The keeping place, p.20
The Keeping Place, page 20
Or maybe she wasn’t.
Right now, Nicole didn’t know up from down, let alone strength from vulnerability, or love from selfishness.
All she had to do was kill you.
She blocked Chelsea’s voice and plopped onto a stool at the bar. Phyllis was nowhere to be seen, and the rest of the staff didn’t know her well enough to chat. They’d likely leave her alone, considering her a curiosity more than anything.
Nicole ordered a wine spritzer from the bartender. He was a good-looking guy. Thirtyish, with a pronounced cleft in his chin and eyes that crinkled when he smiled. She thought his name was Jim but had met him only briefly at the luncheon following Janie’s funeral. When he returned with her drink, he made a few friendly attempts to engage her in conversation. She mumbled her replies, eyes downcast to her drink, hoping he’d take the hint and leave. Eventually, he wandered away, catering to someone at the opposite end of the bar.
Nicole lifted her gaze, attention fixated on the black and white photographs lining the wall across from her. She knew the shots well, most studio stills from Fifth Street Sundown. What she’d never truly stopped to consider before was the man in the photographs.
Bryce Keller.
Her father.
She pushed from the stool, taking her glass with her across the room to stare up at the photographs. At a quarter past three, Glory’s Place was mostly empty. A few people sat at the bar, and one or two booths were occupied, but no one paid her any mind. Locals and tourists alike often studied the photos, tourists eying them before deciding which of the shots they wanted Glory to autograph. Stacks of each waited behind the bar, only twenty dollars a pop. Twenty-five if Glory was available to personalize the photo and pose for a selfie.
But Keller had died over a decade ago. Nicole couldn’t remember what disease claimed the movie-star’s life, only that her mom hadn’t shed any tears when she’d heard the news. Instead, she’d grown quiet, busying herself with other matters as if she needed a diversion.
Keller was a handsome man. No question about that.
Nicole sipped her spritzer, trying to see herself in his features. They had the same dark hair and eye-shape, but other than that, all she saw was a man who’d wanted nothing to do with her. She wondered if her mother had kept in touch with him after she’d left Hollywood. Sent him a photo or two of the daughter he’d told her to abort.
Bastard.
No. Glory wouldn’t have risked it. Not when she needed Clay Seabrooke to believe her baby was his.
I was yours, Dad. I’ll always be yours.
Her gaze locked on the photograph in front of her. Keller holding her mother close to his chest, his expression tender as he gazed down on her. Glory’s face was upturned, eyes searching, the slender column of her neck as milky as ivory cream. The expression of love flowing between them appeared natural, not crafted from a script for the scene. But, of course, Keller had loved her then. Flirted with and romanced her as he did all his leading ladies.
And then moved on when the movie flopped. When he had a lovely Latin beauty to take Glory’s place.
“That one’s my favorite.”
Nicole jerked in surprise, shaken from her thoughts by a man’s voice.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” Willard Atwood stepped closer. He motioned to the photo with one hand, his fingers curled around a glass half-filled with dark liquid. “When I was younger, I wanted to be Bryce Keller. He was rough around the edges in most of his movies but always got the girls. Your mom sure was a looker.”
She shook off the cobwebs. “You know who I am?”
“You don’t look that much different. Marshall ran with your crowd when he was in high school. You were Vin McCain’s girlfriend. Marsh said you and Vin dropped by the other day.”
Nicole was surprised he remembered her. The seven-year gap in their ages always made Willard, like Trace, seem unapproachable. Unlike his brother, he hadn’t been awkward. Just aloof in a darkly dangerous way. No wonder he’d idolized Keller, who’d been known for playing break-the-rules cops or kickass loners.
She managed an uneasy smile. “It’s good to see you.”
Was it? He’d always been lean but looked almost skeletal now, with ropy arms and legs and thinning hair. The ravages of alcohol had carved his face with lines too deep and too dark for his age. By contrast, his eyes burned bright, a hard green like gemstones. Chelsea said he’d almost lost an arm, and he seemed to favor the left, holding it awkwardly.
