Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

N ews traveled fast in Jasper Falls. Erin called the coroner, but couldn't bring herself to wait inside the house with the body, so she was back to standing in the snow and shivering in the cold. Unable to stomach the stillness, she shoveled the walk, refusing any thought that tried to intrude the hollows of her mind.

She couldn't think beyond the next step. Couldn't comprehend the changes to come or the responsibilities that she would now shoulder. So she shoveled, the scrape of metal over cement a soothing glide that wiped her mind clear.

When the coroner arrived, neighbors crept onto their porches and stared. Sad smiles watched her, waving at her, despite never having lifted a hand in her direction before. But they loved Ward.

"Your daddy always had the best crumb cake," Mrs. Spencer said, staring at the house as she walked her old chocolate lab, Gus. "You let me know if you need anything, sweetie."

Erin didn't know how to respond. She didn't know Mrs. Spencer, despite being her neighbor for all these years. She didn't realize the woman knew her dad. But then again, she didn't. None of them really knew Ward Montgomery.

When Erin watched them wheel that black body bag out of the house, she only felt numb. No relief. No sadness. Nothing.

When the van left, the house was empty, yet she still felt his presence. It was in the scent of his aftershave and cigarettes clinging to the air, in the half-eaten meatloaf in the fridge, on his chair they weren't allowed to touch, scribbled on the note above the thermostat that said not to lower the temperature below seventy-two. He was everywhere and she couldn't stand to be near him, yet she didn't have anywhere else to go so she returned to the porch, sat on the cold front step, and held her shovel, too numb to feel the chill.

It didn't take long for the news to travel and, soon, a familiar truck pulled up at the curb. She should have expected that he would be the first to check on her—perhaps the only one who cared enough to come by.

The engine shut off and his heavy work boots hit the pavement. Finn slammed the door and looked at her, a sad smile on his face. He paused at the end of the freshly shoveled walk. "You okay?"

She shrugged, unsure what she was at that moment. She was alive. That was more than she could say for her father.

Her fingers curled around the wooden handle, pressing the firm stick into her knees like a seatbelt on a ride as if it might keep her from falling out. Finn hesitated and she sensed he wanted to comfort her but was unsure how.

She'd done that. She forced that awkward distance between them.

By the end of their relationship, long before Mallory or any of his children were even a twinkle in his eye, she had forced walls up between them and broken any closeness they once shared. Finn would try to touch her and she would shoulder him off, unable to bear even the slightest physical contact.

Her body was constantly sore with bruises and she'd withdraw, exhausted with the excuses for why she was wearing long sleeves in August or wouldn't put on a bathing suit in June. Finn would see the evidence of abuse on her and she'd play it off like she was the clumsiest girl in Jasper Falls, but deep down she believed he knew. And as much as she wanted him to save her, she was terrified any attempt to help might make her life that much worse.

He lowered to the stoop, sitting beside her but not touching her. Together, they stared at the walk, an occasional flurry floating like a feather through the cold air.

She missed his presence but wasn't sure if she could honestly claim she missed him . It was just nice to feel like someone cared about her.

The problem with Finn was that he never did anything half-assed. He cared too much. Erin couldn't be what he needed and no amount of caring in the world would change who she was. He needed someone who could love him back. She had loved him enough to make sure he got that—even if it left her all alone in the end.

At first, the distance hurt. He took it personally and didn't understand her moods, didn't understand why she was pushing him away. He cared too much, asked too many questions—things she couldn't answer and didn't dare to say.

Eventually, he just accepted that she was mostly a miserable person. She hated that he thought of her that way, but it was for the best. If she tried to be nicer, he'd hang onto hope that his love might one day smooth all her jagged edges, and that simply wasn't possible. She couldn't let him waste his time trying to fix her because he would only end up resenting her when he learned some people couldn't be changed.

You always wanted too much from me, she wished she had the courage to say, but he probably didn't even think about their past anymore. These were her scars to bear.

I never wanted you to see the real me, but you wanted so much closeness, she wanted to explain. The thought pushed a tear past her lashes.

Of course, he silently handed her…his glove.

She frowned at it and glanced at him in question.

"I don't have tissues or a hankie."

"Thanks. Hankies are gross anyway."

He chuckled and bumped her with his shoulder. "Blow your nose if you have to. I've got others."

