The Ridge Read online

  ALSO BY JOHN RECTOR

  Ruthless

  Out of the Black

  Lost Things: A Novella

  Already Gone

  The Grove

  The Cold Kiss

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2017 by John Rector

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Thomas & Mercer, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Thomas & Mercer are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781503943933

  ISBN-10: 1503943933

  Cover design by Faceout Studio

  For Eliot Zane

  CONTENTS

  START READING

  PART I

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  PART II

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  PART III

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  What is is what must be.

  —Richard Adams, Watership Down

  PART I

  1

  Then it was Saturday morning.

  Megan Stokes stood alone in her living room, cradling a cup of coffee in her hands and staring out the large bay window at the corner house across the street.

  The whore was outside again, on her knees in the dirt.

  Megan watched her for a while, then she lifted the cup to her lips, blew away the steam, and took a sip.

  It burned.

  The whore was wearing a floppy white sun hat and oversized tortoiseshell sunglasses. She had a pair of pink-handled pruning shears in one hand and clippings from her rosebushes in the other, and every few minutes she would sit back on her heels and drop the dead branches into a deep white bucket. Then she’d lean forward, push any loose strands of bottle-black hair from her face, and start cutting again.

  Time passed.

  Then Tyler came into the room.

  He had his blue tie draped loose around his neck and a short stack of manila folders pinned under his arm as he struggled to tighten the lid on his travel mug without spilling the coffee inside.

  Megan followed his ghost in the glass as he crossed the room and took his car keys from the bowl by the front door. Then she looked past his reflection to the world outside and ignored him.

  “I’m heading to work,” he said. “I should be home for dinner. Want me to pick something up?”

  Megan didn’t say anything.

  Tyler stood by the door, waiting. “Megs?”

  “I don’t care,” she said. “Do what you want.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  Megan set her coffee cup on the table and nodded toward the window. “She’s outside again.”

  “Who?”

  “Rachel Addison.”

  Tyler crossed the room to where she was standing. When he stepped in behind her and put his hand on her shoulder, Megan had to fight the urge to shrug it away.

  “I wish you’d let this go.” He angled down, following her gaze. “She’s harmless.”

  “Harmless?” Megan glanced at him over her shoulder. “You’re a fool, Tyler.”

  “Only for you, my love.”

  Megan felt a twinge of a smile form at the corners of her lips, but she bit down on it, hard, killing it quickly.

  Outside, Rachel Addison pushed herself up and brushed the dirt from her jeans with the side of her hand. A young couple jogged by wearing matching yellow-and-blue running outfits. They waved to Rachel as they passed.

  Rachel waved back.

  “She’s biding her time,” Megan said. “Women like her always have a plan.”

  Tyler made a dismissive sound. “And what plan is that? What evil scheme do you think she’s hatching over there behind all those roses?”

  “Don’t do that.”

  “Don’t do what?”

  “Don’t talk to me like I’m a child,” she said. “I’m not a machine, Tyler. I actually have feelings, and I have every right to be pissed about this.”

  “I think you’re overreacting,” he said. “She’s just friendly, that’s all.”

  “Oh, please.” Megan laughed and faced him. “Don’t pretend to be so naïve.”

  “Fine.” Tyler set the files on the table next to her coffee cup. “She can be a little more than friendly, but you know I’d never take her up on it. Give me some credit.”

  Megan looked up at him and tried to think of something else to say. She wanted to argue, to make him see this her way, but she couldn’t.

  He was right.

  Tyler loved her, and she knew he’d never betray her. But that wasn’t the point. This wasn’t about him, or their marriage, and it wasn’t about trust. This was about basic human decency, and it was about boundaries. But most of all, it was about that whore, Rachel Addison, and her complete lack of respect.

  And that, Megan couldn’t let go.

  She turned back to the window and watched Rachel gather her tools and carry them across the yard to the side of the house. She stopped at the garden hose, turned on the water, and rinsed the dirt from her hands. Then she followed the path around to the side of the garage and disappeared behind a wall of lilac bushes.

  Once she was out of sight, Megan said, “I’m going over there.”

  A deep line formed between Tyler’s eyebrows. “You’re what?”

  “I’m going to say something to her.”

  “You can’t do that.”

  “Watch me.” She slid past him and opened the coat closet by the front door. She took out a ratty pair of red Chuck Taylors and slipped them on her bare feet. “It’s prison rules out here, Tyler. If someone pushes, you push back.”

  Tyler didn’t say anything, and when she looked up at him, he was smiling.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “This is Willow Ridge, Megs. It’s hardly a prison. How would you know about that kind of thing anyway? You grew up in Lincoln Park.”

