Darling

by Mercedes M. Yardley

Genres: Horror; Gothic

Synopsis

Darling has its demons.
Cherry LaRouche escaped the claws of Darling, Louisiana at sixteen. When she is forced to return after her mother's death, Cherry and her children move back into her childhood home where the walls whisper and something sinister skitters across the roof at night.
While Cherry tries to settle back into a town where evil spreads like infection, the bodies of several murdered children turn up. When Cherry's own daughter goes missing, she's forced to confront the true monsters of Darling.

 

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Release date: August 23, 2022

Publisher: Black Spot Books

Print pages: 307

Sample

Chapter One

CERISE ESCAPED THE claws of Darling, Louisiana at sixteen. She hopped into the passenger seat of her new husband’s rusty Camaro and drove away, her puff of brown hair flying behind her.

“You will not marry that piece of trash, do you hear me?” Mama’s white face had gone even whiter, but with spots of color riding high on her cheeks. “Ephraim is disgusting. Vile. He’s got the blood of a monster in his veins. God will damn you forever, Cherry.”

“I’m goin’, Mama.”

“You’ll regret it.”

Those were the last words her mama spoke to her before she left. Her head was high, and her voice was as cold as it ever was.

But her mama was wrong. Cherry didn’t regret leaving at all. Not when she had her first child a few months later. Not when the baby refused to meet her gaze, or eat properly, or when the doctor told Cherry and E that something was wrong with their newborn son. Not when E left them, saying he wasn’t going to play daddy to no retard. Not when she was cleaning houses with her new son strapped to her chest in order to make ends meet, or when she was forced to do things she didn’t like to pay the rent, and not when those things resulted in her sweet baby Daisy.

She didn’t regret leaving that evil little town for one second, a town where the very soil was steeped in something as old and wicked as the Earth itself. In Darling, she was just Cherry, Iris’s pretty daughter, and there was nothing more to her than that. Until she became Cherry, Iris’s troublemaker daughter who got pregnant in high school, that is.

And then one day the phone rang.

“Hello,” the man on the phone said tentatively. “I’m looking for Cherry LaRouche.” He had clear diction and a professional way about him. Cerise hoped he wasn’t calling on the bills.

“This is Cerise. Hush, sweetie,” she said to Daisy, who was playing on the floor with Cerise’s slippers. Sliding them on her tiny toddler feet. Sliding them off. On. Off.

“Cherry?”

“Nobody calls me Cherry anymore. Who is this?”

The man cleared his throat. “I’m very sorry. This is John Holfield. I’m a lawyer from Darling. Perhaps … you remember me?”

“John Holfield? Johnny H? Don’t tell me you’re a lawyer now!” Cerise laughed, the first real laugh she’d experienced in a long time, and the sound of it was sweetness. She never thought anything from back home would make her laugh again, but the idea of that old bully Johnny H. being the neighborhood lawyer, well. That was something that would make the heavens themselves wipe tears from their eyes.

He chuckled back. “Yes, well. Things have changed since we were kids, Cherry. Er, Cerise. I haven’t lit fire to anything in ages now.” And then he was serious again, his voice the voice of a man with a Very Important Something to say, and not the freckled boy who spent more time grounded than not. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but your mother passed away last week.”

He stopped, pausing awkwardly while he waited for the news to hit. Johnny H. had certainly learned some manners in the last few years, Cerise thought to herself vaguely. She bit her lip for a second before saying, “I’m sorry, Johnny, did I hear you right? Did you say my Mama …?” She couldn’t finish. There was a feeling inside of her chest, something hard and out of place. Is it sorrow? Perhaps it is, but it feels something exquisitely close to hope.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier,” he said hurriedly, “but it took me a while to track you down. You’re not listed anywhere.”

Cerise leaned against the counter, squinted at the new cobweb that had been spun during the night. “Sometimes things are better off not being found if you know what I mean. Mama’s death isn’t my concern.” She felt dizzy, like the weight she had been carrying for years had lifted off her shoulders, and decided to press itself against her head instead. She grabbed a chipped mug the color of the sky and ran it under the faucet. After drinking it down, she held the cooling mug to her forehead.

