by Nora Roberts
What a pretty picture they’d made. Hope and Tory, Tory and Hope. The dark and the bright, the pampered and the damaged. Nothing he’d done before, nothing he’d done after that night in August, had brought him the same thrill. He’d tried to recapture it; when the pressure built so high and hot inside him, he’d reconstruct that night and its sheer, speechless glory.
Nothing had matched it.
Now it was Tory who was a threat. He could deal with her, quickly, easily. But then he would lose this fresh excitement of living on the edge. Maybe, maybe this was just what he’d been waiting for, all this time. For her to come back, for him to have her in place again.
He would have to wait until August, if he could. A hot night in August when everything would be as it had been eighteen years before.
He could have dealt with her any time over the years. Finished her. But he was a man who believed in symbols, in grand pictures. It had to be here. Where it began, he thought, and watching her, imagining her, stroked himself to climax, as he had other times when in secret he’d watched Tory. Hope and Tory. Tory and Hope.
Where it all began, he thought again. Where it would end.
A shudder ran through her, a chilly finger from nape to the base of her spine. Even as Tory glanced uneasily over her shoulder, she dismissed it as a product of the atmosphere and her own thoughts.
After all, she was trespassing here, an intruder among the dead and beloved. The light was going, fat gray clouds rolling in from the east to smother the sun. There would be a farmer’s rain that night.
She wouldn’t linger much longer.
“I’m so sorry I didn’t come that night. I should have, even after the beating. He’d never have considered that I would defy him and leave the house. No one would have checked on me. I could never explain to you back then what it was like when he took his belt to me. The way every lash stripped away my courage, stripped away my self, until there was nothing left but fear and humiliation. If I’d found the courage and gone out the window that night, I might have saved us both. I’ll never know.”
Birds were singing, trills and chorus. It was a bright, insistent sound that should have been out of place, and was instead perfect. Birds, the hum of bees going lazy in the roses, and the strong, living scent of the roses themselves.
Overhead the sky was brooding, turgid with the storm clouds pushed by the wind that stayed high, too high to cool the air where she knelt.
When she breathed it was like breathing in water. It felt like drowning.
She lifted the globe again, and sent the silver stars shimmering.
“But I’m back. For whatever it’s worth, I’m back. And I’ll do whatever I can to make it up. I never told you what you meant to me, how just by being my friend you opened up something inside me, and how when I lost you, I let it close again. For too long. I’m going to try to unlock it, to be what I was when you were here.”
She glanced back again toward the screen of trees and the towers of Beaux Reves that rose behind them. Could they see her from there, in the stone tower? Was someone standing, closed behind the glass, and watching?
It felt that way, as if eyes and mind and heart shut behind glass watched. Waited.
Let them watch, she thought. Let them wait. She looked back at the angel, looked down at the stone. “They never found him. The man who did this to you. If I can, I will.”
She turned the globe, then lay it under the angel so the horse could fly and the stars sparkle. And leaving it there, she walked away.
The rain was coming down strong and cool when Cade swung away from town and took the road toward home. It was a good rain, a soaker that wouldn’t pound the young crops. If his luck was in, the rain would last most of the night, and leave the fields wet and satisfied.
He wanted to get samples of the soil from several of his fields and compare the success of his various cover crops. He’d put in fava beans the year before, as they added the nitrogen his cotton was so greedy for.
He’d test it the next day, after the rain, then compare and study the last four years of charts. The fava bean crop had done reasonably well, but it hadn’t produced a solid profit. If he was going to try them again, he had to be able to justify it.
To himself, Cade thought. No one else paid attention to his charts. Even Piney, who could usually be depended on to at least pretend an interest, had glazed over when presented with the graphics.
Didn’t matter, Cade decided. No one had to understand them but himself.
And if he was honest, he’d admit that he wasn’t all that interested in them at the moment, either. He was using them to keep his mind off Tory, and what had happened the night before.
