CLEMENTS OCCUPIED AN old train depot on the outskirts of town. Culley drove by it every day, normally not giving it a glance. But tonight was different. Tonight, it pulled at him with an insistence he could not refuse. For the first time in longer than he could remember, he felt the need for a drink.
He wheeled into the parking lot and got out, heading inside where he blinked for a moment to adjust to the dim lighting. He took a seat at the bar.
The bartender was John Wayne-tall with a voice to match. “What can I get you?” he asked.
“Scotch and water, please.”
The bartender nodded, reached for a bottle, poured a measure in a short glass, added some water and handed it to him on a napkin.
Culley put his elbows on the bar, stared down at the drink.
“Rough day?”
To his right sat a man in bib overalls and a worn-looking plaid shirt. Culley tipped his head. “Yeah. Sort of.”
“You’re looking at that glass like it’s no friend.”
“I guess it isn’t.”
The man took a sip of his beer. “I don’t have to tell you there aren’t any answers in the bottom. Not much peace, either.”
Culley rubbed his thumb around the rim of the scotch and water.
“You’re Dr. Rutherford, aren’t you?”
“Yeah.”
The man stuck out his hand. “Barry Miller. My mother is one of your patients.”
Culley shook his hand. “Evelyn Miller?”
Barry nodded.
“Nice woman, your mother.”
“Thank you.”
They sat a bit, not saying anything.
“You don’t strike me as the kind of guy to come to a place like this for answers.”
“I wouldn’t, ordinarily.”
“That big a problem, huh?”
“Pretty big.”
“Woman troubles?”
“So to speak.”
“You love her?”
It wasn’t where Culley would have imagined ending up tonight, sitting on a stool in Clements discussing his personal life with a man he didn’t know. But there was something about his manner that said he wasn’t asking out of idle curiosity, so Culley answered. “Yes.”
“Have you told her?”
Culley shook his head.
“Why’s that?”
“I’m not exactly free and clear.”
“You’re married?”
“No. But my ex-wife is…she’s kind of going through a rough time.”
“And you’re trying to fix it for her?”
“Trying to help, I guess.”
“I don’t have anything close to a degree in psychology, but I know a little something about trying to be all things to all people. That sometimes it makes us not much good to anyone.”
Culley looked up, met the man’s kind gaze. Nodded once. He pushed the glass to the edge of the bar and stood. “Thanks.”
“I didn’t tell you anything you didn’t already know.”
“Maybe I just needed to hear it.”
* * *
LIZ WAS DOWNSTAIRS in the living room when Culley arrived home. He stopped in the doorway. She looked up and smiled.
“Madeline’s not back yet?”
Liz got up from the couch, placed the magazine she’d been looking at on the coffee table. “Your mom said the church dinner would be over around eight-thirty.”
Awkwardness settled over them. Culley nodded and said, “I have some calls to make.”
“Okay.”
He turned to go just as she called out, “Culley, wait.”
“What is it?”
She crossed the living room floor, waving a hand between them. “Us,” she said. “This silence between us. Are you going to punish me forever?”
Culley planted a hand on the doorjamb as if he needed the support to remain where he stood. “I’m not punishing you, Liz.”
“It feels like you are,” she said.
He noticed then the extra effort she’d taken with her appearance. Her hair was freshly washed and shiny. She’d put on makeup for the first time since she’d been back. And he could smell the subtle lift of perfume.
He drew in a deep breath and released it. “I want to be fair to you,” he said.
“You’ve been more than fair to me.” She looked down, then directly in his eyes. “I guess maybe on some level I hoped we might be more than that again.”
Culley chose his words carefully. “I don’t want to hurt you. But it can’t be like that.”
She reached out and placed a hand on his chest. “We had something really good once, didn’t we?”
“Liz—”
She leaned in then and kissed him, her arms slipping around his neck. He let it go for a moment, then put his hands on her shoulders and stepped back.
Hurt flashed across her face—it was impossible to miss.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“You won’t ever get past what I did, will you?”
“It’s not that.”
“Then what is it?”
He looked away.
“There’s someone else?” she asked.
He glanced back, met her eyes. “Yes,” he said. “There is.”
She nodded, bit her lip, then forced a smile. “I see. Then I’m the one who should apologize.”
“Liz—”
She held up a hand. “I’ve been an idiot, thinking I could ever make up for the past.”
“No one’s asking you to. We just need to figure out how to go on from here.”
She forced a smile. “That’s the trick, huh? I think I’ll go on up. Good night, Culley.”
“Liz—”
But she didn’t stop. And he let her go.
* * *
ADDY LEFT THE HOUSE around five-thirty and arrived in D.C. just before ten with a break in Staunton for a quick breakfast at Rowe’s, a must-stop when traveling I-81.
