12

He was being a coward.

Marshall paced from one end of his bedroom to the other, the shock from last night nowhere even close to having worn off. Had he slept more than an hour? Two?

He’d heard everyone else—minus Penny, of course—leave earlier this morning. Guess the roads had been plowed. Someone had said something last night about church. He’d barely listened. While the guys had cleaned up the kitchen and Mara and Jen had gone upstairs to prepare rooms for their guests, he’d just stood there in the lobby, staring at his ex-wife.

Glaring, according to her.

“I drove six hours to get here, Marshall. The last two of them in a blizzard. The least you could do is stop glaring at me.”

“What. Were. You. Thinking?” Each word had been its own bullet.

“You know I’m a good winter driver—”

“You know what I mean, Penn. What the heck are you doing here?”

She’d just plain refused to give an answer. It was late, she’d said. She was exhausted, he was clearly agitated, and they might as well wait to talk until morning.

Agitated, though? That didn’t even begin to cover his state of mind last night. Or this morning.

Or when he heard her knock on his door just now. She didn’t wait for permission to enter. If she thought that extra cup of coffee she carried was enough to smooth things over—

“Still a bear this morning, huh, Marsh?”

Her tight curls were held back from her face by a headband. She always wore headbands—all different colors and sizes and patterns. She still had that old University of Wisconsin sweatshirt, too. It was so faded its letters were barely readable anymore despite the morning light filling the room.

“Most people wait after knocking to enter a room.”

“Well, you’re up and dressed, aren’t you?” She plunked the extra mug on the dresser, then wrapped both hands around hers.

He turned away, facing the window where waves of cold rolled off the glass. “I don’t know why you’re here, Penn. I don’t know what wasn’t clear in me not answering any of your calls or texts.”

“Oh, you were plenty clear.” He heard the mattress creak as she sat. “But I can be stubborn too. And by the way, because I know you’re going to ask—yes, I got your whereabouts from Beth. Don’t get mad at her for it. You know how good I was at my job.”

An expert interrogator, his ex-wife. It was how they’d met a decade and a half ago. Penny had been a couple of years ahead of him on the force. Stunned the whole precinct when she’d agreed to a first date with a rookie as green as grass.

She’d given up her job after Laney was born, but apparently she still had her interrogation skills and she’d turned them on his sister. But no, he wouldn’t get mad at Beth. Because he was darn sure his anger was all used up on the woman now sipping coffee on his bed.

He spun around. “Fine, let’s just get it over with. What do you want? Why the phone calls? And why are you here?” He stalked to the dresser, grabbed the mug, didn’t even sputter when the brew burned his throat.

“Because no matter how obstinate you are, I care about you. We were married for ten years, Marshall. We went through . . .” Her voice shook but he refused to look at her. “We went through one of the hardest things a couple can ever go through. So go ahead and be as irritated as you want, but I was worried when I heard you’d been put on leave. An arrest without an ounce of evidence? That’s not like you.”

Except it was exactly like him. Looking back, he’d grown so reckless on the job that he was surprised Captain Wagner hadn’t cut him loose months ago. Missed court dates. Unfiled paperwork. Stakeouts when he’d been so distracted—or worse, overmedicated to the point of dazed—he was next to useless.

“How would you know what I’m like?” He heard the darkness in his tone. More bitter than the coffee he continued to choke down. He’d forgotten how strong Penny always made it.

“Marshall—”

“It’s not your place to worry about me anymore. I’m fine. Actually, I’m great. Or was until you barged in.”

“Wow. Harsh.”

Well, sometimes that’s exactly what the truth was—harsh. Laney’s diagnosis—harsh. All those months in the hospital—horribly, horribly harsh. The day Laney had closed her eyes and he’d known, even before her chest stilled and the machine buzzed and Penny wept, that they wouldn’t open again—a kind of harsh he still didn’t know how he’d lived through.

He gripped the handle of his coffee mug so tightly that the muscles in his hand cramped. When had Penny come up behind him? Her reflection felt like a taunting.

“You were supposed to be my partner.” He said it murky and low. “Partners don’t abandon each other. When one of them is at his lowest, the other stays and fights and honors the commitment.”

