6

“I loved this book,” Ruth said, a worn copy of Stephen King’s Cujo at her elbow.

Gia would’ve preferred to have snagged a table on the upstairs patio of Harmony House. In the warmer months, it was fun to hang out there in the evenings, where you could look down on the main drag and watch the activity on the street. But the patio was already closed for the season. When they met up at the entrance of the restaurant after Ida and Leo had gone to bed, she and her friends had found a booth on the first floor, where they could listen to the music—which wasn’t live on Thursdays but was still a good mix of everything from the eighties to present day—and order a few “small plates” and some drinks.

“I guess I’m not much of a horror reader.” Sammie, who was sitting on the same side as Ruth, was notably less thrilled with their most recent read. “If you’d told me before I read it that I’d ever find a Saint Bernard frightening, I wouldn’t have believed you. But holy hell! I’ll never look at that breed the same way again. This book totally freaked me out.”

Gia finished off the last of the sliders. “It was supposed to freak you out. That’s the whole point of a horror novel.”

Ruth sipped her old-fashioned. “My only complaint was that the whole thing felt a bit...dated.”

“Well, it was written in 1981,” Gia pointed out, “before cell phones and the internet. I was amazed by how well it withstood the test of time.”

“I wonder where Stephen King got the idea for this book...” Sammie said.

“He had to visit a mechanic one night in rural Maine,” Ruth told her. “It was in the middle of nowhere, and when he got there, he was greeted by a Saint Bernard who did not take a liking to him.”

Sammie dipped a French fry in ketchup. “No kidding?”

“No kidding. I looked it up.”

“You didn’t find the story upsetting?” Sammie asked. “I mean... I could see why some people would want to have it banned. Especially back then. What message could there be in it?”

“I don’t think there needs to be a message,” Gia replied. “A horror novel is simply meant to entertain. But it could be that King was trying to say that the greatest thing to fear is fear itself.”

“Is that what Mr. Hart told you when we were in high school?” Ruth asked.

Surprised by the mention of their former teacher, Gia, who’d just picked up her drink, set it back down. She couldn’t remember discussing this particular book with their old teacher. But he’d also loved Stephen King, so maybe he’d told her about it. “I don’t think so. Franklin D. Roosevelt said it during the Great Depression.”

Sammie shot Ruth a dirty look, no doubt for bringing up Mr. Hart, and Ruth covered her mouth. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that. I wasn’t thinking.”

Although Ruth was claiming it was merely a gaffe, Gia suspected it wasn’t. That she was back in Wakefield made what’d happened their senior year top of mind, so she couldn’t really blame Ruth for addressing the elephant in the room. “It’s fine.” She waved away the apology. “The dude wasn’t all bad.”

As a matter of fact, in many ways Mr. Hart had been very good. That was the worst part. She’d loved him as a teacher—admired him, trusted him and listened to what he had to say.

Sammie looked concerned. “What do you think he’s going to do when he learns you’re in town?”

“What can he do?” Gia asked.

Ruth toyed with the condensation on her glass. “I bet he feels bad for what he did.”

Gia wasn’t convinced. If he felt any remorse—true remorse—he wouldn’t have tried to make her look like a vengeful liar. “If he feels bad, it’s only because he got caught.”

“He still claims he didn’t do anything wrong,” Ruth said.

The memory of him inviting her to walk down to his house when his family was at the high school baseball game—and what he’d done while she was there—made Gia slightly nauseous. Unable to continue eating, she pushed her plate to the side. “How do you know? Do you ever talk to him?”

“Not more than a hello or a nod in passing,” Ruth told her. “But his youngest daughter—Edith—is in our spin class.”

Gia shifted her gaze to Sammie. “You didn’t mention that.”

“We just work out together,” Sammie was quick to say. “We don’t ever really have a conversation.”

“Apparently, she talks to Ruth.” Gia used her straw to stir her spicy jalapeno gimlet. “What has she been saying, Ruth?”

Ruth cleared her throat. She’d obviously been dying to broach the subject, or she wouldn’t have dropped Hart’s name into a conversation about the book they were reading. But it was easy to tell she was having second thoughts. “When I told her you were in town, she got a little upset. She’s been adamant since the beginning that her father is innocent.”

Gia got the distinct impression they’d become friends. Maybe even good friends. She hadn’t anticipated that. Edith was five years younger than they were, and Ruth hadn’t mentioned her when they’d caught up now and then or used Zoom for their book group meetings.