So it was best to deal with her, with all of it. To clear the decks before he went home and washed off the day’s work.
Cade’s brows drew together as the red Mustang convertible he’d been following took the turn into Tory’s lane. He swung in behind it, and those brows arched up as J.R. climbed out.
“Well, what do you think?” Grinning ear to ear, J.R. patted the bright fender as Cade walked over.
“Yours?”
“Just picked her up this morning. Boots says I’m going through a midlife crisis. Woman watches too many talk shows, if you ask me. I say if it feels good and you can afford it, what’s wrong with that?”
“She’s a beauty, all right.” With the rain streaming down, both men walked to the hood so J.R. could pop it. They stood, hands on hips, admiring the engine.
“Loaded, too.” Cade nodded in admiration. “What’ll she do?”
“Between you, me, and the gatepost, I had her up to ninety-five and she stays smooth as glass. Handles the curves like a champ, too. I went on over to Broderick’s yesterday. Time to trade in my sedan. Planned to get another one, then I saw this baby on the lot.” J.R. grinned and ran his fingers over his thick silver mustache. “Love at first sight.”
“Four-speed?” Cade strolled around to peer into the cockpit.
“Bet your ass. Four on the floor. Haven’t had me one of them since, hell, since I was younger than you. Didn’t know until I popped the clutch how much I’ve missed it. Hated having to put the top up when the rain started.”
“You pop the clutch and drive around at ninety, you’re going to be stacking up tickets like cordwood.”
“It’ll be worth it.” J.R. gave the car another affectionate pat, then glanced toward the house. “You stopping by to see Tory?”
“Thought I might.”
“Good. I got some news to give her she might not take well. Just as soon she have a friend around when I do.”
“What’s wrong, what’s happened?”
“It’s nothing dire, Cade, but it’ll trouble her. Let’s just get it said all at once.” He stepped up on the porch, knocked. “Feels funny knocking on family’s door, but I got into the habit with my sister. She wasn’t one for leaving the door open for company. There’s my girl!” He said it heartily when Tory opened the door.
“Uncle Jimmy. Cade.” Though her stomach did a quick pitch and jolt at seeing both of them on her porch, she stepped back. “Come in out of the wet.”
“Ran into Cade here, seeing as both of us had in mind to stop by. I was just showing off my new car.”
Obligingly, Tory looked out. “That’s quite a …” She started to say toy, and realized that was likely to hurt his feelings. “A machine.”
“Purrs like a big old cat. I’ll take you for a spin first fine day.”
“I’d like that.” But just now she had two big wet men in her living room, one chair, and a nagging headache. “Why don’t y’all come out to the kitchen. There’s a place to sit, and I just made some hot tea to chase the damp away.”
“Sounds good, but I don’t want to track through the house.”
“Don’t worry about it.” She led the way, hoping the aspirin she’d taken would kick in without the ten-minute nap she’d planned to go with it. The house smelled of the rain, of the ripe, wet scent of
the marsh. Any other time, she would have enjoyed it, but now it made her feel closed in.
“I’ve got some cookies. They’re store-bought, but better than I could make.”
“Don’t you go to any trouble now, honey. I’ve got to get back home here directly.” But since she was already putting cookies on a plate, he reached for one. “Boots won’t buy sweets these days. She’s on a diet, and that means I am, too.”
“Aunt Boots looks wonderful.” Tory got out cups. “So do you.”
“Now, that’s what I tell her, but she fusses over the scale every blessed morning. You’d think gaining a pound here and there was the end of the world. Till she’s satisfied, I’ll be on rabbit food.” He took another cookie. “Surprised my nose doesn’t start to twitch.”
He waited while she poured the tea, sat. “Heard your store’s coming right along. Haven’t had a minute to get down and see for myself.”
“I hope you’ll make it in on Saturday.”