Owings, Blake occupied the seventh floor of a high-end office building in the heart of D.C. When Addy had first come to work there eight years ago, she’d been impressed with all the bells and whistles that go with a prestigious law firm. A waiting room straight out of Architectural Digest with enormous black leather sofas and original art work on the faux-painted walls. But as she stood at the front desk now waiting for the new receptionist she didn’t know to buzz Ellen, she felt a quick longing for the sound of a tractor and an apple-scented breeze.
“Ellen said to send you right back, Ms. Taylor,” the receptionist said.
“Thank you.” Addy followed the hall to Ellen’s office, knocked at the half-closed door.
“That you, Addy?”
Addy stuck her head around the corner. Ellen vaulted out of her chair, wrapped her in a big hug, then pulled back for an assessment. “I can’t argue that life away from the big city has been good for you.”
“Thanks. You look amazing, as always.”
“Want some coffee or something?”
“No. I’m good, thanks.”
“So what do you think? Are you up for a move to Manhattan?”
“I thought I should hear out the offer.”
“Fair enough. What’s holding you back?”
“It’s kind of complicated.”
“Involving the infamous Culley?”
Addy tipped her head to one side, avoiding the question.
“Complicated how?”
“I’m not the only one in the picture,” she said, not wanting to elaborate beyond that. On the drive up, she’d thought of little else, and the more she went over it, the more hopeless it seemed.
“Ah.” Ellen bit her lip in characteristic consideration. “So maybe some distance would be best. And if what you two have is the real thing, it’ll find a way.”
Addy knew it was true. That maybe this wasn’t their time. That the last thing she wanted was for Culley to wake up one day and regret something he hadn’t done because of her. And maybe it would be easier for him if she weren’t in Harper’s Mill.
“Besides,” Ellen said. “Can you imagine how much fun we could have in Manhattan?”
“And you’ve already mapped out the hot spots, right?”
“Of course.” Ellen smiled. “Roland’s waiting in his office. Shall we go?”
“After you,” Addy said.
* * *
THE ITCH WAS so strong she could barely think around it.
Liz stood at the kitchen window, arms locked across her chest as if she could physically hold herself together, when inside, she felt the pieces flying apart.
She wanted to be strong. Craved it almost as much as the alcohol. Almost.
What she really wanted was oblivion. From the mistakes she’d made. From the reserve she saw in her daughter’s eyes every time she looked at her. From the tolerance and sympathy in Culley’s.
What had she been thinking? Had she really believed she could come back and expect everyone to start over? Pretend nothing had happened?
From where she was standing now, it seemed incredibly naive.
She glanced at her watch. Ten in the morning, and she had nothing to do until Madeline got home from school. Six hours. No, eight, because Ida was taking her to ballet at four. Eight hours.
She went to the freezer, pulled out a bag of coffee beans, put some in the grinder and made a strong pot. She sat at the kitchen table and drank three cups, one after the other as if the caffeine might soften the itch.
She cleaned up the dishes from breakfast, put them away in the cupboards. Ten-forty.
She ran a hand through her hair, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror hanging on the far wall. Saw the reflection of a woman losing the battle.
She went to the coat closet and pulled out her purse. She walked out on the porch, stood for a few moments, looking down the road.
She had no car. So she started walking.
* * *
CULLEY LEFT THE OFFICE just before six. His mom had called to say her car wouldn’t start, so he headed over to the dance studio to pick up Madeline from ballet class.
She was waiting for him at the door, climbing into the Explorer with a big smile on her face. She rattled off all the details of the class and the upcoming recital to which she would wear her new dress.
They were almost home when Culley’s cell phone rang. He picked it up—his office number was on caller ID.
“Hey, Culley. It’s Tracy. I wasn’t sure what to do with this, but someone just called from Clements. They said Liz had been there since early afternoon. They wanted to know if someone could come and get her.”
Culley dropped his head back against the seat. “Ah, could you call them back and tell them I’ll be there just as soon as I run Madeline over to Mom’s?”
“They said within ten minutes, or they’d have to call the police,” she said, apology in her voice.
“Thanks, Tracy,” Culley said, clicking off the phone.
“Is it Mama?” Madeline looked at him with resignation in her eyes.
“We need to go pick her up,” he said.
Madeline nodded once, then turned and looked out the window.
* * *
A BOUNCER STOOD at the front door of Clements, apparently acting as a barricade to prevent Liz from coming back in. She sat on the top step of the entrance, elbows on her knees, hands pushed up through her hair.
“Is she okay, Daddy?”
Culley squeezed her hand and said, “I’ll be right back.”
He got out and jogged over to the entrance, stopping just short of the steps.
The bouncer inclined his head. “You here to pick her up?”
“Yeah,” Culley said.
“Probably looks like she was overserved, but she’d had a few before she got here.”
“Thanks.”
The bouncer turned and went back inside.
