Time Enough In Spring (Moonridge Memories, #4)

By L.M. Pfalz

In the final book of the Moonridge Memories series, Theresa begins to reevaluate her life and relationships when a family member tragically dies. Her aunt, a traveling musician and her idol, visits for the first time in over thirty years and encourages Theresa to follow her dreams of becoming a singer before it's too late.

Meanwhile, Beth is still on the outs with her friends and deals with living an isolated life with Patrick Jordan, as he becomes increasingly possessive and dangerous. The more he reverts back to his old self, the more desperate Beth is to leave him, even if it means putting her life and the lives of the people she cares about in danger.

• Language: English
• Publisher: L.M. Pfalz
• Release date: Jun 28, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301971268

L.M. Pfalz

L.M. Pfalz started writing novels at the age of 13, as a way of channeling her vivid imaginings after packing away her childish playthings. She was born in Cincinnati, Ohio, but has spent most of her life in Florida. She currently resides in the Tampa Bay area with her cat, Cheshire.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Missed Call

Moonridge, Ohio – March 21, 2016

Theresa pushed the cluttered housekeeping cart down the cement walkway, passing brown motel room doors. Her shift had just started, and her feet already began to hurt. The wheels on the cart squeaked, sounding painfully loud on this otherwise quiet morning. She stopped at the last room and knocked on the door. Housekeeping!

There was no response from the other side, so she proceeded to unlock the door. In Moonridge’s typical antiquated way, the owner of the motel still used traditional brass keys, instead of upgrading to card keys. Some guests commented on the quaintness of them, but Theresa knew better. The owner was just too cheap and too lazy to modernize. She entered the room to find it in the typical untidy condition: unmade beds, full trash cans, used towels. She donned her teal rubber gloves and got the most abhorrent task out of the way first—cleaning the toilet. Just as she began to scrub, her cellphone rang from her apron pocket. Great timing, she thought, letting it ring.

After a half-hour, the room was spotless and ready for the next guest—the never-ending cycle of a motel maid. Before she left the room, she checked her phone. The missed call was from her older sister Michelle, whom she rarely heard from. Her first thought was that it was bad news. Perhaps something happened to their mother or John. Theresa returned the call, and after four rings got her sister’s voice mail.

Michelle, she said, looks like we’re playing a game of phone tag. I hope you’re okay. Call me back. She tucked the phone back into her apron pocket and got back to work.

Fifteen year-old Nathan Thompson, son of Theresa and David, sat alone at one of the cafeteria lunch tables. He protectively wrapped his thick forearm around his food tray, like a prison inmate might do. He wasn’t concerned about someone stealing his food though. He was worried about one his peers using it against him. Growing up as a fat kid, he had been teased and bullied for his weight his entire life, and it wasn’t unusual for the nastier kids to use his own food against him, whether it be smearing ketchup across his face or dumping pudding down his pants. He had been humiliated so many times at lunch that no one would sit with him—not that Nathan had any friends to speak of. Aaron, Beth and Wil’s son, was two grades ahead of him, and they had grown apart after Tina’s death. So, Nathan sat there alone as he always did.

Today was different though.

A girl in baggy camo pants and a black Ramones T-shirt sat down beside him. Hey, Thompson, she said, her long auburn hair hanging down in her face.

He cast a sidelong glare at her. What do you want?

She shrugged. Just wanted to say, ‘hey’. Why do you always eat alone?

Nobody likes me.

Makes two of us. She grabbed his can of Coca-Cola and took a drink, before he could say anything. He expected her to pour it on him or dump it out on his food or some other mean prank, but she didn’t. She just said, You know who I am, right?

Rachael.

Ah, but Rachael what?

He snatched his pop can back from her. Can you just leave me alone?

She grinned. Come on, Thompson. Let’s get out of here.

I don’t think so.

She pretended to pout. Well, now you’ve hurt my feelings. Don’t you wanna be friends?

Nathan didn’t say anything. He just waited for her to do whatever humiliating thing she had planned and leave. She just remained sitting there though, looking at him.

So, what’s your deal, Thompson? Why doesn’t anybody like you?

Take a good long look at me.

I am. You’re a big guy. Got it. She gave him a sarcastic thumbs up. Most people gravitate towards the jolly fat guys. Something tells me you’re not so jolly though. Quiet, bitter, hate the world?

I don’t hate the world.

