The Tarnished Son, page 1
The Tarnished Son
Elizabeth McKenna
Copyright © 2024 Elizabeth McKenna
All rights reserved
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
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.
ISBN-13: 979-8-326-00156-6
Printed in the United States of America
To Jim and my guardian angel Rose Helena Slattery
Also, a shout-out to Steve P. You’re finally in one of my books! It’s a short scene, but remember: “There are no small parts, only small actors.” - Konstantin Stanislavski
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
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About The Author
Books By This Author
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ROSE
Saturday, September 2
Entry from the Journal of Rose McCabe:
I can’t sleep. We saw a man drown today. Liam killed a man today on Geneva Lake, and we didn’t tell the whole truth.
***
Earlier
My phone buzzed for the tenth time in the past half hour. My stepbrother, who made it clear I was a waste of space and deserved to be ignored or tormented based on his mood, needed me.
I deleted his message without opening it.
It was the last Saturday before Liam, or William Henry Clark III, per his high school registration forms, began his senior year. But instead of being happy that he was a little more than nine months away from freedom, Liam and his best friend Sawyer were feeling the end-of-summer blues and dreading the start of teachers and sports monopolizing their lives. They decided the only cure for their misery would be an afternoon on Geneva Lake with girls in bikinis.
But none of their friends were home, and I had become my stepbrother’s last resort, which baffled me. Had he spared my life more than a glance over the past five years, he would have noticed my minuscule social circle. So, even if I wanted to help him out, I couldn’t.
I adjusted the pillows on my bed for a more comfortable reading position. Liam called me a nerd and a bookworm, thinking these were hurtful insults. But it was better than being a shallow jock like him and his friends.
A page later, someone knocked on my bedroom door. Would Liam plead his case in person? It went against our unwritten rule of exchanging no more than one to two sentences when forced to be in the same room. An unfamiliar sense of power over my stepbrother gave me the courage to continue ignoring him.
“Rose? Can I come in?” Mom’s muffled voice came from behind the door.
I winced, realizing my rudeness toward the only person who mattered to me in the house. “Yes, sorry. I didn’t hear you knock.”
She opened the door, and I held up my book. “Guess I was lost in another world.”
A frown marred the pixie-like features of her face. “Sometimes, you need to be in this world, honey.”
I pressed a knuckle against my lips to keep from asking why. It was an old and tired argument, and I knew what Mom would reply. Though I loved her to the moon and back, our personalities were polar opposites, which left us at odds every so often. Where she blossomed in a room full of people, I shrank into the nearest dark corner, enduring a slow death.
“I hear Liam wants a favor from you,” she said as she sat on my bed, her feet dangling above the floor.
More out of habit than anything else, she leaned over and twisted a lock of my unruly dirt-colored hair away from my face. It was another trait we didn’t share, as her ash-blond hair framed her face in a bob that swung with every move of her head but then settled into place when she stilled. The only things I inherited from her were my brown eyes, slim build, and below-average height, which I would gladly return for a refund. Genetics was so temperamental.
She took my silence as a willingness to continue listening to her pitch. “It’s obvious you kids don’t get along. It distresses Hank and me, but we understand. Blended families can be hard. However, Liam is reaching out to you. Maybe this could be a turning point in your relationship.”
My real dad was a US contractor working in Iraq when the enemy ambushed his convoy. I was six when he died. We were living in Chicago, but growing up, Mom spent her summers in Williams Bay, and that’s how she knew Hank. They reconnected via social media several years after Dad’s death and married when I was ten. Hank’s first wife divorced him after deciding small-town life wasn’t for her. I overheard Liam tell Sawyer she was a street artist in Paris.
“He wants me to pimp out some of my girlfriends.” I glared at my phone, which had buzzed again. “Like I even have any.”
“I think both of those statements are pretty harsh,” Mom chided, but her voice was kind. “He wants to have fun on the last weekend of summer. Don’t you?”
My fingers tightened around the book in my lap. “Actually, I was.”
“OK, but you admitted you don’t have any friends. If you call a few girls from your class and spend the afternoon with them, maybe the first day of your sophomore year won’t be so lonely.”
I resisted the urge to correct her. No one “called” anyone anymore. That alone would be my kiss of death. Instead, I flipped over my phone and read Liam’s latest message. His begging had turned into bribery, swearing to do my chores for a week, a promise I knew he’d break by Tuesday.
“High school is supposed to be a fun time filled with parties, dances, and dates.” Her enthusiasm grew with each word. “Don’t you want to do all of that? Surely, there are some nice girls in your class with whom you could be friends.”