She blotted her eyes with the broken-in material and breathed in the nostalgic scent of Finnegan McCullough. Sometimes she wondered if her decision to leave him had been self-preservation or pure self-destruction.

She'd run into the arms of men who didn't care as deeply. She found the comfort she so desperately needed with strangers. The shallow connections she found were bite-sized pieces of intimacy she could easily digest. Those men didn't care if she smiled or if she lay silent and sad. They didn't care if she talked or stared blankly at a wall. They just wanted the physical contact and that was all she could handle.

Finn had needed more. He grew up in a loving home and craved a deeper love she couldn't give.

Looking at him now, her eyes prickled with more unwelcomed tears. Let him believe her tears were for her dad. She'd rather that than have him know she still cried over him.

She'd broken Finn's heart a lifetime ago and no matter how many times he'd asked why, she only ever fed him lies. She didn't deserve his kindness and concern now yet here he was—dependable, loyal Finn.

His boot scraped over the salt sprinkled on the step as he faced her. She sensed he wanted to hug her but didn't know if the contact would be welcomed.

God, she wanted someone to hold her before she spiraled completely apart, but no one knew how. Even she didn't know how to console herself, unsure why some things set her off when she needed comfort.

Untouchable. More fragile than glass and more prickly than a cactus. No one, including herself, knew what to do with such a complicated, difficult person, so they no longer tried.

Wiping the tears from her eyes, she lifted her chin and looked up at him, her cheeks chapped from the cold. "Can you take me to go pick up my car?"

His brows pulled tight and he glanced at the empty driveway. "Sure. Where is it?"

"It's at the garage in town. Last night, I hit some ice and slid off the road. I needed to get it towed out."

"Are you okay?" His stare studied her face and she realized she never put makeup on and he was likely staring at the bruise.

Meeting his eyes, too emotionally and physically exhausted to pretend, she said, "It'll heal like all the rest."

And then I'll never feel his anger again… The random thought felt out of place as if a stranger had whispered it into her conscience's ear.

Finn studied her for a long uncomfortable moment. "You know, Erin, sometimes endings are a relief, even though they're sad."

Her heart jolted with a spike of panic. Did he know? Was this his way of finally acknowledging all the secrets left unsaid between them?

He'd always known that she hated her house and wanted to get out of Jasper Falls, but he never dared to discuss the why. She never wanted him to. It was too humiliating, acknowledging her family's dysfunction next to his family's perfection.

But he was right. Some endings were a relief and at least, now, her house might be a peaceful place.

"I just need to get my keys," she said.

He waited on the porch when she went inside. Digging through her purse, she searched for her car keys, but she couldn't find them. She rummaged deeper, checking all the pockets of her purse and her coat, digging through her belongings and examining every crevice. They weren't there.

"Erin? You okay?" He cracked the door but didn't come inside.

"I'm fine. I'm just looking for my keys." Where the fuck were they?

She pulled items out, shoving her belongings onto the hall table. Compact. Mascara. Lip gloss. Her wallet. Random receipts and business cards. The pile built and tumbled to the carpet, her personal belongings scattering everywhere.

Her throat closed, the breath in her lungs blocked by frustration as her eyes welled with more unwanted tears, making it harder and harder to see.

"I can't fucking find them!" she snapped, turning the bag inside out and throwing it at the wall.

"Hey, hey." She broke the moment he touched her.

A sob ripped out of her. Not smooth like a splinter, but painfully like a healed over scab ripped open into a fresh wound.

She shattered. "I don't know how to do this. I don't know what I'm supposed to feel."

"It's okay." He pulled her into a hug and pressed his lips to her hair. "It's okay."

He held her for several minutes, until she pushed him away, remembering how his concern could often trigger a sense of claustrophobia in her. It was too much. Too close.

"Let me call down to the garage and see if the keys are in the car." Stepping away, he took his phone out of his pocket and quietly made the call while she refilled her purse.

"We'll be there soon." He ended the call just as she stuffed the last item back inside her bag. "The keys are there. It's got a few dings and a scratch on the passenger door, but it can be picked up."

She looked at him, a thousand unspoken gratitudes and apologies swirling between them, but she could only manage one right now. "Thank you."

"Any time."

Did he know her appreciation went far beyond helping her with the car?

