“Lydia Dale’s death was hard on him. Graydon’s too. Rob Lee never knew another father besides Graydon. Of course, we were all broken up after the accident. I lost my father, my sister, and my best friend in one day. Taffy lost her husband and daughter. Jeb and Cady were orphaned too, but I think Rob Lee took it harder than anybody. The light just started to fade from him after that. And going to Afghanistan, that bombing . . .” Mary Dell shook her head sorrowfully.
“I know,” Holly said. “Cady told me about it. I can’t imagine. So awful. There’ve been so many times, especially lately, when I thought he was finally starting to trust me. I wanted to talk to him about it. I thought maybe it’d help if he could share that with me, you know? But every time the conversation got within a million miles of Afghanistan, he’d change the subject.
“Except for the night of the party,” Holly said slowly, in a reflective tone of voice. “He and Luke didn’t talk about anything but Afghanistan. They talked about all the guys in their unit, the tough spots they’d been in, the bad food and the heat and cold, one of the officers who sounded like a serious jerk. I didn’t say anything, because, you know, what could I say? I didn’t mind. They had lots of catching up to do. But after a while, it was like they forgot I was even there.
“When Luke started talking about a firefight he’d been in, Rob Lee let go of my hand and leaned in, staring at him. Luke was telling him how he’d been ambushed and got trapped inside this house with a couple of other guys. They were trying to radio for help, but there were insurgents all through the area, so it took almost two hours before they were rescued. One of the guys didn’t make it. I think it was somebody Rob Lee knew.”
“Did he say anything else about that later?”
“No. It was time for the cake and then Howard passed out. Rob Lee went off to the hospital with Cady and Taffy and Linne. He didn’t say good-bye, but I didn’t think anything about it at the time. Everything was so confused. I thought about going to the hospital, too, but I figured you probably didn’t need any more people in the way. I mean, I’m not family or anything. But I was really worried about Howard. I’m so glad he’s doing better. Any word on a kidney?”
“Not so far,” Mary Dell said, “but it’s early days yet. Cady’s not a match, or Rob Lee either. Of course, Taffy’s too old to give up her kidney. But there’s a lot of people in town who volunteered for testing. I’m just praying that one of them turns out to be a good match.”
“Me too.”
“Listen,” Mary Dell said, her face apologetic, “I’ve been meaning to come over and talk to you. But things have been so crazy. I’m really sorry about what happened with the show. I never thought there’d be a problem just doubling up on the filming schedule. I even checked with Artie first, and he said it was fine. If I had realized that Jason would use that as an excuse to cancel the show—”
Holly raised her hand to stop Mary Dell’s apology. “It’s okay, really. You were exactly where you needed to be. If I were a mom, I’d have done the same thing. It’s not your fault that Jason is a slimeball. And anyway,” she said with a little smile, “I don’t think that season eight of Quintessential Quilting was going to do a thing to help either of our careers.”
Mary Dell let out a regretful chuckle. “You’re probably right. But the two episodes we got to do without Artie were pretty good.”
“They were great. That day was the most fun I’ve ever had in front of a camera. I felt really proud of what we did. Well,” Holly said with a shrug, “it was really you. But it was still fun to be part of it. I was so excited to see the way the editing turned out. But you didn’t really think that Jason was going to let those episodes go on the air, did you?” Holly tilted her head to the side, raising her brows to a skeptical arch.
“It was kind of a Hail Mary pass,” Mary Dell admitted. “I was hoping that they might slip by without him seeing them, or that if he did see them, maybe he’d be so impressed that he’d finally forget about the bee in his backside and decide to redo the whole season with a good director in charge.”
“You really thought that could happen? I mean, you’ve met Jason, right?”
Mary Dell threw out her hands and bowed her head, a mea culpa gesture. “I know, I know. I’m a very optimistic person. I really do believe that things work out in the end, somehow.” She smiled. “But then, I’m also not one hundred percent sure that Santa Claus isn’t real.”
