The Widow's Cabin Read online

  I try not to look at Ronan’s truck as I make my way down the path to Mrs. Foster’s door. But his gaze is burning holes in my back, like two cigarette burns.

  While I wait for Mrs. Foster to open the door, I glance over my shoulder briefly and he gives me a curt nod.

  I turn away, my hands sweating as I ring the bell again. When Mrs. Foster opens the door, I almost faint with relief.

  I thank her and she quickly closes the door without acknowledging Ronan. She obviously never wants to let him into her life again. But how will he retaliate?

  When I get into my car, I glimpse her peering through the living room window.

  You have your own problems. The voice inside my head is urging me to drive away, to leave her behind. There’s nothing I can do to protect her from her own son. Especially since I cannot even protect myself.

  I drive fast, but I don’t head in the direction of the cabin. Clark notices.

  “Where are we going, Mommy?” he asks when I don’t turn down the dirt road that leads into the woods.

  “I thought maybe we could drive around for a bit before it gets dark.”

  He doesn’t object. He appreciates anything that keeps him out of the house. I allow him to choose the music on the radio, and I pretend to be having as much fun as he is.

  When I glance in the rearview mirror, I catch sight of a rusty truck. It’s Ronan trailing us, trying to scare me again.

  Panicked, I drive through unknown streets, trying my best to outrun him without speeding. He follows right behind.

  Left with no other choice, I start driving in the direction of the police station. Only then does he disappear. He doesn’t show up again for the rest of the day, not even at the cabin, but I know he will.

  I can’t help thinking that I’m headed for my downfall and Ronan is going to have a large part to play. If he’s become this fixated on me, he might be the one who will connect the dots between me and my past and expose me.

  17

  Clark and I are hiding out in our cabin. I haven’t taken him to Mrs. Foster for two days now, which also means I didn’t get to go to work. If staying close to Mrs. Foster means Clark and I might be in danger, I have to keep my distance, even for a while.

  “I don’t understand,” she said over the phone when I told her I wasn’t dropping Clark off at her house. “I don’t mind taking care of your little boy. Surely you know that.”

  “Yes,” I said. “I do, and I appreciate it so much but–”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  I squeezed my eyes shut. “Nothing. I just want to spend more time with Clark. I’ve been working so much.”

  I wanted to tell Mrs. Foster the truth, but Ronan is her son. It doesn’t matter what kind of relationship they have. Nothing will stop him from being her child, and I don’t want to come between them.

  If I stay away from her, maybe they will rebuild the relationship. I find it hard to believe after everything I heard about Ronan that they will find their way back to each other, but that’s not my business. My business is to protect myself and Clark.

  I asked for four days off from work. Tasha was disappointed, so I hope that’s all it will take for Ronan to lose interest in me. Otherwise I might lose my job.

  The only other option is taking Clark with me to work. Tasha wouldn’t mind, but it scares me that Ronan might show up and talk to him while I’m busy. I don’t want him anywhere near him.

  Hopefully, staying away for a bit would give me time to come up with a plan.

  “Mommy, do you want to play Memory with me?”

  “Yes.” I glance up at Clark from a book I’m reading. “But first, I want us to go into town for a bit.”

  “Can we go to Mrs. Foster today?”

  “No, baby. I just need to make a call.”

  “But you have a phone. There it is.” He points at my cell phone on the couch next to me.

  “It’s not... I don’t have enough credit.” I can’t tell him that the call I need to make has to be untraceable, and I’ve been lying to Clark for so long that this one just rolls off my tongue. I hate that it’s becoming easier.

  “Can we go to the park after you’re finished?”

  “I’m sorry, sweetie. Can I take a rain check?”

  I feel terrible for breaking so many promises to Clark. Since we never got to go out for his birthday redo, I promised that I will make it up to him. Now I’m saying no again.

  “But I gave you so many rain checks already.” He plants his hands on his hips, his eyes flashing with anger.

