“I saw Tim today.”
Josh drops that little nugget on me at the dinner table. I’m in the middle of chewing a bite of macaroni and cheese. And I’m not talking about gourmet macaroni and cheese made with four different varieties of cheese, with a layer of crispy, buttery breadcrumbs on top like Margie (sorry, I mean, Pamela Nelson) used to make. I’m talking about macaroni and cheese from the box. It came in a six-pack that cost three dollars. It’s flavored with powdered cheese that is labeled cheese number forty-two.
I don’t know what happened to the other forty-one cheeses. I don’t want to know.
“You did?” I ask, wanting desperately to hear the story but not really wanting to hear it at all.
“Yep.” Josh smacks his lips on the “p,” which has become an annoying habit of his. “When I went to the corner to mail that letter for you. He was also mailing a letter.”
A million questions are running through my head. How did he look? Is he okay? Did he mention me? Does he hate my guts? “Did he say anything?”
“He said hi.”
“And what did you say?” “I said hi back.”
This could be the most uninteresting story Josh has ever told me, yet I’m hanging onto his every word. “And then what?
Josh lifts a skinny shoulder. “I went back home.”
The suspenseful story of Josh running into Tim for the first time since he got home from jail appears to now be over, and Josh goes back to shoving macaroni in his mouth. I saw the Oldsmobile in the driveway of the Reese house a few days ago, and I deduced that Tim’s parents had returned
to Raker to pick him up and help him put his life back together after all the murder charges ended up being dropped.
As it turned out, Pamela Nelson survived the gunshot wound, and it was a good thing she did. She ended up confessing to everything, which is more than Shane was ever willing to do. After she found out her son was dead, she didn’t really care anymore. She told the police everything—the whole shocking story.
For example, she told them how she helped cover up Tracy Gifford’s murder eleven years ago, when Shane had come to her in a panic, Tracy’s blood on his hands, and told her what he had done. But getting away with Tracy’s murder made them cocky. She told the police how she and Shane planned to kill me that night at the farmhouse to get revenge on my father for not leaving his wife and daughter for her. She even told the police how she had lured Kelli Underwood to Tim’s house one night when she knew he was spending the night with me, sending her a text message supposedly from Tim. Then once Kelli was inside, Pamela Nelson pretended to be Tim’s housekeeper, and offered her a drink laced with sedatives, saying Tim would be home “any minute.” After the drink knocked her out, Pamela rolled her body down the stairs into the basement–the fall broke her neck, but it was Pamela slitting her throat that killed her.
The big mistake I made? Social media. My parents always warned me to keep my likeness off the internet, but I had no idea that the family Christmas party thrown by the company I worked for in Queens had plastered pictures of the event all over their Facebook page. That’s how Pamela Nelson found out about Josh. And that’s why she murdered my parents—to punish them for keeping the secret from her… and also, to get me to come back to Raker. She even ensured I would end up working at the prison by calling every medical practice in the area to complain about my shoddy medical care.
And of course, Shane did his part too. He got rid of my predecessor Elise by ratting her out for distributing drugs to prisoners. Not that she was really doing it—she was exonerated as well.
Once DNA evidence confirmed that Shane and Pamela Nelson had been the mastermind behind all of these murders, the DA dropped all the charges against Tim. But justice is slow, and he only got out of jail a few days earlier.
Not surprisingly, he hasn’t stopped by to say hello.
“Maybe Tim can come over,” Josh suggests. “He could fix that string that came off the light in the closet.”
The string that turns on the lightbulb in our hall closet popped free in my hand a week ago. Since that time, I have been groping for my coat in the dark every day. I would love to get it fixed. But I have a feeling if I stop by the Reese house, Tim won’t be jumping at the chance to do home repairs for me. I’ll be lucky if he doesn’t slam the door in my face.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” I say carefully. “Why not?”
“I think Tim might be mad at me.” “Why?”
I don’t know quite how to explain to Josh everything that has happened in the last few months, so I haven’t. He’s only ten. I took him to a few therapy sessions after the poor kid saw his father killed right in front of him in a freak accident. Of course, Josh didn’t know Shane was his father. He still doesn’t. I’m hoping it will stay that way.
Anyway, Josh seems fine now. He misses Margie though. I ended up pulling him out of school for a couple of weeks when everything exploded online, just to minimize the chances of him finding out what his beloved babysitter had done.
Or that she was really his grandmother.
“You should ask Tim to come over, Mom,” Josh says. “I should?”
“Yeah! I miss him.”
That tugs at my heartstrings. Josh has lost so much, some of which he doesn’t even know about. In the last year, he lost his father, a grandfather, and two grandmothers. All he’s got left now is me.
Maybe Tim will never forgive me, but if he could be there for Josh, that’s better than nothing.
After we finish dinner, Josh stays behind to do his homework while I tug on my coat and boots. I could take Josh along with me to Tim’s house, but just in case we get a frosty welcome, I don’t want my son around. I fully expect
that Tim won’t ever forgive me for this. And either way, this won’t be a pleasant conversation.
There are still a couple of inches of dusty snow on the ground as I walk the familiar path between my house and Tim’s. How many times had I made this journey as a child? Too many to count. Every time I left the house, it felt like the last words out of my mouth were, Going to Tim’s house! Be back later!
I should have trusted him. I should’ve known he would never do anything that horrible. Shane had me completely brainwashed. Not that it’s any excuse, but I wanted so badly to believe that my son’s father wasn’t a monster.
I was wrong.