“Ch— Cerise, we need to know what you want us to do with your mother’s body.”

“Put it in a box and shove it in the ground,” she said. “That isn’t my mama anymore. It’s just something else.”

“But,” John said delicately, “there are other matters to attend to.”

“Like what? Her stuff? Sell it all. I never want to see it again.”

“The house,” he said. “The house, Cherry. It belongs to you.”

Cerise paused. Daisy pulled herself up on Cerise’s leg, balancing awkwardly.

“Cherry? Are you there?”

“I’m here.”

“About the house …”

“Sell it. I don’t want nothin’ to do with it.”

John sighed. “I know that sounds like a good idea, but it just isn’t possible. Your mother’s will specifically states—”

Trust her mother to make everything difficult. Cerise closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing.

“I’m sorry, Johnny. What was that?”

His voice was spun together out of patience. He was a different man altogether from the boy she had known. This both pleased her and made her heart drop.

“I said you can’t sell the house for five years after your mother’s death. You can’t rent it out, either.”

“Mama always was particular about people touching her things.”

She heard the smile in John’s voice. “So I heard. It’s empty, Cerise. If you want it.”

“Thanks, but no.”

“There’s more.”

“More?”

“Iris paid in advance for the lights. Phone, water, sewers. All of it. For the next five years.”

“What?”

“House is running. Only thing missing is you.”

“Why would she do that?”

“Maybe she wanted you to come home.”

Cerise’s world spun. She slammed a hand down on the counter to steady herself. She gagged. Caught her breath. Rinsed her mouth out in the kitchen sink.

“Cherry?”

“I said no, Johnny.”

She hung up. Glanced around and saw the tattered human-colored wallpaper and moldy ceiling from the broken pipes above.

Her son, Jonah, crept from the next room. His arms and legs were made of too-thin bones and knobs. He flicked his hand at the phone and cringed.

Cerise fell to her knees and hugged her son. At seven, he was still as short and slight as a much younger child.

“Was the phone too loud? No more phone, sweetheart. It’s time to go to work anyway. Want to bring your ball? You can bounce it on the stairs while I clean.”

His blue eyes stopped roaming the room and drew back to her face. She kissed the top of his fuzzy blond head.

“All right, baby. Let me just grab your sister.”

Cerise settled Daisy on her hip and grabbed her keys. She herded Jonah out and carefully locked the door behind them. Into the car and across town. The children played and slept and snacked while Cerise scrubbed and vacuumed. Three houses today. Her body ached by the time she returned, feeling as though it belonged to a much older woman. Both children had fallen asleep in the car. Daisy clutched a doll that Cherry had clumsily but lovingly sewn together with scraps.

“Jonah,” she whispered, shaking his shoulder gently. “I need you to get up. Time to go inside, baby.”

“Kids sacked out, huh?”

Her landlord’s voice startled her. Cerise gasped and jumped, hitting her elbow hard against the car door. She rubbed it, blinking away tears.

“You scared me,” she said.

“Getting back pretty late tonight. You’re usually home before dark.”

“I picked up an extra house today, sir.”

Her landlord barked.

“Sir,” he said. “Oh, I think we’re beyond that, don’t you?”

The voice was thick as syrup and twice as sticky. Cerise kept her expression neutral, tried to add a little friendliness to it. Something that wasn’t a smile but vaguely resembled one.

“What can I do for you? Rent isn’t due for another couple of days.”

“I know that. I just saw you drive up and wondered if you needed help, that’s all.”

“No, we’re fine, thank you. Jonah, wake up.”

“Want me to carry him in for you?”

“No!” She heard the panic in her voice. Saw his eyes narrow dangerously. Reminded herself she needed this apartment.

“No, thank you,” she said again, kinder this time. She bared her teeth again, and he smiled back. “Although it’s nice of you to offer.”

Jonah moved, yawned, allowed Cerise to pull him to his feet. He staggered forward under her guiding hand. She grabbed sleeping Daisy and kicked the car door shut with her foot.

“See? Right as rain,” she said, but the landlord continued to walk with her.