Mary Dell laughed and Holly grinned.
“I’m just sorry that you got caught up in this mess.”
“What mess? I had fun,” Holly insisted. “I got to see Texas and I got a horse, the best horse in the world. It’s my childhood dream come true.”
“And you got your heart broken,” Mary Dell said, making her voice a question.
“Maybe a little,” Holly admitted. “But I hear people recover.”
“They do,” Mary Dell said. “Eventually.”
“See?” Holly said, blinking quickly. “I’m going to be fine. All I need now is a job. My agent’s already working on it. That’s why I’m happy I ran into you. I’ve got to fly to Nashville for an audition tomorrow. I probably won’t get it,” she said modestly, “and even if I did I’d have to come back to get my stuff and figure out how to get Stormy out to Tennessee. But in the meantime, if Howard gets a kidney or something . . . I just wanted to make sure that I got a chance to say good-bye. And to give you something.”
She opened the door of her car and reached inside to retrieve something from the passenger’s seat, then handed the package, a thick, soft square wrapped in three layers of red tissue paper, to Mary Dell.
“It’s a quilt,” Holly said, in case there had been any doubt.
Mary Dell eagerly ripped through the layers of tissue, grabbed two corners of the fabric, and, with all the panache of a magician removing a silken drape during a particularly spellbinding trick, shook out the folds to reveal a lovely brick red and gray Courthouse Steps lap quilt.
“Oh, it’s beautiful! I love it!”
“Are you sure?” Holly deadpanned. “Because I was afraid you might already have a quilt.”
Mary Dell laughed and hugged her young apprentice. “I don’t have this quilt. And I’ll always cherish it, Holly. And the time I got to spend with you. Forgive me if I sound too much like a momma, but I’m so proud of you. Thank you, baby girl.”
“Thank you,” Holly said. “I’m going to miss this place and you. A lot.”
Mary Dell squeezed Holly yet again, as tight as she could.
“Now, you listen to me, Holly Silva. This is not good-bye. Not yet. One way or another, you are going to have to come back to the ranch for dinner before you go. Momma would never forgive me if I let you slip out of town before she had one more chance to try and fatten you up. Cady and Linne would be heartbroken too. Promise me that you’ll call as soon as you’re back from your audition, all right?”
“All right. Promise.”
“Good.”
Mary Dell loosened her grip and took a step back. “I wish I could invite you in right now,” she said, “but I need to track down Rob Lee.”
Holly gave her a quizzical look. “You’re really worried about him, aren’t you? Do you want me to help you look?”
“Oh, it’s all right. He had a run-in with Fred; I’m sure he’s just off pouting somewhere,” Mary Dell replied, but her dismissive words couldn’t mask her concern. “And anyway, you came out here to ride Stormy.”
“I can ride tomorrow. Stormy will probably be happy to take a day off anyway.” Holly opened her car door and climbed back in. “Where do you want me to start?”
“He could be anywhere,” Mary Dell said. “I’m going to go over to the quilt shop and see if Cady’s seen him. While I’m doing that, would you drive by the Ice House?”
“I’m on it,” Holly said, and turned the key in the ignition.
CHAPTER 44
Rob Lee was not at the Ice House.
After the altercation with
Fred, he got into his truck and drove as fast as he could, like something was chasing him. And it was.
Until that morning, he’d been able to stay ahead of it, but only just barely and only by piling up obstacles, leaning in as hard as he could to barricade himself from the emotions and condemnation that had pursued him for three long years.
For a while, he’d thought he could outrun it or at least increase the distance between him and his pursuer enough so that he could relax a little, catch his breath. Holly had made him think that it might even be possible, someday, to quit running and find a way to live again.
Though doubts and dreams had already begun to plague him, seeping out in odd places and at unexpected moments like leaks in a carelessly constructed dam, it wasn’t until the party that he understood how foolish he’d been, trying to take shelter behind something so flimsy.