“Wouldn’t miss that on a bet.” He sipped his tea, shifted in his chair, sighed. “Tory, I hate coming over here with something that might upset you, but seems to me you ought to know what’s what.”
“It’ll be easier if you tell me straight out.”
“I’m not sure I can, exactly. I had a call from your mother just a bit ago. Just as Boots and I were finishing up our supper. She’s in a state, or I guess you know she wouldn’t have called me. We don’t telephone regular.”
“Is she ill?”
“No, not as what you’d call sick.” He blew out a breath.
“It has to do with your father. Seems like he got in some trouble a little while back. Damn it.” J.R. pushed his cup around its saucer, then raised his eyes to Tory’s. “Appears he assaulted a woman.”
In her mind, Tory heard the snake-slither of the thick leather belt. The three harsh snaps. Her fingers jerked once, then settled steady. “Assaulted?”
“Your mother said it was all a mistake, and I had to pry what I got out of her with both hands. What she told me is some woman claimed your father, ah, roughed her up. Tried to, ah … molest her.”
“He tried to rape a woman?”
Miserable, J.R. shifted in his chair again. “Well, Sari, she wasn’t real clear on the details. But whatever happened, it got Han arrested. He’s been drinking again. Sarabeth didn’t want to tell me that part, but I pushed it out of her. He got probation, contingent on his going to alcohol rehab and such. I don’t figure he took it well, but he didn’t have much choice.”
He picked up the tea to wet his dry throat. “Then a couple weeks ago, he lit out.”
“Lit out?”
“Hasn’t been home. Sarabeth said she hadn’t seen him in more’n two weeks now, and he’s violated his probation. When they pick him up, he’ll … they’ll put him in jail.”
“Yes, I suppose.” She’d always been surprised, in a mild, distant way, that he’d never found himself on the wrong side of iron bars before.
God provided, she thought.
“Sarabeth, she’s frantic.” Without thinking, J.R. dunked his cookie in his tea, a habit his wife despaired over. “She’s running low on money and she’s worrying herself sick. I’m going to drive up and see her tomorrow, see if I can get a clearer picture of things.”
“You think I should come with you.”
“Now, honey, that’s up to you. No reason I can’t handle this on my own.”
“And no reason you should. I’ll go with you.”
“If that’s what you want, I’d be pleased to have the company. I thought to leave bright and early. You be ready ‘round seven?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Good. That’s good. Fine.” Awkward now, he got to his feet. “We’ll get this all straightened out, you’ll see. I’ll come ‘round and get you in the morning. No, you just sit still and drink your tea.” He patted her head before she could rise. “I’ll let myself out.”
“He’s embarrassed,” Tory murmured, as she heard the front door open. “For himself, for me, for my mother. He told me while you were here because he’d have heard the gossip Lissy Frazier’s passing around and thought I’d be better with you than alone.”
Cade kept his eyes on her face. She hadn’t shown any reaction. He marveled at her control even while it frustrated him. “Is he right?”
“I don’t know. I’m more used to being alone. Are you wondering why I’m not particularly concerned about my father, or my mother?”
“No. I’m wondering what happened between you so that you’re not particularly concerned. Or why you’re determined not to be or show that you’re upset by what J.R. just told you.”
“What’s the point in being upset? What’s done’s already been done. My mother chooses to believe my father didn’t do what he was arrested for doing. But of course he did. If he’d been drinking he wouldn’t have been as careful to keep the violence inside his own doors.”
“Did he abuse your mother?”
A corner of Tory’s mouth twitched into a parody of a smile. “Not while I was around. He didn’t need to.”
Cade nodded. He’d known. A part of him had known since the morning she’d come to his door to tell them all about Hope. “Because you were the easier target.”
“He hasn’t been able to aim at me for quite some time. I’ve made sure of that.”
“Why are you blaming yourself?”
