“Remi Honey?” Not much surprised Chief Darlene Ford. Born and raised on Mackinac, she’d served the island as a cop for nearly thirty years. But finding her youngest daughter—who was supposed to be working and living in Chicago—standing on the front porch seemed to be enough to put a hitch in her step.
“Surprise!” Remi wrapped her mom in a too-tight hug and held on for dear life. The name badge clipped to the front of Darlene’s offseason uniform sweatshirt bit into Remi’s shoulder. She may have inherited the woman’s green eyes, but she hadn’t gotten any of the extra height.
“Well, holy hell!” Darlene breathed, squeezing her hard. “Why didn’t you call and tell me you were coming? I could have gotten your room ready. How are you? Are you taking your prescriptions? Is something wrong? How’s your painting going? Have you sold any?”
The motherly interrogation made Remi laugh as she released her. “I wanted to surprise you and Dad. I don’t need my room because I talked Agnes Sopp into renting me a place. And everything else is just fine.”
“Well, I’m just tickled!” Still gripping her shoulders, Darlene looked over her shoulder and bellowed. “Gil! Get your ass down here.”
“What’s wrong? It’s too cold for spiders,” Gilbert Ford called back from the second floor.
“It’s not a spider,” Darlene shouted.
Darlene Ford had been born fearless…except when it came to spiders. It was the one area in which she allowed her mild-mannered, English-teaching husband to ride to her rescue without complaint.
“Well, come on inside before we heat the whole neighborhood.” She ushered Remi across the threshold into the house she’d spent her teenage years escaping.
Small details were different. The rug under her feet was new. There was a sturdy desk in the cluttered study on the left. The old one, a rickety-ass card table, had finally collapsed last year under the weight of high school essays and half-empty coffee mugs. Across the hall, the living room boasted a bigger, newer TV.
But it still smelled like home. Coffee and furniture polish.
Her landscape of Mackinac’s shoreline, one of her first paintings, still hung in the hallway that led to a sunny kitchen and dining room. And her parents still yelled from room to room.
“Remi Honey!” Gilbert Ford was one inch taller than his wife and a little less athletic. His dark red hair was always slightly mussed, clothes just a little mismatched, but he had a way of really listening to people that made them forget all about his disheveled appearance.
In his excitement, he missed the last step and nearly bowled both women over at the foot of the stairs. He flashed a sheepish grin before wrapping Remi up in a tight hug.
She closed her eyes and let herself be loved. “Hi, Dad.”
“What a wonderful surprise,” he said, swaying them side to side. Gilbert was an expert-level hugger and just the right medicine for what ailed his daughter at the moment.
How was it possible, Remi wondered, to be homesick while standing in her childhood home wrapped in the arms of the first man to ever love her?
“You didn’t know either?” Darlene asked her husband, shooting him a calculating look.
He shook his head, releasing Remi. “I had no idea,” he insisted, giving her hands a squeeze. “Didn’t you?”
Her parents were notoriously busy and often forgot to relay messages of varying importance to each other.
“I didn’t tell anyone I was coming home. I wanted to surprise you both,” she assured them.
Gilbert’s smile faded a bit, and his eyes narrowed behind the tortoiseshell glasses he’d been wearing for twenty years. “What’s this?” He gave Remi’s wrist a gentle squeeze.
“Oh, that. That’s a cast,” Remi said.
“A cast? As in you broke your arm?” Darlene barked.
“I was in a little fender bender. It’s just a baby break. No big deal.”
Her dad’s brow furrowed. “Can you paint with the cast, sweetie?”
“I haven’t really tried yet.”
So many little white lies, and she hadn’t even made it past the foyer. It was a record.
“Well, come on back. You can help yourself to some coffee and tell us all about it,” Darlene insisted. “How long do we have you?”
“I thought I’d stay for a couple of weeks. Take a little vacation,” she said, following her mom into the kitchen.
It was her favorite room in the house. After spending two straight weeks arguing about stains, her parents had gone rogue and painted the cabinets a hunter green. Glossy blue tiles made up the countertops. An odd-shaped island angled its way between the workspace and breakfast nook, a booth with deep cushions and a rich maple table built into the bay window.
“Did you get fired?” Darlene asked.
Remi snorted as she opened the mug cabinet over the coffeemaker and dug through the contents until she found her favorite. A chunky, bright yellow mug that said Don’t Worry Be Happy. “No, Mom. I didn’t get fired. I’m actually painting full-time now.”
“You are? Well, isn’t that—Holy crap! Is that the time?” Gilbert squawked, checking the microwave clock. “I have to get to school!”
“Well, shit. I have a call I can’t miss this morning,” Darlene noted as she glanced at her own watch.
Remi jumped out of the way as both parents dove for the coffeemaker to top off their travel mugs.
“Family dinner for our starving artist,” her mom decided, screwing the cap on her mug.
The starving part of that description was something Remi had, until recently, looked forward to dispelling. But now she couldn’t reveal the good news without breaking the bad.
“Tonight?” Gilbert shoved the now empty carafe back on the burner and frowned. “Do I have a thing or do you have a thing?”
“Double shit,” Darlene groaned. “You have the fundraiser at the basketball game tonight, and I have a town council meeting.”
“It’s okay,” Remi insisted. “I’m in town for a while.”
“Tomorrow night,” Gilbert announced, pointing both index fingers at her. “I’ll call your sister.”