“Cerise. How is money this month?”

She nearly stopped walking.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m looking out for you. I wanted to see if you needed to … work out a trade again. If you’d be short on the rent this month, is all.”

Her mouth filled with a vile taste. She felt her lips twist and buried her face in Daisy’s brown curls.

“I’ll have the full amount this time, sir.”

Her landlord rested his hand heavily on Cerise’s shoulder.

“I want to help you, you know. Make sure the kids have enough to eat. If you ever need anything, any money or anything, I’m sure we can work something out.”

Cerise made a sound deep in her throat. She coughed to hide it.

They reached her door. She scrabbled at it, pushing her key into the lock. Her hand was shaking, and she gritted her teeth, determined to steady it.

“Offer’s always open.”

The door opened, and she pushed Jonah inside, then slammed the door behind her.

She locked it. Wished there were four more locks to throw.

“Bedtime, darlings.”

Daisy didn’t move when Cerise put her in the old bed and kissed her goodnight. She helped Jonah change into his pajamas and then put him down beside his sister. She went to the chipped bathroom sink to splash her face with water. Dabbed at her face with a threadbare towel.

She was afraid to peek out of the window in case a dark silhouette still stood outside her front door.

It was late at night, but not too late. She called Johnny back.

“The house,” she said quietly. “I’ll take it. Thank you.”

She set the phone carefully in its cradle.

For the first time in eight years, Cherry LaRouche was going home.

Chapter Two

THE HOUSE HAD always terrified her.

It was beautiful by anyone’s standards. Set far off the main road of Darling, separated from sight by trees and a winding dirt and gravel path that made it seem grander, somehow. Three stories of gorgeous Southern architecture. The paint was always crisp and white, offset by dogwood and purple wisteria. Red and yellow roses climbed the trellis outside the large porch. Iris LaRouche had spent many hours tending to her garden, making the house look as stunning outside as it did inside.

But beauty is only skin-deep, as Cerise had learned early from her beautiful, beautiful mother.

The house was just like the town. It harbored something deep inside. Something dark. Something that roiled under the thin veneer of magnificence, something pulsing and veiny and ugly. Cerise always knew it. Always felt it. There were nights when she swore the hallway rose to trip her. Where she heard whispers coming from the walls, like gossiping neighbors. But if the house was neat enough, shone enough, if there was enough sparkle and paint and shine, maybe nobody else would know it. Maybe they wouldn’t believe it. Perhaps that’s why Iris was always planting and pruning and hiring teenage boys to keep the paint pristine. Perhaps that’s why Darling always held parades and fairs and the Dogwood Festival. Hide the rot under something pretty and blooming. Hide the sickness. Don’t let it show.

Her childhood home made her gasp now. The paint was peeling terribly. Windows were broken. The garden was full of weeds.

Her mother was dead. It hit home suddenly, the only explanation for the house’s decay. But there was more than that. Had she been ill? A tired, run-down woman at the end? Cerise couldn’t picture her mother standing this level of deterioration. It would have struck right into the gut of her pride. Something must have been terribly wrong. She felt a split-second of guilt and then pushed it aside.

Jonah quickly crawled out of the car seat. He looked at the house and his face crumpled.

“It isn’t that bad,” Cerise promised him. Her eyes roamed over a large wasp’s nest in the eaves, the paint rubbing off the wood in moldy patches.

“At least, it won’t be that bad for you two.” She squatted down and rubbed noses with her son. “We’ll make it feel like home, won’t we?”

She took Daisy under the arms and swung her to the ground.

“What do you think? See the house? This is where Mama lived when she was a little girl. Just like you.”

Daisy tipped her head back, taking in the house and the dark trees that lined the lane. Tall trees with cruel, extending branches. They were the types of trees that terrified little girls.

I’ll cut them all down, Cerise promised the kids silently. If they scare you the tiniest little bit, I’ll take an ax to them myself.

It was a house of horrors. A house of nightmares.

Cerise took both of her children and shepherded them inside. Today was going to change everything.