But there’d been several long lapses in the Banned Books Club—some lasting years. Edith and Ruth lived in the same small town. And Gia had been gone a long time. She supposed she shouldn’t be too shocked that Ruth would suddenly find her loyalties split. “How would she know?” Gia asked.

Ruth signaled to the waitress that they were fine when she came by to ask if they’d like anything else. “She told me that if he was the pedophile you made him out to be, there would’ve been other girls claiming the same kind of inappropriate behavior—and there’s been no one.”

Did Ruth agree with Edith? And was Sammie of the same mind? When neither of them would meet her gaze, Gia began to realize a lot more had changed in her hometown than she’d thought. “I never called him a pedophile. He... What he did was inappropriate, but...” She let her words trail off. “Never mind. I don’t want to talk about it.”

Gia had never believed he’d been out victimizing girls. But that didn’t change what he’d done to her. He had been the adult—and her teacher. That’d given him more power in the relationship. It’d also screwed with her ability to trust. Although she often wondered if she’d done the right thing in coming forward, she knew in her heart that if she hadn’t spoken up, he probably would’ve continued to pursue a sexual relationship with her.

“I shouldn’t have brought it up,” Ruth said. “I just...feel bad for Edith. I mean, it split up her family, made it almost impossible for her father to earn a living—”

“I’m out of here.” Gia shot to her feet just as Sammie reached out to grab Ruth’s arm, presumably to get her to shut up.

“Can’t we talk about it?” Ruth asked plaintively. “My God, G, what happened to his family was terrible!”

“I’m glad you feel so sorry for them,” she said and threw a couple of twenties on the table to cover her food and drink before walking out.


Gia had to get out of the house. She was feeling claustrophobic again, just like she always did when she visited Wakefield. And yet this time she couldn’t escape. Her mother’s cancer held her more securely than any prison. Today, she’d done the grocery shopping, played cards with her parents, picked up her mother’s medication and cooked supper before meeting Ruth and Sammie once her parents had gone to bed. She’d been feeling good about doing her part for her family.

But her night out certainly hadn’t provided the social relief she’d been looking for. Because the Harts hadn’t left town the way she had, and they knew so many people, even her closest friends were becoming more sympathetic to them. How was she going to get through the coming months? And would the rest of the people in the Banned Books Club react the same way?

Maybe it wasn’t wise to get the group going again. She’d been trying to hang on to some part of her past, hadn’t wanted to let Mr. Hart take all her friends from her.

Turning her face up to the moon, she pretended she was on her own deck in Coeur d’Alene, staring up at the sky. Her stay in Wakefield wouldn’t last forever, she told herself.

But it would end with her mother’s death, which wasn’t what she wanted, either.

“There’s no way to win,” she muttered and was about to get up and go inside when her phone buzzed with a text from Margot.

What did her sister think? That she could come back to town and the past would be erased? That her detractors would forget the animosity they felt toward her?

Did Margot even realize how difficult this was for her?

She preferred to lie rather than reveal her vulnerability.

That wasn’t remotely true, but Gia would be damned if she’d admit she didn’t, especially to Margot, who’d always made doing the right thing look easy. Although fulfilling her husband’s expectations took a lot of time and effort. Margot served him more like a slave than a partner.

Gia blinked at her sister’s response. Read it twice. Was there a barb in there somewhere?

If so, she couldn’t find it. It felt...sincere. She had to chuckle at the irony. Part of the reason she didn’t like coming back to Wakefield was because it made her feel so fragile—as if the slightest thing would cause her to shatter. “Strong,” she muttered with a humorless chuckle.

She remembered her sister alluding to the fact that it was her “turn” to take care of their parents and decided she’d fulfill that debt without leaning on Margot any more than she already had.

Setting her phone aside, Gia drew a deep breath and turned her face back up to the sky. She’d battle the whole damn town if she had to, but she wouldn’t let something that happened seventeen years ago get the best of her now.


There she was! Cormac stood at his bedroom window, transfixed. Since learning that Gia was home, he’d looked out at her parents’ property again and again—mostly in agitation. He was irritated that she was so close and couldn’t help wondering what was going on in her mind. How it felt to be back. If she regretted the choices she’d made and the things she’d done when she lived in Wakefield.

And then, just as he was about to call it a night—the Rossi house was dark, so he’d assumed everyone there was already in bed—Gia had appeared in the yard and sat on a lounger near the pool and hot tub.

After racing down the stairs, he held Duke inside so the dog couldn’t give him away, let himself out and crept around to the back.

