by Brenda Novak
Claire began to wonder if everyone else was right and she was wrong…?. “For a short while, yes. Until I get my house fixed up. If you’ve talked to Leanne you must’ve heard what happened.”
“Of course we’ve heard. I’m meeting your father there now, but I saw Isaac’s truck and realized we’d missed you.”
“Yet you come in here upset that I spoke with April. Don’t you care about my house and everything else that’s going on?”
“I can help you fix up your house. You don’t have to go to Isaac’s. You can stay with us. Or Leanne.”
She had no desire to go either place. “I’ve already decided. As I said, it’s not for long.”
“It’s long enough to ask for trouble. What if he gets you pregnant? What then?”
Claire knew that could already be true but she refused to let on.
“He’ll never treat you the way David did,” Roni was saying. “He’ll walk away as soon as you have a baby in your belly.”
Isaac didn’t defend himself, but his eyes took on that hard, glittery look, warning that he might retaliate with words equally biting and unkind.
“Let me worry about my reputation, okay?” She hoped to get him out of the burger joint before he got involved. The rift between her and her stepmother was complicated enough. She wasn’t sure how or when they’d be able to move beyond it.
“You think he’ll be better to you than we’ve been?” Roni asked. “You think he’ll look out for your interests?”
Claire didn’t want to have this discussion, not in public and not in front of Isaac. He’d already exhibited more control than she’d ever expected. Had Roni been a man, that might not have been the case. “We’ll talk about it later,” she insisted, but Roni was too upset to relent.
“Leanne told me how you’ve been acting lately.”
“She…what?” Claire said. “I don’t even know what that means. I’m doing whatever I can to get by. If you guys can’t understand—”
“What we understand,” she interrupted, “is that you’re trying to blame what happened to your mother on us. And we don’t like it.”
“I’m not trying to blame anyone. I want the truth. At last. Is that too much to ask?”
“Is that why you stabbed me in the back by going to April? To gather dirt on me?”
Claire wasn’t sure she could claim that wasn’t why she’d gone. She’d known what to expect. “Roni—”
“So I’m Roni now?” Her voice went shrill. “I’m not your mother, who’s been good to you for fifteen years?”
“Of course you are!”
“Then why didn’t you call me when your house was broken into this morning? And why haven’t you apologized for your behavior at the salon?”
Forever conscious of creating a scene, Claire made an effort to keep her voice down. Everyone was staring. “Please, stop. You’re blowing this out of proportion.”
“Leave her alone!” Jeremy yelled.
Claire motioned for her ardent admirer to calm down. “I’m fine, Jeremy. Don’t worry about me.”
Roni wagged a finger at him. “You stay out of it, Jeremy Salter, or I’ll go to your dad and you know what he’ll do.”
Claire stepped between them to divert Roni’s attention. “Please don’t threaten him. It’s me you’re upset with. I haven’t called because I’ve been…busy.”
“Getting laid?” she snapped.
Isaac’s growl told Claire he’d reached the end of his patience. He took her hand, obviously intending to lead her out whether her stepmother liked it or not, but Claire sent him a look pleading for a few more seconds. “That was uncalled for. You—you have no right to judge Isaac or me or anyone else.”
“I don’t care what she thinks of me,” Isaac said.
Claire ignored him. “Just go home,” she said to Roni, “and…and let me have some space, okay? I’ll be in touch when I get my life figured out.”
With that, she and Isaac left. They had to end the confrontation before it grew any worse. But Roni wasn’t about to give her the last word.
“Don’t think you can come crawling back to us when he breaks your heart,” she called.
Claire couldn’t believe her ears. That sounded so permanent. Would she regret this? Until two days ago, she’d never had a major disagreement with her stepmother; now she’d had two. It upset her to think they were at odds, that maybe she was letting her doubts and fears get the best of her.
Her world was as upside down as her house had been this morning. But Isaac was walking briskly, and he had a firm hold on her hand. Before she knew it they were in his truck and she was watching Hank’s Burger Joint grow smaller and smaller through the back window.
20
Claire stared at her reflection through the steam covering Isaac’s bathroom mirror. She hadn’t really needed a shower. She just hadn’t known what else to do with herself. Disappearing into the bathroom was the only thing she could think of that would give her a few minutes to be alone and regroup.
“Are you crazy for being here?” she whispered to herself.
“Certifiable,” came her own answer. And yet what could she have done differently? She felt as if she was being carried along on a giant wave that’d come crashing out of her past to bring her to some new place—but whether that place would be better or worse remained to be seen. In any case, she couldn’t pinpoint where she was to blame for what was happening. It wasn’t her fault that she felt compelled to find her mother. It wasn’t her fault that someone might’ve hired Les Weaver to shoot her husband. And it wasn’t her fault that certain people didn’t have an alibi, or that rumors abounded—rumors of marriage infidelity and jealousy and greed. She was only trying to sort it all out.
The phone rang. Isaac’s voice, when he answered it, came through the door as a low rumble, too low for her to hear what he said. She wondered if that call could be for her, but he didn’t knock at the door, and she wasn’t about to act at home enough to yell, “Who is it?”