  Megan glared at him. “Don’t you have some place to be?”

  “I’m not going anywhere until you promise me you won’t say anything to her.”

  “Then get comfortable.”

  “Come on.” His voice was soft, almost pleading. “This isn’t worth it.”

  Megan stepped in front of the mirror by the closet and frowned at her reflection. She ran her hands down the front of her shirt, wiping away a few of the wrinkles.

  “If she wants to keep propositioning my husband, and if she doesn’t want to take no for an answer, then I’ve got every right to go over there and—”

  “Start a war?”

  Megan rolled her eyes. “Don’t be so melodramatic.”

  “That is what you’re doing,” he said. “We’ve barely been here three months,
and you’re already making enemies.”

  “She started this,” Megan said. “It might’ve been amusing when we first moved here, but I’ve had enough. And if you don’t get why I’m upset, or if you’re not on my side, then—”

  “I’m always on your side.” Tyler stepped closer and took her hands in his. “You know that.”

  Megan looked up at him. For a moment she felt the anger inside her fade, and she pulled her hands away, fast.

  “Then act like it.”

  Tyler exhaled slowly, and neither of them spoke. The only sounds in the room were the rolling tick of the grandfather clock in the corner and the steady tapping of her foot on the hardwood floor.

  “Rachel Addison is bored and lonely,” Tyler said. “She’s a sad person, and not someone to get worked up over. Why don’t you try to get your mind off of her?”

  “And how do I do that?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “Get out of the house for a while. Find something to do to keep yourself busy.”

  “I have things to do,” Megan said. “I can clean the house, again, or refold the laundry, again.” She snapped her fingers. “You know, maybe I’ll whip up one of those Jell-O salads with little mandarin oranges and mini-marshmallows floating inside. We’ll have it at dinner.”

  Tyler laughed.

  “I wish I was joking.”

  “A Jell-O salad?”

  “Why not? It’s practically the 1950s all over again around here. All I need is an A-line dress and some pearls and I’ll fit right in.”

  “Come on, it’s not that bad.”

  “It’s not that great, either.” She motioned toward the large bay window framing a line of pastel houses across the street. “You’ve been out there. You know what it’s like.”

  Tyler glanced toward the window, nodded.

  “It’s a little different here,” he said. “I’ll give you that, but what do you expect? It’s middle-class employee housing. It’s going to be a slower life.”

  “We’re hundreds of miles from civilization,” Megan said. “A slower life is an understatement.”

  Tyler checked his watch, frowned. “I can’t do this right now. I really have to go.”

  “Of course you do,” she said. “God forbid you’re late on a Saturday.”

  “That’s not fair.”

  Megan held her breath, and when she spoke again, she tried to keep her voice from breaking.

  “I had another one of those dreams last night.”

  “About the girl?”

  She nodded. “I almost saw her face this time.”

  Tyler was quiet for a moment. “We knew it wouldn’t be easy here, Megs, but we agreed—”

  “I know what we agreed.”

  He hesitated. “It’s a good opportunity here.”

  “I’m not asking you to quit your job,” Megan said. “And I’m not changing my mind about our plans. I just feel like a part of me is missing, and I don’t know why. I think maybe I’m—”

  “Homesick.”

  The word hit her hard, and she felt tears press behind her eyes. The last thing she wanted to do was cry in front of him again, so she looked away and bit the insides of her cheeks and waited for the feeling to pass.

  Tyler gave her a minute, said, “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You know we won’t be here forever.”

  Megan nodded and turned toward the window. She ran her fingers under her eyes, silent.

  Tyler checked his watch again. Then he stepped closer, put his arms around her shoulders, and pulled her in.

  She let herself be pulled.

  “I know what you’re going to say.” She rested her head against his chest, breathing him in. “You need to go.”

  “That wasn’t what I was going to say.”

  “You want orange Jell-O instead of lime?”

  He laughed. “I was going to say we should take some time and go back to Chicago for a few days. I think it’ll do us some good.”

  Megan looked up at him, fast. “Are you being serious?”

  “I am.”

  “Don’t tease me about this, Tyler.”

  He smiled. “I told you they’re moving my office at the end of the month. I’m sure I can take two or three days off around then if you want to—”

  “But you just started. You don’t have vacation time built up. Won’t that look bad?”

  “I’ll tell them I have to clean up a few last-minute things from the move. They’ll understand.”

  “Can you really do that?”

  “I really can.”

  Megan let the idea sink in, and the next time the tears came, she didn’t even try to stop them.

  “My God,” she said. “We could go to Morton’s.”

  “We could see a Cubs game.”