No. She squinted her eyes and studied him. "You hate this town."

He waited a beat and then nodded.

Me too, she said. No…that’s not really true. This town hates me and my family. You know the stories, I’m sure.

He shrugged. Not really.

Oh. Really? Is it nice under your rock?

Yeah, I’ve got cable.

She laughed, and even Nathan was starting to feel more at ease. He took a drink of his Coke can.

You don’t mind drinking after me? Rachael asked with a grin.

He lowered the can from his lips. Nah.

Huh. I like you, Thompson. You’re not mind-numbingly stupid and dull like everyone else in this school. You… She tapped her hands on the table in a quick, rhythmic beat. …march to your own drummer.

So do you.

"Well, I have to. It’s expected of me."

If you say so.

Wait. You really don’t know the stories?

None about you.

No, there’s nothing about me, not specifically. She raised her right hand as if taking an oath. Guilty by association. She lowered her hand. I guess that’s what happens in a small town when your uncle is an ex-con, you know?

Your uncle’s an ex-con?

Rachael chortled. Unbelievable. I thought all parents told the not-so-urban legends of the dreaded Patrick Jordan.

Jordan. Rachael Jordan, he muttered.

She slugged his arm. "You didn’t know my last name?"

"Geez, sorry. He rubbed his arm, surprised by how much it hurt. I’ve heard of Patrick Jordan. Not much though. What was he in jail for?"

She shrugged. I dunno. My dad doesn’t like to talk about it. Kids used to call me ‘killer’ though, so I used my fantastic skills of deduction to figure out he must’ve killed someone.

Nathan’s eyebrows rose. Really?

I guess. Probably in self-defense or something. He stayed with us for awhile when I was a kid, and he seemed pretty cool, she said. Does it freak you out though?

No.

She smiled. "It freaks everyone else out. I’d be curious to know the whole story, you know? Clear his name—clear my name."

Sounds like a plan.

Good. So you’ll help me with my research then?

Me?

Yeah, you. You got something better to do with your free time, Thompson?

Nathan was reluctant. He had heard the name Patrick Jordan bandied about in hushed tones by his mom and dad over the years, but he never knew what their connection was to him. He was curious to find out, but part of him was afraid to—what would his parents say if they found out?

"I’m waiting," Rachael said, while Nathan was lost in thought.

On the other hand, when would he ever get the chance to hang out with a girl his own age? One he found oddly attractive, in an offbeat sort of way. Before he realized what he was doing, his head nodded.

Does that mean you’re in? she asked.

Uh…sure. Why not?

Your enthusiasm is flattering. Really, she remarked. Meet me at the library after school.

After work, Theresa checked her phone. Michelle still hadn’t called her back, so Theresa called her, but got her voicemail again. She was beginning to worry. She even tried calling the only hospital in Moonridge to ensure Michelle hadn’t been in an accident. They had no record of her as a patient, or any of the Jenkenson family.

Theresa drove home. She still lived in her old childhood home with David and their five children. She stumbled upon a mess when she walked through the front door. Eight year-old Andrew had scads of Hotwheels cars running up and down the front hallway.

Beep beep, Mom, he said. You’re going to mess up my traffic jam.

Andrew, someday someone’s gonna break their neck on these things, she said, gingerly stepping around his cars. Clean this up before your dad gets home.

I will, I will.

She headed into the kitchen where nine year-old Violet sat at the counter doing her homework and listening to her portable radio.

Mom! she squealed. Mom, guess what?

I can’t even imagine.

"I got the starring role in the fourth grade production of Sleeping Beauty. I’m Sleeping Beauty! Can you believe it?"

Theresa smiled. That’s great, Violet. You’ll make a beautiful Sleeping Beauty. It’s perfect casting.

I can’t wait to see who Mrs. Robbins casts as the prince. I hope it’s Ethan. She folded her hands together and prayed. "Please let it be Ethan. He’s the cutest boy ever."

I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you. Theresa walked over to the fridge. I wonder if Nathan wants a snack.

Nathan’s not home.

He’s not?

Uh-uh. He called a little while ago. He said he was going to the library to study.

Oh. Theresa furrowed her brow. Nathan never went to the library after school—or anywhere for that matter. He hated school so much, he often came right home to play his computer games. Did he say when he’ll be home?

Before dinner.

Theresa snorted and muttered, Well, that’s not vague or anything.