She didn’t so much as flinch. “You can tell yourself all you want that I’m the one who abandoned you. But you weren’t there for me either. It’s like you disappeared into yourself, Marsh. You were drowning yourself in sleeping pills. You wouldn’t talk to anybody, not even me. And even before Laney died, you spent more time treating her illness like one of your cases than—”

He lost it. Lost his grip on his anger. Lost any ability to hold himself back. He flung the coffee mug across the room. It slammed into the wall, coffee splattering, running in streams down to the floor. “Get out.”

Penny stood her ground. “No.”

Surely any minute now a headache would begin throbbing. His lungs heaved and his eyes stung. No, no he would not give her the satisfaction. “Why are you here?” he asked again, hating the desperation he heard in every forced syllable.

Penny stared at him, hard and unbending.

“It’s not because you’re worried about me. Beth knew I was fine. That’s what she would’ve told you. So what do you want?”

He thought she would argue, but instead her shoulders dropped. “Jason and I are getting married. Soon.”

He swallowed, still trying to breathe like he hadn’t just run a sprint through a dark tunnel of his worst memories. “What does that have to do with me? Don’t tell me you want my blessing.”

She released an exasperated breath. “No, I don’t want your blessing. I want . . . I just want to tell you how sorry I am. For everything. I can’t go into a new marriage without saying that.” The hard edge in her voice was gone, replaced with a shaky vulnerability.

Almost worse.

“Fine. You said it. We’re good.” He couldn’t look at her. Or himself. He turned away from the mirror atop the dresser, moved to the closet, reached for a different shirt and changed into it just to have something to do.

“We’re nowhere close to good and you know it. Jason said it would be like this. He wasn’t excited about me coming here. Noah’s only been taking bottles for a few weeks now and . . .”

Noah. A boy. In a fit of self-torture awhile back, he’d figured out that the baby had probably been born about seven months ago. Two months after the divorce was finalized. But he’d stopped himself from going so far as to find out the gender, the name, anything else.

Penny sat on the bed again. Head down, coffee cup propped on her knee, her remorse so vivid he could almost taste it.

Somewhere under the weighted cloak of his resentment, he felt the barest prick of understanding. “Jason . . . he’s a good guy?” A good father?

She looked up but didn’t answer the question. “I was so angry, Marsh. When I left you, I was such a mess. And when I started seeing Jason . . . you had the pills, I had him. I was self-medicating too.” She shook her head. “I want you to know that even when I was first seeing him, I knew what I was doing was wrong. It was only making things worse. I thought about coming back so many times.”

But she hadn’t.

Nor had he gone after her. A better man would’ve tried. A better man would’ve at least attempted to claw his way out of the grief and anger, for the sake of his wife if not himself. But even if he had, in the end, would it have mattered? She’d wound up pregnant. If the deal hadn’t been sealed before, it had been then.

She lifted her eyes to his now. “Marsh, I am truly, truly sorry for the way I walked away from our marriage. I was unfaithful. I was rebellious. Thankfully, the pregnancy ended up being a reality check—emotionally, spiritually, all the way around. God has given me a second chance at life and I’m so grateful, but that doesn’t change the fact that I hurt you. Deeply. I hope someday you can forgive me. That’s what I came here to say.”

Marshall didn’t know why but he sat. With plenty of distance between them, he sat and he actually looked at her and he tried to listen. Forgive her? He wasn’t ready for that. Wasn’t even sure what it looked like. But maybe he could at least try . . . talking.

He could try to hear what she said not as words spoken by his ex-wife, the woman he used to think would be by his side forever, but words spoken by the one person in the world who’d loved and lost the same treasure as he.

“Do you ever still . . .” It took everything in him to breathe out the question. “Don’t you ever just break down about losing her?”

“Of course I do.” She inched closer. “I still fall apart sometimes. Now and then, yes, of course.”

He finally met her eyes. “It’s not now and then for me, Penn. It’s always. It’s always with me. I’m always broken.” That’s what he’d believed, anyway, before coming to Iowa. He’d started to think differently yesterday.

But then the past had elbowed in.