She wasn’t afraid anymore. She wasn’t a child. She was a grown woman with responsibilities that would crush somebody younger or more fragile. She had come into her own and gone from Mama’s Cherry to her own Cerise.

Except her heart beat hard against her chest and she started to sweat as soon as she stepped across the threshold. She let go of Jonah’s hand and ran her palm against her forehead.

It hadn’t changed inside, not in all the years she had been gone. The same hard green wallpaper hinted at something floral, but reminded Cerise more of something sinister and mean, like the gardens that inhabited her nightmares when she was a small girl. The sunny yellow kitchen had somehow managed to be stormy. The overstuffed chair sat in the corner of the living room, surveying the area with Mama’s stern eye.

Cerise suddenly felt sick.

Jonah wrapped himself around her legs and whimpered. Daisy snuggled close as well, pointing at the old stuffed owl her mother had kept over the fireplace. Its face was twisted, cruel, and the bend of its body was unnatural.

“That was a barn owl,” Cerise told her children. “Owls like to eat mice. What does an owl say, do you remember?”

But they didn’t want to remember. They buried their faces against her jeans and Cerise closed her eyes. The old owl had terrified her as well when she was younger.

“Do you like it?” she asked too brightly. “Do you want to see my old room?”

Without waiting for an answer, she prodded them gently up the wooden stairs. Both kids held the handrail carefully.

“Good kids,” Cerise said. “Look how careful you’re being.”

The second floor hadn’t changed, either. The floorboard on the right still squeaked. Old family pictures of people Cerise had never recognized hung haphazardly on the walls. The back bedroom was full of dust and old odds and ends hidden under ragged blankets. Cerise smiled before she opened the door to her room.

“Here it is,” she said and swung it open. “This is where I—”

Her words were cut short. The room was empty. Her bed, her dresser that she had bought with her own money, the full-length mirror she used to get ready in front of for school every morning. It was all gone. The room was horrendously, heartbreakingly bare. She had been erased.

The kids looked inside, and uninterested, turned away.

Cerise half-listened to the giggling as the kids, forgetting their earlier fright, took turns stepping on the creaky board. She looked around her old room, her heart as bare and unkempt as the walls.

Chapter Two

THE HOUSE HAD always terrified her.

It was beautiful by anyone’s standards. Set far off the main road of Darling, separated from sight by trees and a winding dirt and gravel path that made it seem grander, somehow. Three stories of gorgeous Southern architecture. The paint was always crisp and white, offset by dogwood and purple wisteria. Red and yellow roses climbed the trellis outside the large porch. Iris LaRouche had spent many hours tending to her garden, making the house look as stunning outside as it did inside.

But beauty is only skin-deep, as Cerise had learned early from her beautiful, beautiful mother.

The house was just like the town. It harbored something deep inside. Something dark. Something that roiled under the thin veneer of magnificence, something pulsing and veiny and ugly. Cerise always knew it. Always felt it. There were nights when she swore the hallway rose to trip her. Where she heard whispers coming from the walls, like gossiping neighbors. But if the house was neat enough, shone enough, if there was enough sparkle and paint and shine, maybe nobody else would know it. Maybe they wouldn’t believe it. Perhaps that’s why Iris was always planting and pruning and hiring teenage boys to keep the paint pristine. Perhaps that’s why Darling always held parades and fairs and the Dogwood Festival. Hide the rot under something pretty and blooming. Hide the sickness. Don’t let it show.

Her childhood home made her gasp now. The paint was peeling terribly. Windows were broken. The garden was full of weeds.

Her mother was dead. It hit home suddenly, the only explanation for the house’s decay. But there was more than that. Had she been ill? A tired, run-down woman at the end? Cerise couldn’t picture her mother standing this level of deterioration. It would have struck right into the gut of her pride. Something must have been terribly wrong. She felt a split-second of guilt and then pushed it aside.

Jonah quickly crawled out of the car seat. He looked at the house and his face crumpled.

“It isn’t that bad,” Cerise promised him. Her eyes roamed over a large wasp’s nest in the eaves, the paint rubbing off the wood in moldy patches.