Liz looked up at him and shook her head.
“Can you walk?” he asked.
She tried to stand but couldn’t manage it.
Culley bent down and picked her up, carried her to the Explorer and set her in the back seat. The smell of vomit was strong on her clothes. He went around back, found a plastic bowl he kept in the car for Madeline’s occasional motion sickness. He handed it to Liz. “Are you okay?”
She nodded, hands hiding her face.
Culley got in the driver’s side and started the vehicle. He pulled out of the parking lot onto the main road, glancing at Madeline who was sitting ramrod straight in her seat, a single tear sliding down her face.
And with that, he wasn’t sure what he felt more: fury or despair.
* * *
AS SOON AS he got home, Culley carried Liz upstairs and set her in the shower, clothes and all. He went into the bedroom and dialed Addy’s number. Claire answered the phone.
“Hey, Claire. Is Addy there?”
“No. She went up to D.C. for that job interview.”
What felt like a physical pain slammed through his chest.
“Is something wrong?”
He sighed. “Yeah. Actually, there is. Do you think you could come get Madeline and let her spend the night with you? Mom’s car isn’t working, and—”
“Say no more. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“Thank you, Claire.” He hung up, her words reverberating in his head like beads in a can, the rattle so loud he couldn’t focus. But he couldn’t think about Addy right now or what any of that might mean. Right now, he had to take care of Liz.
* * *
CLAIRE HAD COME to the door just before seven-thirty, putting her arm around Madeline and guiding her out to her car, Hershey at their heels. Culley had watched them go with a weight on his heart, wishing he could have spared his daughter what she had seen. If he’d had any idea what kind of shape Liz was in, he would never have taken her.
Liz sat under the cold spray of the shower for over a half hour. He sat outside on the floor, waiting for the alcohol to loosen its hold. She finally stood, and he helped her out.
“Can you get out of those clothes?”
She nodded.
“I’ll go make some coffee,” he said.
“Culley?” she called out just as he was closing the door.
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry.”
He stared at her for a moment, then turned and walked out. He’d heard it all before.
* * *
A LITTLE WHILE LATER, he took the coffee up and left it on her nightstand. She was in bed, one arm thrown over her face. She said nothing, and he left, not trusting himself to speak.
He was in his office doing paperwork when he heard her come down the stairs. It was after ten, and he had expected her to sleep it off through the night.
She stood in the doorway, meeting his gaze with what looked like paper-thin courage. “Can we talk?” she asked.
He pushed back from his desk. “Is there anything to say?”
She came into the room, sat in the chair across from him, eyes on her folded hands. She looked up and said, “Probably nothing that would mean anything.”
“Why, Liz? Why?”
She lifted both shoulders, tears running down her cheeks. She swiped them away and said, “I wish I knew.”
“My God, Liz, do you have any idea what this did to Madeline?”
“I know.” The words were little more than a whisper. “I know.”
They sat in silence for a long time, until finally, she spoke again. “When I came here, I had convinced myself I was doing so with the intention of standing on my own two feet. But I realize now I did what I’ve always done. Came running back to you, hoping you could fix it. Make everything better.”
“Liz—”
“No. Please. Let me finish.” She looked down for a few moments, then raised her eyes to his. “I think sometimes we look for people who by their own kindness help prop us up. Keep us from seeing ourselves as we really are. I know you’ve wanted to help me, Culley. Too many times to count. I’ve hung this chain of guilt around your neck. And I was willing to pretend that was okay because it meant I could stay here and do the same thing I did before. Look to you for the answers. But it’s time I found the answers in myself.”
“I do want to help you, Liz.”
“Then can you find someplace to take me tonight?”
“It can wait until morning. You don’t have to do this tonight.”
“I want to. If I wait, I’ll change my mind.” She stood, pressing her palms against the front of her jeans. “I’m going upstairs to pack my things and call my probation officer.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure,” she said.
* * *
THEY DROVE THE four hours to Alexandria, arriving at the rehab center in the middle of the night. Culley went inside with Liz, standing to the side while she admitted herself.
A nurse came out and took Liz’s single suitcase. “Ready when you are,” she said.
Liz turned to Culley. “I’m going to get it right this time. I want you to do the same.”
“You’ll be okay?”
She pressed her lips together and nodded. “Tell Madeline I’m sorry.”
“Just get better, okay. That’s all she’ll need to hear.” He put an arm around her neck, hugged her to him.
She leaned into him for a moment, then stepped back and looked at the nurse. “Okay. I’m ready.”
“This way then,” the nurse said kindly, waving a hand at a set of double doors.
“Liz?”
She glanced back.
“Call, okay?”
“I will.” She stepped through the double doors and was gone.
* * *
ADDY LEFT D.C. early on Thursday morning, anxious to get home. It was nearly eleven when she turned onto the orchard road. Apple trees heavy with fruit appeared on the right side of the car, and she was filled with a sudden gladness to see them.