It would always elbow in. There might be a good day from time to time. A day when the memories comforted instead of tormented. But there’d always be another bad day around the corner. Another crash of grief and heartache and helplessness and . . .

And this was why he’d needed the pills. He had to find something to take their place. A new numbing. Something.

He wrenched to his feet. “Got work to do.”

“Marsh—”

“Sorry about throwing the cup.”

She stood and moved across the room as if to finally leave him be. But he knew her well enough to know she had more to say. Which is why he wasn’t surprised when she stopped and turned near the doorway.

“For the record, Marshall, I didn’t leave you because you were broken. I left because I was. I had to find a way out of the darkness.”

And she hadn’t been able to do it with him. It hurt, even after all this time.

“I made a mess of things along the way, but God met me there. He did. He forgave me and He’s been working on my heart ever since. I just want to make sure you find your way out too. Better yet, take God’s hand and let Him lead you out.”

Mara never would’ve believed the state of Jenessa’s house if she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes. From the outside, it was clear the brick, two-story structure had once been a stately home. The yard, surrounded by a wrought-iron gate, was neatly kept. But inside?

Inside the house could almost pass as a hoarder’s domain. Books, newspapers, and all manner of knickknacks cluttered the worn furniture in the entryway and living room. The hutch in the dining room was so overcrowded with dishes, picture frames, and who knew what else, it looked like it might collapse any minute. Mara had only peeked into the galley kitchen, but it appeared much the same as the other rooms.

The disarray was nearly enough to distract her from the thought of Marshall back at the Everwood with the woman he’d introduced last night as his ex-wife. Or the lingering impact of that church service she’d just sat through.

Actually, it wasn’t the service itself that had embedded itself into her anxious thoughts. It was Mayor Milton Briggs coming up to her afterward, his flock of friends all tittering with excitement over the Everwood and the upcoming open house. She’d envisioned a simple reception with refreshments, maybe a couple dozen guests. But now the mayor talked as if half the town might show up. He’d mentioned entertainment, tours, extra parking.

And worse, he’d sprung a surprise on her.

“I’m truly sorry about this, Miss Bristol,” he’d said, “but I should’ve consulted the calendar. We already have an event on the second Saturday in April. How does April sixth sound instead? I’d like to keep it on a weekend, but so many of our weekends later in the spring are already booked.”

A whole week earlier? “I really don’t think we can have everything finished that quickly.”

“Oh posh.” He’d waved his hand. “You don’t have to have the whole place fixed up. Just show us your business plan and give us a peek at the work you’ve done so far. We just need to see enough to have confidence in the Everwood’s future.”

She’d have to start by building her own confidence. April sixth was only two weeks from yesterday.

Which meant she really should’ve hurried back to the Everwood after church rather than take up Jenessa’s invitation to join her, Sam, and Lucas for Sunday dinner. But Jenessa had insisted and Sam had assured her she wouldn’t want to miss Jen’s lasagna.

Turned out to be the truth. Mara had polished off two helpings already.

“I still can’t believe you came to church with us, Luke,” Jenessa said, lifting her water glass, ice clinking. “Kit was happy to see you there too.”

Kit—Lucas’s sister. Married to Beckett Walker—brother to Logan, who Mara had met yesterday. That is, if Mara had correctly understood Jenessa as she’d whispered a whole recitation of “Who’s Who in Maple Valley” as church began.

“It’s not a big deal, Jen. It’s not like I’ve never been to church before.” Lucas’s long hair was pulled back but not as haphazardly as usual. Unlike Sam, he didn’t wear a tie and starched shirt, but his dark jeans and sweater were the dressiest Mara had seen him wear.

“It is so a big deal. Sam and I wish you’d come with us every week, don’t we, Sam?” Jenessa gave him a pointed look. “Maybe you could stick around town for more than a few months this time, too. I’m sure Kit would welcome the help through the summer and fall. What’s Mexico got that Maple Valley doesn’t?”

“Lay off him, Jen.” Sam leaned back in his chair, arms folded over his chest.

“I’m just saying—”

Lucas pushed his plate away and stood. “You said something about dessert, right?” As quickly as that, he disappeared into the kitchen. Jenessa promptly followed.

