Impervious (City of Eldrich Book 1) Page 2

“Do it my way for once, please?” Tension crept into his voice. “If you get lost out there, we’ll never find you.”

  “I’ll toss bread crumbs out the car window, Hansel.”

  “Ha. Ha.” Russ’s voice dripped sarcasm, but with a hint of worry. “I’m serious. People disappear out in those woods. You make a wrong turn, run out of gas, and all we find is the empty car. Humor me, all right?”

  Meaghan sighed in disgust. “Fine. Okay, I’m passing the closed gas station. Now what?”

  He talked her in by phone, like an air traffic controller. She would never admit it, but she was glad he had insisted on it. The thick woods obscured all landmarks and her sense of direction abandoned her. She now believed that people could be swallowed up by all those trees and simply vanish. Driving after dark must be a nightmare out here, she thought.

  Just as she felt something close to claustrophobia coming on, she came around a blind curve, and the forest ended. The road wound into a lovely green valley. Eldrich lay below, tiny and perfect. A green square, surrounded by ornate buildings, anchored the town. Grand Victorian mansions lined the streets north of the square. To the south and west sat tidy bungalows and cottages. On the east side of town, a river flowed like a ribbon. Rolling farmland surrounded it all.

  The sun finally made an appearance. A single beam shone through the thick clouds. The river sparkled for a moment, and then the clouds closed again. But it raised Meaghan’s spirits a bit. In spite of her homesickness, she was dazzled. A charming little town, Eldrich shone like a bright jewel after the miles of dark forest.

  Despite Russ’s concern, the call didn’t drop and he still spoke to her from the dashboard. “So?” he asked. “What do you think?”

  “Damn. It’s stupid pretty. You didn’t lie.”

  “Wait until you see Dad’s house, Gretel. You’ll want to eat it up.” Now that she was out of the woods, he gave her directions to the house on Holly Lane and hung up.

  Meaghan drove through the quiet streets. In the warm Sunday twilight, a restful calm presided over the town. She’d expected things to be a bit shabbier up close, but no. It was even more charming when she saw the details. Her mood lifted. This might be okay after all.

  Chapter 3

  Russ hadn’t lied about the house, a Victorian gingerbread fantasy meticulously restored and maintained, surrounded by the shiny holly bushes that gave the small dead-end street its name.

  And he hadn’t lied about their father’s condition.

  Meaghan remembered Matthew Keele as a tall man, imposing, with a head of thick, unruly white hair and dark brown eyes set deep in a hawkish brow. He could generate a blistering glare, a skill she had inherited, along with a natural dexterity with words and the tendency to let tenacity degenerate into pig-headedness.

  All her life she’d been told that her problems with her father were because she and Matthew were so much alike. Her father had always intimidated her. Her natural inclination to hopscotch over fear right into anger made that intimidation play out as sullen defiance.

  Over the last four days, she’d steeled herself to face the man she remembered. She’d expected him to be a bit frailer, a bit vaguer, but still her father.

  She barely recognized the man in the chair by the living room window. The white hair no longer sprang from his head like he’d just come out of a bracing wind. It now hung in lank strands. Underneath, she could see the pink of his scalp. The dark eyes that used to glow with fiery intelligence were milky now, and bloodshot. He was a husk of a man, so fragile he could be blown away with a gentle breath.

  “Dad?” Russ said in a loud voice. “Look who it is. It’s Meg. Meg’s come home.”

  “Meg?” the old man quavered. “Meaghan? Meaghan’s my daughter.”

  Russ grabbed her arm and dragged her close. “This is Meaghan, Dad.” He held her hand out to Matthew. “Meaghan’s right here.”

  Matthew squinted at her and recognition flared. He beamed at her, a joy on his face she’d never seen before.

  She felt the hot prickle of tears and willed them away. “Hi, Dad. Here I am.”

  Matthew squeezed her hand and began to cry.

  She wasn’t sure later what unnerved her more. His physical decline or his joyful tears at seeing her. Sniffling, her own tears now flowing, she hugged him. “I’m home, Daddy. I’m home.”