What if it was another woman? Hayley Peters, who worked at the boutique where Claire had bought her new clothes, was a beautiful woman with a huge crush on Isaac. She talked about him nonstop whenever Claire went into the shop because she knew they’d once been together and openly envied her. If Hayley called him or dropped in while Claire was here, it could be awkward, especially if Hayley and Isaac had been intimate in recent months.
Claire didn’t know how she could stay with Isaac for any length of time without getting in his way. He said he didn’t want her to see other men, and he acted as if he didn’t plan to see anyone else, either, but that would necessitate a pretty big change of behavior, and she had no confidence he could pull it off long-term. In a day or two, maybe even tomorrow, she could be packing her bags and dragging them somewhere else, humiliated because the whole town would then be privy to their breakup. She’d placed her pride—as well as almost all her other relationships—on the line.
A soft knock interrupted. “You going to be in there all night?”
Claire wished she could stay in the bathroom. It felt safer than anywhere else at the moment. “I’m coming.”
“That was your friend on the phone,” he volunteered.
She put on a pair of panties and a T-shirt, one of her own. She couldn’t wear David’s when she was with Isaac. But she craved the comfort and familiarity of it. She craved David’s blessing on what she was doing, too. He’d always been a stabilizing influence in her life. “Laurel?”
“Yeah.”
“Is she waiting to speak to me?”
“No. I said you were in the shower.”
“What did she want?”
“To pick you up.”
David, should I go to Laurel’s?
There was no point in asking—she received no answer. She hadn’t felt her husband’s presence in a long time. Had he left her for good?
“What did you tell her?”
“That you’re fine here.”
Was she?
>
“Isn’t that true?” he asked when she didn’t respond.
“Of course. I—I appreciate your hospitality. But I can’t imagine I’ll need to inconvenience you for long.”
There was a significant pause before he spoke again. “Is that what you’re doing? Inconveniencing me?”
She was coming across as too stilted, but she didn’t know how to act anymore. She’d become estranged from the people who were normally close to her, and grown close to the one person from whom she was normally estranged. “I don’t know,” she said. “It’s been a rough day. Do we have to define…anything?”
His tone softened. “No. I think we’re both too tired for that.”
“Thanks.”
“Does that mean you’ll open the door and come to bed?”
The number of beds in his house hadn’t changed. Unless she opted for the couch, they’d be sleeping together.
Tonight she probably would’ve chosen the couch, except she didn’t feel that would seem very grateful after all he’d done for her. “Sure, I’ll be right there.”
Hoping he’d be asleep when she slipped into the room, she turned on the sink faucet as if she still had to brush her teeth. She’d already done it, twice, but she didn’t want to talk. She didn’t even want the lights on. She hoped to crawl in beside him and escape consciousness until she could rebound, at least a little.
But when she came out, he was leaning against the wall with his arms folded, waiting for her. “You okay?”
He’d asked her this at the diner. She was tempted to give the same meaningless and automatic answer—to conceal the morass of emotion inside her. Except that she wasn’t “fine.” Not at all. “I don’t want to lose my family,” she admitted.
“Are you saying you’d like me to fire the P.I.? That you’d like to let the past stand as it is? That’s an option, you know.” It wasn’t an option. Not anymore. It was too late. “This has gone too far. If I turn back now I’ll always doubt them.”
“If they hurt your mother, they should be held accountable.”
Part of her agreed with that. The other part felt it would be another catastrophe, another loss. “I know.”
“You can handle whatever happens.”
Right or wrong, his words were reassuring. With a crooked grin that seemed to echo his confidence in her, he led her into his room. She thought maybe he’d waited for her to come out of the bathroom because he wanted to make love, but she didn’t have it in her, and he seemed to understand. He peeled off his jeans and tossed them on a chair, but he didn’t remove his T-shirt and boxers or try to convince her to disrobe. He simply pulled her into bed with him and held her until she felt so warm and secure the tension drained away.
She could get used to sleeping with him, she thought. Even with the disaster her life seemed to be at the moment, resting her head on his shoulder made her happy. But that was exactly what scared her.
Sleep weighed down her eyelids, but she forced them open so she could see his profile in the dark. “Isaac?”
“Hmm?” He sounded half-asleep himself.
“It could’ve been Les Weaver who trashed my house.”
He shifted, ran a hand through her hair. “What makes you think that?”
“The call he made to me. He might’ve been the one who called you, too.”
His arm curled, bringing her even closer. “Thinking it was Les is easier than thinking it was your sister.”
“That’s not the only reason. My sister would never hurt me like that.”
He changed the subject, which led her to believe he didn’t agree. “I’ll call Myles first thing in the morning. I’m not sure he’ll be happy to hear from me, but I want to see if he ever came up with those phone records.”
Myles hadn’t treated Isaac all that well at her house today. They’d exchanged a few terse words, but for the most part Myles had addressed her as if Isaac wasn’t there. “My friends are just trying to look out for me. You understand that, don’t you?” she murmured.
“I understand.”
