Willows: A Novel

by Michele Katic

Genres: Marriage & Divorce; Literary Fiction; YA Fairy Tales & Folklore

Synopsis

Sam never truly appreciated the perfect life she’d created for herself until it began to crumble. She knew that before she could find the strength to move forward, she had to move backward—back to Willows, the only home she’d ever known, a home that held sweet memories of her grandparents’ love and her childhood antics with cousins Fran, Sierra, and Cleo.

The thought of their all meeting at Willows filled Sam with joy. When she phoned them, she couldn’t know she was interrupting a tragic moment in each of their lives. How could she imagine talking with one cousin as a corpse was being removed from her house, or while another contemplated where in the world she could find a place to hide. Struggle, loss, and betrayal plagued all three young women as they tried to make sense of their lives, and like Sam, they too needed this gathering.

Sam soon realizes that her relationships with her cousins are far more complicated than she’d grasped when she was younger. Would they all finally understand the balancing act their grandparents had performed to protect them, right or wrong? Was it time to learn the answers to all the questions the girls hadn’t even known to ask? Were they ready for the truth?

 

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Release date: June 20, 2023

Publisher: R. Michele Katic

Sample

CHAPTER ONE

Max had no way of realizing that his life was about to change in a significant way. He might never realize it, but others would. Whether they told him was a whole other question.

Without the usual spring in his step, Max headed to his truck. He almost immediately regretted having agreed to cover for his friend Harris’s job at the 24-hour minimart. In his wildest dreams, Max could have never imagined what a dump the place would be, and the people working there were beyond bizarre. If it weren’t for everything Harris had done for him, he’d have bolted out of that hole the very first night. Now that his obligation was nearly fulfilled, Max just hoped the forecast of rain would be wrong and his last shift would quickly be behind him, followed by an easy drive home.

With only the pounding rain to keep him company, Max counted the minutes until he could rid himself of this place. When it was obvious that his replacement would be late—after all, why would tonight be any different?—Max pulled his cell out of his pocket and called his father to fill the time.

Finally, Marta’s rusted Pinto darted into the parking lot and pulled in next to Max’s truck. As always, Marta made sure she was close enough to add to her week’s supply of dings to his once perfect paintjob. Max continued to watch as she swung open her door—ding!—got out of her car, flicked her cigarette through the air, hiked her jeans up over her stomach, and started to the door.

“Maxwell,” Marta grunted in a groggy voice. If she were prone to making excuses, she would say that she’d overslept, but she wasn’t so she didn’t.

“Hey.” Max kept his eyes a safe distance from hers. He hated how uncomfortable and often downright fearful Marta made him feel. It wasn’t her generous figure or her spiked hair with bursts of orange tips that spooked him. It had taken only a day to get used to the clank of her tongue ring against her teeth when she talked and the tattoos around her beefy arms. No, it was the anger behind her piercing blue eyes that shot a cold uneasiness through Max.

Marta kicked the screen door shut behind her and snatched a bag of chips off the counter as she marched toward the back of the store.

“I have to get out of here!” Max called after her. Twenty minutes later he shoved Harris’s timecard into the prehistoric time clock, lined it up, and pulled the lever down until the machine loudly clunked military time onto his card. He was finally free.

“You gonna clean the head before you go?”

“I’m off.” Max slammed the screen door and quickened his steps to the safety of his truck.

It was a whopper of a storm—the kind the northern coast of California was notorious for. Max struggled to see the road as the windshield wipers fought gallantly against rain that poured hard and steady. His mind was back on the phone call with his dad less than an hour ago.