Her gaze dropped to the glass in his hand, just the right size and color for a rum and Coke.
“Root beer,” he said as if reading her thoughts.
Heat rose to her cheeks. “I—“
“It’s okay.” His grimace said otherwise. “Small town gossip. I get it.”
Discomfited, she hugged her arms to her chest and looked away. He dug a packet of gum from his pocket then popped a stick in his mouth. She caught the scent of licorice and thought of Janie. Her sister had been a fan of Black Clove gum and archaic candies like Turkish Taffy and Coconut Long Boys.
He chuckled. “I’m kind of a reprobate around here. Everyone knows I screwed up. Took my drink too seriously. I hear you’ve only been back a short while, and even you know my sordid history.”
She flinched at the bite of his words, her level of discomfort growing. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply anything.”
“Same as everyone else.” He raked bony fingers through his limp hair. Even standing still, he seemed balled tight with energy, ready to explode into reckless movement at any time. “The only reason I’m tolerated is because of Marshall. It’s hard to be pissed after all he gave up for me, but it sucks to live in his shadow. Same as when we were kids. I was the screw-up while he could do no wrong.”
“Your parents never played favorites.”
“How would you know?” There was no mistaking the sting this time.
She looked around uncomfortably, hoping the chatty bartender or a server would come to her rescue. If she simply excused herself and walked away, would Willard let the matter drop? They’d barely acknowledged each other when Marshall ran in her crowd. Why single her out now?
“You get it, don’t you?” His expression shifted from combative to hopeful. “Living in the shadow of someone else. You’ve had to do it, too.” His gaze rose to the photograph of Glory and Bryce. “All your life. Just like me.”
Abruptly, she understood. And just as abruptly, she resented the accusation. “I’m not in competition with my mother.”
“But you know what it’s like… people always comparing you, making you feel inferior.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way, but it’s not the case with me and my mom. I’m proud of what she’s accomplished.” As she said the words, she realized they were true. Glory had screwed up—big time—by keeping such an explosive secret, but she’d sacrificed her career. If anything, she was probably the one who didn’t measure up in the eyes of others, not Nicole. Glory would always be the girl who almost made it.
What was it like living with almost hanging over your head your entire life?
“I’m sorry. I have to go.” Nicole no longer wanted the wine spritzer. She just wanted out of the restaurant. Away from the photos of her mother’s failed past, the movie, and the co-star who was both blessing and curse.
She set her half-finished drink on the bar, motioning for the bartender to tally up her tab. One drink. She dug in her purse for her wallet, conscious Willard watched from where he hovered by the photos. She would never become like him, bitter and resentful of a loved one. Maybe his parents had been harder on him than Marshall, but they were probably trying to motivate him to take pride in himself.
“Here you go.” The bartender set the bill in front of her.
“Thanks. Keep the change.” She slid several bills onto the bar.
A snippet of the discussion she’d had with her mom when they’d shared wine on the front porch returned with the force of a thunderclap.
“I bet you wish you never met Bryce Keller,” Nicole said.
“You’re wrong.” Glory’s reply was swift and fierce. Tears glittered in her eyes. “As much as I hated that man—as much as he hurt me—I would never wish away what he gave me.”
What he gave her.
She was such an idiot, stupid and blind. Did other people look at her the way they looked at Willard, judging her resentful of a mother who outclassed her in fame and beauty? Unable to silence the comparison, she walked back to Willard.
The corner of his mouth lifted in a snide grin. “Realized your mistake?”
“I realized yours.” Her voice was firm, backed by abrupt conviction. “It’s not a competition. Sometimes people do things for you just because they care. And because they do care, they screw up. You should take a hard look at yourself instead of trying to find fault in others.”
“Is that experience talking?”
“It is now.” Seeking to escape the sense of defilement he’d resurrected, she spun on her heel to stalk from the restaurant.
She was halfway out the front door when she ran into Glory.
