When We Touch

“No, she had a play date today with Polly. I told you—”

“We need to talk.” I sidestep her, going into the sitting room. “Would you mind?”

She hesitates, watching me. “What is this about?”

I’m not sure what to make of her defensiveness, but I don’t have time to lose. “I talked to Jackson last night.” Among other things…

“Jackson…?” She actually tries to pretend she doesn’t understand.

“Jackson Cane?”

“Oh.” She strides into the room and sits on the edge of her Edwardian loveseat. Her back is straight as a board. “Jack Lockwood.”

“He never liked that name.”

“It’s his name.” Her voice is flinty, and her eyes are cold. It’s a side she likes to keep hidden, but I’m well acquainted with my mother the superbitch.

“After he left for college it seems he and I both got the same story.” As I speak, my mother’s eyebrow arches. “Why did you lie to keep us apart?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I take a deep breath and step toward the fireplace, putting my hand on the mantle. “You didn’t like me with him. Why?”

“Emberly, your imagination is—”

“Why, Momma?”

Her eyes flash, and she speaks quickly. “He’s a liar. He comes from a family of liars.”

“Is lying genetic?” I sure hope not since Marjorie Warren is the queen.

She stands up in front of the small sofa. “He ruined you the same way his father ruined this town… the same way his mother ruined our family!”

A flash of fear hits my chest. My mother is speaking words I’ve never heard before. She’s talking about deep secrets, things that have been buried a long time.

I’m ready with my shovel.

“How did his mother ruin our family?”

“I’m not discussing this with you.” She starts for the door, but I dash across the room and cut her off. She tries to step around me, but I catch her wrist, accidentally knocking the papers from her hands.

“I’m sorry,” I say, squatting down to gather them. She slaps my hands away, pulling the sheets fast to her chest, but I have one.

“Drunkenness, revelry, and the like are displeasing to the lord…” I read aloud.

“Give me that!” She snatches the page out of my hand. “That is none of your business.”

I know exactly what she’s holding, and I’m sick of the lies. “Whose business is it, Momma?”

“God’s,” she says, again attempting to leave.

My hand shoots out to grip the doorframe, my arm blocking her progress. “I know you write Reverend Green’s sermons. You can stop hiding it from me.”

“I do not!” Her eyes blaze at me, but I’m not interested in that revelation. I want to get back to the bomb she almost dropped.

“How did Jackson’s mom ruin our family?” I know how his dad did it—or how everyone thinks his dad did it, by developing Oceanside Beach and taking all the tourism dollars away.

I also know Jackson has never gotten along with his dad, which is why he prefers Cane, his mother’s maiden name, to Lockwood.