“I’m not.” Because his eyes were steady, she closed hers. “Habit. I know he used her for his punching bag after I was gone. I never tried to do anything to change that. Not that either of them would have let me, but I never tried. I’ve only seen him twice since I was eighteen. Once, when I was living in New York, when I was happy, I had this notion that we could mend the things that were broken, or at least some of them. They were living in a trailer then, near the Georgia border. They moved around a lot after we left Progress.”
She sat like that, with her eyes closed, in the quiet, while the rain pattered on the roof. “Daddy couldn’t keep a job for long. Someone was always in for him, so he said. Or there was a better job another place. I lost track of how many other places there were—different schools, different rooms, different faces. I never made any real friends, so it didn’t matter so much. I was just biding time until I could get away. Save up money on the sly and wait until the law said I could leave home. If I’d left before, he’d’ve made me come back, and he’d’ve made me pay.”
“Couldn’t you have gone for help? Your grandmother.”
“He’d have hurt her.” Tory opened her eyes, looked straight into Cade’s. “He was afraid of her, the same as he was afraid of me, and he’d have done something to her. And my mother would’ve sided with him. She always did. That’s why I didn’t go to her when I left. If he’d found out, that wouldn’t have set right with him. I can’t explain it to you, I could never explain it to anyone, the way a fear can live inside you. The way it dictates how you think and how you act, what you say, what you don’t dare say.”
“You just did.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it again before something leaped out she hadn’t thought through. “Do you want more tea?”
“Sit. I’ll get it.” He rose before she could, and put the kettle back on to boil. “Tell me. Tell me the rest.”
“I didn’t tell them I was leaving home, though I’d planned every step of what I would do, where I would go. I packed and ran off in the middle of the night, walked into town, to the bus station, and bought a ticket to New York City. When the sun came up I was miles away, and I never intended to come back again. But …”
She lifted her laced fingers, then closed them again, like a prayer. “I went to see them that time,” she said carefully. “I’d just turned twenty. Been gone two years. I had a job, working at a store downtown. A store with lovely things. I made a good salary, and I had my own place. It wasn’t much bigger than a closet, but it was mine. I had my vacation coming and I took the bus all the way to the Georgia b
order to see them, well, maybe part of it was to show them that I’d made something of myself. Two years I’d been away, and inside of two minutes, it was like I’d never left.”
He nodded. He’d gone away to college, become a man, he supposed, during those four years. And when he’d come back the rhythm was the same.
But for him it had been the right rhythm, one keenly missed.
“Nothing I did,” she went on, “had done, could do, was right. Look how I’d tarted myself up. He knew the kind of life I was living up north. He figured I’d just come home because I was pregnant from one of the men I’d let get at me. I was still a virgin, but to him, I was a whore. I’d gotten some spine in those two years, just enough steel that I stood up to him. The first time in my life I dared to stand up to him. It took the rest of my vacation week for the bruises on my face to heal enough that I could cover them with makeup and go back to work.”
“Christ, Tory.”
“He only hit me once. But God, he had big hands. Big, hard hands, and they bunched so easily into fists.” Absently, she lifted her hand to her face, traced the slightly crooked line of her nose. “Knocked me right off my feet and into the counter of that grubby little kitchen. I didn’t realize my nose was broken. The pain was so familiar, you see.”
Under the table Cade’s own hands curled into fists that felt useless and late.
“When he came at me again, I grabbed the knife out of the sink. A big, black-handled kitchen knife. I didn’t even think about it,” she said in that calm, thoughtful voice. “It was just in my hand. He must’ve seen in my face that I’d have used it. That I’d have loved to use it. He stormed out of the trailer, with my mother running after him, begging him not to go. He flung her off like a gnat, right into the dirt, and still she called after him. God, she crawled after him on her goddamn hands and knees. I’ll never forget that. Never.”
Cade walked back to the stove, to the spitting kettle, to give her time to settle. In silence, he measured tea, poured the hot water. He sat again, and waited.
“You have a gift for listening.”