Whatever tension had begun to simmer just now apparently eased quickly. Within seconds their laughter drifted from the kitchen into the dining room. From her seat, Mara caught sight of the pair of them—Jen pulling dessert plates from a cupboard and Lucas lowering a stack of dirty dishes into the sink, sleeves pushed to his elbows. He must not mind if Jen saw his scars.

“If she’d ever stop mothering him, she might figure it out.”

Mara’s attention darted to Sam. He’d said it with an air of irritation—and maybe a little amusement too. She pulled her napkin from her lap and bunched it on her plate. “Figure out what?”

Sam didn’t answer. But maybe he didn’t have to. She glanced into the kitchen again. Now Lucas was holding plates while Jen dished out dessert, laughing at whatever she said. Mara thought of how he’d run out to the truck last night, pulled Jen into a relieved hug. How, later, he’d plopped down beside her onto the loveseat in the den before anyone else could. Capitulated when Jen had asked him to come to church today.

She looked back to Sam. “Jen doesn’t have any idea?”

“That Luke is a lovesick puppy? Not a chance, though he’s getting worse and worse at hiding it. Why does she think he came home from Mexico a month earlier than planned?” Sam pressed his palms to the table. “Jen pampers him. Heckles him. Constantly asks him to permanently move back. Even flirts with him now and then. But the guy could finally cut his hair, put on a suit, and show up on her doorstep with a rose in hand and she still wouldn’t realize there’s a lot more going on.”

Or she did but was scared of messing up a friendship.

Mara glanced around the dining room. The four chairs at the unoccupied other half of the table were piled with books and magazines. It just didn’t fit at all—Jenessa, who always seemed so put together, living in a house that felt not just cluttered but almost stiflingly crowded.

Sam must’ve read her mind. “It was her parents’ house. Luke and I have been trying to get her to put it on the market for a year now. She says she will eventually but I think she just doesn’t want to deal with all the stuff. Junk, most of it.”

“Her parents?”

“Her dad died almost two years ago—emphysema. Her mom passed a year later from liver failure. She struggled with alcohol for years.” He turned his head toward the kitchen, but not quickly enough for Mara to miss the compassion in his eyes. “Jen had a pretty rough go of it there at the end. She stays busy these days.”

He talked about Jenessa with the same tone of care and empathy in his voice that Jenessa had when talking about Lucas’s scars. Maybe this was why Mara had really stayed for dinner—because this small group of friends had something she wanted. They were knit together. They knew each other’s wounds. They saw deeper and held tighter.

Lenora had said once that she believed God had led Mara to the Everwood. If that was true, could He have led Mara here too? To this band of friends who’d so quickly adopted her into their circle?

She could almost hear Lenora’s affirming answer. He knows what our hearts need, Mara.

“The three of you have something special,” she said.

Sam gave a nonchalant shrug, but it didn’t hide the caring man she was beginning to discover underneath. Come to think of it, this was the most congenial conversation she’d had with the police chief.

“Well, there’s more than one kind of family,” he finally said.

She wanted to ask Sam about his daughter. About the woman who’d dropped her off at the Everwood a couple of afternoons ago. In all the fuss of Marshall passing out in the bathroom, she’d never had a chance to ask that day. But Jenessa and Lucas were returning with plates of blueberry pie now.

And Mara’s phone dinged with a text. She slipped it free and glanced down. Marshall.

Coming home soon?

I’m about to start boxing up the creepy dolls.

She read it once. Twice. No mention of Penny. And he’d called the Everwood home.

“I hope you’re not thinking about trying to sell those on eBay or anything. Technically, Lenora owns them, remember.”

Mara was back. He’d known it when he’d heard her steps over groaning floorboards, but it was her voice from the guestroom doorway that sent relief spooling through his tired body.

Penny’s intrusion had entirely upended him, shattering whatever tranquility he’d found at the Everwood. But maybe now that Mara was here, he’d find his equilibrium again. He turned from the cardboard box half-filled with porcelain dolls bundled in bubble wrap. “Even if I did post them on eBay, who would buy them?”