What’d you say, Mom?

Oh nothing.

Nathan stood outside of the library, watching his peers catching their rides and going home. He wished he was. He didn’t know what possessed him to agree to this. Sure, Rachael was the first girl ever to give him the time of day, but part of him suspected that she was just setting him up for some form of humiliation. That seemed to be a common theme throughout his adolescence. He was nothing more than a punchline to almost everyone at his school.

Rachael popped out from behind him with a Boo!

Nathan whirled around. Jesus!

Scared ya? Don’t be such a wimp. She tugged on his arm. Let’s go, Thompson.

They went into the library and headed to the shelf where the old yearbooks were located. Nathan mostly tagged along behind Rachael. His interest in the project had vanished as quickly as it came, and now Rachael was even starting to get on his nerves. He just wanted to go home, finish his homework, and play his video games.

Aha! Rachael said, pulling out one of the yearbooks from the shelves. 1986. Let’s see how tragic my dad looked. She flipped to the J’s in the juniors section. Odd. He’s not here. He would’ve been sixteen, so he should be right here.

Maybe he got held back, Nathan said.

Oh, you would have to go there. Are you calling my dad dumb?

I don’t know your dad. I was just sayin’.

Rachael flipped several pages backward. I’m only humoring you, just so you know.

Yeah, fine, whatever.

She stopped in the sophomore section and scanned the black and white student portraits. She pointed to three pictures halfway down the page. Whoa. That’s them. My dad and my uncles. They were in the same grade?

Nathan looked at the three boys. Which one’s your dad?

This one. She pointed to the last boy in alphabetical order. Rod Jordan. That’s him.

He stared at the slender boy with hard angular facial features and sunken cheeks. His eyes drifted from him to the portrait of Patrick Jordan, a boy who even from the shoulders up looked like he was quite a bit larger than Rod. He wore a sneer above his square jaw. Nathan couldn’t put his finger on it, but Patrick Jordan seemed familiar somehow. Maybe their paths had crossed before without him realizing he was an ex-con.

They must’ve been held back, Rachael said. Damn you, Thompson, you were right.

Nathan pointed to a picture of Leonard Jordan, the only one of the three who attempted a legitimate smile for his school picture. What’s his deal?

Rachael shrugged. My dad doesn’t talk about him much. I guess they grew apart, I don’t know. I don’t think I’ve ever met him.

Yeah, I have aunts like that, Nathan said. One of them died before I was born.

Really? That’s sad.

Yeah.

Rachael closed the yearbook. Come on, let’s hit the computer. I bet we can find out more on the internet.

Hey, listen, Rachael. I think I’m just gonna take off. This isn’t really my thing.

We haven’t even done anything yet, she said. Geez, Thompson, you gotta lighten up. What’s not fun about delving into the dark secrets of my family’s past, hmm?

He chortled. I dunno.

Look, I don’t have any friends, and I’m kind of sick of it, you know? Actually, I know you do…you must get sick of it too, she said. Maybe…maybe I’m kind of scared to find out the truth behind my name. I mean, it’s not like it never occurred to me before to look this stuff up, but I always chickened out. I didn’t wanna be a leper to even myself, you know?

Nathan slowly nodded. Yeah, I get that.

I have a confession to make, Thompson. I was watching you for a few days and not just at lunchtime. I think you might be the only person who could possibly understand how I feel. You’re always alone. I’m always alone. Why is that?

Well—

I’ll tell you why. Because somewhere along the line, kids made up their minds about us without even trying to get to know us. Me? I have an infamous name. You? You don’t look how they think you should look. Hell, I don’t look how they want me to look either. I’ve been teased for my weight too.

You’re not…fat.

I have big hips and fat thighs. I come from a long line of women who have pear shapes, and trust me, a girl’s locker room can be downright vicious. This town sucks. It’s practically inbred. It’s not hard to become a leper when preconceived notions are past down from generation to generation. Me and you, we’re all we have, and we have two more long years of high school ahead of us. Do you really wanna stick it out alone?

Well, no, but—

Then, it’s settled. Quick, to the computer! She darted over to the lone computer the library offered and sat down at it.

Nathan followed, pulling up a chair beside her. So, are you, like, the last person on the planet to not have internet access at home?

Hardly. I have the internet. I just don’t have my own computer. My mom’s a little overprotective, so we have to keep the computer in the living room, and she is a bit stalker-ish when it comes to me and my brother’s activity.