Chapter 18
“These have been such a miserable two days.” Glory’s smile was shaky, but her eyes were dry. She’d cried enough tears for a lifetime, and imagined her daughter had, too. Nicole leaned against her, head on her shoulder, one arm wrapped around her waist. They stood just inside the doorway to Janie’s room.
“But you didn’t spend them moping.” Nicole’s voice held a mixture of wonder and pride.
“I’m trying to turn over a new leaf.” It wasn’t going to be easy nor was it going to happen quickly, but people could change with enough determination—and the support of loved ones. She had Jude. Now she had Nicole, too.
The ugliness of secrets and guilt was behind them. She hadn’t expected Nicole to forgive her or even speak to her again after the way they’d parted. Add Nicole’s failure to respond to her text messages and phone calls and she’d been ready to curl up and wallow in grief.
Jude was the one who convinced her hiding from the world served no purpose. Nicole would come around with time and forgive her or she wouldn’t. Either way, he said, she needed to live with the outcome.
In an effort to put the past behind her, she’d continued to work on Janie’s room. Glory stripped the bedding, pulled the drapes, and hired someone to haul away the furniture. An empty shell remained, waiting to be crafted in new ways.
It’s how she felt starting fresh. She would always be Glory Larkin. There was no escaping that in Hornwood, but she didn’t have to be the girl who almost made it. After all this time—after a failed love affair with Bryce, a failed marriage, and a dead daughter—she had made it. She intended to live for Janie, while being the best she could for the two people she loved most. Nicole and Jude.
“Will you help me pick a paint color?”
“You haven’t already?” Nicole’s eyes were wide, the violet of spring lilacs. Glory brushed a strand of hair, so dark like Bryce’s—like her father’s—from her cheek.
“I was hoping we could do it together. Maybe you could even help me decide what to do with the room. I don’t need another office, but it would make a cozy spot for TV or reading.”
“Janie would like that.”
“This isn’t about Janie, Nic.” Glory pulled away slightly to ensure her daughter could read her expression. “It’s about you and me doing something together.”
“What about Jude?”
“What about him?” She rolled her eyes. “That man couldn’t pick a paint color to save his life.”
The sound of Nicole’s laughter spiraled deep into her soul, magic and warmth, all the levity of life and love. She pressed her lips to Nic’s forehead. “Welcome home, my golden girl with the dark hair.”
Imagine that.
She still had tears left after all.
Maybe it was the memory of Oberon, the sage purple unicorn. When it came time to choose a color for Janie’s old bedroom, Nicole was drawn to soft orchids, lavenders, and heathers. After an evening of drinking wine and studying paint chips, she and her mom eventually settled on berry kiss, a pastel shade that worked well with Glory’s fondness for shabby chic decorating. It took two days to knock out the room. Two days during which Nicole happily forgot about the things that troubled her—Janie’s missing notebook and the constant knowledge she was unemployed.
Amelia texted about a few job openings she’d come across, but Nicole was left with a strange emptiness in her stomach when she considered they were located in Enzo. As much as it disturbed her to admit, in a little over a week, Hornwood had started to feel like home again.
“Did you tell Chelsea about Bryce?” Glory asked her that morning over breakfast.
“I did but swore her to secrecy.” Nicole carried her plate to the kitchen sink where beads of early morning light warmed the granite counters. It was going to be a hot day, growing stickier as the temperature climbed. “Kevin doesn’t even know. She told him I was staying there because you and I had a spat.”
Glory made a chuffing sound. “Easy enough to believe. Or at least it was.” Her smile dazzled, diamond bright. “Leave the dishes, Nic. I want to box up this food. I made far too much and hate to see it go to waste. Vin and Pearl Rose would enjoy it.”
“Jude’s not working this morning?”
“He’s on a later shift today.” Glory crossed to a cupboard where she pulled down two plates.
The farm-style breakfasts she’d been making brought back memories of childhood for Nicole, but amounted to an abundance of leftovers. This morning brought scrambled eggs, turkey sausage, buttery hash browns, and blueberry muffins. As always, Glory could eat whatever she liked and never gain an ounce, while Nicole was conscious of her portions. She usually ran to stay in shape but had been neglectful since returning to Hornwood.
