Tori—
Maybe his. Not mine.
I take after my mother, wanting nothing to do with cutting down trees. In fifth grade, I once tied myself to a pine tree to save it.
Dad was not pleased.
“You have everything you need to start classes on Monday?” My father slows and takes a turn, the wheel of the brand-new silver Mercedes sliding under his palms.
“I thought you had a black car?” I ask, taking in the dashboard and changing the subject. The last thing I want to do is talk about college.
“I did. Got in a wreck a few weeks ago. Had to get a new one.”
“What? Mom never told me you’d been in an accident. Were you hurt?”
“Had a few scratches. Could have been a lot worse.”
“What do you mean?”
“Someone cut me off on the freeway. My car flipped on its side, and I couldn’t get out. The engine burst into flames.”
“Oh, my God. Daddy!”
“Yeah. It was pretty scary. Thankfully, a good Samaritan pulled me to safety.”
“Wow. That’s wild.”
“It was. I’ll always be grateful to him. Offered him a job, in fact.”
“Really?”
“Yep. He works at the mill now.”
“That was nice of you.”
“It’s the least I could do.”
“How’s that working out? You hired him without knowing anything about him.”
“Great, so far. The man risked his life for a stranger. That’s exactly the kind of man I want working at the mill.” He flicks his gaze from the road to me. “You steer clear of him, though. Understand?”
“Why? You just said he was a good guy.” I shrug. “It’s not like I’m going down by the mill, anyway.”
“True. You’ll be busy with class work. Huntington College is going to keep you quite loaded down, I’m sure.”
Huntington College. I sigh at the thought.
It’s the only reason I returned to California—to attend my parents’ alma mater.
From the time I was old enough to understand, it was always clear that was where I’d end up.
Attending Huntington is supposed to open all kinds of doors for me, but I’m not sure I care.
It’s a very prestigious school, and I’m sure it’s full of the type of students my father wants me to associate with, rather than the crowd that has formed my friend group from high school at the performing arts school I’d attended back east.
I glance at my father. “Does Mom know about this accident you had? She never mentioned it to me.”
“No, and she doesn’t need to know, either. Besides, we don’t exactly keep up with each other’s lives.”
“So, what is going on in your life, Dad? Dating anyone?”
“I’m too busy for that. If I need a date for an event, I find someone.”
I study the side of his face. I don’t think he ever got over my mom.
“I had Ruth get all your favorite foods.” He squeezes my hand. “I’m happy you’re here, honey. You know that, right?”
“Aunt Ruth still works for you?”
“Of course. She’ll be with me until she retires. Why?”
“From what I remember, she was always harping on you. I thought she would have left a long time ago.”
“Ruth is family.” He meets my eyes. “
“How old is she now?” My father’s sister never married.
I remember her having gray hair when I was ten and my mother packed me up to move me to the east coast with her.
It was right after the incident where I tied myself to the tree.
For years, I thought it was my fault. It wasn’t until I was in high school that I found out my father had cheated on her with his secretary.
Everyone was surprised when they didn’t marry after the divorce was finalized.
“Ruth is older than me by a dozen years. Hell, I think she turns seventy this year.”
“And she’s still cooking for you?”
“She takes good care of me. Just like she took care of your grandfather before he passed. There’s no slowing her down, honey. She’s a ball of energy.”
I stare out my window. I haven’t felt like a ball of energy in months. Ever since Mom told me I was returning to California to attend Huntington College, no matter what I wanted or how many other acceptance letters came in the mail from all the schools where I’d applied.
I blow out a breath. I’m dreading everything about this, not to mention the fact that I’ve been ripped away from my friends.
Moira couldn’t understand why I didn’t tell my parents to go to hell.
My BFF has a totally different relationship with her parents than I do with mine.
I could never tell them that. I could never rebel like that.
I guess I’m not brave enough to stand up to my father.
Hell, I barely had the courage to go against my mother’s wishes and get my ears pierced when I was fifteen.
Not go to Huntington? It would be unthinkable and unforgiveable.
Sawyer Lumber is about an hour from the airport, and my father finally turns off the highway into the entrance for the lumberyard.
It’s large, with a big area for tractor-trailer trucks to pull in and load. Someone is busy loading lumber on one now with a forklift.