Darlene grabbed the bag of coffee beans and shoved it at Remi. “Make yourself a fresh pot and pull a roast or something out of the freezer. Oh, and since you’re here, mind switching the laundry over to the dryer?”
Her parents sandwiched her for noisy, rushed cheek kisses, and then they were gone. She heard the old Yamaha snowmobile fire up on the street and watched through the front window as her dad climbed on behind her mother. Chief Ford would drop Mr. Ford off at the K-12 school and then loop around into downtown to start her day at the police station on Market Street.
She felt the tiniest sliver of disappointment that they hadn’t had time for coffee together. But that’s what she got for popping in on them unannounced on a Thursday. The kitchen was too quiet, so she switched on the ancient radio her father used to catch Wolverine games.
As something quiet and classical poured forth from the speaker, soft yellow and gold clouds billowed around the room, keeping her company. Who’d have thought that the little girl with skinned knees and pink E’s would find her place in the world painting things that only she could see?
“Coffee first,” she decided.
She started a fresh pot, then ducked into the tiny laundry room housed between the kitchen and dining room. Not much had changed there besides the amount of clutter. Since there were no longer two teenage girls in residence, the space was tidier. The little clothesline strung between two walls was no longer laden with bras. Now, it held unmatched socks clipped with wooden clothespins.
She opened the lid of the washer and began stuffing damp clothes into the dryer. Everything took twice as long as it should with only one good arm. She wasn’t looking forward to four to six weeks of being without full use of her dominant hand.
Something red and lacy caught her eye. Digging it out, Remi gingerly held up a fancy thong.
“Dear God. What is this?”
She grabbed her phone and snapped a picture.
Remi: Please tell me this is Mom’s and not Dad’s.
She saw three dots appear then disappear. It took a solid five minutes before her sister responded.
Kimber: What are you doing digging through our parents’ underwear, perv?
Remi: I came home to surprise everyone. By the way, surprise! Mom and Dad abandoned me and gave me a list of chores.
Kimber: Some things never change. Except Mom’s underwear apparently.
Remi: Are you home? Want to hang out?
Her sister didn’t respond, so Remi finished loading the dryer and pushed the start button. The tinny vibration on top of the appliance signaled a new message.
Mom: Don’t forget to clean the lint trap! That’s how fires happen.
Remi: I know, Mom. I’m not 10!
Guiltily, she stopped the dryer and emptied the lint trap before restarting it. Then just for fun, she pinned the thong to the clothesline where her parents would definitely see it.
Dryer running, fire averted, and mug full of fresh coffee, she headed into the basement. The wooden steps were scuffed and worn in the middle from decades of trips up and down. Paint splatters on the risers told the story of her earliest artist days.
With its low ceilings and lack of natural light, the Ford basement hadn’t been the best studio. But as long as she covered the chest freezer with a tarp before she started painting “happy little trees” with Bob Ross, no one cared how messy she got the concrete floor and block walls.
The lid of the freezer opened with a haunted house creak, and she peered into its frosty depths.
Remi: Dad, you have 1,000 roasts in the chest freezer. Which one am I defrosting?
Dad: It’s a special occasion! Bust out the turkey breast. We’ll have ourselves a Thanksgiving redo! Now, time to go break the spirits of my class with a pop quiz!
She broke out into an honest to goodness smile for the first time in what felt like forever. It was good to be home.
She took the turkey breast back upstairs and submerged the bird in a sink full of cold water.
After topping off her coffee, she decided to take a little homecoming tour and headed upstairs. Her parents’ bedroom was in the back of the house. The door was closed to keep the heat in just like every other winter. Life on Mackinac was expensive, and winters were cold. Most folks worked more than one job and sacrificed balmy indoor temperatures for lower heating bills when possible.
Growing up, Kimber and Remi had each had rooms in the front of the house.
She pushed open the door to her childhood bedroom and sighed. They’d made changes in here. Gone were the deep purple paint and the posters of Usher, Alicia Keys, and Zac Efron. They had kept some of the art prints she’d collected, though. The colorful pieces popped off the clean, beige walls.
The bed was the same, with its wrought iron headboard, but the kaleidoscope of scarves she’d woven between the bars was missing. Ivory bed linens made the room feel tranquil instead of moody.
Remi couldn’t help but wonder if this was the version of her that her parents would have preferred. Toned down. Restful. No longer a “hurricane of color and chaos.”
She couldn’t blame them. She was well aware that Remington Honeysuckle Ford was a lot to take.
Alessandra Ballard, on the other hand, was whimsical and interesting. At least, that had been the plan. But now, standing in her old bedroom, Remi wondered exactly where outgrowing the past and ruining her future left her.
Not that she could afford to think about that yet. Not when there were more pressing matters.
She took out her phone and opened her email. Ignoring her overflowing inbox, she started a new message—slowly and painfully due to the restricted movement of her right thumb.
C,
I hope you’re okay. Please be okay. They won’t tell me anything. Please tell me you’re okay.
R
She stared at the top of her inbox for several long minutes, willing a response to appear. When one didn’t, she flopped down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling, letting thoughts and memories rise.
She was home. Home was safe. As long as no one in her other life figured out where to find her. This was where she would exorcise a few demons, heal a few broken bones, and come up with a plan to fix everything before it was too late.
God, she hoped it wasn’t already too late.
