startled, Candace turned to the window over the sink. “I think I see your bus. You’re going to be late, so move it.”
“Oh. My. God. You’re such a liar. You’ve been saying maybe for months.” The words shook with anger. “You’re never going to let me see him.” Liberty grabbed her backpack. “I hate you.” She nearly tore the screen door off its hinges and slammed it behind her.
Candace hadn’t turned around once.
Beth got up and ran outside. Liberty had made it halfway to the short gravel road shared by three other shabby houses with their neglected yards. “Liberty, wait.”
The girl hitched the sagging backpack up to her shoulder, looking small and forlorn standing in the middle of the weed-infested grass. After swiping at her cheeks, she turned and waited for Beth.
“I hate Candace,” she murmured. “I do. I really hate her. Why couldn’t you have been my mother?”
Beth hugged the girl. “No, you don’t. I understand why you think you might.” She drew back to smile at her niece. “When I was your age I hated my mother, too.”
“Well, yeah, grandma and my mom are totally alike.”
The teen’s insight startled Beth. Maybe the right thing would be to deny it, but somehow that felt like an insult to Liberty. “You don’t hate her,” she said. “You may not agree with her, or like some things she says and does, but—”
“Do you think she’s right? About not letting me see my dad?”
“I’m sure she has a good reason,” Beth said carefully. “I don’t know the specifics, and it is a four-hour bus ride to the prison.”
“So what? I haven’t seen my dad in a whole year. And it’s not like I’m asking her to take me.” Liberty briefly turned at the sound of the noisy bus still a mile down the road. “I’m old enough to go by myself.”
No way Beth agreed with that, but she’d let it slide for now. “Let’s walk to the curb so the driver sees you.”
“Will you talk to her, Aunt Beth?” Liberty tugged the overstuffed backpack up higher on her shoulder as she swung toward the road. A notebook popped out. And so did a can of red spray paint.
“Liberty.” Beth sighed, feeling heartsick. She’d honestly thought they’d turned a corner. “What are you doing with that?”
“It’s not what you think.”
“What I think doesn’t matter. Having spray paint in your possession violates your probation. The judge can stick you in juvenile detention.”
“Oh, he won’t.” Liberty crammed everything back into her backpack. “Spike says the court always threatens stuff like that but they never lock kids up. It costs too much.”
Beth really had to bite her tongue. If she had her way, Jerry Long, aka Spike, would be thrown in a dungeon somewhere north of the Arctic Circle. The guy was crude, surly and, at eighteen, too old to be hanging around a fifteen-year-old girl. “He’s wrong, kiddo, and I don’t want to see you get hurt.” She held out her hand. “You need to give me that can.”
“No, it’s for a school project. My art class.” Liberty sent a quick look at the approaching bus. “I don’t want to have to explain to my teacher why I can’t have a stupid spray can.”
“What kind of project is it?”
“Please, Aunt Beth,” she pleaded with puppy-dog eyes as she moved toward the road. “I’ll give you the can as soon I’m finished with it. Promise.”
The bus stopped and the door whooshed open.
Beth sighed. “Okay. Go.” She hoped she wasn’t being foolish. “We’re going to talk more about this later,” she called after Liberty, who wasted no time getting on the bus and out of earshot.
The air was chilly and scented with the crisp smell of autumn. Wearing short-sleeved T-shirts was fine during the day, especially to work around the boardinghouse, but she’d have to buy some sweatshirts for the mornings. Goose bumps covered her arms and she rubbed them, trying to get warm, as she stood in the tall grass, watching the bus turn onto the highway.
How different her life was these days. She hadn’t even owned a T-shirt until two months ago. Armani suits and Dolce & Gabbana dresses had hung in her closet. And her collection of shoes? Just thinking about her Jimmy Choos and Christian Louboutins languishing in a storage unit gave her another chill.
She stared down at her ugly work boots. God, she really missed high heels—mostly because she liked the way they made her legs look. But that was stupid, since all she ever wore anymore was jeans. Even once the inn was open for business, her attire wouldn’t change much. Around Blackfoot Falls people only dressed up for church, weddings and funerals. And for some, that simply meant a clean shirt or wearing something other than jeans.
When she’d made the decision to quit her job and move close to Candace and Liberty, she hadn’t considered the little things that would change in her day-to-day life. Her decision had been both emotional and hasty, but this was still the right choice. Although she wasn’t anyone’s idea of a perfect role model, her influence might be Liberty’s only shot at a healthy future.
She turned and started back toward the small turquoise house with its peeling white trim. What an eyesore. Which really said something, considering the condition of the other three homes with their torn screens and ramshackle porches. She couldn’t wait until a room was ready at the boardinghouse. Nathan was right—her efforts should be concentrated on fixing the outside, especially with winter coming. But she needed her own space. She needed to be away from this sad little neighborhood that reminded her of her unstable childhood.
Her aversion had nothing to do with being a snob. While working as an event planner, the fat paychecks had been well earned, not handed to her just for being pretty. She’d gotten her hands dirty plenty of times, making sure every event went smoothly. As much as she loved her designer shoes, she hadn’t forgotten how often she’d had to literally run around, bribing and cajoling, fixing last-minute snafus and liberally cursing both Mr. Choo and Mr. Louboutin.
No, the real problem with living here was that it pushed her buttons. Thrust her back in time to feeling like that scared, helpless child, convinced she’d never be safe, never know the security of a home that couldn’t be pulled out from under her. As clear as it was that she’d made the right choice to move to Blackfoot Falls, she was equally certain that she couldn’t live in this house much longer. Beth needed her own space.
And the other unsettling thing? She suspected the rent was being paid by one of her sister’s lovers. Or maybe the guy owned the house and was taking payment in trade. When Beth had offered to cover the rent and utility bills, Candace had eagerly requested cash instead of a check made out to the mysterious landlord. Beth had bought Liberty school clothes and a computer instead.
Candace was standing at the open door puffing on her cigarette. “I told you before you came that girl was a handful,” she said, the corners of her mouth curling up as if the warning gave her reason to be smug.
“Is it any wonder?” Beth pushed past her. “She doesn’t have adequate parental supervision.”
Candace put the cigarette out on the
