The Carson Springs Trilogy: Stranger in Paradise, Taste of Honey, and Wish Come True (122 page)

“We could go door-to-door. It’s always harder for people to say no to your face.” Finch glanced from Andie to Simon, then across the table at Lucien, who sat thoughtfully sipping his Coke.

“We could also lose a couple of fingers that way,” Simon reasoned.

Andie shot him a dirty look. “I think most people will want to help.”

Simon poked at the glasses sliding down his nose. “All I’m saying is that the law of averages—”

Andie gave him a good-natured punch in the arm. “You may be smart, but you don’t know everything.” At times they acted more like brother and sister, Finch observed, though Simon could be romantic, like the time he’d surprised Andie with tickets to an Enrique Iglesias concert—the last thing he’d’ve gone to on his own.

“Who’s with me on this?” After this morning’s hearing, Finch had convened an emergency meeting at the Tree House Café. Now she glanced about the table, well aware that spending their spring break canvassing neighborhoods wasn’t anyone’s idea of a fun time.

“I’m in,” Lucien said. “What do you say we pair up?” He glanced at Finch. “That way if there’s any trouble, we’ll have backup.”

“Good point. I’ll be there to protect Simon if anyone gives him a hard time.” Andie grinned at her boyfriend, who, it was true, looked more likely to beat someone at chess than with his fists.

“Okay, you go with Simon, and I’ll go with Lucien.” Finch kept her gaze averted so Lucien wouldn’t read the expression on her face. So far she’d managed to keep him at a comfortable arm’s length. They usually hung out with Andie and Simon, and the few times they’d been alone together she’d stuck with neutral topics. After she’d begged off that first weekend, saying she had to work, he hadn’t asked her to his house since. Maybe he sensed she wasn’t ready.

Andie raised her glass. “To the Anna Vincenzi Defense Fund. I want you guys to know I’m giving up a Little Flowers retreat for this,” she said with a laugh. It had gotten to be a joke that because of her mother’s association with the church, she was invited to every Catholic Youth event. “What about you?” She turned to Simon.

He shrugged, saying with a straight face, “I was going to jet off to the Middle East to help negotiate a peace treaty, but I guess they’ll have to do without me.”

Andie and Finch giggled, but Lucien remained silent. Over winter break his dad had taken him skiing in Vail. What exotic locale would it have been this time? She felt a tiny stab of resentment, but realized it wasn’t fair. Whatever his plans, he was willing to sacrifice them for Anna.

Get real. He’s doing it for you,
said a voice inside her head. She pushed the thought away, looking up at a little boy scampering up the ladder of the tree house overhead.

Andie was always teasing her about Lucien’s being her boyfriend. In actual fact, they hadn’t so much as held hands. Not that she hadn’t considered it, but why mess up a good thing? Every guy she’d ever screwed had screwed with her head. As an added bonus, one had given her gonorrhea.

“All for one, and one for all.” Simon clinked his glass against Andie’s.

“Through thick and thin … or should I say sick and sin,” Andie seconded.

Finch felt a lump form in her throat—where would she be without her friends? She said briskly, “Okay, let’s map out the territories. I think we should start with our own neighborhoods, don’t you?”

“Yeah, it’s harder to say no when they know you.” Andie stirred her soda thoughtfully with her straw. “When I sold Girl Scout cookies, Mrs. Chadwick next door always bought at least ten boxes.”

“Hey, I’ve got an even better idea. We could do a TV pitch.” Simon spoke sarcastically, eyeing a table of reporters at the other end of the patio, who, with all their cameras and gear, looked as if they were on safari.

Remembering the scene at the courthouse—the crush of bodies and the barrage of blinding flashes—Finch shuddered at the thought of repeating the experience.

Glancing about the crowded patio, she was reassured by the sight of the portly Reverend Mr. Grigsby with his equally round dachshund Lily, her crippled hind legs strapped to a set of custom wheels. And Doc Henry, who’d been out twice last week to check up on Punch’s spavined hoof. Red-haired Myrna McBride from The Last Word bookstore was lunching with Gayle Warrington from Up and Away Travel, and at the table next to them sat Sam’s geeky lawyer friend Mr. Kemp with his girlfriend Ms. Hicks from the library. Ms. Hicks caught her eye and waved; she was helping Finch research a paper on honeybees, inspired by Blessed Bee.