We continue on, driving deeper into the property to where a steel building sits. The foreman’s office and several milling machines are inside. Outside are two sawmills that cut raw trees into boards of all sizes.
Farther up at the end of the long drive sits the big house on top of a slight hill.
I barely glance at it because my attention is drawn to the squad car sitting outside the entrance to the foreman’s office.
My father pulls alongside it and stops.
A man is bent over the hood, his hands cuffed behind his back.
When my father climbs from the car, the man turns his head toward us, and the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen stare back at me through the windshield.
Danger flashes in their depths, a wildness I’ve never encountered, even in the baddest boys from high school. He’s calm, but I see a vein bulge in his neck, and his jaw clenches.
“What the hell is going on here, Thompson?” My father strides over to a man who looks like he must be the foreman. He’s not the same one who was here when I was a child, though. This man I’ve never seen before.
“He’s a thief.”
“What are you talking about?”
“There’s money missing from the cash box in my office. Seen him hanging around.”
The deputy sheriff checks the man’s pockets and pats him down, then shakes his head. “He’s got nothing on him, Mr. Sawyer.”
“That’s because I didn’t steal a damn thing,” the man in handcuffs barks.
“For God’s sakes, Charlie.” My father snaps at his foreman, then whirls to the sheriff. “Let him up.”
Another deputy pulls the man upright.
“Rafe wasn’t near the office, Mr. Sawyer,” another employee steps forward. “He was with me working on the sawmill, cutting tomorrow’s load.”
My father glares at his foreman and shakes his head, then swings a look at the sheriff. “We’re not pressing any charges. Thanks for coming out, Bill.”
“You sure?” Bill asks.
“Yeah. You boys take care.”
One of them clicks the handcuffs, and the man called Rafe pulls his arms around and rubs his wrists.
Once the squad pulls out, my father touches Rafe’s shoulder. “Sorry about that, son.”
Rafe nods, but glares at the foreman.
“Go on back to work,” my father says with a lift of his chin.
Once Rafe and the other employee amble off in the direction of the sawmill, my father whirls on Charlie Thompson.
“I get you don’t like the kid, but you pull a stunt like that again, and you’ll be out of a job. We clear?”
“Yes, sir. What do you want to do about the missing money?”
“We got cameras, don’t we? Have you even bothered to look at them?”
“Uh, the one in the building isn’t working.”
“What the hell? You’re just telling me this now? When’s the last time they were working?”
He shrugs.
“Jesus Christ, Charlie. Get the damn things fixed.” With that, he whirls and climbs in the car, and we zoom toward the house.
I don’t say a word, and neither does he.
Once he parks, he drags in a long breath. “Sorry you had to see that. Like I said before, it’d be best if you steer clear of the mill.”
“All right.” I glance around, taking in the familiar things, and memories come flooding back.
The tire swing down by the oak. The big wraparound porch where I’d drink lemonade with my mother on the big swing. The rockers that had once sat on the porch are now replaced with stylish furniture more suited to modern California living.
The only thing that hasn’t changed are the big, billowy white sheets hanging out on the clothesline to the side of the house.
“I bought Ruth a top-of-the-line dryer, and she still hangs the laundry out.”
“Just the bedding,” I say. “She always liked the way they smelled when they air dried. I did, too. They smelled like wildflowers and sunshine.”
“Whatever.”
I watch the sheets swell in the cool September breeze like sails against the blue sky.
“It’d be better if you kept what you saw down at the mill to yourself. Ruth wouldn’t like it, and she’d harp on me for it.”
“Sure.”
The screen door opens, and Ruth stands there, motionless for a moment, and I take her in. Her hair is almost completely white, and she seems a little more hunched than I remembered, but her smile is as kind as ever.
I fumble for the car handle, shove the door open, and climb out. A second later, I’m dashing up the steps to be enfolded in her tight hug.
“Praise God, there’s my little girl. Welcome home, baby,” Ruth whispers against the side of my head, then plants a kiss there.
I hug her back, and nothing can stop the tears that stream down my face.
We break apart, and she cups my face. “Look at you, honey. All grown up. It’s so good to have you back home.”
Her skin is paper thin and wrinkled, but her blue eyes are still lively. She hooks her arm through mine and leads me in.
Stepping Inside the screen door, I see not much has changed. The oak floors gleam with polish, and the stone fireplace takes up half the living room wall.