When Luke had started talking about Afghanistan and the guys in his unit, the daily deprivations, the cruelty and madness of that life that was not life but a fight for survival in a land where nothing made sense, where the man who served you tea one day could make a bomb to kill you the next, Rob Lee realized that his war wasn’t over and never would be. What right had he to happiness, to love and desire, or to forget his mistakes in the arms of a beautiful girl, while the friends he’d left behind were still in that place, running for cover and battling to stay alive? How did he have the audacity to weave plans and hopes for the future when the lives of three good men who counted on him had been cut short because of his inability to recognize the enemy, falling short in his loyalty to his brothers and making them pay the price for his failure?
He didn’t. He couldn’t.
And so he had pushed Holly away and started running again, faster than before, racing to stay ahead of the demons that were closing in on him step by step and day by day.
When his cell phone rang that morning, rousing him from the fog of a fitful and brief alcohol-induced sleep, and he heard the choked voice of Luke’s father, telling him that Luke had shot himself only the day before, Rob Lee knew it was over. He could drive as far as he wanted and as fast as he could, but there was no escape. The barricade had crumbled.
Sometime after dark, he stopped for gas and whiskey in a town whose name he didn’t know, then turned the truck around and headed back to Too Much. He parked at Puny Pond, but far down the road and behind a little scrub of mesquite, just in case anybody came looking for him.
He hiked over a small hill, tripping once when a cloud blocked the moon’s light, and sat down at the water’s edge to drink and beg forgiveness from the ghosts of the betrayed. When the bottle was empty, he drove back to the ranch, driving slowly with the headlights off, careful not to wake anyone inside the house.
After walking through the barn, where horses, hens, and lambs dozed in innocent sleep, he went into the tack room, turned on the light, and sat down on the edge of the bed. He wondered if he should leave a note or something, some kind of explanation. After a few minutes’ consideration, he decided that there wasn’t much he could say that would make sense to anybody but himself. He tore a sheet of paper from a notebook he kept in the second drawer, wrote out a single sentence, then folded the paper into thirds and left it on top of the dresser.
Squatting down next to the foot of the bed, he reached beneath the mattress to retrieve a present he’d bought himself the day after his party, a Beretta M9 semiautomatic pistol. It was the same type of gun he’d used in the service, the standard sidearm for Marines.
The gun was already clean and loaded—he’d seen to that the day he purchased it—but the safety was on. He laid it on top of the bed while he tucked in the sheet and quilt and straightened his pillow, then put away a few things he’d left lying around, making sure the room was tidy. When he was finished, he walked back to the bed, picked up the Beretta, and clicked off the safety.
There was a squeak, the sound of the door opening. His muscles went instantly taut and he spun toward the noise, pistol braced in two hands, shouting unintelligibly.
Cady shouted too. “It’s me! It’s only me!” Her hands flew up over her head, palms out and empty, concealing nothing.
Heart still racing, Rob Lee dropped his arms to his sides, though the gun was still clutched tight in his hand, and his shoulders drooped. He closed his eyes, breathing heavily, realizing how close a thing it had been and trying to block out the image of his sister’s blood splattered on the floor and walls.
“God, Cady,” he said, his voice rasping. “God. I damned near . . . What are you doing here?”
Her eyes, mirrors of grief and fear, scanned the room, her brother’s face, the pistol in his hand.
“What are you doing here?”
“Nothing. Cleaning my gun. You just startled me is all. I’m fine. You can go now, Cady.”
She pressed her lips together and shook her head hard, like a stubborn toddler. Rob Lee felt his jaw set, angry that she was interfering with his plans, making a hard thing even harder.
“You need to go, Cady. You need to leave now.”
“Okay, fine,” she said. “But you have to come with me. Either you or the gun. Because I’m not leaving the two of you alone.”
Rob Lee scowled, clicked the safety on the Beretta, and dropped it onto the bed.
“There,” he snapped. “You happy? I told you, I was just cleaning it.”
Cady crossed her arms over her chest. “Cleaning a gun. Drunk and at three in the morning. Why do you even have a gun?”