  For the moment, all was forgiven. Her fatigue and his dementia opened a door through the imposing emotional wall between them. She knew it probably wouldn’t last, but for right now, the past was forgotten.

  Even Russ cried, Meaghan noticed. But then emotion had always been easy for him. He was like their mother that way. Kind, open, forgiving. Everything that Matthew and Meaghan so often were not. Russ smiled at her, then headed for the kitchen to check on supper. Another way Russ was like Mom. He was a great cook.

  Meaghan held her father’s hand, sniffing back her tears. After ten minutes, he dozed off.

  She untangled herself and went out to her car, parked in the driveway beneath a large oak tree, to get her overnight bag. The rest of it could wait until tomorrow. The early summer twilight lingered, soft and golden. In Arizona, sunsets, although spectacular, were harsher and faster. The sky turned pink, then orange, then red, and the sun dropped like a rock behind the horizon. Night fell like a curtain at the end of a play.

  But in early June, this far north, twilight lasted awhile. She took a few minutes, sitting on the front steps, to be alone and calm down a bit. All her expectations had been turned upside down. Her father was thrilled to see her. After the forbidding forests, the town was lovely and welcoming.

  For the first time since Russ’s call for help, Meaghan felt good. She hadn’t even realized the dread she carried until it lessened. It wasn’t all gone, but it was better.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of soft light. She glanced towards it and saw another. And another.

  Fireflies. Lightning bugs, she and Russ called them when they were kids.

  She watched them, transfixed. Like gentle sparks, the fireflies floated in the air. Fireflies didn’t exist in Arizona or anywhere in the west and she’d forgotten how magical they were. She and Russ had spent many warm evenings as children running through the soft twilight catching the flashing insects. They carried empty jam jars filled with grass and leaves, air holes punched in the lid, to hold the captured fireflies. Meaghan liked to fall asleep with the flashing jar next to her pillow. Once she’d drifted off, her mother would slip into her room, take the jar outside, and shake the fireflies back into the soft night air, to be caught another time.

  Then Matthew had his breakdown and there were no more fireflies. His drinking escalated out of control, and she, Russ, and Mom fled to Arizona. She was thirteen and Russ was eleven. Soon after, Matthew got fired from his law firm in Manhattan and ended up in Eldrich.

  Mom sued for sole custody with no visitation and Matthew didn’t contest it. By the time Matthew cleaned himself up, quit drinking, and reached out to his kids, it was too late. For Meaghan, at least. She was a junior in high school by then and wanted nothing to do with her father.

  She relented a bit over time, elevating their relationship from non-existent to severely strained. At some point —she didn’t know the details—Russ made his peace with Matthew. Probably after Mom died from an aneurysm, a death that occurred quickly, painlessly, and way too soon.

  Russ responded by reaching out to his father. Meaghan, who was starting law school, stuffed her grief deep inside and buried herself in work. The door Matthew had managed to pry open a crack slammed shut again.

  After Russ’s first marriage failed, he moved back East at Matthew’s invitation. Russ had lived in Eldrich on and off for twenty years. Dealing with their father came easier for Russ because he was so much like Mom, and Mom and Matthew had complemented each other well. Yin and yang.

  Meaghan and Matthew were more like fire and gasoline. Or the rock and the hard place. So many years later, Meaghan had to acce
pt that she was as much a failure at relationships as her father. Actually more of a failure, because her father had managed to be married for fifteen years, some of them happy.

  There had been men in her life over the years. She’d almost married once. But things always went wrong. By the time she reached her fortieth birthday, after another relationship blew up in her face, she decided she was done with love, with all of it.

  Single was lonelier sometimes, but so much easier. Giving up on romance freed up a lot of emotional space in her head. She still looked for a man, sort of, but nobody flared even a tiny interested spark within her.

  Ten years passed, and now she lived in a tiny little town in the middle of nowhere. If she couldn’t find love in the sixth-largest metropolitan area in America, she didn’t like her odds in itty-bitty Eldrich.

  Russ interrupted her thoughts. “Want a glass of wine?”

  Meaghan craned her head around to look at him. “There’s wine? What about Dad?”

