Chapter 43: In the Shadows

The Murpheys requested that we not attend Haylee’s funeral, which I found appallingly unfair. I was sure that they understood I was suffering as well, and I thought it was cruel of them to deprive me of my final farewell.

“After we sell the house, we will take a detour so you can pay your respects,” my mother promised as she struggled to unhook the sign that advertised her clinic.

“Have you decided where we are moving to?” I asked.

My mother had been driving herself crazy trying to find the perfect location to start her new practice, but she still seemed indecisive. “Where would you like to live?” she asked me.

I didn’t have to give this much consideration. “A large city, cramped, with neighbors so nosey that privacy is considered a luxury,” I told her.

She released a harsh laugh. “Perhaps secluded towns are not for us,” she agreed, then as she gazed at the house she added, “Neither are cursed houses.”

“It is such a beautiful house, though,” I sighed. “Hopefully one day a family can be happy here.”

“I wish them the best of luck,” my mother said in a noncommittal tone as she brushed away any debris that may have clung to her outfit from the sign. She was dressed sharply in a dark pantsuit in preparation for her meeting with our finance manager. “How do I look?” she inquired.

“Like a nice lady that never deserves a happy life,” I responded.

“I believe there is hope yet,” she sighed.

“We are going to have to agree to disagree,” I thought.

Once upon a time I may have shared my mother’s optimism, but getting out of bed in the morning had become a chore. I was moving through each day, waiting for night to come so I could return to my slumber.

I didn’t share this with my mom, because she was already suggesting that I seek therapy, and I didn’t want to be under further scrutiny.

“Where should I store this?” I asked, grasping the corners of the sign.

The realtor hadn’t been too keen on decor and insisted on staging our house with rented furniture that, in my opinion, was a bland contrast to the beauty of the home. When I had voiced my distaste, my mother had reminded me that the realtor was the expert.

I thought my mother had the same notion, but she was so desperate to sell the home, she was willing to tolerate anything—even dull furniture. Meanwhile, all our furniture and personal items filled the garden shed and garage.

“Perhaps you can store it in the attic?” she suggested as she leaned in so I could offer her a kiss on the cheek before she departed. “After you put the sign away, wash the dishes.”

“Aye, aye,” I replied, offering her a salute, which I held as she climbed into her Rav and pulled out of the driveway.

I watched my mother’s car until it disappeared from view. I was about to return to my chores when I noticed a nondescript car began to slow as it approached our house.

After Justin’s death, I had revealed everything to the police—even his parentage. Of course, news had spread fast; the cops were under no obligation to keep that information to themselves, and the town had gone wild with speculation.

Some people thought it was tragic that one family could experience so much tragedy, while others deduced that the Johnsons just had “bad blood,” and the end of their line was a blessing. Some claimed that the property itself was cursed.

Though most believed the last theory, it didn’t stop them from stopping by with casseroles and to offer their condolences. Most were well-meaning, but I suspected that some only came in hopes that my mother or I would reveal new details about what had occurred.

So, when the car began to pull into the driveway, I assumed it was a neighbor and wondered where we were going to stash the latest homemade gift.

But when I noticed the man behind the wheel, my heart seized. It seemed that Andrew Jones had discovered the benefits of quiet luxury.

I watched in silence as he emerged from his BMW. I held my mother’s sign in front of me, creating a barricade between us as he approached.

“Mr. Jones,” I greeted him in a dry voice. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

Undeterred by my tone, he slicked back his dark hair with the palm of his hand. “I was hoping I could speak to your mother. Is she home?”

Though I was certain that Mr. Jones wouldn’t harm me in broad daylight, I was careful not to disclose that I was alone. “What could you want with my mother?”

“I heard you are selling the property. I was wondering if I could make a purchase before the new owners take possession.”

“What could you possibly want from our house?” I blurted in surprise.

He pointed at one of the rose bushes that graced the stairs leading to our porch. “That rose bush.”

Puzzled, I asked, “You want a plant?”

Mr. Jones placed his hands on his hips and studied me. For a moment, I didn’t think he was going to respond, then finally he said, “It’s Rosie’s bush.”

When I glanced over at the bush in confusion, he elaborated. “After Rosie’s death, I had her cremated. At first, I intended to place her in an urn, but when Virginia Cole hired my landscapers to freshen up her yard, I decided to bring Rosie home.”

I gasped in realization. “You spread her ashes under the rose bush.”

“Rosie reminded me of a flower,” Mr. Jones confirmed with a nod. “One that I could make bloom.”

For a moment, my heart almost went out to him, but then I recalled the passage that Haylee had read aloud from Rosie’s journal, and I realized what he was implying. Suddenly, I was sick.

“I should never have brought her here,” Mr. Jones continued. “This place only gave her grief.”

“You didn’t do much to help,” I thought bitterly, then it occurred to me that he might be intending to plant her in his garden. Though this home didn’t offer Rosie the peace she needed, I doubted her spirit would rest well with Mr. Jones either.

“If we decide to let you take it,” I began carefully, “where will you plant it?”

To my relief, he said, “There is a spot at Make Out Point where Rosie liked to go when she needed to escape the burdens of her homelife. She once said it was the only place she found peace.”

I offered him a small smile. “I think that’s a good idea,” I agreed.

Mr. Jones averted his gaze, but not before I noticed a brief spark of regret in his eyes. I felt my heartstrings tug, but before I could throw him a full-blown pity party, I was reminded of how cruel he had been to Rosie and her son.