Sliding her hand up under his shirt, she lightly fingered his stitches to reassure herself that his wound was healing. Then she placed her palm on his pectoral muscle, taking solace in the steady thump of his heart. She hadn’t wanted to be with him when she got here tonight, hadn’t known how to react to all the changes, but she felt calmer now, and grateful for his support.
“Isaac?”
“What?”
“You feel good,” she said.
“Even though I’m not David?”
“Even though you’re not David.”
His lips brushed her temple. “You’re safe here, Claire. Get some sleep.”
21
It was midmorning by the time Isaac woke, easily ten or eleven o’clock. Even then it wasn’t the brightness of the sun or the late hour that brought him to consciousness; it was Claire. She was stirring—no, more than stirring. She’d taken off her clothes and was trying to remove his.
He shifted so she could pull off his T-shirt. His boxers went next. Then they were completely naked. They’d been this way before, many times, especially ten years ago, and yet something was different.
“You sleep okay?” He tried to draw her out, to account for the change, but the fact that she didn’t answer, didn’t seem to want to talk, told him what he needed to know. She was somber, subdued, absolutely intent—on him.
Isaac had never experienced such a deep level of intimacy with anyone else. He knew that would be impossible, because no other woman had ever meant what she meant to him. Every touch felt like truth in motion. Even as the pleasure mounted, the physical sensation was only one element of the whole, and not the most critical. She was lowering her guard, offering herself without begrudging the fact that she wanted to.
This was a second chance.
They made love slowly, silently, eyes open and locked for much of the time. When her lips parted and her breathing grew short, he rolled over and pulled her on top of him so he could watch her. Her wild hair tumbled around her face and shoulders as her eyelids closed, but she didn’t speed up the rhythm. The build was so slow, so exquisite, he knew, even if everything fell apart after this, he’d never forget this moment.
Their union was heaven—and it was hell. That she could evoke such a powerful response in him was terrifying. He hadn’t allowed himself to become so emotionally attached to anyone since his mother, had been absolutely vigilant in avoiding entanglements. After what he’d been through, he felt less threatened by neglect, abuse, derision, indifference.
Love made him vulnerable, and vulnerability made him want to run. Fortunately, he couldn’t run, because Claire needed him too badly. He’d never let anyone else hurt her.
But he wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to save her from himself.
“I’m going to visit Myles,” Isaac announced at breakfast. “He must have Les Weaver’s phone records by now. And if he doesn’t, I want to light a fire under his ass to get it done. What happened to your house should’ve convinced him that he has to act and act quickly. Whatever’s going on is definitely linked to the past.”
Claire agreed, but she didn’t have much to contribute to his comments. She’d already let her body do all the talking she wanted to this morning. She felt so strongly about Isaac that she hadn’t been able to hide it, and now she was drained, emotionally and physically.
“You’re quiet today,” he said.
“I’m just trying to think it all through.” It was a lot to process, especially with her feelings for him added into the mix. She couldn’t help acknowledging that some of what her stepmother had screamed at her in Hank’s Burger Joint could be true, or come to pass later. But Isaac cared about her. He wouldn’t be paying for a private investigator or protecting her like he was if he didn’t. She supposed, in some way, she’d always known he cared. His jealousy of David and the crackling connection she’d felt whenever she ran into him confirmed it. But she still had a hard time believi
ng he could sustain a relationship. She was pretty sure he worried about that, too. He certainly hadn’t made any commitments, no more than a good friend would make.
“I’m glad you were able to eat, at least,” he said as he collected the dishes from their oatmeal, toast and juice.
She hadn’t realized she’d finished what was in her bowl. She’d been too preoccupied. Now that they’d climbed out of bed and returned to the “real” world, she had to pick up her burdens again. Her mother’s disappearance was the same problem that had been waiting for her every day for the past fifteen years, and now she had David’s alleged murder to add to that load. “It was good.”
“I’d ask you to come with me,” he went on, reverting to what he’d been saying earlier, “but I think I’ll be able to lean on Myles a little harder if you’re not there.”
In other words, he preferred she not hear their exchange, which was fine with her. She had other plans. She’d let Joe Kenyon stonewall her too long already. She was going to pay him a visit. Thanks to the pornographic tape her sister had created, and the fact that Claire couldn’t let anyone know about it, even Isaac, this was something she had to do on her own. “No problem.”
“Any chance I can talk you into staying here and getting some more rest?” he asked.
“No. I need to take advantage of having the day off work. Just drop me at my place, okay? I’ll do some more cleaning.”
He frowned as if he might argue.
“It’s broad daylight and my sister lives next door. I’ll be perfectly safe,” she told him.
He didn’t say it—he took her home as she wished—but she knew what he was thinking: it was broad daylight when your mother went missing.
Joe and his brother were still partners in the tree business. Claire guessed they’d be working together—trimming trees, hauling debris and selling wood—for the rest of their lives. To quote one of the older ladies in her book group, they were “thick as thieves,” which was why she doubted what Peter had to say about Joe’s whereabouts on the day her mother disappeared. Their close relationship also made her wonder why, if Joe denied having an affair with her mother, Peter had offered information that seemed to contradict his brother’s statement.