Oh. That kind of sucks.

Yeah. At least I have my own cellphone…with limited minutes. Emergency use only, and all that. My parents are so lame, she said. Are yours overprotective?

Nathan shrugged. Not really. I don’t really give them a reason to be. I’m at home most of the time.

So… She didn’t take her eyes off the computer. She typed Patrick Jordan into the Google search engine. You’re allowed to date?

Nathan’s mouth lost all moisture. His tongue lay heavy and immobile. He had never dated before, never even considered it as any sort of possibility. Was she hinting? Or was she making conversation?

She glanced at him. Well?

I… He licked his lips. I dunno.

She smirked. I’m not. The funny thing is, my mom wants me to have a social life, but my dad? Pfft. I think he’d be happy if I didn’t date until I was thirty.

Nathan relaxed. Oh.

Disappointed?

No, he replied quickly. I didn’t…assume…anything.

You’re a teenage boy—of course, you did. It’s okay though. You never know what lies ahead. And these search results aren’t finding anything. How is that possible? There should be a mugshot or something.

Type in ‘Moonridge’.

"I did. There’s one article that I can’t access. The library has put some block on the page. I swear, it’s not like we’re trying to look at porn or something!"

Shh, don’t say that so loud.

"What, ‘porn’? I said we weren’t looking at porn."

Just stop saying—he lowered his voice to a whisper—‘porn’.

Rachael laughed. You crack me up, Thompson. Come on, we’re getting nowhere here. Might as well go home.

Chapter 2

Picking Up The Pieces

Moonridge – March 21, 2016

Wil removed an old rag from the back pocket of his blue coveralls and wiped the motor oil off his hands before entering the lobby. It was going on eighteen years since he started working at McDaultry’s Auto Shop, though he’d been working as a mechanic for almost twenty-five. He couldn’t even imagine what it would be like to have another vocation, or to not have oil under his fingernails at the end of the day.

He approached his sister Winny, who worked the front counter in the lobby. She had left her waitressing job at Beth’s diner, when Beth got mixed up with Patrick Jordan. Despite Winny never having a history with the Jordan brothers, she was loyal to Wil, and he was able to get her a job at McDaultry’s. Most days they barely said two words to each other, but there was something comforting about having his sister only a few feet away. After their horrible childhood growing up with an abusive father who made Winny his favorite punching bag, she was never far from Wil’s mind, and now he could keep a better eye on her.

Hey, Win, he said.

Her fingers stopped their quick pattering on the computer keyboard, and she looked up at him with a smile. Hey, big brother. Going on break?

In about fifteen minutes. Will you give Martha Daniels a call and tell her she can pick up her car at four?

Sure thing. Winny scrolled through a spreadsheet on the computer to find her number. By the by, I don’t know if you’ll wanna know this or not, but Beth’s bringing her car in tomorrow.

Ah, shit. What time?

She just said in the morning.

How’d she sound?

Winny shrugged. Okay, I guess. Didn’t say much.

Wil nodded. I think I should make myself scarce when she comes in.

If that’s what you think is best. Do you know what tomorrow is?

Um…

Her birthday, she said. I don’t know why I remember that.

Oh. Yeah.

I’ll find out how she’s been…not that I expect her to tell me the truth.

He nodded. Fine. I need to get back to work, and you should make that call.

The bell above the glass door jingled, and an attractive red-haired woman entered the lobby. Wil recognized her. She was Allison Sebrick, one of their regular customers. Her red locks bounced around her shoulders as she walked. She lifted her sunglasses and rested them on top of her head when she got to the counter. Hi, I’m here for my oil change. My appointment’s at noon.

I can take care of that for you, Wil said.

Wil, Winny said, aren’t you going on break?

Eh, this won’t take long. Just pull your car into the first bay, and I’ll take care of the rest.

Allison smiled. Thanks. She turned and sashayed out, jingling the bell above the door again.

Winny pulled at his sleeve. Hey, what are you doing?

An oil change—

"No, I mean what are you doing? Do you have a thing for her?"

He scoffed. No. Why do you think that?

Well, I don’t have a ton of experience in that department, but you guys seemed sort of flirty.

I was just being nice.

Uh huh. Sure.

Wil glared at her. Make the phone call, okay?