Mara moved into the room. She wore a long gray sweater over a pink shirt and leggings—and a grin. “Some people collect stuff like this.”

“Some people aren’t creeped out by ghost-white faces and glass eyes, I guess.” He lifted a doll with a green dress. “But don’t worry. All I’m doing is packing them up.”

Except for a few of them. A few that Mara just might find waiting for her in her bedroom whenever she ventured down there. One under her sheet. Another atop her dresser. The last one hiding behind her shower curtain.

A silly prank, for sure, but it’d distracted him from Penny for a little while at least. She’d stuck around for a few hours this morning, but by lunchtime she’d given up on reviving their earlier conversation. She’d hit the road after an awkward goodbye in the entryway. No hug or physical touch of any kind, the few feet between them feeling like a stretching cavern.

She’d tried to bridge the distance one last time. “I know why you’re staying here, Marshall. I saw the magazine ad on your nightstand. Even if I hadn’t, it would’ve clicked eventually. You’re staying here for Laney, and if it’s healing something inside of you, then I’m glad.”

He’d opened the door for her, but she wasn’t done.

“You can’t spend the rest of your life living solely for her memory, though. You just can’t. Remember her, yes. Treasure the years we had with her, of course. But if all this”—she’d gestured to the freshly painted entryway, the new light fixture overhead, the tarp still covering the floor—“is merely keeping you locked in the past or distracted in the present, then it’s only a Band-Aid.”

He hadn’t been able to find the words to argue. Because there weren’t any to find. They might not be married anymore, but Penny still knew him better than anyone.

And as he’d stood on the porch and watched her drive away, for the first time since their divorce, he’d let himself acknowledge the piercing truth—he missed that. Missed having someone who knew him. Someone who didn’t just see past his damaged surface but who was willing to walk into the deep waters.

Beth and Alex, Mom and Dad, Captain Wagner—they were all supportive. But it wasn’t the same as having a true partner in every sense of the word. Would he ever have that again?

Mara picked up a piece of bubble wrap and started swaddling one of the larger dolls.

“How was church?” he asked.

“I thought it might feel weird—going back to church after so long. But I felt strangely at home.” She cast him a curious glance and he braced himself for the questions he knew were coming. “Marshall, we’re, um, we’re friends, aren’t we? I know you’ve barely been here a week now but it feels like longer.”

“We’re living in close quarters. I’ve seen you in your pajamas. You’ve seen me passed out on a bathroom floor. I think we can safely say we’ve passed the stage of mere acquaintances.”

“So then, as your friend, is it okay if I ask . . . why was she here?”

“She’s getting remarried.” He stuffed his doll into the box. “I guess she wanted to clear the air first or something.”

Mara’s pause communicated as much as any sympathetic words would’ve. “That’s quite the effort to go to,” she finally said, “tracking you all the way to Iowa.”

“Well, I wouldn’t answer her calls, so . . .” He shrugged. “She’s as stubborn as me. Probably why we ended up together in the first place.”

“Were you married long?”

“Ten years. Actually, want to know how we met? I’d just joined the precinct and there was this reception during my first week. A fancy little shindig for a long-time officer’s retirement. She’s there. I’m there, in uniform, feeling like a fish out of water. At some point I look over at the food table and see this woman sneaking a napkin filled with canapés into her gun holster.” He’d laughed at the time. Almost laughed now. “She’s got this thing for fancy appetizers. Caviar, mushroom puffs, shrimp. It’s weird.”

No, what was weird was how that’d just slipped out. As if it was completely normal to discuss his ex-wife in everyday conversation. “I have no idea why I just told you that.”

Mara set her wrapped doll next to the one he’d laid down. “I’m a natural listener.”

His words from the other night in the attic.

Penny’s words from long ago.

“Well, we ended up a statistic.” At Mara’s raised brow, he went on, picking up another doll. “Couples who lose a child—they’re that much more likely to separate. When she first left, I didn’t realize it was for good, but then . . .” He shook his head.

“It’s like you disappeared into yourself, Marsh. You were drowning yourself in sleeping pills. You wouldn’t talk to anybody, not even me.”

His lungs squeezed at the remembrance of her words. They’d felt like an accusation hours ago, but she was just being honest, wasn’t she?