The odds of finding a true friend weren’t in my favor. Mom went to a large high school in suburban Chicago and had thousands of kids to pick from. On the other hand, Williams Bay was so small that the norm was around thirty students per grade. Occasionally, someone new came, as I did five years ago. But overall, it was the same group for twelve years. If you didn’t connect with one of the thirty in your class, you were out of luck unless you transferred to a school in a neighboring town.
Mom’s hopeful expression, tinged with worry over her daughter, the outcast, filled me with guilt. Giving in seemed my only option. “I guess I could ask Isabel and Zoe if they want to hang out.”
We did an English project together before school ended in June, and I had their cell numbers. Even though they were best friends, they had been nice to me, and I never felt left out.
Mom nodded and patted my thigh. “That’s my girl. I’m sure you’ll have a great time with them and the boys.”
It took me several minutes to carefully word the text, and my stomach burned with acid when I finally sent it. True to my bad luck, Isabel and Zoe immediately responded with excited smiley faces, jacked biceps, and flame emojis, so I assumed they wanted to go. After all, Liam and Sawyer were the most drool-worthy in our high school. I guess it didn’t matter that I was on the opposite end of that spectrum. Having to put up with my social awkwardness was well worth the price for a few hours of ogling shirtless boys baked golden brown from three months of the summer sun.
***
The girls met us at the lakefront at one o’clock, and we walked a short distance to the pier where Liam’s grandpa docked his boat. The vintage mahogany Chris Craft held five passengers, with two bucket seats in front and a bench seat in the rear. Thanks to his grandpa’s loving care, it was in pristine condition with its gleaming varnish and shiny chrome trim.
“It’s so pretty, Liam,” Zoe
“My grandpa acts like it’s his baby. Sometimes, he spends hours down here just polishing it. Kinda crazy.”
“I was surprised he agreed to let you take her out,” Sawyer said with a wink in Isabel and Zoe’s direction. “Doesn’t he know how rough you are with women?”
“Ha. Ha,” Liam deadpanned. “Make yourself useful and get the ropes.”
Zoe, Isabel, and I sat with our hips touching on the bench seat while Liam started the engine and Sawyer untied the ropes. Then, we putt-putted away from the pier under a cloudless sky and a blazing sun. Before we left the no-wake zone that encircled the lake, everyone but me stripped down to their swimsuits.
As Zoe and Isabel stowed their tank tops and shorts in their beach totes, I envied their confidence in wearing such skimpy bikinis. Mom once suggested I work with my petite frame instead of hiding it in baggy clothes, but she didn’t barely fit into an A-cup bra in a world that worshiped Ds.
“Aren’t you hot?” Isabel asked me as she wound her long, loose curls into a messy bun. Her dark hair was inherited from her Puerto Rican mother, though her fair complexion came from her Irish father.
“No, I’m good.” I ducked my head and wiped a drop of sweat before it could roll down my face. Yes, I was hot, but I didn’t want to show my pale skin any sooner than necessary. The girls didn’t need to know I’d spent most of the summer in my bedroom. I dipped my hand over the side of the boat and let the cold water course through my fingers. Droplets caught the sun’s rays and sparkled like diamonds.
“Who wants a beer?” Sawyer dug into the cooler at his feet and held up two cans.
Isabel and Zoe consulted via best friend telepathy, then reached for the beers.
“Mouse?” he asked, using the nickname Liam had given me after our families merged and he realized I wasn’t outgoing or popular.
The girls shot me identical questioning looks, which I ignored. Instead, I grabbed the unopened can and put it in a cup holder.
Sawyer cracked a beer for Liam and then opened his own.
“No one spill,” Liam commanded before taking a long drink from his can. “My grandpa would kill me.”
I didn’t doubt it. The old grump made a Mafia Don look like a preschool teacher.
Liam expertly weaved around the anchored boats scattered across the bay our village butted up against, one hand on the wheel, the other holding his cold beer. Where he got his supply of alcohol was a mystery, one he gleefully kept from me. Not that I cared. I had never gone to a party, but I had overheard classmates bragging about how much they drank and laughing over who puked and who passed out. It wasn’t my scene.
Geneva Lake was seven and a half miles long and two miles wide. Given its size, the wind, and the boat chop from tourists and locals, a smooth ride was rarely guaranteed. Today was no exception. Whitecaps dotted the deep blue water, bouncing us as if we were on a trampoline.
At the end of the bay, where the lake opened up, Liam gunned the engine and turned right, kicking up spray.
Zoe got the worst of the surprise shower and shrieked in dismay. “Liam, you brat! I didn’t want to get my hair wet.”