Desperate to get rid of him, I said, “My mother isn’t home right now. Your landscaping business should have her number on file. Perhaps you should call instead of just swinging by.”

Not missing the disdain in my tone, Mr. Jones began to retreat, “I’ll be sure to do that,” he promised.

I watched as he climbed into his car, not taking my eyes off his vehicle until I was sure that he was well on his way.

Once I was certain he was gone, I lifted the sign, intending on resuming my tasks, but as I approached the porch, a whisper erupted from the tall hedges that marked our property line.

“Psst! Dharma!”

I squinted at the figure that stepped forward to reveal himself. “Toby!” I cried. “What are you doing in my bushes?”

Though his face was still shadowed by the tall shrubbery, I saw him flush as he retreated slightly. At first, I was perplexed, then my own cheeks reddened as I realized that he was attempting to keep his visit discreet.

My first instinct was to insist that he come out of hiding and demand that he stand up to his parents, but then I remembered how difficult it had been to defy my own mother when she had insisted that I not be alone with Justin.

I propped the sign against the porch and relented, approaching the bushes to stand in the shadows with him. His arm was in a sling, scrapes and bruises spoiled his skin, and several bandages still covered him from the hit and run.

He smiled softly. “Sorry that it’s taken me so long to come and see you.”

“No, Toby, ~I am~ sorry,” I said, reaching out to squeeze his good arm. “None of this should have ever happened.”

He shook his head. “Don’t blame yourself. This is Justin’s fault.” He paused. “Speaking of Justin, was that his dad that I just saw leaving?”

I nodded. “Yeah, he came by to ask my mother if he could purchase something from the house before we sold it.”

“He should be apologizing, but he would rather buy his way into people’s good graces,” Toby declared bitterly. “That is the Jones way.”

I thought about the modest car Mr. Jones had selected for his drive today. “I think it will take more than cash to cover up this stench.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Toby countered. “Money is the main cause of memory loss.”

I shook my head. “I don’t want to talk about Andrew Jones—I want to talk about you. How are you doing? I attempted to reach out to you, but your parents made it evident that my calls weren’t welcome.”

Toby grinned. “I told you that I was sheltered.”

“You also told me that you were no protector,” I reminded him. “But when the opportunity presented itself, you rose to the occasion.”

“I guess I just needed something worth fighting for,” he said.

My heart should have leapt with joy at his words, but the hard lump in my chest conjured up one of the few feelings that it allowed me to feel: regret.

Now that I was gazing into Toby’s soft eyes, I realized what my mother had been trying to tell me when she’d explained why she had chosen my father.

I had not found Toby as enticing as I had found Justin, but he offered something better. He was safe, and right now, I would trade everything to feel secure again.

I wanted nothing more than for him to wrap his arms around me and promise to protect me always, but he didn’t.

Instead, he said, “I’m sorry, Dharma, I have to go. My mother is working at the store, but she often takes long breaks so she can check on me. If she returns home and discovers that I’m not there, she’ll lose her mind.”

I nodded in understanding, feeling silly for expecting so much from him. In the larger scheme of things, he was still a kid and not yet ready to become my safe place.

“When everything cools down and you get your social media back, you will look me up, won’t you?” I implored him.

Toby smiled down at me sweetly. “As long as you remain dharmadupree18, I will always be able to find you.”

The ice cap that had formed over my heart melted slightly. I tilted my chin up, hoping my lips would receive one of his soft kisses. Instead, he leaned over and pressed his lips against my forehead.

I bit back my disappointment.

“Promise me that you won’t forget me,” I urged him.

Toby’s face broke out into a grin as he threw back his head and released a hearty chuckle. “I could never forget you. You are the most exciting thing that has ever happened to me.”

I noted his choice of words and cringed slightly as I remembered thinking the same thing about Justin.

Toby cupped my chin in his good hand and tilted my head so he could meet my gaze. “I will miss you,” he insisted. “And maybe one day, when all of this is behind us…maybe we can try again.”

“I would like that,” I told him.

He tucked a stray hair behind my ear. “Until then, try to stay out of trouble.”

“I think I know what to avoid now,” I assured him as he began to retreat into the neighbor’s yard. I lifted my hand and offered him a little wave. After a little rustling and a few broken branches, Toby was gone.

I stood there silently for a few moments. When I did see him again, I hoped to find him happy and safe, with a girl that wouldn’t blow him off for some muscles and a fancy car. A girl who truly deserved him.

I braced myself to feel sadness and loss, but was surprised as my chest tightened, fortifying the fortress it had begun to build. I should have been concerned, but I was relieved that I was being spared another grief.

As I stepped out into the open, where the sun burned brightly, reality returned, and I had nothing left to do but resume my chores. I reclaimed the sign I had abandoned by the porch and made my way into the house.

Once inside, I gazed upward, not looking forward to wrangling the sign up two flights of steps, but as I began my ascent, I had an inspiring idea.

The basement was more accessible, and better yet, it was empty. My mother had declared the basement off limits, fearing that the space would trigger unpleasant memories for me, but what she failed to realize was this could be said for nearly every room in the home.

Resolved to have the chore over with, I threw open the basement door, placed the sign on the steps, and allowed gravity to do the heavy lifting.

At the bottom, I propped the sign on top of the old deep freezer and stood back to admire it. It was a beautiful sign. Above a serene ocean image, it stated, “~Fill your body with good things and become whole again~.”

“I would do anything to be whole again,” I muttered cynically.

From the dark corners of the basement, a raspy voice replied, “Anything?”