  “He’s not interested anymore. But if he starts drinking again, so what?” Russ plopped down on the step next to her. “We send him to rehab?”

  She smiled. “Yeah. I mean no, I guess not.” She sighed. “Wine would be great.”

  “Chicken for dinner. Got a few nice bottles of white in the fridge.” He took her hand. “You okay?”

  She felt the tears well up and pushed them back down. Russ was a good guy. Always had been.

  “Yeah,” she said. “That’s as good as it’s going to get, isn’t it.”

  “Well . . . for the two of you, yeah, maybe.” He watched the fireflies for a moment. “That’s actually the best I’ve ever seen you get along. And he still has the occasional lucid moment, so don’t give up hope.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me about this sooner? When did he get sick?”

  Russ sighed. “He didn’t want me to tell you.”

  Meaghan snorted. “Of course not. I know you think the shit between us is all my fault, but he hasn’t exactly been father of the year. Ever. Not to me at least.”

  Russ shook his head. “It’s not like you’ve ever given him the chance. I think he didn’t want you to feel obligated or think that he thought you owed him something. He always knew how bad he’d screwed up with you, but he didn’t know how to fix it.”

  Meaghan let go of Russ’s hand and stared into the distance. I will not cry, she told herself. I will not start crying again.

  Russ gave her a moment then continued. “It wasn’t only you. He didn’t tell anybody he was sick for a long time. He did a really good job of hiding it. Masking is what they call it. Natalie—his secretary—she noticed it first. He was having a hard time remembering stuff and keeping track of time. Everyone covered for him, hoping, I think, that it was only a temporary slump.”

  “How long has this been going on?”

  Russ squinted, thinking. “Natalie first started seeing odd stuff a little over four years ago. It was another six months before she called me. I was down in Philly. I still had the restaurant and didn’t want to move back up here. And he kind of plateaued for a while. For almost a year. He couldn’t work anymore, but there were enough folks keeping an eye on him that I didn’t need to be here. Then he got worse and I tried to put him in a care facility. I told you what a disaster that was.”

  Meaghan nodded.

  “But at the time, I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t think moving him down to Philly was a good idea.”

  “And you got married,” Meaghan said.

  “Yeah.” Russ rolled his eyes. “There’s some great timing. Darla. What a girl.” Darla was Russ’s third ex-wife. “They say the third time’s the charm. But for me I think it’s three strikes, you’re out.”

  Meaghan laughed. Russ wasn’t much better than she was at picking partners, but Meaghan was smart enough not to marry them.

  “And then she took off,” Russ continued. “And the restaurant tanked and here I am. Almost two years now. I thought about opening a cafe or something, but realized in a hurry that I had a full-time job here at home.”

  “Huh. Yeah. Well, I’m finally here. Not sure what help I’ll be.”

  “You’ll be company for both of us. I need someone lucid to talk to. And someone to keep an eye on him so I can have the occasional afternoon off. I know you don’t believe it, but he really wants you to be here.”

  “Okay.” Meaghan stood up and grabbed her overnight bag. “I gotta pee, then let’s get that wine. Where’s the bathroom?”

  They stepped inside. In the warm glow of the hallway light, Meaghan took a long look at her brother. His hazel eyes were bloodshot and beneath them dark circles stood out like bruises. His warm brown hair was shot through with white. Lines she hadn’t seen before etched his cheeks and forehead.

  “I’m a crappy sister,” Meaghan announced. “Through all this, I’ve never asked how you are.”

  Russ laughed. “That’s because I started shouting at you over the phone, remember? I didn’t give you a chance to ask before I started whining.”

  “Seriously. Are you okay? I am sorry about you and Darla. And the restaurant.”

  He shrugged. “I’m okay. You’re here now. As far as Darla goes . . .” He paused, weighing his response. “Her taking off so fast saved us all that tedious hating-each-other time.”

  Without thinking, Meaghan threw her arms around him. She wasn’t much of a hugger, so even she was surprised.

  Russ hugged her back, laughing. “Whoa. Down, big sis. You’re freaking me out. First you and Dad crying all over each other and now this.” He pulled away. “Bathroom’s on the left past the stairs and the kitchen’s at the end of the hall. I’ll run your bag up, check on Dad, and be back in a flash.”