  But I’m afraid. I’m afraid that the more I put us out there, the more chances we give someone the opportunity to figure out who we are. It’s too risky. I hate what I’m doing to my son, but if I go to prison, it would be worse for him.

  “You’re right.” I gesture for him to come closer. “I’m so sorry.”

  He lays his head on my lap and I stroke his hair, enjoying the warmth of his scalp. He likes it when I soothe him that way.

  “This is the last rain check,” he murmurs. “Can we go next Saturday? And when I finish playing, can we eat a burger at a restaurant?”

  “Okay,” I say.

  He sits up suddenly, his eyes flashing again, but this time it’s with excitement. “You promise?” It doesn’t matter how many promises I have broken; he still believes in me. He’s still prepared to give me another chance.

  “I promise.” I kiss his forehead.

  I have to keep this one. There’s no way I’m going to hurt him again.

  Before we get into the car, I scan the surroundings.

  Every time I’m in the kitchen at night, I keep expecting to see the blinds glowing from Ronan’s headlights. I keep waiting for him to show up at the door, but nothing has happened. Maybe he’s leaving me alone. Maybe all he wanted was for me to stay away from his mother.

  I buckle Clark into his car seat and slide behind the wheel. In my head, I’m already rehearsing the conversation I’ll have with the person who will answer the phone in the Black Oyster housekeeping department.

  I should have already called, but I was nervous that the person would recognize my voice and notify Cole. But I haven’t given up on trying to find something on him, something damaging enough to land him in prison.

  I’m more convinced than ever that he had something to do with Brett’s death. The sounds I heard that night could have been him. He had a habit of showing up at random times. There was a day I found him sitting in our living room when I came home from shopping. No one else was home except him. He said he wanted to speak to me. I never gave him the chance. I stayed out of his way until Brett came home and he finally left.

  He was in the house that night. I just have to prove it.

  I don’t go to the same payphone I used to call Marjorie. Instead, I drive to a different one. By the time we arrive, Clark is asleep.

  He tries to shake me off when I wake him, but I don’t want to leave him alone in the car.

  Holding the hand of my drowsy son, I approach a phone box with skulls painted on the side. Aside from a dry cleaner and a gas station, there’s not much around.

  I don’t want Clark to hear the conversation, so I give him my phone and earphones so he can play games.

  I dial and hold my breath as the phone rings.

  “Housekeeping. How may I help you?”

  “Hi, my name is Rosemary Fox. I work for the EEOC. I’m calling to ask if you can answer a few questions pertaining to your working environment at the Black Oyster Hotel.”

  “Sorry, did you say you work for the EEOC?”

  “Yes.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Equal Employment Opportunity Commission.”

  There’s a brief silence. “Oh, and what did you say your name was?”

  The woman on the other end is Cindy Barnes. I recognize her voice because it’s quite unique—husky and squeaky at the same time.

  “My name is Rosemary Fox. I was wondering if you could answer some questions for me.
We’re conducting research on...on employee harassment.” The words coming out of my mouth don’t make sense. I’m not even sure if the EEOC contacts companies directly when doing research, but I’m guessing Cindy doesn’t know either.

  There’s another, longer silence.

  “Sorry,” she says in a clipped voice. “I don’t have anything to say.”

  I can’t let her go without getting something out of this phone call, so I search my brain for a question that packs a punch and gets me the answers I need.

  “I just have one quick question. Have there been any occurrences in the past that would indicate a hostile working environment at the Black Oyster Hotel in Fort Haven?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cindy snaps. Her voice is shaking, which tells me that she’s afraid to say the wrong thing.

  “Our sources informed us that there’s quite a high employee turnover at the hotel, especially among the housekeeping department. Did you have any complaints in advance of their termination or resignation that might indicate a reason?”

  I personally know that between the time that Brett was diagnosed with cancer and his death, five housekeeping staff left the hotel. Even while he was sick, Brett was responsible for handling the aftermath of their leaving.

