four and inoperable. I don’t want your pity, son. I just want to go home to die.”
By home, he meant the family home in the town that had castigated him. Since they still owned the house free and clear and were current on the property taxes, Mac saw no reason not to give his father his wish.
So for the first time in a decade, Mac had driven back to east Texas, to the little town of Legacy, north of Mineola.
He’d finally gotten his dad settled in the wreck of a building that had once been the family home. Years of abandonment had taken its toll on the place. Mac had gone in and chased out the rodents, patched up the holes and made sure the electrical and plumbing still worked. By some miracle, they did.
Hospice had brought out the hospital bed and a bedpan, though they only checked in a few times a week. If he wanted round-the-clock care for his father, he’d have to hire a private nurse. For right now, Mac figured he’d do the best he could.
Then, with Gus settled and the hospice nurse visiting, Mac had driven out to attempt to make peace with Hailey. Her decisive reaction had put a quick end to that idea.
What had he expected after all?
Had he honestly thought the passage of time would have magically mended the huge rift between them? Closure, that oft-bandied-about term, clearly wasn’t going to be easy in this situation. In fact, he almost felt like he’d never left.
The thought made him feel uneasy. Determined to do the right thing for his father, he hadn’t thought about what going back would actually mean. After all, Gus hadn’t been around town after his arrest. He hadn’t seen the way the townspeople had reacted to the news of Gus Morrison’s indictment. Or how his wife and son were made scapegoats. Shopkeepers had refused to wait on them, waitresses wouldn’t serve them. Things had gotten so bad they’d had to drive to the next town over to buy groceries and gas.
Small towns could be brutal sometimes. But now that a decade had gone by, Mac hoped things would be different. They sure as hell better be. He wasn’t an uncertain teenager anymore.
Taking a deep breath, he shook his head at his own foolishness. Ten years had passed. People had moved on with their lives. He doubted anyone would even remember him, never mind consider holding him accountable for what they believed his father had done.
While the real killer, the monster who’d attacked Brenda Green and strangled her, had gotten away scot-free.
Though beautiful flowers adorned Hailey’s neat home, his place looked old, beat and barren. With all the major repairs he had to make to get the place livable, he knew he wouldn’t get around to doing anything cosmetic for a good while.
Letting himself into the small house, he followed the scent of bleach mixed with medicine. His father sat up in the bed, valiantly trying to eat while Dolores, the hospice nurse, looked on and quietly encouraged him.
Mac had read volumes on pancreatic cancer. He knew the progression of the disease would make it increasingly difficult for his father to eat.
“Son.” Spying Mac, Gus motioned him over.
Mac pulled up a chair next to the bed. “How’re you feeling, Dad?”
“Like hell.” A ghost of a smile flitted over the older man’s face. Since he’d lost weight, his skin hung loose on too-sharp bones.
Mac’s chest squeezed. “I’m sorry.”
Shaking his head, Gus waved away his words. He glanced at Dolores—a curly-haired older woman with thick eyeglasses—and winked. “Dolores, do you mind taking a break? I want a private word with my son.”
“Of course.” Dolores stood. “I need to stretch my legs anyway. I’ll be outside if you need me.”
Gus waited until the front door had closed behind her. “I need one more favor from you, Mac. I’m sorry, because I swore I wouldn’t ask for more than you’ve already given me. But I can’t die with this stain on our good name.” He took a deep breath, then erupted in a short bout of coughing.
Waiting, Mac had a feeling he knew exactly what his father was about to say. He couldn’t say he blamed him; he’d want the same thing if their positions were reversed.
“Find out who really killed that girl,” Gus finally rasped. “You know I didn’t do it. Clear my name before I pass away. Could you do that for me, son?”
How could he not? Slowly, Mac nodded. He’d actually been expecting this request. Of course, his father had no idea that Mac had been trying to find the real killer without success for ten long years. “Sure,” he said, his chest aching. “I’ll get started immediately.”
It was the first time he’d lied to his father since he’d been a teenager.
* * *
Mac’s return was all Hailey could think about. Though he probably didn’t remember, the anniversary of Brenda’s murder was one day away. At first, they’d marked this date with somber visits to the grave, bearing flowers. They’d done a few interviews, skirting the deep emotions, vocalizing how glad they were that the killing hadn’t continued.
After a few years, they’d begun pretending the day didn’t exist. Hailey had tried to keep up the tradition by taking the kids to visit a sister they didn’t even remember, but June had finally told her tiredly to stop.
Now, Hailey would mark the anniversary with a quiet prayer. June would do her best to stay drunk, beginning the moment she opened her eyes until she passed out, oblivious to both pain and memories. This year, her mother had started early.
Hailey did her usual chores while her mother slept off her drinking binge. At least she’d come home this time. Someone had dropped her off, and she’d staggered into the house right before Hailey got up to begin the day. This was infinitely preferable over getting a call in the middle of the night asking Hailey to pick up June at the Legacy police station. As long as she didn’t drive, the officers remained sympathetic toward her. The woman’s daughter had been murdered after all. No one could blame her for turning to alcohol to drown her sorrows.
Except Hailey did. She understood grieving—heck, she’d grieved over her baby sister’s loss, too. But June had other children. Eli had just turned one when Brenda died and the twins were four. June had let her seventeen-year-old daughter shoulder the responsibility for her entire family. Hailey had needed her to be strong, especially after her stepdad-slash-adoptive father, Aaron—the younger kids’ birth father—had taken off. He’d given both Brenda and Hailey his name, but little else. As far as Hailey knew, he and June had never actually divorced, but he certainly didn’t pay child support or make any effort to see his kids.
Or—and she winced at the thought—if he did sporadically, June drank the money away.
Hailey blinked, realizing she’d been standing near the sink staring blindly, the task at hand forgotten. Seeing Mac again had made her lose track of the present and revisit the past. Since the past couldn’t be changed, Hailey believed in moving forward. She tried not to dwell on things that would make her sad. After all, she had her life to live and enough responsibility for two twenty-seven-year-olds.
Speaking of responsibility, right at this moment it meant boiling noodles to mix with tuna and peas for their dinner tonight. She shook her head at her own foolishness and got back to peeling carrots,