  She nodded. “Where’s the wine?”

  “In the fridge, glasses on the counter.”

  “Corkscrew?”

  “Screw cap. Don’t be a snob,” he added, seeing the look on her face.

  Chapter 4

  They got through dinner. Matthew, while not overcome with joy like he had been when he first saw Meaghan, remained calm and seemed to know who she was. He could still feed himself, Russ had told her, but never had much of an appetite.

  Meaghan ate two huge plates of food, drank three glasses of wine, and, glassy-eyed, made her way up to her bedroom around nine.

  It was a large room, containing simple furniture and no personal touches, a small bathroom, and a huge bay window with a window seat. I’m hiding in my room like a teenager, she thought. She laughed and then segued smoothly into weeping. Big, gasping sobs shook her.

  The stress of the last few weeks broke over her like surf. She sat on the bed, face buried in a pillow, crying her eyes out. When the tears tapered off, she hiccupped a few times like a small child. She staggered into the bathroom, grabbed a wad of toilet paper, and blew her nose. She looked at herself in the mirror. Red and splotchy. Swollen eyes. And she had to pee again.

  “Stupid wine,” she muttered. “Three glasses and I have a meltdown.”

  Finished in the bathroom, Meaghan wandered out into the bedroom, a roll of toilet paper stuffed under her arm. Her eyes were still leaking and her nose running and, from experience, she knew it would last a while. She made a mental note to buy a box of tissues. She unpacked her small bag and went back into the bathroom to brush her teeth. Then she pulled on her pajamas and crawled into bed.

  She hadn’t slept well since Russ’s call for help—she expected to toss and turn in the dark awhile. She didn’t. Next thing she knew, sunlight was streaming through the white lace curtains in the bay window. She glanced at her cell phone on the night stand. It was 8:33. She’d been asleep almost eleven hours.

  Her new job didn’t start for another week, but she wanted to stop in today and at least look around and introduce herself. And she had to unpack her car. And figure out where her storage pod was and when she’d get it. And get a Pennsylvania driver’s license. And register the car and find a bank and check on her law license app
lication and . . .

  After a night’s respite, her churning thoughts resumed. She had so much to do, she didn’t know where to start.

  Then she smelled bacon. And coffee. Her stomach growled. Distracted from her frenzied thoughts, she pulled on jeans and a T-shirt, peed out the rest of the wine, and patted down her short silvery hair with wet fingers. The messy short do was the best thing that ever happened to her. She didn’t even need gel to make her hair stand up. Another legacy from her father.

  Good enough, she thought. She clattered down the stairs and back to the kitchen. Russ was already cooking her breakfast. She grinned at him. “What a good brother you are.”

  “I heard you stomping around up there and decided to get a head start. Here.” He set a plate down in front of her.

  Russ had heaped her plate with bacon. Meaghan loved bacon. Thick sliced and cooked exactly how she liked. Crisp but still with some chew. Knowing Russ, it was probably from a hand-fed organic hog raised locally and smoked according to some ancient family recipe.

  “So, let me guess,” she said, inspecting her plate. “Organic uncured bacon and free-range eggs, from local farmers, scrambled with a locally sourced, hand-crafted cheddar. Did I get all the buzzwords right?”

  “Yup,” Russ said.

  Meaghan was used to bagged salads, grocery store rotisserie chickens, and street tacos from the cart outside of her old office. “Trying to fatten me up, Hansel?”

  “No, just trying to feed you actual food for a change.”

  “I eat actual food.”

  “Not like this you don’t.” He set a steaming mug of coffee next to her plate. “Cream’s in the pitcher if you want it. And I got some early strawberries from Natalie’s garden.”

  “Cream?” Meaghan said through a mouthful of bacon. “Real cream?”

  “Yes. Real cream. That fake crap is an abomination.” He set down a small bowl of strawberries. “It’s good on the berries too.”

  “Uhn,” Meaghan answered. She chewed a bit and swallowed some of the food in her mouth. “Is there toast?”