  “Ma’am, I’m sorry I’m not able to help you.”

  “Are you confirming that you are working in a safe environment and there’s no cause for concern? Are you sure that you have never observed or experienced harassment from your employer or other employees? I do hope you understand that the only way to end harassment is to speak up.”

  She hangs up on me. I could choose to see it as a failure, but it isn’t. Cindy had said nothing, but at the same time, she said it all.

  I have no idea where to go from here, but I need to dig deeper. The best way to do that might be to get in touch with some of the employees who had left the hotel. I need to find out why. I can guess, but I need the truth straight from them, something that cannot be disputed. But who to start with?

  Then, one person instantly comes to mind. Denise Sanchez. She used to be my friend until I was asked to stay away from the employees. Soon after, she left the hotel. Prior to her departure, she had worked at the Black Oyster Hotel for five years, one of the longest durations that a housekeeping employee stuck around, as far as I could tell.

  I have to find out why she left.

  18

  The doorbell rings. I drop the wooden spoon into the pan, putting the scrambled eggs on hold. I switch off the stove but remain standing in front of it. A trickle of sweat makes its way down my spine.

  Anyone could be at the door, Cole, Ronan, or the police. But I didn’t hear the sound of a car.

  I wish I could see who it is, but the front of the cabin is not visible from the kitchen window.

  I lock the back door and shut the kitchen blinds.

  Clark watches me from the kitchen table with wide eyes. I place a finger to my lips.

  The doorbell rings again and we both stare at the kitchen door.

  Fists clenched at my sides, I move to the door, followed by Clark’s gaze. In my paranoia, I can already hear the sound of the front door crashing as the police kick it down.

  I spin around at the sound of a soft tap-tap at the back door.

  My mouth is dry as I tiptoe to it and place my hand on the handle. If only the person on the other side would speak. I need to know who it is.

  “Who is it, Mommy?” Clark whispers, and again I hold my shaking finger up to my lips. He looks so scared now, but I can’t explain. I can’t assure him that everything is all right because I’m not sure.

  Is this it? Is this the end of the road? Is my son about to witness me being arrested?

  It would be a scar he’d carry for the rest of his life.

  The knocking persists, but it’s gentle.

  I quickly help Clark out of his chair. I’m about to usher him out of the kitchen when I finally hear a voice from the other side of the slab of wood.

  “Zoe,” the woman calls. “Are you in there?”

  My shoulders sink with relief. It’s Mrs. Foster. Before I can open the door, Clark runs to it and turns the key.

  “We thought it was a bad person.” He throws himself into Mrs. Foster’s arms.

  “Not to worry.” Mrs. Foster laughs. “I’m one of the good guys.”

  She speaks to him like he’s her long-lost grandson, but I’m still too shaken to speak. I can’t put into words the relief I feel at not seeing the cops standing in front of me.

  “Hello, Zoe.” Mrs. Foster glances around the kitchen. “Why are the blinds closed on such a bright morning?”

  “Oh, it was too bright,” I lie.

  “No, it wasn’t,” Clark cuts in and I cringe inwardly.

  Mrs. Foster looks at me, but she says nothing. She knows who the liar is.

  When Clark sits back down, I open the blinds again. Then I close the back door.

  “We didn’t expect you to drop by,” I say to Mrs. Foster. “If I knew it was you...” I don’t know what more to say, so my voice drifts off.

  In the time we have been staying at the cabin, she only dropped by one time.

  “I’m sorry. I should have called to let you know.” She’s wringing her hands in front of her.

  Today she’s wearing her favorite dress, a purple number with rose petals and pleats. It was the last gift she got from her husband the Christmas before he died. She wears it at least once a week. “I came to check up on you. I baked a pie.”

  We both look down at her empty hands. She smiles nervously.

  “I guess old age is catching up with me. I forgot it at the house.”