She spotted Ms. Elliston, the school nurse, browsing among the shelves of used books in back. She was one of those people you barely knew was there until you had to go to the infirmary—colorless and seemingly humorless, her dishwater hair tucked behind her ears and her eyes faded like something that’d been sitting too long on a shelf. Yet the time Finch had skinned her knee playing soccer, Ms. Elliston had swabbed and bandaged it with the utmost gentleness, speaking in low soothing tones to put her at ease.

The little boy in the tree house called out to his mother below, who sat sipping an iced tea and reading a tattered paperback. Finch wondered what it would’ve been like to have grown up in Carson Springs, where even people who didn’t know you greeted you as if they did and the only real nutcase was old Clem Woolley, who was harmless enough—never mind he never went anywhere without his invisible sidekick Jesus. Then she remembered that though Anna had lived here all her life, it hadn’t prevented her from being thrown in jail for something she didn’t do, and she shivered a little in the warm sunshine.

The clicking of a shutter—one of the reporters snapping a shot of the centuries-old oak for which the Tree House was named—caused her to start. Her thoughts returned to the matter at hand. She said, “I know someone who might help.”

“Who?” Andie asked.

“Father Reardon. He could make an announcement on Sunday. You know, like for the food drive at Christmas.”

Andie perked up. “Great idea. I’ll get my mom to ask him.” He was one of Gerry’s closest friends, thus the natural choice.

“I could also hit up my dad.” Lucien spoke lightly, as if not wanting to make a big deal of his father’s being rich. “If you get him in the right mood, he’s usually pretty generous.”

Finch’s gaze dropped to the arm draped casually over the back of his chair. Though the day was warm, unseasonably so for April, his long-sleeved shirt remained buttoned at the cuffs. Maybe one day he’d tell her about the scar on his wrist.

Simon excused himself to buy a map from the gift shop in back. When they’d divvied up the territories, Finch pushed her chair back, saying, “Okay, let’s get started.” The day was half over already, and the Flats, where she and Lucien were headed first, spread out over several miles.

They were making their way across the patio when Simon stopped short. “I almost forgot.” He fished a folded piece of notepaper from his pocket and handed it to Finch. “I keep meaning to give you this. Arthur, the guy who wrote the book, turned me on to this other guy who knew Lorraine. Believe it or not, I even got her address.

There was a Pasadena address scribbled on it. In all the excitement over Anna, Finch had forgotten about Lorraine Wells. She thanked Simon, tucking it into her purse. She’d deal with it later—or maybe not at all. Right now, she had more pressing concerns.

Minutes later she and Lucien were heading out to the Flats in his brand-new yellow Aztec, a present from his dad for Lucien’s sixteenth birthday. Orange trees slid past in neat rows. In the distance, hills so thick with poppies they looked dusted in gold rose to meet the snow-capped mountains.

“Who’s Lorraine?” Lucien asked casually.

“No one.” She shrugged, not wanting to get into it.

He didn’t press the subject except to shoot her a questioning look. She studied his profile. His features were oddly delicate, almost poetic, like the etching of Byron on the wall in Ms. Miller’s class. In the past she’d always gone for the macho type—guys who were older because they’d been held back a grade or two, most of them dark-haired with perpetual five o’clock shadow and attitude to burn. Yet despite his preppie clothes and hands that looked as if they’d done nothing more demanding than scribble in his journal, there was an air about Lucien that she found strangely electrifying. He wasn’t afraid, of anyone or anything.

Not even death,
she thought, a chill tiptoeing up her spine.

“Tell me it’s none of my business, if you like,” he said after a minute or so. “Just don’t say it’s nothing.”

“I didn’t mean it that way.” She looked out at the trees rippling past. “Listen, it’s no big deal. Just this lady Simon thought I might want to look up.”

“What for?”

“We have the same last name.”

“Kiley?”

She hesitated, then said, “No, Wells.”

“So that’s your real name, huh?” He sounded intrigued. She’d told him she was adopted, but very little beyond that—the less he knew, the better.

“Kiley is my real name.” Realizing how defensive she’d sounded, Finch softened her tone. “Look, it’s nothing against you, but I’d rather not talk about it, okay?”

“Okay.” He shrugged.

He was being so cool about it that after a moment she relented. “I wasn’t always Finch either. Before that I was …” She paused. The only ones besides her family that she’d told were Andie and Simon. “Bethany,” she said softly.

