"I guess I haven't ever really had a place I felt that way about," I said. That wasn't true exactly. Golden Willow had stuck with me, taken up residence in my soul, but not in the way that she was talking about. It was like some kind of parasite that wouldn't let go, leaching away any happiness I dared to have.
"I think this place was my first love," June said. "And then when Cade came back here too, I guess it was just meant to be."
As if on cue, her husband joined us on the porch. He walked up behind her, slid his arms around her belly, and kissed her on the side of her temple. June closed her eyes and leaned back against him. It was such an intimate gesture, I felt almost like I was intruding on a private moment.
"Hey babe," Cade said. "I'm going to head over to the shop for a little while. Little Stan is asleep in one of the guest rooms."
"Okay," June said. "I'll see you later."
"My shop in town," he said to me, by way of explanation. "If you need anything picked up, I can bring something back with me."
"Thanks," I said. "I think I'll need a car rental or something, but that can wait till tomorrow."
"All right," he said. "But if you need anything, don't hesitate."
"Thanks."
I averted my eyes, giving the couple a moment of privacy as he leaned in to kiss June on the lips.
"I won't be home too late, June bug," he said.
She laughed. "Stay there as long as you like," she said. "Stan has been good about sleeping through the night the past few days and I'm going to be out like a light in an hour. Paint to your heart's content."
"I'll try not to be there all night." He grinned. "See you later."
I watched as he crossed the meadow to the other house and got on a motorcycle, the chrome glinting bright even in the early evening light. The rumble of the engine cut through the stillness of the air, and my eyes followed him as he drove away.
I felt a rush of fear in the pit of my stomach, looking at him, hearing the rumble of the bike's engine. It brought back memories, too many, of living in the Golden Sunset Mobile Home Park, in the small southern town that had nothing going for it but the paper mill and a couple of strip clubs. The bikers would roll through town, filling up the only hotel nearby, a seedy decrepit place with a neon motel sign hanging by the road, missing two letters: TOWN M - T-L. The light worked intermittently, buzzing on and off and giving the place an even more disreputable flavor.
I hated those times, when the bikers blew through town. They always spelled bad news for my sisters and I. Bikers in town meant that my mother would be gone for days while we fended for ourselves, only returning to pass out in her room and come down from whatever the hell she had taken.
"Cade has a shop in town," June said, her voice cutting through my thoughts. "Just opened it not too long ago. Does custom paint jobs on bikes."
"It's nice to have something like that," I said. "I've always thought it would be nice to be able to create something from nothing, you know?"
"I admire that about creative types," June said. She looked at me, her expression searching, but she didn't say anything else. "We stay in the house right there. If you don't need anything else tonight, I'm going to head over there with little Stan. I'll be back in the morning, bright and early. I usually bring by breakfast around nine, just muffins and things like that, but if you want something later than that just let me know. The kitchen's all stocked up, too, so you should be set."
"Nine sounds just fine," I said. "And June?"
"Yeah?" She asked, turning and stopping before she walked back inside.
"Thanks," I said. "All of this is wonderful."
"You're more than welcome to stay here as long as you like. This is the kind of place where you can keep a low profile." She paused. "I love romantic comedies, by the way."
She knew who I was.
If anyone else had said something like that, it would feel threatening, dangerous. But when June said it, it felt comforting, like a promise that this was a safe place.
It was a strange feeling.
***
CHAPTER NINE
ELIAS
I drove through town on the way to my house, down along Main Street, passing the little coffee shop, and the ice cream parlor, and the stores that sold all kinds of country knickknacks. West Bend was the kind of small town you see in movies, with a downtown that looked like it had been transplanted straight out of the fifties. By all appearances, it was a quaint little place, the kind of place where nothing bad happened. If you were just visiting West Bend, one of the tourists who came through during winter ski season, that's definitely the impression you would get.
That's what River thought, I knew that much. I could see the expression on her face, when we were driving out here, and then pulling up to the bed and breakfast.
Of course, a visitor didn't know West Bend like I did. A visitor had no history here, the kind of history that comes from growing up in a place where your brother did what mine did. A place where your parents were who mine were.
A place where you were a fucking pariah.