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I’d forgotten about the pile of sheets on the floor. I considered taking them to the house to start them in the washing machine but didn’t feel like seeing my mother just yet.
Instead, I sat on the sofa and opened my laptop, starting a search for Eddie Johnson. His name wasn’t all that unique, which would make things harder, but I combined it with “Jackson Creek,” and a post on someone’s blog about gardening popped up. It was from three years ago and said Eddie had been helping with her massive gardening plots. There were a few photos of a sweating man in his mid-twenties with a wide, infectious grin.
I stared at the photo, wanting to believe the wholesome image but knowing far too well that monsters masqueraded as great guys all the time. How many times had I heard friends and neighbors say, “I never would have expected him to do…” whatever evil thing the person had done.
“What about you, Eddie?” I murmured out loud to the screen. “Are you a wolf in sheep’s clothing?”
After more searching, I found a post on the school website stating that Eddie had started as the school janitor, along with a photo of a more cleaned-up version of the man in the blog photos. He was blond and blue-eyed, with full cheeks. A swoop of bangs covered one side of his forehead. He was smiling, looking happy to now be employed by Jackson Creek Elementary.
Was that because he was pleased to have a job or because his job had put him closer to kids?
I shut my laptop screen. I’d been hanging around evil too long. It skewed my view of the world and everyone in it. Then again, that was my job.
Or at least it used to be. And I was no closer to finding Eddie Johnson.
I glanced at my phone and realized I had only a half-hour before I needed to be at the house for dinner. A good daughter would already be there, setting the table, helping finish the dinner. But we’d established long ago that the good daughter was gone, and my parents were left with the bad one.
I needed a drink.
I knew I’d get a drink at the bar, but the thought of sitting through an entire dinner with my parents was nerve-wracking.
A quick one wouldn’t be a bad thing.
I opened a bottle, poured a finger of whiskey into a juice glass and drank it like a shot, relishing the burn as it slid to my belly.
I closed my eyes and let the feeling settle over me. It wouldn’t solve all my problems, but it was a decent interim solution.
I brushed my teeth and reapplied my makeup with a heavier hand to appease my mother, then lightly curled my shoulder-length hair with a curling iron. I searched through my clothes and put on a simple rust-colored sweater dress and a pair of brown boots, then stuffed my sheets into a laundry basket, grabbed my coat and purse, and headed out the door.
My mother was in the kitchen when I walked in through the back door. She gave me a cursory head-to-toe glance, then turned her attention back to the roasting pan she was removing from the oven.
“Your laundry, Harper?” she asked in a dry tone. “Really?”
“Laundry still needs to be done, Mother, regardless of semi-formal dinners.”
She set the pan on top of the stove. The smell of roasted chicken hit my nose, making my stomach growl. “At least you dressed appropriately.”
“Getting dressed was one of the many life skills you taught me, so kudos.”
Her eyes shot daggers at me, but she bit her tongue.
After I dumped my purse and coat on the breakfast table by the back door, I brushed past her into the laundry room off the kitchen and started my load of sheets. I could move them to the dryer after dinner before I left for Scooter’s, but I’d have to come back and get them before going to bed. I took solace in the fact that my mother was usually in bed by ten. My dad was usually up until eleven, so I’d have time to get them before he turned on the alarm system for the night.
My mother insisted I didn’t need to know the security code. I think she expected me to sneak in and steal her grandmother’s silver. Little did she know, most people didn’t want silver these days. Who had time for all that polishing?
When I reentered the kitchen, my mother shoved a dish of roasted potatoes toward me. “Take this out to the dining room.”
I looked down at the generous amount of food. “For someone who thinks I’ve put on too much weight, you sure made a lot of food.”
Her gaze darkened. “We have guests, Harper, and I expect you to be on your best behavior.”
“Guests?”
“You didn’t think we dressed up for just the three of us, did you?”
I had. I mean, our weekly Sunday lunch had always been semi-formal, held after church while we were still in our fancy clothes. Andi hadn’t minded the dinners, but I’d hated them, wanting out of my stiff, starched dresses and often too-tight shoes. I’d thought my mother would let go of the tradition after Andi’s death, but we’d continued to have those lunches until I left for college. We kept a lot of things up after Andi’s death, possibly out of habit, but they’d all felt meaningless and hollow without my sister—an echo of the life we’d had.
I’d presumed this dinner was my mother’s attempt to start those dinners up again. The revelation that there were guests was completely unexpected. She was embarrassed by me. Why would she be parading me in front of her friends?