Max’s dad had warned Max that he wouldn’t clean up after him this time, but why would Maxwell take him seriously? After all, his dad had threatened him so many times before. Like the time Max dropped out of school for a semester to drive a limo in Vegas. Max got the same threat when he took a sabbatical from school to sell timeshares in Hawaii. On both of those escapades his father had ranted about consequences and responsibility, but eventually softened and made things right for his son. Why would Max hesitate to take a job on a seventy-foot salmon trawler named Maggie Mae? He had never been to the North Coast and knew nothing about commercial fisht ing, but those types of minor details never stopped Max. How hard could being a deckhand be? Max was strong, caught on quickly, and was a downright likeable guy. What Max hadn’t counted on was his stomach’s violent reaction to the ocean’s endless roll. Even the fairest captain of the sea couldn’t pay someone to spend the majority of the time dry heaving over the side of the boat. Naturally, as always, Max called his father after this misadventure, but this time it was different

: his father not only wouldn’t pull strings to get him back into school but also refused to send him a cent to get back home. Max got it—he was expected to squirm. Max knew the game better than anyone. He would make promises that he’d never keep, even though he meant to at the time. It was a game he and his father had played for years. All right, he had made a mistake here and there, maybe more than a few, but he was an honest person and had never broken the law, not a big one anyway. His adventures were definitely life experiences that he would relive in his mind over and over again, but maybe, just maybe, he was growing weary and yearned to settle into a more normal life.

This last call, Max could tell his dad was weakening, at least on getting him home. He wasn’t so sure about help getting him back into school, but just getting home was a huge weight off Max’s shoulders. He would worry about school later.

The heavy rain was beyond any storm Max had experienced on the North Coast. Thick, muddy water poured down the mountains like falls, causing rivers of brown murk to rush over the roadway. Max’s mind was racing as fast as his car. He lead-footed it around all the sharp curves, miraculously keeping in his own lane. It was the third and last hairpin that he misjudged. He could probably have corrected, except for the rain and the car that appeared on the road, headed right for him. Max’s eyes fixed on the man’s arms struggling with the steering wheel. He saw the clenched jaw of a man fighting to right a really bad situation. Somehow, Max knew the man wasn’t alone.

Max’s mind was battered with these images in a flash. Then, abruptly, everything slowed to a nightmare that would burn forever in his soul. The rear lights of the car gradually disappeared over the mountainside, the slow cracking sound of trees giving way against heavy steel, then the car horn that had been a solid blare went deafeningly silent. Max was alone on the road as if nothing had just happened. He could have been stopped suddenly for a startled deer that darted off to safety at the last moment. His mind argued with itself whether this was all just a horrific illusion. The silence screamed at him. As if startled out of a solid sleep, Max came back to the sound of rain pounding his truck like a hundred angry fists. Confused, he struggled to understand. Approaching headlights snapped him back into a reality he could handle. He pulled the car over to the side of the road and killed the engine, then rested his forehead against the steering wheel. He vaguely remembered the driver pulling alongside him and asking if he was okay. He thought he’d told the man he’d just had a close call with a deer but that he was fine. He clearly remembered finally starting his car and driving away, grateful that the deer had disappeared safely down the mountainside. 

CHAPTER TWO

Sam stood motionless in front of the kitchen sink, her eyes fixed on the glass of water as she waited for the Alka-Seltzer to dissolve so she could gulp it down, gag, then hope it would clear up what she suspected was a slight hangover—or possibly it was the turmoil that had taken up residence in her stomach these last few weeks. Sam felt jittery and uncertain about almost every part of her life. The way she saw it, her future had pretty much tanked. She blew a stray hair off her forehead and lifted the glass, chugged the chalky drink, then finished with a hearty burp. Somehow, she had to find the strength to clear her head and get dressed for work.

The flyers, which she’d spent hours designing, had been mailed out to customers and neighboring businesses. Pale yellow and gold banners along with balloons had been ordered, printed and delivered, and now sat in boxes, ready to decorate the store. Not to mention caterers who’d already been paid in full to prepare and deliver fresh pastries to go with coffee in the morning, finger sandwiches for lunchtime, and hors d’oeuvres with champagne in the evening. Sam had gone completely berserk with the planning, not realizing then that she couldn’t afford such an elaborate event. Three weeks ago, she had been giddy with anticipation. That was then. now she wished she could just hide in some hole without anyone noticing.