She heads to the kitchen, then stops when she realizes I’m not following.
“You okay, sweetie?”
I suck in a deep breath. “I just… need a minute,” I manage.
Ruth’s face holds a flash of understanding. “Of course.”
I wander upstairs to my old room. The walls have been painted a pale blue since the last time I’d visited, but the furniture is still the white wood set I had as a child.
I touch the music box that sits on the dresser, then switch on the lamp.
My reflection stares at me in the mirror, so much older than the last time this room was mine.
My hair is lighter with highlights I never had as a child, and I’m almost 5’8” now.
My dark blue eyes are done in smoky shadow and eyeliner.
The nineteen-year-old me looks confident, but inside I’m filled with anxiety at starting at Huntington on Monday.
I took a year off between high school and starting, mostly because coming to this school isn’t what I wanted, and I’d hoped my parents would come around to considering some school other than their alma mater.
Unfortunately, that didn’t work out for me. So here I am.
Behind me in the reflection are soft, ruffled cushions piled on the window seat where I’d sat dreaming as a child looking out over the land between the house and the mill and to the highway beyond.
How many nights had I lain up here in this room listening to the sound of the trucks on the highway and the lonesome train whistle from the tracks that ran alongside the it?
I remembered lying awake once when I was ten, the night of my birthday.
That was the night my parents had the fight that ended their marriage.
The next morning, mother had packed me up, and we’d driven down the long drive.
At the time, I never knew I’d be taken all the way to the other side of the continent and wouldn’t see my father again until the following summer.
Stepping to the window seat, I scan the view. The sun has set behind the mountains and lights shine brightly through the pines from the buildings down at the mill. I hear the distant roar of a motorcycle and see one pull out onto the highway, heading in the direction of San Jose.
It must be that boy, Rafe… though, nothing about him indicated he was a boy . Everything screamed he was a man, and not one to be messed with.
The roaring engine fades, and I drop the curtain.
“Dinner will be in an hour,” Ruth calls up the stairs.
An hour later, I’m sitting at the dining table with my father at one end and Ruth at the other.
Forking up a bite of my meatloaf, I study my father. When I came down the stairs, they were already seated and arguing.
“You stopped at the mill?” Ruth accuses, flinging a hand in its direction. “You should have brought her directly to the house the minute you arrived. You have a responsibility to her and to her mother.”
“I’m fully aware of my responsibility to my daughter.”
“Then you should fire that man.”
“Ruth, enough. It’s my decision.”
“Charlie says he’s nothing but trouble.”
“Since when do you converse with my foreman?”
She rolls her eyes. “I give him a sandwich now and then. We eat on the porch. Is that so wrong?”
“He’s got no business telling you what happens at the mill.”
“Why not? I can’t talk to people?”
My father serves himself a helping of mashed potatoes and tosses the spoon in the bowl with a clatter. “Look, I’m not firing Rafe. He does good work. None of the other employees have been able to keep that old loader running except him. He’s saved me a fortune in mechanic’s bills.”
“He’s in a gang. Doesn’t that mean anything to you? And with your daughter here? I thought you’d have come to your senses before she got home.” She sips her water, then continues. “Why were the police here?”
“You mean Charlie didn’t tell you?”
“I haven’t talked to him today.”
“He said someone stole money from the office cash box. He accused Rafe, but Bubba vouched for him.”
“Bubba. He’s another one. Nothing but trouble, and you believe him?”
“Yes.”
“What if Rafe is a thief?”
“Rafe is too smart for that. He wanted this job, or he wouldn’t have shown up the very next day. He deserves the benefit of the doubt.”
“You’re too trusting. It makes people think they can slip things past you.”
My father tosses his napkin down and stands. “I’m not hungry and I have work to do.”
He exits the room and heads to his study.
“I’m sorry, Tori. I ruined your first night back with your father. I should learn to keep my mouth shut.” Ruth stares at the uneaten food left on her brother’s plate.
“Why are you so set against his employee? What gang are you talking about?” I ask with a frown.
The question draws Ruth’s attention to me. “He’s in a motorcycle gang.”
My mouth drops open, and my eyes widen. “Really?”
“Really.” She shakes a finger at me. “Steer clear of him.”
So, the hot-as-hell man in cuffs really is as badass as he looks.