And if he was honest, too, he could admit that in those first months after Laney died, Penny had tried. She’d asked him to go to counseling with her, to find a grief support group, return to church. But instead of being willing to traverse their loss together, when she’d waded in, he’d only pulled her under until they were both sinking.

She’d had to break free to save herself. He was the partner who’d failed first.

“Marshall?”

He was staring at the doll in his hand, locked on its glass eyes and empty expression. “Anyway, Penny’s on her way home now.”

“Already? That’s a long drive to make back-to-back. She could’ve stayed.”

“She has a baby to get back to.” He set down the doll. “And I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for things to get back to normal around here.” That is, if a never-ending list of repairs and to-dos plus a couple of mysteries to solve counted as normal. He’d already taken too long of a break yesterday, spending time Christmas-ifying the house. Speaking of which . . .

“Hey, we never got around to presents last night.”

Mara was popping plastic bubbles now instead of wrapping dolls. “What?”

“Christmas in March. There were presents.” Or, at least, one present. He’d thought it was a good idea at the time, but then, with everyone else around, he’d felt too dumb or embarrassed—something—to give it to Mara.

He latched on to the welcome diversion. “Downstairs.”

Mara followed him down to the den where the tree was still lit and the room still smelled of spice and pine. Probably from the Christmas candles he and Sam and Lucas had dug out from the boxes of decorations.

And under the tree, the gift he’d wrapped. He grabbed it and held it out to Mara. “Sorry it’s wrapped in newspaper. You’d think with everything else we found in the attic, we’d have come across wrapping paper, too. But no such luck.”

“You got me a Christmas gift?”

“Trust me, it’s nothing that exciting. Open it.”

She had the package open in seconds. The spread of her smile was slow and filled with wonder. “Photos of the Everwood?”

When she looked up at him, her eyes were so lit with delight, he could almost forget Penny had ever been here. Almost.

They were old black-and-white and sepia photos—a few five by sevens, some eight by tens, all framed. All it’d taken was a little dusting, Windex on the glass, and he was pretty sure they’d make a cool wall decoration somewhere downstairs.

More than that, he was pretty sure Mara would like them.

“I assume a past owner framed them and had them on display at some point,” he said.

“I love them.” She held the whole stack in her arms, struggling to look at them, one after another.

“Here, let me help.” He reached for the frames, handing her one at a time. Honestly, he hadn’t looked that closely at any of them yesterday. Only enough to see that two of them showed the Everwood’s exterior—one taken during winter, as snow covered the lawn and the bushes that lined the porch, and the other likely in the spring or summer, the mass of leaves on the giant elm filling the corner of the photo.

The other four showed rooms inside the house. The kitchen, the dining room, a guestroom, and the den.

Now, as Mara handed each photo back to him, he looked closer. “I wouldn’t know when these are from, except that one of the photos has a scribble on back. It says 1965.”

“Not long after Lenora’s parents disappeared.” She handed him the photo that featured the den. It showed the fireplace, stone reaching all the way to the ceiling, a wingback chair in the corner—possibly the same ripped one he’d sat on in the attic the other night. And . . . huh. There was a faint square on the wall above the chair and an end table. As if a piece of artwork once hung there, the rest of the wall around it faded by the sun.

“Hey, Mara, you know that photo you found in the attic? The couple—Arnold and Jeane. Do you still have it?”

“Yeah, it’s in Lenora’s—uh, my room.”

“Can you get it?”

She cast him a curious glance, but she handed him the last frame and crossed the room to the door leading into hers. A second later, her squeal rang out.

She appeared in the doorway, a doll in hand. “Really, Marshall?”

He chuckled as he set down the frames. That was the doll from the dresser. Just wait until she got in bed tonight. “Couldn’t help myself. Sorry.”

“Something tells me that apology was not entirely sincere.”

“Not entirely, no.”

She marched across the room, doll tucked under her arm, and held out the photo. And . . . yep. That’s what he’d thought.

“What is it, Marsh?”

“This may be the loosest, flimsiest hunch ever, but I have an idea why Lenora wanted to talk to that art history expert.”