Long Road Home (The Barker Triplets 4)

By the time Shane got hold of his anger, he was twenty minutes from Belle Adair and had no idea where he was. He cleared his head as best he could, took a side road that looked quiet and rarely used, and kept going for a good half hour or so until he came upon an old cemetery, complete with a church that had seen better days and more moss-laden oak trees than he could count. The branches hung protectively over the mausoleums and tombstones, the wind brushing their edges. He pulled just inside the ornate rusted-out gates and slid off his bike.

The sun was high, the air humid and heavy with the sweet scent of magnolia, and Shane’s hair clung to his scalp and neck when he doffed his helmet. He grabbed the large water canister he always kept in his saddle bag and took a good long pull from it as he turned in a full circle to get a good look around. The cemetery wasn’t exactly run-down, but it wasn’t well looked after either. It was as if most of the inhabitants had long been forgotten, while a precious few had folks who remembered.

He spied one such burial plot over by the biggest oak tree in the place. It sat upon a small knoll, and the long grass around it had been cut back with fresh flowers laid in front of it. He’d check it out in a bit.

Shane screwed the top back on his bottle and walked over to the church. He realized when he got close enough that the structure wasn’t safe; boarded-up windows spray-painted over with graffiti, front steps caved in with big craters that would take a grown man to his knees, and crumbling bricks from walls around a foundation deep with cracks.

And there it was. The past creeping in like a shadow falling across his mind.

He shook his head and closed his eyes as an image of Bobbi catapulted into his brain. It was like a punch to the gut, but he couldn’t stop it. They’d gone on a hike a few years back and had found an abandoned home in the middle of forest on the other side of the lake, a structure that had belonged to one of the first settlers in area. It had been as run-down and tired as this place, but to Bobbi, it had been a delight. She’d made him wait while she took her time and snapped what seemed like at least one hundred photos. Then she took a selfie of the two of them, his eyes on her, her face alight with that extra something she’d always had. It was still the screensaver on his phone.

“Damn,” he muttered, shaking the memory from his mind as he moved through the cemetery. He couldn’t go back there yet. Couldn’t think of her and what was. And he definitely didn’t want to think of Bobbi sleeping at the same place he’d laid his head the night before. What the hell had his sister been thinking? On what planet were Shane and Bobbi in the same room a good idea?

Bobbi Jo Barker had ripped out his heart and closed up her own, and the anger that burned inside him wasn’t going anywhere.

Shane rummaged through the bag on his bike and grabbed a sketch pad and some pencils before slowly meandering through the overgrown cemetery. Along the far left back behind the church were the oldest tombstones in the place, and a bit farther past those were a bunch of mausoleums. Each of them was enclosed by ornate fences, and each was as overgrown as the last.

He glanced back toward the knoll and wondered about the only plot that seemed to matter to anyone. He spent a few more minutes checking out the entire place before heading to the big old oak tree on the hill. It was quiet and peaceful, and he was nearly upon it when a voice from behind him damn near made him jump out of his boots.

“The heat is something fierce today.”

Shane stopped cold and turned around to find an older gentleman standing a few feet away. He glanced around and frowned, uncomfortable that he’d been unaware of the man’s presence until now. Dressed in faded jeans barely kept in place by a tobacco-colored belt and a bright blue-and-white-checkered short-sleeve shirt, the old guy had the kind of weathered face that spoke of a long life and many days spent outdoors. His steel-gray hair was thick and wavy, though closely cropped on the sides, and even from several feet away, his striking blue eyes were intense. They were the kind of eyes you didn’t forget—the kind that made a person wary.

Slowly, Shane nodded. “It’s the kind of heat you read about, that’s for sure.”

The elderly man cocked his head. “You’re not from around here.” The South curled underneath his words like comfort, and there was a strange quality to the way he spoke.

“You’re right about that. I’m from Michigan.”

“Michigan?” The stranger’s face broke open wide into the kind of smile that was real and candid. “Why, it’s been years since I been anywhere north of Tennessee. I used to make the trip up to the Great Lakes to fish with my cousins when I was nothing a but a young pup, eighteen or so I believe was the last time.” He rubbed his temple. “Sometimes it seems like yesterday, and sometimes it feels like it never happened at all. Funny, aint it?” He looked up abruptly and chuckled. “Why, listen to me talking like a crazy person. Whatcha’ll doing here anyway?”

Shane held up his sketch pad. “Looking for inspiration, I suppose.”

“None of that back where you come from?”

Not anymore.

“I needed to get away.”

“I suppose we all need to

do that now and again. Lord knows I used to wander off from time to time.” Those blue eyes seemed to pierce right through Shane. “The name’s Manly Duquette by the way.”

“Shane.”

Manly made his way through the overgrown grass and walked past Shane until he came up a few feet from the burial plot beneath the large tree. He stood there for a few moments in silence and then pointed to the flowers.

“My sweet Annalise loved magnolias about as much as she loved me. And that’s saying something, because that woman was fierce when it came to those she loved.”

Shane took a step back, feeling like he was intruding.

“And Lordy, but she could love. I promised her that last night, when she was so sick with the cancer, I promised her she’d have magnolias, the prettiest and most fragrant ones I can find. But this big old oak won’t let it grow, so I bring fresh ones near every day I can get here.” He glanced over his shoulder at Shane, a sad, wistful smile on his face.

“You ever lose something you love and then all hope of ever getting it back?” Manly’s voice was quiet, the soft lilt that carried them all but a whisper.

Shane ducked his head and looked away, throat so tight, he couldn’t answer.

“I know we’ve just met, but I feel we’re alike, you and I.” Manly’s quiet voice dragged Shane from his dark thoughts. “You’re searching for something. Something you’ve lost.”