“At least, it won’t be that bad for you two.” She squatted down and rubbed noses with her son. “We’ll make it feel like home, won’t we?”

She took Daisy under the arms and swung her to the ground.

“What do you think? See the house? This is where Mama lived when she was a little girl. Just like you.”

Daisy tipped her head back, taking in the house and the dark trees that lined the lane. Tall trees with cruel, extending branches. They were the types of trees that terrified little girls.

I’ll cut them all down, Cerise promised the kids silently. If they scare you the tiniest little bit, I’ll take an ax to them myself.

It was a house of horrors. A house of nightmares.

Cerise took both of her children and shepherded them inside. Today was going to change everything.

She wasn’t afraid anymore. She wasn’t a child. She was a grown woman with responsibilities that would crush somebody younger or more fragile. She had come into her own and gone from Mama’s Cherry to her own Cerise.

Except her heart beat hard against her chest and she started to sweat as soon as she stepped across the threshold. She let go of Jonah’s hand and ran her palm against her forehead.

It hadn’t changed inside, not in all the years she had been gone. The same hard green wallpaper hinted at something floral, but reminded Cerise more of something sinister and mean, like the gardens that inhabited her nightmares when she was a small girl. The sunny yellow kitchen had somehow managed to be stormy. The overstuffed chair sat in the corner of the living room, surveying the area with Mama’s stern eye.

Cerise suddenly felt sick.

Jonah wrapped himself around her legs and whimpered. Daisy snuggled close as well, pointing at the old stuffed owl her mother had kept over the fireplace. Its face was twisted, cruel, and the bend of its body was unnatural.

“That was a barn owl,” Cerise told her children. “Owls like to eat mice. What does an owl say, do you remember?”

But they didn’t want to remember. They buried their faces against her jeans and Cerise closed her eyes. The old owl had terrified her as well when she was younger.

“Do you like it?” she asked too brightly. “Do you want to see my old room?”

Without waiting for an answer, she prodded them gently up the wooden stairs. Both kids held the handrail carefully.

“Good kids,” Cerise said. “Look how careful you’re being.”

The second floor hadn’t changed, either. The floorboard on the right still squeaked. Old family pictures of people Cerise had never recognized hung haphazardly on the walls. The back bedroom was full of dust and old odds and ends hidden under ragged blankets. Cerise smiled before she opened the door to her room.

“Here it is,” she said and swung it open. “This is where I—”

Her words were cut short. The room was empty. Her bed, her dresser that she had bought with her own money, the full-length mirror she used to get ready in front of for school every morning. It was all gone. The room was horrendously, heartbreakingly bare. She had been erased.

The kids looked inside, and uninterested, turned away.

Cerise half-listened to the giggling as the kids, forgetting their earlier fright, took turns stepping on the creaky board. She looked around her old room, her heart as bare and unkempt as the walls.

“Hello, Johnny. Yes, we arrived safely, thank you. Yes, the place still feels the same.”

Cerise sat in the kitchen. The phone was older than she, a dial round that reminded her of secretaries in old movies. The kitchen, although hard, was still the most welcoming room in the house.

“How was your trip? And what do the kids think of the house?” John sounded a little less like John the Lawyer and more like the Johnny H. of her childhood. Cerise was grateful for this. It was a reminder that there were some things she had loved while growing up. He was one of them.

“They’re all tuckered out. I put them up in the main bedroom. They’re going to sleep with me tonight. I thought I’d get a few things unloaded while they’re sleeping and not underfoot.”

“Cherry, folks’ll be out to help you in the morning. You don’t have to do any of this yourself.”

Cerise stopped toying with the phone cord. “Help me? You mean people know I’m coming back?”

He laughed. “You coming back to Darling is all anybody has been talking about of late. You know how it is. Any little thing that happens is fodder for the rest of them. Not much that happens here.”

“Yes, I know exactly how it is.” Cerise seldom heard her voice sound so ugly, but the chill started in her gut and spilled its way out. That’s why I left this place: people couldn’t mind their own business. They didn’t know where my life ended and where their lives started. “I don’t want their help, John. I’ll do it myself.”