Brad had made sure the store looked festive, just like Sam expected he would. She planted a stiff smile on her face when the applause broke out the moment she was spotted entering Pages. There were no options—she needed to speak. Other than a few murmuring voices at the edges, she held the room’s attention. Her voice started out shaky: “I want to thank all of you for coming to help us celebrate. Without you, today wouldn’t be possible.” Tears pooled in her eyes. “Please enjoy, and thank you again.” Sam’s words caught in her clenched throat. She wished her tears were those of happiness, what the people standing in front of her thought. They couldn’t possibly understand the paralyzing grip that regret and fear had on Sam. They didn’t know that if she couldn’t right her present situation, the building they were now standing in would return to what is was before she opened her bookstore, an empty storefront, the eyesore of the neighborhood. Worse yet, her employees would be out of a job. They didn’t deserve that. Sam was exhausted from holding in her emotions, but she braved through a few minutes and accepted congratulations from her customers and neighbors as well as her employees. She wished she could relax the smile frozen painfully on her face. Here it was, the day she’d started planning for since the day she first opened her business. It didn’t seem possible this was the one-year anniversary of Pages. How could it have all gone so bad without her knowing it? Sam knew it was her fault. She had, after all, neglected the most important parts of Pages. Still, she should have had some forewarning, some kind of sign.

Sam caught the scent of the flowers as she entered her office. White long-stem roses, her favorite every day of the year, except for today. She hated that they were there, and if they were from Brad, as she suspected, she hated that even more. The thought of having to act grateful or happy seemed beyond her reach.

She could feel her muscles relax slightly now that she was alone. Hanging up her jacket, she quickly checked the card, which confirmed that the flowers were from Brad. Sam didn’t want to dwell on what today was, but she knew it was impossible not to. Somehow, she had to get a grip on herself and her situation. She just felt too numb to know how to do that just now. She didn’t have the option to crawl away. Somehow, someway, it needed to be faced and dealt with.

Sam recognized Brad’s tap on the door. “Yes.”

Brad bustled in, waving messages in the air. “I’ll get you coffee and a pastry in a minute. Just needed to go over these.” He waved the messages again. “They’re from your fans.” He laughed as he placed three of the messages in front of her. “Congrats. Yadda-yadda.

This one is from Mr. Barra, your landlord. I think it’s about your flat. He did mention a meeting with you this morning… that you missed?”

“Oh, shit, I completely forgot!” Sam had decided to sign another lease on her apartment. Just one more decision that had cost her a night’s sleep. She figured that she had enough in her personal account to hang on to her place a little longer. Maybe her landlord would consider a six-month lease rather than the year, but Sam was afraid to ask. She figured if she was going to do a belly flop in the pool of life she might as well do it with a big splash.

“Should I call him and reschedule?”

“Yes. Apologize and tell him anytime he wants to meet will be fine with me.”

“Got it!” Done with the messages, Brad started out the door.

“Brad,” Sam called after him, moistening her lips and attempting a smile. “Thank you for the flowers.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll be back in a flash.” With a quick wave, he walked out.

Brad had always been Sam’s right-hand man. He knew what she wanted, often before she knew she wanted it. She wondered what his life was like outside of the bookstore or if the store was his life. He was there before she was every morning and never left at night until after she was gone. She often teased him that he had a bed hidden somewhere in the store and she was determined to find it. He made every aspect of Pages his personal responsibility. Sam often marveled over how Brad had come about. Even though his lack of experience glared off his application, Sam was drawn to him, and against what she knew was right, she’d hired him right on the spot. Brad was a success story. What he lacked in experience he made up for in his enthusiasm for the job. He quickly learned the ropes and became Sam’s most valued employee as well as a cherished friend. That he was extremely handsome could have been an issue, but his being gay cancelled that out. Sam could work closely with him with no chance of a potentially tragic romantic attachment on either side. If she had to find something wrong with Brad it would be his excessive mothering. It could be smothering, and just as often intrude into her space, which she kept sacredly for herself.