  “Giant pretzels.”

  “Smokies.”

  Megan laughed, and the sound surprised them both. Then she reached up and wiped the tears from her cheeks. Tyler tried to move away, but before he could, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him, long and slow.

  When they finally broke, she brushed her lips against his ear and whispered, “How late can you be?”

  “Not that late.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He nodded. “But I’ll hurry home.”

  “Yes.” She kissed him again. “Do that.”

  Before he left, Megan helped him tie his tie. Then she watched from the window as he backed down the driveway and out into the street.

  She waved as he pulled away, but he didn’t notice her.

  Once he was out of sight, Megan glanced over at the corner house across the street. Rachel Addison was back outside, watering her rosebushes with the garden hose. She’d changed out of her dirty jeans and into a gold sundress that shone in the sunlight and danced gently over her legs as she moved through the soft summer breeze.

  It was a long time before Megan looked away.

  2

  Chicago.

  It was all Megan could think about, and the morning passed by in a blur. She spent most of it lying on the couch, staring up at the ceiling, and dreaming of all the things she wanted to do once they were back home.

  The trip couldn’t come fast enough.

  Eventually, the day began to slip away, so she decided to take Tyler’s advice and find something to do. There were still a few boxes left to unpack, and she took care of those first. Then she went upstairs and sorted through the clothes in her closet, laying them out across the bed, and trying to decide what to keep and what to give away.

  She had more clothes than she’d ever need, especially living in a place as uneventful as Willow Ridge, but she still couldn’t bring herself to part with any of them, and after a while she gave up trying.

  Once everything was back in the closet, she walked downstairs and sat on the end of the couch. Her book was lying open on the coffee table. She picked it up and started reading. It was one she’d read before, and she didn’t remember thinking much of it the first time, but she wanted to give it another try. Sometimes a second read was all it took, but if not, even a bad book was better than no book.

  Megan read for a while, but it didn’t take long before her mind began to wander back to Chicago. Eventually, she closed the book and let herself sink into the cushions.

  Then she had an idea.

  She would surprise Tyler and make dinner.

  A small voice in the back of her mind spoke up, reminding her that she couldn’t cook, but Megan ignored it.

  Things with Tyler had been rough since the move, and she wanted to show him that she cared. A home-cooked meal wasn’t much, but it was a good way to say she was sorry.

  At least it was a start.

  Megan got up and went into the kitchen and checked the pantry. There wasn’t a lot to work with, so she took a pen and a notepad from the drawer and started a list.

  Her plan was to walk down to the market in the plaza and pick up a couple steaks, some veggies
and peppers, and a good bottle of wine.

  Maybe even two bottles.

  When she finished the list, she sat back and read over it. Everything she needed was there, but it still felt like something was missing. She thought about it, smiled, and then added lime Jell-O, mandarin oranges, and mini-marshmallows.

  Tyler would appreciate the joke.

  Megan tore the page from the pad and took her purse from the counter and headed for the door.

  Outside the sun was bright, and she dug through her purse for her sunglasses. She could hear the low, steady rumble of a lawn mower in the distance, and all around her, the soft green rustle of leaves moving in the warm air.

  When she found her sunglasses, she slipped them on and started down the path toward the sidewalk.

  The market was a little over a mile away.

  She thought about driving, but the rattle in the Corsica’s engine had been worse lately, and she didn’t want to chance it. She’d had the car since her freshman year in college, and it’d been old when she bought it. The fact it still ran at all was something of a miracle. The truth was, as much as she hated that car, a part of her was going to be sad when it finally died.

  Then again, nothing lived forever.

  The houses in Willow Ridge came in four colors: gray, beige, pale green, and pale blue. Each house had a small porch, a bay window, and a two-car garage. There were no fences allowed, so the yards were divided by rows of tall hedges, smooth cypress trees, and lavender lilac bushes that turned the air heavy and sweet.

  Megan lived in a gray house, and as she walked along the uncracked sidewalks, past manicured shrubs and emerald lawns, she had to laugh at herself for somehow ending up in the exact kind of place a younger version of herself swore she’d never end up.

  Part of her still didn’t find it all that funny.

  After they’d moved to Willow Ridge, Tyler tried to convince her that she’d eventually get used to it, but she never did. She missed her old neighborhood with its corner markets and constant traffic. She missed the hum of people around her, and the warm, concrete buzz of the city.

  Willow Ridge was too impersonal, too sterile.

  She felt the change most at the market in the plaza. It was easily the largest market Megan had ever seen; the aisles were always well stocked, and so long that if you stood at one end and looked down toward the other, the perspective became skewed, making it look fake, like you were staring into a painting.