Rob Lee made an incredulous face and spread out his hands.
“For protection. For fun. It’s Texas, Cady. Everybody has a gun.”
She shook her head again, that same stubborn look on her face, the look that said she wasn’t buying his story.
“Shotguns. For hunting and sport, but not one like that. That’s a combat pistol, a gun designed to kill people. Or yourself.”
“Go back to the house, will you? Just leave me alone.”
“I won’t.” She walked into the room. “Not until you tell me why you want to die.”
He knew from the look on her face that she was absolutely serious, that she was not going to budge so much as an inch until he explained himself. Cady was stubborn. And smart. She wouldn’t be fooled by fabrications or half-truths.
Hoping she would come to see that this was the only option left to him, or at least to accept the fact that he would not be dissuaded, he told her. All of it. He held nothing back.
He told her about Holly and the sin of being happy while his brothers in arms were under attack; he told her about the dreams and depression and how there was no place for him in this world; he told her about Luke and watched her face crumple in grief and tears fill her eyes as he said the words; and then he told her about the day Nick had died, about the bomber who had served him tea, how he had ignored the rule of combat that anyone who didn’t wear your uniform was a threat, and how his hesitation in judgment had killed her husband and the father of her child.
He told her the truth as he saw it, that it was all his fault and that he deserved to die, that his death was the only way to balance the scales.
Cady listened. Even when his words brought her to tears, she listened, without comment or correction, until he came to the end of his explanation. Only then did she speak.
“It wasn’t your fault.”
By this time Rob Lee was sitting on the edge of the bed again, pistol still within reach, and he dropped his head into his hands and groaned.
“Cady . . .”
“It wasn’t your fault,” she repeated, forceful to the point of exasperation. “I never, ever thought that, and I still don’t. You know why? Because it was mine.”
Rob Lee lifted his head and looked at his sister, thinking this was some kind of sick, twisted teasing, but her expression was absolutely serious.
“Nick re-upped his enlistment without asking me; did you know that?”
Rob Lee shook his head.
“Well, he did,�
�� Cady said. “When we got married, he promised me that he’d get out after eight years. He was already three years into his first four-year contract when we got married, so I figured, okay. Five years, not so bad. I could handle that.”
She let out a laugh, eyes sharp and bitter.
“But that was before I understood what those five years would be like; that was before I knew what a troop surge was and that my husband, and my baby brother,” she said as her voice caught in her throat, “would be deployed four times in those five years—four times—and that the old rule of seven months’ deployment followed by fourteen months’ in garrison just wouldn’t apply anymore.
“Do you know how much time Nick and I actually got to live together during our marriage? Nineteen months. Of course, we didn’t quite make it to the five-year mark, so maybe it would have been more if he hadn’t died. But I have to say, little brother, it wasn’t enough. Nineteen months with my husband in four and a half years of marriage wasn’t nearly enough. At least not for me.”
Cady was crying now; tears fell from her eyes and rolled down her cheeks like rain rolling down a windowpane during a thunderstorm, liquid fury over the happiness she’d been denied.
“Even when he was home it was hard, because I kept feeling like a part of him wanted to be back there, like he’d rather be with you and Roger and Jeremy and all his Marine buddies than home with his wife and baby.”
Rob Lee shook his head. “It wasn’t that. He wanted to be with you, but it’s hard to be back. You feel guilty about being home and safe when you know the job isn’t finished, that other guys are over there and in danger while you’re going to the mall or eating pizza. It just feels wrong,” he said. “You forget how to be normal. Nick loved you, Cady. He talked about you and Linne all the time, every single day.”
Cady bobbed her head slowly, like she wanted to believe him, but from the way her lips contorted and the muscles in her throat twitched as she swallowed back more tears, he could tell that she didn’t.
“On the day of the bombing,” she continued, “he called me on the phone and told me he’d extended for another four years. It just came out of the blue! We never discussed it at all; he just did it. And I was so, so, so mad at him.”
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