She slammed the phone down firmly and buried her face in her hands. It was hard enough coming back to this horrible place, but knowing that people had been talking about her for weeks? What would they say about her children? What would they say about Cerise and her lack of a husband? She either had a husband when she ought not or didn’t have one when he was supposed to be around. Whatever her choices were, the timing was always off.

Cerise uncovered her face and stood. She took the old, terrifying owl from over the fireplace and tossed it out of the front door, into the darkness. The wildlife scattered away, and it was satisfying. She was tired of running and wasn’t a scared teenager anymore. No matter what the townspeople said about her, she was going to hold her head high. She was Cerise LaRouche, and that counted for something. She’d make it count for something.

Chapter Three

CERISE WOKE UP suddenly. There was a sound, something sliding against the wood outside of her window. She lay still and silent, her children snuggled beside her in the bed.

There it was again.

Cerise slid out of bed and crept to the window. It was an animal of some kind, most likely. It sounded too substantial to merely be the wind, but what kind of animal could make it up to the third story of the old wooden house? She tried to remember if there were any trees close enough to scratch against the window, but her memory didn’t stretch that far.

Scratch. Slide. Scrabble.

Cerise looked around for something to use as a weapon. She didn’t want to be caught empty-handed if some diseased animal came crashing through the window at her. Though that was being silly, wasn’t it? Such things didn’t happen in real life.

Did they?

She picked up a heavy lamp from on top of her mama’s chest of drawers and held it like a baseball bat. She peeked back at her children. Still sleeping with tearstains long dried on their cheeks. Today was a tough day for all of them.

Cerise walked softly on her bare feet, slowing the closer she got to the window.

Please don’t let there be spiders or, heaven forbid, snakes on this floor, she prayed fervently. It would be more than she could stand. It would send her straight around the bend to crazy town.

She reached the window, took a deep breath, and gently rapped on the glass. There was a swift swirl of violent movement and a sound that made her scream in her throat. She fell back and swung the lamp at … nothing.

A quick glance at the kids. Still sleeping. Cerise froze, listening, but the scrabbling was gone. She stepped quickly to the window and peered out. A shadow ran through the trees, but whether it was a man or an animal or simply her imagination, she couldn’t be sure.

It would be several hours before she could go back to sleep. The sun was already starting to brighten the treetops outside when she managed to crawl back under the covers and put her arms around her little sleeping ones.

“There,” she whispered against Daisy’s hair. “Our first night in the house. We survived.”

It was such a little thing, but it seemed of the utmost importance to Cerise. She fell asleep even while the birds began to sing, a small smile on her face.

Again, Cerise awoke to a noise. This time it was hearty and bright. The sound of car doors slamming and heavy boots on the porch.

“Cherry! It’s just me, darlin’. Joe Benson. Me ‘n a coupla guys are here to haul your furniture on in.”

The voice was friendly and jovial, floating up the stairs. Cerise sat up and automatically grabbed for her clothes.

“Oh, and we have the little ‘uns. They came running downstairs a few minutes ago. They ain’t causing no trouble, so don’t worry about them none.”

Cerise noticed the bed was empty and cursed under her breath. She’d talk to the kids later. Right now, she just needed to get downstairs.

She shimmied into her jeans and pulled on an old purple bra with a safety pin in the back. She put on the same shirt she wore the day before. She hadn’t brought in any clean ones; they were all in Old Sal.

Running her hands over her dark hair, Cerise hurried down the stairs. When Joe saw her, he tipped his hat.

“Cherry. You have certainly grown.”

“How have you been, Mr. Benson?”

“Real good,” he said. “Two kids? They’re cute ones, too. Are they both Ephraim’s?”

The question socked the wind out of her.

“Jonah is E’s. Daisy’s daddy is different. Both were no account scum who didn’t know how to be men.” She looked Joe dead in the eyes and was a little surprised when he didn’t look away.

“I’m not sayin’ they were and I’m not sayin’ they weren’t. Ain’t no business of mine what happened between you and the Lewis boy. I ain’t got a beef with either of ya.” His eyebrows pulled down and Cerise took a step back. “So, don’t you be smacking me on the nose with no newspaper when all I did was ask, young lady. You were raised with better manners than that, and don’t you forget it.”