He realized almost immediately that he should’ve grabbed a jacket. It was freezing. But Gia didn’t seem to notice. Still in chinos, a button-up shirt and loafers from work, he was probably warmer than she was in her short-sleeved orange blouse and jeans, and yet she wasn’t even shivering.

He could take the cold if she could, he told himself and refrained from going back inside. He was too curious to see what he could, too afraid he’d miss something if he left for even a few minutes. What was she like these days? How was she approaching her return? Boldly and unapologetically? Filled with remorse? Older and wiser and, hopefully, kinder?

There was no way to tell. Although she had a cell phone in her hand, she wasn’t on it, so it wasn’t as if he was privy to any revealing bits of conversation. She seemed restless, troubled, and he could understand why. If it were anyone else, he would’ve had some compassion for what was happening in her family. But this wasn’t anyone else. This was the one person who’d damaged his own family beyond repair.

When she turned her face up toward the sky, he caught his first clear glimpse of what she looked like these days. He’d been hoping she wasn’t nearly as attractive as she’d been in high school. Then she’d have one less weapon to use against the unsuspecting men around her. His animal studies had taught him that certain predators employed aggressive mimicry—the use of signals or behaviors to draw their prey in close before pouncing.

When he’d first learned the term, he’d thought he finally had a way to describe what she’d done to his father, and felt sorry for any other men who might’ve been fooled by her since. So he was disappointed to see that she was more beautiful than ever with her long, strawberry blond hair, flawless skin and high cheekbones. She’d always had a particularly kissable mouth—even if she did have a sharp tongue when provoked. She definitely fit the feisty stereotype of a redhead. But her best feature was her clear green eyes rimmed with thick golden lashes. In high school, they’d held him spellbound whenever she looked at him...

But that was before he knew what she was really like, he reminded himself. Had she accused anyone else of improper conduct over the years? He wouldn’t doubt it. She’d probably filed a sexual harassment complaint at every place she worked.

She stood and began to pace for a few minutes but instead of going inside, where it was warm, she sat back down on the chaise and began to cry. Several tears rolled down her cheeks unheeded and fell off her chin. Then she buried her face in her hands.

Shit. That wasn’t what Cormac had wanted to see. That was the last thing he’d wanted to see. There was no way he was going to allow himself to feel any sympathy for Gia.

Backing away, he slipped deeper into the shadows before making his way around to the front. In the past seventeen years, he’d only ever imagined her as she’d been right after she accused his father—stoic, tough, impervious to challenge. She’d stuck with her story in spite of all the pressure she’d been under to tell the truth—and some of that pressure had come from her own parents.

To tell a lie with that much resolve required nerves of steel.

Tonight, she was probably just grieving for her dying mother, he told himself. Someone would have to be a robot not to feel pain for a beloved parent suffering from cancer. But the vulnerable expression on her face had gotten to him, so much so that he spent the rest of the night trying to get that tragic image of her—a beautiful, forlorn woman weeping in the dark—out of his head.


When she pulled into her parents’ drive, Margot felt the same relief she used to feel—before the cancer struck. Her childhood home was a safe haven, a place where Sheldon was more careful than anywhere else to keep up appearances—although lately, he typically chose not to accompany her here. He claimed he was too busy. But he had plenty of time for his own parents. He just didn’t have any interest in hers, and she knew it.

She didn’t mind, though. She preferred to come alone, always enjoyed the reprieve. Today, she didn’t even have the boys with her, since they were both in school.

Although she had errands to run—some for Sheldon’s business, and he wouldn’t be happy if she didn’t get them done—she’d gotten up early to be sure she could fit everything in and still have time to stop over for breakfast. Gia and their parents had always struggled to get along. Gia was too much like their mother—opinionated and headstrong—which meant they often clashed, and their father seemed to believe it was his duty to support Ida whether she was right or wrong, so he clashed with Gia, too.

But these days Ida was so sick. She probably didn’t care about trying to keep her oldest daughter in line.

Margot hoped that meant she’d be satisfied letting Gia take care of her. It didn’t hurt to check, though. Margot couldn’t leave town if she felt her mother needed her to stay. And since she was dreading uprooting herself and her children and heading into the unknown almost as much as she was looking forward to it—even the thought of coming out in open opposition to Sheldon was frightening—she was sort of hoping for an excuse to stay.

“The devil you know...” she mumbled. There was undeniable comfort in the familiar.

As she got out of her Subaru and approached the house, Margot could see Gia through the window over the kitchen sink and felt a strange sort of nostalgia. As much as they’d bickered as children, they were family. She’d always secretly admired her courageous older sister—and often wondered why she didn’t feel the same level of passion and drive.