One side of her white-blond, flat-ironed hair dripped with water. She swept it up, pulled a scrunchie off her wrist, and secured a high ponytail. Her pretty mouth tightened into a pout, and she shot my stepbrother a harsh look from under full, dark lashes.
“Sorry, my bad.” Liam grinned over his shoulder at her, enhancing his already irresistible face. Zoe melted into the red vinyl bench seat when he lowered his square jaw, a Clark family trademark, and cocked an eyebrow.
Flirting came as natural as breathing to him. While I waited for the rule book to arrive in the mail, he won the game blindfolded and with his hands tied behind his back.
Zoe leaned over Isabel and whispered in my ear, “Your brother’s so delicious.”
“Stepbrother,” I reminded her.
Though we lived in Wisconsin, with his shaggy blond hair, cobalt blue eyes, and chill attitude that he shared with everyone but me, Liam could easily pass for a California surfer boy. He even had talked about attending college there before his mediocre grades ruled it out. Now, he’d be lucky to go to an in-state school, much to the angst of his father and grandfather.
“Does he like anyone?” Zoe watched Liam as he laughed at a story Sawyer was telling him.
I shrugged. More than one girl stopped by the house this summer, but it didn’t mean anything. Girls had been chasing my stepbrother since the day I met him.
“Where are you going to head?” Sawyer asked Liam. He sat half-turned toward us, his legs spread apart and one elbow resting on the back of his chair. The boat jumped the waves and hit the water hard, but his body moved effortlessly in sync with the jarring rhythm.
“Fontana? We can anchor outside the swim area.”
Having left their baby fat at the double doors of the school gym in sixth grade, the boys had similar tall and muscular builds from playing football, basketball, and baseball year-round. But while Liam was light, Sawyer was dark, his hair short and jet black, his eyes a creamy chocolate brown, and his skin several shades tanner than Liam’s. They often competed for the top sports honors, but as far as I could tell, it had never affected their friendship, born in kindergarten.
A few minutes later, we arrived outside the swim area of Fontana’s beach. Liam turned off the boat engine, and we drifted to a stop. Sawyer then set the anchor while Liam tossed life jackets from the cargo hold.
“Here, let me help.” Sawyer reached for Isabel, who was struggling with her life jacket. His hands encircled her waist and touched her exposed skin, and she giggled uncertainly. Smiling down at her, he scanned her body while his fingers untangled the straps and clicked the buckles closed.
The challenge in his eyes left me uneasy. I had heard enough conversations between Sawyer and Liam as they shot hoops or killed enemies in Call of Duty to know Sawyer was after only one thing—and it wasn’t a meaningful, long-term relationship.
The boys knocked their beers together before chugging them, and then Liam threw a tennis ball into the water and yelled, “Last one in is in the middle.”
Which, of course, was me. As everyone else jumped overboard, I finished buckling my jacket and inched down the ladder, wincing as the chilly water hit my sensitive lady parts.
After I swam to the center of where they floated in a large circle, Liam tossed the ball over my head to Sawyer, who caught it easily. He threw it to Isabel, who missed it. I lunged and paddled to grab the ball floating in front of her, but she got there first. This went on for several minutes until Zoe took pity on me. Her throw to Liam splashed down less than a yard away from me, and I snagged it before my stepbrother could. I smiled gratefully at her as we exchanged places.
When the boys got bored with the game, we dried off on the boat, and Sawyer offered another round of beers.
“Sure,” the girls said in unison. I had yet to open my first one.
“Pop them over the water,” Liam instructed. “They’re probably shaken up.”
Everyone did as told, but Zoe still got sprayed in the face, and Sawyer had to slurp up the mini eruption of foam from his can.
“My third shower of the day,” she sighed, wiping off her face with her towel.
“Is your mom going to smell the beer?” Isabel asked.
“No, I do most of the laundry and housework now.” Zoe’s expression turned pensive. “Mom’s been putting in a lot of overtime.”
“Is everything OK?” Isabel whispered.
“Yeah, of course,” Zoe replied in a bubbly voice, quickly switching moods. “Overtime is better than no time, right?”
While the choppy water rocked the small boat and everyone except me checked their phones, I wondered about Zoe’s life. Before today, I assumed it was great. She was pretty and well-liked—and had a best friend. But her sadness a few minutes ago, no matter how fleeting, made me realize I knew nothing about my classmates.
“You gotta be kidding,” Sawyer groaned, interrupting my thoughts. “I have to go.”
Liam’s head popped up. “What? Why?”
“Sammy didn’t show up for his shift. I have to cover for him.”
Liam snorted dismissively. “You aren’t working there once school starts. Blow it off.”
“I can’t. I want to work there next summer.”