As she sat beside him in a truck she'd never ridden in before, she stared silently out the window. Finn made a call to his wife, letting her know where he was and what he was doing.

"Love you too, babe. I will." He set the phone in the cupholder and gripped the wheel. "Philly said she's sorry for your loss and you'll be in her thoughts and prayers."

Erin swallowed, believing his words were sincere.

"Thank you," she choked out, wishing she had the words and courage to tell him how much his presence meant to her. Until her brother arrived, she'd be navigating this nightmare alone, unsure what to do or how to feel.

Harrison had said he was on his way, but she had no idea how long he would take. She knew nothing about her brother's present life. Only that he was too busy to visit or call. He hated everything he came from and when he rushed out of their world, he was instantly swallowed up by a fancier life full of long days, late nights, and fast women.

He had a big job with big money. For all she knew, he was flying home and making arrangements. But she hoped he drove. The drive wasn't that far from Manhattan and if he drove, he wouldn't be on a schedule the way he might be if he held a plane ticket home.

As the truck rumbled down Main Street her eyes watched the empty road. Vacant sidewalks rambled by as stores remained closed for the extent of the storm.

Her head turned quickly, as they passed the hardware store, spotting a bouquet of flowers resting against the door.

Who leaves flowers for a corpse? She supposed everyone did. Maybe the flowers were for her. No. No one cared about her.

She realized then the hardest thing she'd have to stomach over the coming days would be the town's grief for a man none of them truly knew. Their condolences would be painful little lies she'd swallow like jagged little pills.

Would she smile and nod, pretending their version of her father was correct? He was dead. Gone. She could finally tell the world what a rotten piece of shit he was. Or, she could let all of her secrets die with him. Take it to the grave. Is that where that saying came from?

It was enough to make her feel crazier than she already felt on a regular basis. As if her reality was just a reflection, a version of the truth with no real substance or tangibility. No one would believe her anyway. They'd accuse her of seeking sympathy and call her a liar. They all hated her. And how dare anyone speak ill of the dead or smear the name of beloved Ward Montgomery?

Her secrets had never felt so lonely. Her mind was opening and overflowing, fears and feelings spilling from compartments she'd hidden years ago. Things only she'd ever know. Things Harrison refused to discuss.

When they reached the mechanic's, she paid for the tow and thanked Finn for the ride. He hesitated. "Is your brother on his way?"

"He should be here tonight."

"If you don't want to be alone or in that house, you're welcome to come to our place. Philly's making fish tacos and we've always got plenty of leftovers."

She didn't want to impose. It would be weird to sit down with a woman who never spoke two words to her, and weirder for his wife who never got more than Erin's undeserved dirty looks.

She envied Mallory, not because she got Finn, but because she was normal enough to keep him and it sometimes hurt Erin to catch glimpses of their happy life. Finn had found everything he deserved and Erin didn't want to ever interfere with that.

"Thanks, but I should go home and wait for Harrison."

The house was silent and dark when she returned. She sat at the kitchen table, desperate to busy herself but completely unsure of what to do.

After several long minutes, she jumped to her feet and raced out into the snow. Her legs sank in the deep drifts as she awkwardly marched through the yard. Her bare fingers dug through the iced surface, scooping away the packed layers until she felt the cold glass of the casserole dish.

For the next hour, she focused her mind on following a recipe she knew by heart, carefully sifting the flour and mindfully sprinkling the sugar. When the crumb cake was finished, she set it on the stove like she had done every night for as long as she could remember.

Unsure why she did such a thing, she stared at the cake. Was it a postmortem apology to a man she'd never have to face again, a man who made her life miserable and chased away every ounce of love and joy that ever tried to enter this house? Or had she made it to feel in control as if that last cake somehow told the world she'd baked it for herself not him? Or was that just another lie?

His existence was a lie. His shop was a lie. That cake was a lie.

Everyone thought they knew him and they thought they knew her, but they had both been liars. She lied for him and she lied for herself. And in his death, those lies survived. Gone. What was left? Who was she without him? She was the empty result of his cruelty and his impact lingered like an invisible scar, stealing every bit of substance she thought she had and leaving nothing but shadows behind.

Sometimes people told themselves lies because lies were more comfortable than the truth. Everyone in Jasper Falls hated her, but she lied to spare them. She lied because their comfort was more important than hers, and she didn't want to be the one to spoil their image of their safe and happy little town or the illusion of sweet old Ward Montgomery.