Cerise dropped her eyes to the floor.

“I’m sorry, sir.”

He cleared his throat.

“Looks like your little ‘uns are hungry. Why not rustle them up something for breakfast while we unload your stuff? Where’s the moving truck?”

Cerise shifted uncomfortably.

“There isn’t one. I … don’t have much.”

Joe looked at her.

“Anything for us to move?”

She flushed but looked him in the eyes.

“I have some garbage bags in the back of the car. Clothes.”

Joe nodded. “Well, this place has everything you need, doesn’t it? Me and the boys will work on the outside for a bit, then. Clean some things up. Save you some trouble.” He cleared his throat. “Lulu sent over some food for ya. Knew you wouldn’t have time to go shopping what with the move and all.”

Cerise’s smile was forced. “Thank you.”

Daisy ran into the room, her pigtails flying like banners. “Mama! Trucks!” She flew into Cerise’s arms, and Cerise held her close.

“Sweetie, I need you to stay by Mama, all right? You and your brother can’t be underfoot. Where is Jonah, anyway?”

Daisy pointed out the front door.

Cerise took Daisy’s hand, nodded at Joe, and stepped onto the ratty wooden porch. “Jonah! Come inside for breakfast!”

She sounded like her mother. She never thought that would happen, but there it was. Standing on that old front porch and yelling for her kids. She strode toward the truck, Daisy running alongside as quickly as her legs would let her.

“Jonah. Breakfast. Now, I don’t want you bothering …” The words died in Cerise’s throat as she looked into the truck.

“Hiya, Cherry.”

His youthful face had changed since she had last seen him. He’d filled out, his hard planes and angles had softened into the features of a man. He wore a beard now. She never thought she’d see this lanky youth with a beard.

“Hello, Mordachi. It’s been a long time.”

“It has.”

“Mama! Jonah!” Daisy pointed at her brother, who was sitting in the driver’s seat, steering the parked pickup truck happily.

“Cute boy you have here,” Mordachi said. His eyes never left Cerise’s.

“He’s a good boy. Jonah, come on down. Let’s get you some toast.”

Jonah made a sound of protest, a sort of screaming cry, and Cerise sighed. “Sweetheart, let’s go. Don’t you want some peanut butter toast?”

She dropped Daisy’s hand and reached up for her son. Mordachi leaned over, grabbed the boy, and lowered him down with a strong arm.

“Thanks,” Cerise said. She walked the kids toward the house.

“Sure is nice to have you back, Cherry,” Mordachi called after her.

“Wish I could say the same thing,” Cerise answered in a grim tone. She went inside and sat the kids at the table. Opening the basket of food that Lulu had sent over, she made breakfast. Daisy ate. Jonah, not as much. She searched through the bag of treats she had stashed in the pantry the night before. The basics. Bread. Peanut butter. Apples. Grapes. Water bottles. She dropped the bread into the toaster and she and Jonah sat watching it while Daisy ate and chattered away in baby speak.

Cerise pulled Jonah on her lap. “Are we waiting for the toast?” she asked. He made a “huh” sound. “Are you excited, sweetheart? Will it be yummy?”

“Huh.”

“And did you have fun in the truck? You were pretending to drive, weren’t you?”

“Huh. Huh.”

The toast popped up. Jonah flapped his arms in excitement and hooted happily. Cerise put the toast on the white kitchen dishes she had hated as a child. Pristine. Cold. Harsh. She carefully spread the peanut butter with a knife. Corner to corner. Jonah watched in fascination.

“Here, sweetie. This is for you. Go sit down.”

A shadow fell across the table. Cerise looked up. Mordachi was standing in the doorway with a strange expression on his face.

“What do you want?” Cerise asked him. It came out harsher than she intended, but she was too tired and flustered to do anything about it now.

Mordachi blinked slowly at her.

“What are their names?”

“What?”

“Their names. What are their names?”