The park across from City Hall would be perfect. It even had a jogging path.
“I think I’m going to go for a run this morning in the park. Since it’s right across from the police station, I can drop off whatever you’d like to send.”
“That’s perfect.” Glory flashed another smile, her silky nightgown swishing around her ankles as she carried the plates from the cupboard to the table. “With Movie Night only two days away, I’m going to be stuck at the restaurant. Jude promised to stop in and help with the last-minute set-up. I don’t know if you remember, but we’ll be closed all day tomorrow and Friday morning for prep.”
She remembered. A full day and a half to transform Glory’s Place into the casino where Nina Maxwell worked as a cocktail waitress. “If I can help with anything, let me know.”
“I think I have it under control, but I can use all the moral support in the world.” Glory scraped hash browns onto a square, peacock-blue plate. “It gets harder each year.”
“I thought you liked Movie Night.” Curious, Nicole propped a hip against the counter.
“I do.” Scrambled eggs joined the potatoes. First on one plate, then the other. “But I certainly don’t like the fawning and questions about Bryce.” She sent Nicole a sharp glance. “The bastard. I still get to call him that.”
“I’d call him worse, but my mom taught me I shouldn’t use foul language.”
“Listen to your mom. She knew what she was talking about.” Glory laughed, flicking her hair from her shoulder. Even that movement was delicate, much like the flutter of her thin hands over the plates. At sixty, she hadn’t lost the poise and grace of Hollywood, even in the simplest of gestures. “Movie Night is fun, but it’s draining, too. Especially considering how long I’ve been doing it.”
“Do you want to stop?”
“I don’t know.” Glory paused, frown lines creasing her brow as she weighed the question. “I suppose it’s a bit like a performance. For that single night, people want me to be Nina Maxwell, not Glory Larkin.” She motioned to a drawer. “Would you pass me the foil?”
“If you don’t want to keep it up, you should be honest.” Nicole handed her the roll.
“The town depends on me.”
“Maybe too much. Remember what you said—you want a fresh start. You’re done with the past.”
Glory ripped a sheet from the package, bright as sterling silver in the morning light. “I’ll think about it.”
Nicole found a parking spot in front of City Hall then carried the plates her mother prepared inside. There was little construction material in the hallway, the workers focused on an office to the right. She caught a glimpse of a stepladder as she passed on her way to the rear of the building.
“Good morning. I come bearing gifts of food.” She breezed through the door, smiling at Pearl Rose, a plate in each hand. “I hope you and Vin are hungry. My mom sent you breakfast.”
“Oh.” The older woman blinked, fingers poised over her keyboard. It only took a moment for her to set aside her surprise. Quickly, she opened the swinging door on the half wall. “What a dear that Glory is!”
Nicole nodded to Vin as she stepped into the center of the office. “Good morning, Vincent.” She hadn’t called him that in years. Hadn’t wanted to. It was a name she only trotted out when teasing or striving to make a point. “Where would you like me to put these?”
“Here, I’ll take them.” Pearl Rose grabbed one plate to peek under the foil, then added the second. “You need to thank your mom for us. No, never mind. I’ll call her myself. First thing though, I’ll take these in the back and heat them up in the microwave. What a lovely surprise.” She chatted to herself as she pattered down the hallway, plates balanced like a server.
Vin shook his head. “Glory definitely made someone’s day.”
“I hope you enjoy the breakfast, too.”
“I never turn down food.” He eyed her, noting her snug t-shirt, sneakers, and leggings. “You look like you’re headed for a run.”
“In the park. I don’t suppose there’s anything new on Janie?”
“Sorry.” He rounded the desk to join her. “I wish it were different, but we keep hitting dead ends. A bracelet that was inscribed by a jeweler who’s no longer there. The Storybook Lady—a woman no one seems to know. And now it appears Hayden’s suicide had nothing to do with your mom.”