She gave her life away to live a lie. For them and for him. And while they might all hate her as a result, no one hated her as much as she hated herself.

And now, she was even less than a lie. She was a shadow. A weak imprint of something that isn't real, something people step on and pass without a thought.

The front door clicked and she quickly blotted her eyes. The sun had faded, filling the kitchen with hues of red and purple. Harrison filled the door and she stared at him for a minute, trying to acclimate the man before her with the memory of the boy who left this house many years ago.

"Hey."

"Hey."

His clothes were too pressed and his hair too styled. She didn't recognize the mask he so carefully donned so she found no sudden comfort in his presence.

He pulled a chair back from the table and sat across from her, folding his hands on the worn surface. Then she saw his fingernails and smiled. His hands were familiar. He'd always chewed his nails down to the quick. Maybe it was an anxious tick or just a habit he couldn't break, but it pleased her to see he was still doing it. Those were her brother's hands.

Distance had made them this way. Their only common ground was a man and a home Harrison spent his life ignoring. He ran much like Erin had dreamed of running, but she didn't have his courage and whenever she tried to leave, something always brought her back.

As they sat in silence, staring at the surface of the table much like she had for the past several hours, she worried about the expenses ahead.

"I don't know if Daddy had a will. I have no idea what everything's going to cost," she said, her eyes focused on a grain of salt.

"I'll take care of it." His voice was gruff and without emotion. "They can just throw him in the incinerator for all I fucking care."

Her heart jerked. Harrison had a different way of handling things. He ran away and buried the parts of his life he didn't want to face. She could never do that. She could never give up the hope that if she tried a little harder she might one day gain his approval and he'd stop hurting her.

No matter how mean he was or how cruel he treated her, she subconsciously found herself doing things for him. Maybe that was what victims of abuse were supposed to do. Maybe that was how it worked. No matter how much she hated him, the thought of his praise or approval could motivate her more than anything else. And not once had she succeeded in earning a "good job" or "I'm proud of you" from the miserable bastard.

Not once did he look at her and simply smile. Never, in all of her life, had he told her she was doing okay or that he loved her.

That would never happen now.

She'd wasted her entire life chasing something that never came, something that would never come. She was a fool.

"He wouldn't want to be cremated," she said. "He was Catholic."

Her brother scoffed. "Some fine fucking Christian he was. Yeah, he was a real saint."

Her insides churned. She was powerless. If she didn't have the money to bury him and her brother refused, she had no choice but to accept his decision.

"Please, Harrison. He needs a funeral. If you can't do it for him, do it for me." She didn't know why she needed this. "The people…they'll…they'll want to say goodbye."

She feared, without a funeral, condolences would have no end. This was her home, her town. She didn't want to get stopped on the street to hear what a great guy Ward Montgomery was. Let them have their day to mourn, say whatever they had to say, and put him and his memory to rest. She just wanted closure.

"Fuck the people. Where the hell were they when we were gettin' hit? They knew and they did nothing."

Her eyes blurred. "They didn't know. We covered for him."

His jaw locked, but he didn't deny it. Maybe he told himself lies enough times that the narrative had changed and he painted himself unaccountable so he could sleep at night. But she remembered how it really was. Harrison had the courage to run, but he never had the courage to come clean. So he ran somewhere their dad wouldn't go, somewhere no one gave a shit about Ward Montgomery.

"It's all bullshit," he growled. "They didn't know him. They didn't give a shit about us or who he really was. This is just one more lie we're telling for him."

"You're going to leave again, but I have to stay here."

"No one's keeping you here, Erin."

He knew it wasn't that simple. "The store?—"

"Fuck that store. I'd burn that just as quickly as I'd burn him." He shoved back from the table and stood. "I'm staying at the Brick Hotel in town. Call me if you need anything." He paused when he spotted the crumb cake on the counter, his scowl burning into the crumbled topping as he seethed with unspoken fury.

He never even took off his coat. Pausing at the kitchen entrance, he looked back and said, "I'll pay for the casket and I'll pay for the grave so we can bury him once and for all, but I'm not paying for a service or a stone. He already left his imprint. I'll be damned if I contribute to one more lie about the kind of man he was."