His voice was so soft and gentle that it took Cerise back for a minute. What did she have to fear from Mordachi? This was the voice of the boy she remembered. Trailing along behind her on their way to school. Sitting on the back porch, cradling the broken body of a tiny stray cat that had run into the family’s dogs. Watching from his window while she drove away with E.

Suddenly Cerise was ashamed of herself. Mordachi had done nothing but try to help her, and she was punishing him for sins not of his making. She could be gracious, this once.

“This is Jonah. He’s seven. And this is Daisy. She’s almost two. How many fingers is that?”

Daisy held up four pudgy fingers. Cerise gently pushed two of them down.

“I’m lots and lots of fingers,” Mordachi said. He spoke slowly, just as he always had. It had irritated Cerise. More than once she had told him he should just spit it out, just hurry up and say whatever it was he had to say, that the world didn’t have enough time for him to drawl everything out.

“So, Jonah is E’s, huh?” Mordachi said. It wasn’t a question. He gently ruffled Jonah’s fuzzy hair.

“Don’t do that, he doesn’t like to be touched,” Cerise said automatically. She reached her arms out for the boy, but he didn’t squawk or scream. He didn’t throw his toast down in terror and flee the room. He continued eating, unfazed by the heavy hand resting on top of his blond hair. Cerise looked at the hand in surprise. “He doesn’t seem to mind you, Mordachi,” she breathed in amazement.

Something moved in Mordachi’s eyes, then, something hidden and a little angry. This was a change from the gentle man-boy she had known, and Cerise leaned back slightly.

“Think I’ll hurt your boy, Cherry? Think I don’t know how to handle a child? That maybe there’s some bad blood running in my veins?”

Cerise grabbed his hand from Jonah’s head and held it tightly in her own.

“No, it isn’t that at all, Mordachi. It’s just that he doesn’t usually react well with strangers. Or even people he knows, for that matter. But you’re doing fine, aren’t you, sweet boy?” She turned her attention to Jonah. He looked at her and grinned, both eyes squinching closed like they did when he was genuinely happy. “You like your uncle Mordachi!”

“Uncle … Mordachi?” The man said the words gently, letting them roll around in his mouth like candy. “I haven’t thought about that for a long time.” His brown eyes flicked to Cerise. “Why didn’t ya let me meet them before? I thought lots about being an uncle, back when it first happened. I thought maybe you’d bring them home sometime. You or E.”

Cerise sighed and let go of his hand. “I was never going to come back.”

“So why are you here now?”

“I needed the house.”

“That’s it?”

“What do you mean, ‘That’s it’? Of course, that’s it. What else is there?”

Mordachi ruffled Jonah’s hair again, tugged gently on Daisy’s pigtail, and stepped back. “Yeah, how could I even ask such a stupid question? What else would be here for you? Nothin’, I guess. You sure left us in the dust quick enough.”

The color rose in Cerise’s face. “You have no right to come in here and—”

“I think I have lots of right, Cherry. You took my brother from me when you left. Think E ever came home after everything fell apart with you?”

Mordachi turned on his heel and left without a word. The busy sounds of sanding and hammering stopped suddenly. Cerise peeked her head out of the kitchen and saw a handful of local men standing there silently, staring at her.

Mordachi’s truck started outside, and his spinning tires threw mud against the house before he drove away. It sounded very loud in the uncomfortable silence.

Cerise stood there. Her children, noticing the change in atmosphere, huddled up to her side.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I just …” She put her arms protectively around her children and blinked rapidly to keep the tears out of her eyes. One of the men shifted, looking uncomfortable, and Cerise cleared her throat again.

“I’m sorry I yelled at Mordachi. I’ll apologize to him later. And thank you. For your help. I’m not used to help, not really. I don’t know how to react, anymore. But you’re doing this for us, and that was nice. Thank you.”

Joe stepped forward, tipped his hat. Slapped his hand against the newly sanded wood.

She blanched at the thought of not being able to afford paint, and her eyes found her feet again.

“You’re here, Cherry. Like it or not, you’re home.”

Joe’s voice was softer than she’d ever heard. It sounded like resignation to her. Her own thoughts being spoken aloud.