Brad had skipped the knock on the door and barged in as he used to before Sam had, during these last few days, turned into the boss from hell. He didn’t know what had changed her, but he sensed a glimmer of the Sam he knew, and hoped it meant she was getting back to herself. The smile that spread across his face almost cheered her up.

“Here’s your java, and let me tell you, these are to-die-for scrumptious!” He placed a small paper plate with a gooey pastry on it that on any other day Sam would have devoured in the blink of an eye.

“First,” Sam pointed to the roses, “I want to thank you again for the flowers, they’re beautiful.” She needed to keep going or she would lose momentum. “I know I’ve been a little difficult to live with lately.

.” Sam ignored the puff of agreement Brad let out, pinched off a piece of pastry, and popped it into her mouth. “Yum, very good.” She nodded her approval.

“I know. Doesn’t it just make your toes curl? I was talking to the caterers and they would be very interested in supplying us with an assortment of pastries on a daily basis.” Brad watched for Sam’s reaction. When she didn’t speak, he cautiously continued, not wanting his enthusiasm to turn against him. “Chad, the owner, said he’d give us a good deal on them. It would be a great addition to the coffee shop.”

“I’m sure you’re right, but can we talk about it later?” Sam wanted to explain her behavior, to make him understand why pastries weren’t her priority right now. She wanted to talk to someone besides herself. She opened her mouth to blurt out every little detail of what she was going through, but a small voice inside of her kept her quiet. At least let him enjoy the day of celebration. Brad gave her a disappointed nod and let silence reign until Sam decided to speak.

“Back to the way I’ve been acting.” She paused to retrieve her train of thought. “I don’t want to go into the whys, but I do want to apologize if I’ve offended you. It has absolutely nothing to do with you.”

“No need to apologize.” Brad decided not to pout over the forgotten pastry idea. He worried about her mood lately and was relieved to see these small spurts of the old Sam. “Should we go out and celebrate our anniversary tonight? I made reservations at—” His voice trailed off at her look of frustration.

Sam held up her hand to stop him. “Oh, Brad, I’m really not up to it right now. We can do it at a later date, I promise. Then we can do it up right. After all, it’s your anniversary too.” Samantha smiled ruefully. She could go just so far with this cheerfulness thing, and she hoped Brad would understand. Thankfully, he acted like he did, but she knew he definitely didn’t.

Sam and Brad settled down to some pressing business that needed to be addressed, then she left for the appointment Brad had set up with her landlord.

Brad was more than happy to return to the celebration going on downstairs, which was far more pleasant than the dark mood that hovered over Sam’s office. He picked up the paper plate with the pastry Sam had mauled. He would worry about his boss tomorrow. Today he was determined to enjoy his one-year anniversary.

CHAPTER THREE

The last thing Sam wanted to do after she met Mr. Barra and signed the one-year lease was to go back to Pages, but she did and was glad for it. There were more people milling around in the store than there had been that morning. They were not only enjoying the food but were buying. A local author whom Sam had invited appeared to have done quite well signing and selling his books. An employee was restocking the new-releases display while Brad was occupied ruling over the masses. Despite Sam’s dark mood, it wasn’t long before she too was caught up in the festivities.

“Sam!” Brad waved from across the room and headed toward her. “It has been an absolute madhouse.” He stood next to her, his gaze flitting around the room. “It’s been constant since you left. Did you expect it to be so busy?” Not giving her a chance to answer, he went on, “I most certainly didn’t.” He sighed contently, arms folded over his chest.

“It’s wonderful. I didn’t expect that so many people would buy books today.”

Brad looked over at the cash register. “I know. The book signing went very well.”

Jennifer, one of Pages’ best customers, bustled in and wiggled between the two of them. “Bravo on a job well done! Everything looks wonderful.”

“Thank you, but Brad deserves most of the credit.” Sam rested her hand on Brad’s shoulder.

“Thank you, ladies,” Brad beamed. “What am I thinking? Let me get you a glass of champagne. Jennifer, can I get you one too?”

“How thoughtful. Thank you.”

Sam watched as Brad scuttled off into the crowd.