Her father was watching the news when she opened the slider, so he saw her first. He got up to welcome her as she walked in and followed her into the kitchen.

“Smells good in here,” she said.

Gia was frying potatoes in one pan and bacon in another, and there was a carton of eggs on the counter.

“Mom said she was craving eggs over easy.” Gia used her spatula to motion toward the toaster. “Can you put the bread in? The bacon and potatoes are almost done.”

Margot bent to pet Miss Marple, then washed her hands and did as Gia requested before crossing to the pink vinyl booth that had always served as their kitchen table. Their mother was sitting at one end of it in a purple sweat suit with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. “How are you feeling today?”

Ida offered her a wan smile. “About the same.”

Margot leaned in to kiss the papery skin covering her mother’s cheek. “I’m sorry there’s been no improvement.”

“Everyone has problems,” Ida said with a shrug.

Not like this one. Death was approaching—slowly but inexorably—and Margot considered knowing that time was running out to be both a blessing and a curse. Ida’s diagnosis had given them the chance to get prepared before it was too late. But watching her suffer wasn’t worth the trade-off.

Margot wondered, again, if she should wait to leave Sheldon—stick it out in Wakefield for a few more months.

Could she survive mentally and emotionally if she did? Would she have the willpower to start over somewhere else after Ida was gone?

She was afraid that if she didn’t have such a good reason for visiting her family so often, he would only clamp down on her that much harder and she’d have even less freedom.

“You hungry?” Gia tossed the question over her shoulder as she cracked an egg.

“Not really,” Margot said.

Gia turned to look at her. “Have you eaten? Because from what I can see, you’ve lost almost as much weight as Mom.”

Margot shook her head. “I haven’t lost nearly that much,” she said, but during the past few months, the pounds had been melting off. It was the anxiety. Living with someone like Sheldon kept her constantly agitated. And since she’d decided to leave, she was always stewing about how she was going to get away from him, where she’d go and what she’d do once she left—and how she was going to protect herself and her children if he came after her legally or physically. “He’s demeaning” wasn’t a strong defense. Not nearly as strong as if she could claim physical abuse. He’d been careful not to go that far, and yet what he did was equally bruising, especially to someone as sensitive as she was. Just because no one could see those bruises didn’t make them any less real. “I’ve been eating healthy, trying to cut out all the junk,” she said, but she’d made no such concerted effort.

Fortunately, since most of the attention was focused on Ida these days, her own weight loss hadn’t become a focal point, and she didn’t want that to change.

“Well, sit down and have some eggs and toast, at least,” Gia insisted. “Unless regular food is ‘junk’ to you now.”

Margot figured it’d be wiser to try to choke down some breakfast than argue. She slid into the other side of the booth and all the way around to be able to take her mother’s hand.

Ida smiled at the gesture. “How’re the boys?”

“They’re doing great.”

“And Sheldon?”

She could no longer meet her mother’s eye. Because of him, she was about to walk away without an explanation or a forwarding address. But she’d spent countless hours thinking it over and couldn’t see a better way. Drawing them into her confidence would only make matters worse. She would not start a feud between the two families and have her parents try to defend her in the middle of all they were going through. “He’s...busy.”

“He works too hard,” Ida said matter-of-factly.

“He’s quite a guy.” Margot had been saying such things for so long—without her parents picking up on the sarcasm belying those statements—that she felt a stab of alarm when her sister sent her a curious look.

“Was that sincere?” Gia asked, eyebrows knitted in confusion.

Margot conjured up an innocent expression. “Of course,” she replied, but knew with Gia around, she’d have to be more careful. Her sister would quickly pick up on the clues her parents missed.

“I guess Sheldon didn’t hear I was back in town,” Gia said. “Or he would’ve made arrangements to be here this morning.”

There was no missing her sarcasm. But then... Gia had never been subtle. She usually said what she felt—or her feelings were written all over her face.

“Gia...” their father gently chided.

No doubt Leo was hoping to get ahead of anything that might distress Ida. But their mother didn’t react. She suddenly seemed so deep in her own thoughts Margot wasn’t even sure she was listening to the exchange.

After a quick glance at their father, Gia returned to cooking. For once, her sister had chosen to back down. Margot was happy to see that. It meant she was finally learning some restraint.

Maybe, just maybe, Margot would be able to trust Leo and Ida to her sister’s care. After her recent indecision, all the second-guessing, she decided that her plans were most definitely back on.

If Gia could learn to keep the peace, Margot thought she could learn to stand up and fight.