she graduated. Even though she’d had other plans.

  “Just rewarding you for a job well done. Go. See if handsome out there can find some other ways to reward you.”

  Becca blushed. “Alexandra, please.”

  Alex crossed her arms over her vintage Def Leppard concert T-shirt. “Yes, please usually works to get you what you want. But I’d always rather demand. That’s just my MO. Handle him however you choose. But, if you decide you’re not interested, let me know. It’s been a long time since I—” She cleared her throat. “Spent any quality time with a younger man.”

  Becca leaned forward and whispered. “He’s young enough to be your son.”

  Alex tossed her hands in the air. “That’s it. I’m docking your pay. Pull the ‘You’re an old lady’ card again, and I’ll fire you.”

  Becca grinned and started to untie her apron.

  Alex snagged her arm just as she was getting ready to step out. “Uh-oh.”

  Becca followed her gaze to the square. Her heart dropped. Blue lights flashed in the shop window. Sheriff Cogdill pulled his squad car in behind Rave’s beat-up Honda.

  Becca sighed, her fingers nervously twining around the apron string because the last thing in the world she wanted to watch was Rave getting arrested. Or getting a ticket. He’d been on her mind since Trini’s house. The way he’d tried to act so natural while trudging through the field. How he’d kicked the ground as if he knew what he was looking for.

  He’d answered her pointed—and probably obnoxious—questions. She’d made him smile.

  Orley Cane, seated at the table with the checkerboard painted directly on it, pointed out the window. “I knew that boy was up to no good coming here.”

  Becca spun and gave him a dirty look. Alexandra took the coffeepot to his table and filled his cup. “Mind your own business, Orley, or I’ll be forced to tell everyone about your secret visitor the other evening.”

  Orley visibly reddened. How it was that Alexandra knew absolutely everything about absolutely everyone in town escaped Becca. But she did. Oh, the stories she could spin. Becca left the window and busied herself drying the freshly cleaned coffee mugs and placing the cupcake tins in the small kitchen while keeping one eye on the happenings outside. By the time Sheriff Cogdill left, with Phil Ratzlaff at his side, Becca felt nauseated. Something was wrong. She didn’t think Rave had gotten a ticket, but the heaviness of the atmosphere suggested a ticket would have been better.

  Rave started the car, but the quick whir of a siren stopped him. In his rearview mirror, he saw blue lights. “Are you kidding me?” He reached to his glove compartment to get the registration.

  Sheriff Cogdill leaned into his driver’s window. “Hello, Rave.”

  “Pretty sure I wasn’t breaking the law.” He held the registration out to the sheriff, along with his Florida license. He hadn’t bothered to get it changed to a Tennessee one yet.

  “I don’t need to see that, son. You’re not in any trouble. Would you mind stepping out of the car?” Cogdill took a few paces back, giving him room to open the car door.

  Rave took a breath and considered his options. He knew his rights. Without probable cause, a cop couldn’t just detain a person. At the same time, Sheriff Cogdill didn’t really seem like he was looking for an excuse to arrest Rave, so he got out of the car and propped his weight on the door, folding his arms over his chest.

  Cogdill pulled his sunglasses from his eyes—eyes framed with worry or concern or some such thing. “I got a call from Phil Ratzlaff. He said you were likely headed out of town. He’d like to talk to you before you go. Thinks it might change your course.”

  “So, you’re a glorified messenger boy? Back home in Tampa, the cops usually spend their time stopping lawbreakers.” Rave could see Cogdill reluctantly absorbing the words, though he didn’t like them.

  “Look, kid, Phil’s on the way. If you care about Tuck, give him five minutes of your time. If you don’t, hit the road. We take care of our own here. Tuck’s in good hands.”

  Something cold snaked down Rave’s spine. He uncrossed his arms and planted his hands on the trunk of the car behind him. Care about Tuck? Yes. Of course he did. In the few weeks Rave had been there, Tuck had offered him a more stable home life than he’d ever known. He could go to the grocery store and buy as much meat and fresh food as he wanted. He could jump in the truck and drive all day and never worry about having enough gas for the rest of the week. Tuck was a good man, plain and simple. Caring, trustworthy, the kind of person someone like Rave could look up to.

  Yeah, Rave cared about Tuck. Even though the old man was stubborn to a fault, Tuck’s place had become home. And Tuck’s memorial. How he spread his emotions on the table and relived the horror he’d suffered during the war. Tuck was a man of honor. Maybe that’s why he’d wanted Rave to forgive Sharon, his mother. But Rave was stubborn, too. And some people didn’t deserve forgiveness.

  Phil Ratzlaff came jogging across the courtyard. His brow was furrowed, his step heavy. When he finally stopped at the back of the car, Rave knew something, something really terrible, was wrong.

  CHAPTER 8

  “Rave?” Becca’s voice interrupted the nothingness. A green apron dangled from her fingertips. He’d noticed her watching through the window while Phil had been talking. But the words from Phil’s mouth had caused everything to disappear. There were no birds, no trees, just a pinpoint of focus—Phil’s face, heavy with the news he was sharing—and Rave’s need to lean against his car to keep his legs from buckling.

  Behind Becca, the town square was quiet. A few people meandering around, but not many. And the ones who were there were going on about their business like nothing had changed in the last few moments. And yet, for him, everything had.

  He stared past Becca, his gaze focused on the brick building. When their eyes finally met and held, he could see her concern. Rave tried to find his voice. “I was gonna talk to you before—” But then a fresh wave of the conversation he’d just had assaulted him again. Was it possible that words spoken so softly could be so sharp, so jagged? Rave felt a gentle touch on his arm and glanced down to find Becca’s hand at the bend of his elbow.

  “What’s happening, Rave? Is it some news about your mother?” The wind kicked up and carried her scent. Freshly ground coffee and that strawber
ry shampoo.

  “No.”

  She raised the apron in her free hand and used it to point behind Rave’s car. “I saw the sheriff talking to you. And then Phil Ratzlaff.”

  He nodded, still dazed.

  “Is it . . . is it Tuck?”

  Rave pushed off the car and turned to face her. “Is there somewhere we could go and talk?”

  Becca gave him a smile, a sliver of sunshine at midnight. “Yes. I know just the place.” She opened his passenger door and tossed her apron inside. Becca closed the door and motioned for him to come around the car. “Let’s walk. It’s not far.” She looped her arm through his.

  Rave went willingly. She could be leading him to slaughter, and he wouldn’t care. It seemed utterly unfair that Tuck was facing this. The man who’d cheated death during the war and who kept the memory of all of his men alive—no matter the personal cost to his own heart.

  They walked slowly, making their way from downtown. Becca pointed ahead. “Take a right here.” At the end of the narrow street, they arrived at a metal gate where weeds had grown and intertwined with the bars. It seemed like they were miles away, instead of a few blocks from the downtown area. Here, with the overhanging oaks and the tall, spiny weeds, it was like they’d stepped into another time.

  Giant trees shaded the entryway, and if they were to step inside, they’d need to push their way through the overgrown brush. “Looks ominous.”

  Becca gave the gate a tug until some of the weeds broke loose. It moved a couple of inches, and she tossed a wide smile over her shoulder at Rave. “Help me.”

  He gripped the corner of the gate and pulled. It opened enough for her to slip inside. Rave glanced behind him. “Are we going to get caught doing this? I’ve already had face time with the sheriff today.”

  “No. We all own it. It was left to the people of Barton.” She grinned at him from the other side of the gate, her fingers lacing the metal bars.