Jennifer leaned toward Sam. “I’ve got to admit, when you first opened I didn’t know how in God’s name you would make it with all the big bookstores and the internet. Now, I can’t remember what I did on Saturday mornings before you had coffees here. I’ve met neighbors I would’ve never known existed. This little store has changed so many lives.”

Sam hugged Jennifer, appreciating that someone recognized what her dreams for the bookstore had been.

“Have you given thought to a book club?” Jennifer smiled and nodded a hello to one of her neighbors who, thanks to Pages, was now her friend.

Sam appreciated Jennifer’s enthusiasm. “It’s a wonderful idea. You organize the group and we can coordinate the dates.” Sam just realized she was making future plans for her bookstore.

“Great, I’ll come by next week. I’d better scoot.” Jennifer gave Sam an air kiss and accepted the champagne from Brad before she hustled over to another friend who had just entered the store.

“Thank you, Brad.” Sam lifted the plastic glass to her lips and took a sip. “This is really good.”

“You are most welcome. I need to go help the caterers.”

“Go… go.” Sam smiled, knowing Brad was in his glory and way too excited to settle and chat.

Sam wondered how much they would bring in today. It couldn’t possibly cover the cost of this party, but it might put a dent in it. Conversation, mixed with laughter, floated throughout the room. Sam’s heart felt warm. Right then and there she decided she couldn’t just throw her hands up in defeat. She had to figure out a reason for the mess the store was in, and then a solution. She had employees to think of. There were also those customers who would miss their Saturday morning coffees at Pages. She wasn’t going to give up, not yet at least. She felt relief rush over her. Yes, she was going to fix this!

Back in her apartment, Sam closed and locked the door. Even more than the bookstore, she loved this place, she had the first minute she’d seen it. She remembered Mr. Barra’s warning her that some work needed to be done. He had been right. Sam was glad she

hadn’t commented on the condition the previous tenant had left it in—as it turned out it was Mr. Barra’s son.

In Sam’s mind, it was home before she ever signed the lease. After a lot of work, it was now cozy and inviting. Every piece of furniture was draped with richly colored afghans. Most were knitted by her grandmother, and Sam had actually knitted a couple herself. Quilts of various traditional patterns were folded and placed on footstools. Most of them she had bought at estate sales and antique stores, always crossing her fingers that their previous lives had left them with happy energy. She most certainly didn’t need to bring any bad energy into her space, a risk she believed you took when buying other people’s treasures or castoffs. The quilts on her bed, the ones that touched her body when she slept, were made by her grandmother. The furniture was an eclectic mix of hand-me-downs or pieces that Sam had purchased throughout her life. She had an eye for quality, and her living room showed it, no matter how old each piece was. Although one of her favorites was a side table she’d discovered discarded in an alley, she loved its odd design. She had dragged it home and spent the weekend repairing and sanding it, then painted it a glossy deep red. The fact that one leg was shimmed to level the table wasn’t important to Sam, there was just something about that little table that made it perfect in her eyes. The chairs and couches were all leather in varying earth tones that gave away their different ages. Sam was always drawn to leather because of its durability, for the dog she always intended to get. Her flat had one large room that held the living area and kitchen. Off the kitchen was a large roof deck with a greenhouse. Mr. Barra had offered to remove it, but Sam wouldn’t hear of it. Now it housed every herb imaginable, plus tomatoes, lettuce, and a variety of other vegetables. On the patio, large terra cotta pots overflowed with flowers that peeked out of every corner and tumbled down every ledge. Sam had refinished the weatherworn table and chairs that had been left behind by a previous tenant. Two bathrooms and three bedrooms were a bonus that allowed her a guestroom as well as an office that she called her den. Of course, the biggest of the three rooms was Sam’s bedroom. When she had decorated each room of the apartment, she moved the odds and ends of furniture and knickknacks that just didn’t seem to fit in with the rest of the flat into her bedroom. When it was time to tackle the place where she slept, she couldn’t bear to part with a single thing. As it turned out, the eclectic assortment made the room by far her favorite place to be. ...