I stand on Tim’s front porch, hugging myself, working up the courage to ring the doorbell. It takes me at least a minute or two, and then before I can second-guess myself, I reach out and push my index finger into the bell.
I stand there for close to another minute. There’s a very real chance they might not open the door for me. That I might have to trudge back to my house without even getting to talk to Tim, much less tell him how sorry I am and have him slam the door in my face.
But then the locks turn. I plaster a smile on my face just in time for the door to swing open. But it’s not Tim at the door. It’s Barbara Reese.
I haven’t seen Mrs. Reese in over a decade, but she looks at least two decades older—the same as my mother did before Pamela Nelson killed her. The last time I saw her, her hair was the same maple color as Tim’s is, but now it’s gone all white.
“Hi!” I wring my hands together. “Mrs. Reese, it’s me—Brooke.” “Yes,” she muses. “I know.”
Of course she knows. She hasn’t been living on another planet for the last three months.
“I…” I dart my gaze around—I’m having trouble looking her in the eyes. “I was wondering if… if Tim is around?”
“Yes,” she says, “he is.”
She is not going to make this easy for me. It’s what I deserve though. “Could I talk to him?” I ask.
Barbara Reese gives me a long look. I square my shoulders, trying to measure up, even though I already feel defeated. Who am I kidding—I blew
it with Tim, not just for me, but for Josh as well. “I’ll go get him,” Mrs. Reese finally says.
I feel a rush of gratitude. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
She cocks her head thoughtfully. “You look good, Brooke. I can see why he liked you so much.”
With that slightly baffling statement, Mrs. Reese disappears from the doorway, closing the door part of the way behind her. I stand there, shivering slightly in a jacket that isn’t warm enough for the amount of time I’ve been standing out on this porch. I hear raised voices inside the house— Tim and his mother arguing. I can only imagine what they’re saying to each other. He doesn’t want to see me. That much is clear.
After what feels like an eternity, the door swings open again. And there he is. Tim Reese. The boy next door. The guy I thought I was falling in love with before I temporarily sent him to prison for murder.
Oh boy.
He doesn’t look great. I remember how I swooned a bit when I saw him standing outside the elementary school on Josh’s first day of school. But now he looks tired and pale and about fifteen pounds thinner.
And pissed off as hell.
“Brooke.” His eyes are like daggers. “What are you doing here?” He doesn’t invite me in. He doesn’t even budge from the doorway.
“Um.” I wish I had planned something to say. I could have written down a little speech. Why oh why didn’t I write out a speech? “I wanted to say hi.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “Hi?” “And welcome home,” I add.
There isn’t even a hint of a smile on Tim’s lips. “No thanks to you.”
“Look…” I squirm on the porch. “This hasn’t been easy for me either, you know—”
“I was in prison, Brooke.”
“Yeah, well.” I raise my eyes to meet his. “Josh’s dad tried to kill me.
So, you know, it hasn’t been any picnic.”
“No kidding.” Tim folds his arms across his chest. He’s wearing just a sweater, and I’m cold in my coat, so he’s got to be freezing, but he doesn’t look it. “I’d been telling you all along that Shane was dangerous. Didn’t I tell you? Didn’t I warn you repeatedly?”
I hang my head. He absolutely did.
“The guy stabbed me in the gut.” His fingers go to the area on his abdomen where he still has that scar. “I was practically bleeding to death, barely conscious, and I dragged myself off the floor when I saw you make a run for it. I grabbed that baseball bat off the floor and hit Shane as hard as I could, so he wouldn’t come after you. I didn’t even know I had it in me, but I knew if I didn’t do it…”
I swallow a lump in my throat. I know what he did for me that night. And how did I repay him? I refused to believe him when he was framed for murder. “I’m sorry,” I croak. “You have no idea how sorry I am that I didn’t believe you.”
He blinks at me. “I don’t know what to say. It’s a little late for that.”
“I know you hate me.” I wring my hands together. “I get it. But look, don’t take it out on Josh. He’s lost everyone but me. And he really likes you. At least… at least spend some time with him. It would mean so much to him. I could clear out of the house if you wanted, or I could send him over here or…”
I’m having a lot of trouble reading the expression on Tim’s face. But the syllable he utters makes my heart drop. “No,” he says.
“Please, Tim.” I hate to beg, but I’ll do it if I have to. For my son. “Just once or twice even. I know you care about him.”
Tim shakes his head. “No,” he says. “That’s not what I meant. I meant,
no, I… I don’t hate you.”
What?
“I mean…” His eyebrows scrunch together slightly like he’s surprised by this revelation as well. “I’m mad at you. I’m really mad. I thought after everything we went through together, you trusted me more than that. But… Christ, Brooke. I’ve known you since we were in diapers. You were my best friend for my entire life. You were the first girl that I ever… well, you know. And that night at the farmhouse when I told Shane he better treat you right, I meant it. Because you deserve the best.” His Adam’s apple bobs. “So, no. I don’t hate you. I could never…”
He doesn’t hate me. Tim Reese doesn’t hate me. I almost cry with happiness.
“Josh keeps talking about this drawstring for the light bulb in the closet that came apart,” I say. “He wants to fix it with you. If you’re free…”
Tim is quiet for a long time. Finally, he nods. “I’ll come by this weekend. Take a look.”
“Thank you.” “Don’t mention it.”
I offer a tiny smile. “I’ll see you then.”
As he closes the door on me, I catch it. It was so quick, if I had looked away for a second, I would have missed it. But it was unmistakable—the corner of his lips quirking up in a smile on his own.
He doesn’t hate me. That is a good start. Friendships have been built on less.