He headed out into the garage, just as Allison was pulling her car in. She rolled down her window. This good?

Perfect.

She parked, got out, and handed her keys to him, smiling again. I’ll be waiting in the lobby.

Wil watched her as she went back inside. He ran his fingers through his hair and glanced down at the keys in his hand. They hung off of a red heart-shaped key chain. He tucked them into his pocket and got to work.

Once he finished the oil change, he had the youngest mechanic there—the Rookie, as the guys called him—pull the car around, while Wil went into the lobby. Allison was sitting on one of the black vinyl chairs with a tabloid magazine in her hands. She flipped through the pages without any real interest.

Wil approached her. You’re all set.

She tossed the magazine on to the coffee table in front of her and stood up. Well, that was quick. Thank you. She lifted her sunglasses off of her head and put them back on.

No problem. He tucked his hands into his pockets. His palms were sweating and his heart raced. He wanted to ask her out, but he was no good at this, never had been. His only two serious relationships just sort of developed without much effort. First Jess (Lacey’s mom), then Beth. He wasn’t the casual dating type. But Allison was heading for the door, and he had chickened out too many times before. He hurried after her. Hey, wait a sec.

Allison stopped and turned to him. Yeah?

He wished she had waited to put on her shades, so he could gauge her expression better. Was she interested? Annoyed? Indifferent? He couldn’t tell. He chortled at himself and rubbed his forehead. I was wondering…

Yeah?

Ah, what the hell. Would you wanna go out sometime?

Her lips separated, and her eyebrows briefly flicked up above her sunglasses before hiding again. Um. A chuckle got caught in her throat. I’m sorry, I don’t think so.

Wil nodded and lowered his eyes. Right.

She gave a pitying smile and said, See ya around.

She left the lobby, and Wil felt like tearing down the jingling bell above the door. He turned on his heels and walked up to the front desk, where Winny was obviously trying not to make eye contact.

Going on break now? she asked.

Yep. After that kind of humiliation, I should be in seclusion, he said.

She gave a sympathetic half-smile. At least you tried, big brother. Some of us don’t even have the courage to do that.

He squeezed her shoulder. Thanks, kiddo. I’ll see ya in a bit.

Lacey wiped down the bar top at Redd’s Tavern, the only bar in town. The owner, Mario, hired Lacey when his health started to deteriorate. The year before he suffered a heart attack and had to start taking it easy. Now, Lacey worked weekdays, opening the bar at four P.M. and closing at two in the morning. Mario still came in for the weekend shifts. She didn’t mind the ten hour days. Something about keeping busy helped her maintain some semblance of sanity. Hiding out in a dark bar allowed her to forget she was back in Moonridge.

There were no customers yet. It was only a little past four, and people didn’t usually start rolling in until five or six. Lacey enjoyed the quiet though. The only noise came from an old jukebox in the corner playing Bruce Springsteen records. She left the rag on the bar and lit up a cigarette—one of the perks of the job. She swayed her hips to Springsteen’s Thunder Road as smoke swirled overhead. When the bar door opened, she stopped and turned her head. A man with shoulder-length messy hair and wearing a blue-gray janitor uniform eased onto a bar stool with a low groan.

Now, here’s a familiar face, she said.

His eyes narrowed studying her. You’re not…Lacey?

She half-grinned. How ya doin’, Leo?

Not bad. I heard you left town.

Really? And who’d you hear that from?

His eyes drifted down, staring at his folded hands resting on the bar top. I dunno.

It’s okay. I know it was probably Beth.

His gaze returned to her. Yeah. I used to eat at her diner, and we’d chat…a little.

Hey, relax. You saving my life takes you off my shit list. You’re the only decent one to come out of your family. You know that, right?

He shrugged. I don’t keep in touch with my brothers.

Without missing a beat, she said, Good. What can I get you?

Whatever you have on tap is fine.

Aren’t we easy. She smirked and filled up a mug with Budweiser. She slid it in front of him along with a bowl of peanuts. So you’re still a janitor, I see.

Yeah. He took a sip of beer and licked his lips. What else is there for a guy like me?

Lacey planted her hands spread out on the bar and leaned forward a little. In a softer tone, despite the bar being empty except for them, she said, I should’ve thanked you for what you did for me back then.

Don’t mention it.

She stared directly into his stormy gray-blue eyes, seeing a tortured soul behind them. "I want you to know