  “That’s all right.” I chew a corner of my lip. “I didn’t hear your car.”

  “I came with my bicycle. When my husband was alive, we often rode together.”

  “That’s kind of you.”

  My knees are still weak, so I sink into a chair after asking Mrs. Foster to sit as well.

  She rests her hands in her lap, one over the other. “I do understand that you wanted to spend more time with Clark, but I got the feeling that there might be another reason.”

  Before I respond to her, I send Clark to the living room to play with the expensive toy train he got from Cole in Disneyland.

  When the train sounds make their way to the kitchen, I turn back to Mrs. Foster. She’s been kind to me. She deserves to know why I’m keeping Clark away from her even though they both need each other.

  “Dear girl, are you okay?” Mrs. Foster lays a hand on top of mine. Her warmth makes me want to reach out and draw her into a hug. “Something is going on with you. You haven’t been yourself for quite some time now. You can tell me anything. I’m a good listener.”

  “You’re right,” I say after a moment’s silence. “Something is going on.” I can’t tell her about myself and my past, but I can tell her about her son and what he’s been up to. “Your son has been paying me visits.”

  She slides her hand from mine and closes her eyes. “I had a feeling Ronan had something to do with this.” Her face sags. She looks as if she has aged a few years in only a matter of seconds. Her shoulders have curled forward and the bags under her eyes seem to have grown darker and heavier. “In a town like Willow Creek, of course word would get to you. I apologize for not saying anything before about him.”

  “You didn’t have to tell me.” As someone who’s keeping deeper, darker secrets, I needed to say it.

  “The thing is, Ronan does not feel like my son. Yes, I carried him for nine months. Nine months and two weeks to be exact. I brought him into this world, and I raised him, but as soon as he became a teenager, he changed. He became a stranger. He was more attached to his father than he was to me. And when his father died, he took it out on me and his...”

  Mrs. Foster lowers her eyes, but I already saw the tears in them.

  “His brother?” I murmur.

  “Daniel was the light of my life. He
tried to hold things together when everything was falling apart, and Ronan despised him for comforting me.”

  She stops talking again and we sit in silence for a moment. I don’t want to push her. I want to tell her to stop if it hurts too much, but she’s not done yet.

  “The boys had a complicated relationship since childhood. It got quite violent at times and Ronan usually started the trouble. He spent a lot of time with the wrong crowd. He became violent, even threatening his brother with guns and knives. I was terrified of him, we both were. My worst fears materialized when they went fishing two years ago. Only Ronan returned home.”

  “Was there an accident?” Tasha said people believe Ronan killed his brother. What if he’s innocent? Everyone deserves the benefit of the doubt. If I do, so does Ronan.

  “I wanted to believe it was an accident, but Ronan had a gun in his bag that night. Before I could show it to the cops, it disappeared.” She inhales sharply. “Daniel had been shot in the head. His body was found floating...floating in–”

  “I’m so sorry. If you don’t want to talk about it, it’s okay.” I wipe the tears from my own eyes.

  “It’s been eating me up inside. Sometimes we have to let things out before they poison us.”

  I wish I could do the same. I wish I could tell her everything, but I can’t trust anyone, not even her. Not yet.

  “Zoe, please tell me you’re not staying away from me because of Ronan. He’s not a part of my life anymore. All he wants is to sell my house and move me into a home.”

  “That’s horrible,” I shake my head. “You’re perfectly capable of living on your own.”

  “The truth is, all he really wants is the money he thinks his father left me for him.”

  I don’t know what to say. Instead, I place both palms on the table and stare at my hands.

  “I enjoy taking care of little Clark,” Mrs. Foster continues. “He makes me feel young again. I would love it if you bring him to the house again. If it’s any consolation, Ronan left town yesterday. Said he never wants to see me again. Please, continue your life. Go to work. I wouldn’t want you to lose your job because of him.”