“Bethany.” He repeated it slowly, enunciating each syllable so that it came out Beth-a-nee. “How’d you end up with Finch?”

“It was one of those spur-of-the-moment things.” She didn’t elaborate.

“I thought maybe it was a family name.”

“I didn’t have a family before I came here.”

He flashed her a grin. “A woman of mystery. I love it.”

“See? I knew I should’ve kept my mouth shut.” She struggled not to smile.

“I didn’t mean to bring up a sore subject.”

“It’s not your fault. It’s just that I don’t like being reminded of those days.” That was another lifetime, and Bethany Wells just someone she used to know.

Her mind flew back to the day she’d first arrived here. She’d been on a Greyhound bus for days, going nowhere in particular. Carson Springs had seemed as likely a place as any to get off. And by then she’d run out of money, so she’d crashed a wedding reception to get something to eat—one that turned out to be Laura’s sister’s. If Alice hadn’t taken pity on her after she’d been caught, she’d have wound up with a return ticket to New York and a new set of foster parents. She shuddered to think what her life would be like today if not for that simple act of kindness.

“This lady—you really think she might be related?” Lucien’s voice broke into her thoughts.

Finch laughed and shook her head, though she couldn’t shake loose the tiny kernel of hope chafing inside her like a pebble in a shoe. “It was Andie’s idea. She got a bug up her ass, is all. Nothing will come of it.”

“Hey, you never know.”

“Anyway, it’s not like I’m missing out on anything.” She kept her voice light, not wanting him to guess the truth: that as much as she loved Laura and Hector and Maude, there was a hole inside her that they couldn’t fill.

“Which is more than I can say,” he said darkly.

She cast him a sidelong glance. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but offhand I know a dozen people who’d trade places with you in a heartbeat.” Okay, his parents were divorced, but so were those of half the kids in school, and none as rich as Lucien’s. “What, did your parents spank you when you were a kid?”

She waited for him to crack a smile, but his expression remained tight. “Let’s just say I’m not exactly a priority.”

She felt bad for goading him. It wasn’t Lucien’s fault that his parents were well off. Gently, she asked, “What’s your mom like?” The only thing Finch knew was that she lived in New York.

“You mean other than the fact that she’s a drunk?” His jaw tightened. “The only reason I’m here is because she’s in rehab.”

“Wow,” she exclaimed softly. “That sucks.”

“Yeah, well, what can I say.” His mouth twisted in a smile that was more of a grimace. “My dad? He’s not much better, only he usually holds off until after lunch.”

“And I thought poor people had all the problems.”

“You think money solves everything?” He smiled, but she could see that he was hurt.

Before she could stop herself, she shot back, “No, but I’ve noticed that a lot of the people who have it act like their shit doesn’t stink.”

“I hope that doesn’t apply to me,” he said stiffly.

“No,” she said. “But check back with me in a few years— I might have a different opinion.” Lucien laughed, and she felt the tension between them ease. “The next right.” She pointed at the intersection ahead, where a large chestnut marked the road to Sam and Ian’s.

Sam was on her knees in the flower bed when they pulled in, wearing a floppy straw hat and baggy, grass-stained trousers. She rose and ambled over to meet them.

“Finch! Why didn’t you let me know you were coming? I’d have put on some decent clothes.” She pulled off a dirt-caked glove, extending her hand to Lucien. “Hi, I’m Sam.”

“Lucien Jeffers.” He shook her hand.

“It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Finch felt herself grow warm. Would Lucien think she talked about him all the time? “Um, we didn’t come to visit,” she was quick to say. “We’re here because of Anna.”

Sam’s smile was replaced by a look of concern. “How’s she holding up?”

“Okay, considering.”

Sam shook her head in dismay. “I would’ve been at the hearing, but Jack’s running a temperature.” She glanced toward the house. It was like the ones Finch had dreamed of growing up—white clapboard with blue trim, nasturtiums climbing up over the porch railing. High up on the roof a weathervane shaped like a rooster creaked in the breeze.

“Nothing serious, I hope,” Finch said.

“Just a little cold. He’ll be fine. In fact, he should be up from his nap any minute.” Sam turned to Lucien, smiling as she brushed at the bits of grass and leaves clinging to her shirt. “I don’t know if Finch told you, but Jack’s quite a bit younger than my girls. I had a baby when my friends were having grandchildren.”