Halfway up the gravel road, she spotted a car in her rearview mirror. Culley’s Explorer. Her heart jumped a beat.
He followed her to the house and pulled into the driveway beside her. She got out, extraordinarily glad to see him. But the look on his face made her smile fade.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Or will be. I just came to pick up Madeline. She stayed with your mom last night.”
Just then Madeline came running out of the house, straight into Culley’s arms. He locked her in a hug, pressed his face to her neck. “Hey, little bean. You okay?”
She nodded, then pulled back to look at him with a solemn face. “Is Mama all right?”
“I think she’s going to be.”
Claire came out, a dish towel in her hands, Hershey behind her. “Hi, honey,” she said to Addy. “How was your trip?”
“Good,” Addy said.
“I think I’ll just keep her, Culley,” Claire said, a hand on Madeline’s hair. “She’s a good little helper. And Hershey’s been good for Peabody. He’s still recovering from the shock.”
Madeline smiled.
“Thank you, Claire. I really appreciate it. I guess we better be going.”
“Culley,” Addy said, “can we talk for a minute?”
He met her gaze, and then, “Yeah.”
“Madeline, let’s go finish making those cookies,” Claire said. “Then we’ll pack up a tin for you to take home with you.”
Madeline slid out of Culley’s arms, took Claire’s hand and followed her back in the house.
Once it was just the two of them, Addy felt awkward. “Walk out to the pond?”
“Sure,” he said.
They walked down to the gate at the end of the yard, opened it and headed across the field they had walked so many times before. The morning was giving way to afternoon, the sun high in a crisp blue sky. They stepped onto the old dock at the edge of the pond, the boards creaking beneath their feet.
They stopped at the end, stood looking out at the water. Addy sat down. Culley sat beside her, a few inches of space between them.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“I’m okay,” he said, shoving his hands in the pockets of faded blue jeans. “Liz kind of had a relapse last night. Someone from Clements called me to come and get her.”
“Is she—”
“She’s fine. It was pretty awful. After it was all over, she asked me to take her to a treatment center in Alexandria. I just got back this morning.”
“Oh, Culley. I’m sorry.”
He shook his head. “I think she may just be okay this time. There was something different in her last night. A resolve I’ve never heard before.”
“I hope so.”
“I realized something yesterday, too.”
“What?”
He looked down at the water. “That I’ve been a crutch for her. I’m not sure if it was for her or for my own sense of helping her like I could never help my dad. But I can’t do that anymore.”
“You were trying to do the right thing,” Addy said, turning her head to look at him. “I know that.”
He lifted a shoulder. “Yeah, good intentions.”
She put a hand on his arm. “You can’t blame yourself.”
He dropped his head back to look up at the sky. “I don’t. A long time ago, I did. But it’s just a pretty horrible thing to see a person go through.”
They sat there for a few minutes, not talking. Addy sensed it was what he needed, and she wanted, more than anything, just to be there for him.
Two ducks swooped in and landed in the center of the pond. They swam in a circle, the female lifting her feathers, then pecking at the surface of the water for food.
“So. You’re taking the job?” Culley’s gaze was set on the ducks, his voice neutral.
Addy reached a hand into the water, letting it slide through her fingers. “No.”
He looked at her, surprise in his eyes. “But I thought—”
She shook her head. “Maybe I needed to prove to myself that I was making the right choice to stay here. It was a good offer. A great offer. My friend Ellen thinks I’m crazy, but I just…nothing about it felt right. I walked in that office, listened to what the senior partner had to say and I knew without a doubt that I wanted to be here.”
“Yeah?”
She looked up at the sky. “I guess I’ve realized that maybe the not-so-great things that happen to us—in my case, Mark’s affair—are a chance to look at where we’re going, decide whether or not we’ve been headed in the right direction. I don’t regret my work in D.C., but I’d like to make a go of this orchard. And maybe down the road, open a practice here in town.”
Culley looked at her, smiled a half smile that had relief at its edges. “That sounds really great.”
“You think?” she asked, looking at him now.
“I do,” he said.
They held each other’s gaze for a few moments. He leaned in and brushed her mouth with his. She kissed him back, and there under the warm noon sun, they took their time with it. Reuniting.
He put a hand to the back of her neck and brushed her jaw with his thumb. “I really missed you,” he said.
“I missed you, too.”
“So what about us? Can this work?”
On the other side of the pond, a small deer appeared. Behind her were two other deer. The smaller deer stared at them for a moment, then walked down to the water to take a long drink.
Addy put a hand to her chest, her breath suspended there.
The deer turned and walked back to the other two. On her right hip was the small circle of red nail polish Addy had painted on before setting her free.
She looked at Culley and smiled. “Yeah. I think it can.”
* * * * *