A hint of embarrassment flashed in his eyes.
“Oh, Cabin, I’m sorry... I was only joking.”
“No, it’s okay. It’s been a lifelong struggle. I don’t like being thought of as privileged. I worry people will think I believe it myself.”
“I would never think that about you. It was a stupid joke, I’m so sorry.” She lowered her head. What an insensitive thing to say.
He raised her chin with his finger. “It’s all right.”
Cabin opened his door. Lucy jumped from the cab, then loped through the lush yard, chasing birds to the neighboring pasture. “She loves it out here,” he said, stepping from the truck. After shutting his door, he circled around and opened Darcy’s. He pointed to the foliage, naming various trees and flowers as they strolled up the walkway.
Cabin’s father met them on the front porch. “Well, hello, stranger.” He squeezed Cabin’s shoulder.
“Hey, Dad.” Cabin embraced his father and they slapped each other’s backs. “I’d like you to meet Darcy.”
“Ma’am,” he said to Darcy, tipping his cowboy hat.
“Nice to meet you, Dr. Creighton,” she said, extending her hand.
“Please, call me Lorne.” He gave her hand a firm shake, then led her into the house.
Walking her through the spacious entryway, he stopped to hang his hat on the wall. Then, taking her elbow, he strolled with her into a large living area decorated in shades of sand.
With Cabin close behind, they entered the dining room, stepped around a table and chairs large enough to seat twelve people, then arrived in the stainless steel-clad kitchen where Mrs. Creighton stood, fussing over a tray of coffee and fritters.
“Rebecca, this is Darcy, Cabin’s lady friend.”
Her head snapped up, her gaze crawling over Darcy while Lorne made the introduction.
“Darcy who?” she asked through pursed lips.
“Vaughan, Mother. Darcy Vaughan. Remember, on Sunday I told you about our barbeque at the lake, and how taken Lucy was with her?” Cabin crossed the room to kiss his mother’s cheek. She returned his kiss, her fingers still fidgeting over the fritters.
“Who are your parents, dear?” she asked, rinsing her hands.
“My mother’s name is Adrian Vaughan, and my father is George Vaughan.”
Rebecca turned from the sink, frowning.
“Vaughan, you say?” Lorne asked, perking a gray eyebrow. “I remember your folks. I got to know them pretty well, actually.”
“Nope, doesn’t sound familiar.” Rebecca loaded cups onto the tray next to the coffee carafe.
“My parents lived at Chickasha Lake their whole married life. When they relocated to Florida five years ago, I moved into their house.” Darcy explained.
“Florida, huh? They must favor hurricanes over tornadoes.”
“Hmm. Seems the name would ring a bell,” his wife said, as if Darcy had conjured her own parents up. “What did they do?”
“My father was an insurance agent, and my mother was a stay at home mom,” she abridged, not wanting to say her mother was a “stay in bed and cry all day depressive.”
Rebecca shrugged, “Well, can’t know everyone, it seems.” She handed the overloaded tray to Cabin. “Let’s take our coffee in the living room.” She ran a hand over her gray up-do, then straightened her fuchsia dress before leading the way. After motioning for everyone to sit, she stiffly sat down on the sofa and poured a cup of coffee. “Sugar and cream?” she asked Darcy.
“Just cream, please,” she answered.
Rebecca dribbled a few drops from the cream pitcher, then passed the cup to Darcy. She served Lorne and Cabin before pouring a cup for herself.
“Apple fritter?” she asked, offering a fried pastry with silver tongs.
“Thank you.” Darcy took the fritter, cringing as greasy crumbs rolled down her lavender top and onto the sofa. “May I have a napkin, please?” she asked.
Rebecca sighed as she rose, then strode with heavy steps to the kitchen. She returned with a linen napkin practically the size of a tablecloth. “Will this do, dear?” she asked.
Blood rushed to Darcy’s ears. She imagined them turning red as she thanked Rebecca and draped the huge napkin over her lap.
Cabin frowned at his mother, prompting her to smile sweetly.
“If you don’t mind my asking, how is it a woman as pretty as yourself never married?” Lorne asked Darcy from his recliner.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Vaughan. That’s your folks’ name, and it’s still your name too.”
Darcy nodded. “Yes. Shortly after graduating college, I was married. It lasted for five months. I returned to my maiden name after the divorce. I thought getting my name back might renew my perspective, or return me to a happier time somehow.” She shifted, feeling she’d shared too much, too soon. “My sister, Scarlett, has the name Vaughan also. She kept her maiden name through all four of her...through all of her married years.”
“I see, makes sense now.” Lorne leaned forward and set his cup on the table. “As I was saying earlier, I knew your parents pretty well for a while, especially your mother.”
Rebecca’s gaze darted to her husband.
Curiosity zipped through Darcy like an electric current. Could there really be a connection between her parents and Cabin’s father?
Lorne leaned back and crossed his arms, his blue Cabin-like eyes sparkling as if he knew a secret. “Well, back in the winter of...I’m going to say, nineteen eighty-one, if I remember right, a little beauty queen of about twenty years old came into my office. She thought she might be expecting, and she was right. She and your daddy were newly married, and more than a little scared. She started showing right away, and within a couple of months it looked like she’d swallowed a watermelon, which she wasn’t too happy about. You should’ve seen that little gal waddling around.”
Rebecca rolled her eyes, wiping crumbs from the table into her hand.
“In her fourth month, I told her it was likely she had two babies in the oven instead of just one. She couldn’t believe it, told me it was impossible. I assured her it wasn’t.” He shook his head and grinned. “As time went on, it got harder and harder for her to haul those babies around in that little body of hers. At seven months I had to put her on full bed rest, so she wouldn’t deliver prematurely.”
Darcy tried to imagine her melodramatic mother in the throes of a miserable, double pregnancy. She wondered how her father survived.
“I examined her a couple of weeks before her due date, and knew she would need a caesarian. Your daddy was worried sick. He was in tears as we wheeled her away.”
Darcy couldn’t picture her cool, collected father even mildly rattled, let alone “worried sick.”
“In a jiffy, I had her opened up. I was pulling one of you free when realized I had a...unique situation.” He paused and reached for his coffee cup.
Darcy, riveted on the edge of the sofa, forgot to breathe.
Lorne returned his cup to the table. “Ah, where was I?” he asked, a twitch on his lips.
“A ‘unique situation,’” she reminded him.
“Oh, that’s right. As I pulled the first baby free, the second baby’s foot pulled out of the incision along with it. As it turns out, your feet were fused together.
Air gusted from her lungs as if she’d been punched in the stomach. “You mean we were conjoined twins?”
“Scarcely.” He placed his first finger on his thumb and held them up. “The skin-tag was miniscule, just enough to tack your little feet together.” He pushed up from the chair. “May I?” he asked, scooting Cabin over as he sat down beside Darcy on the sofa.
Lorne motioned to her left foot. “You’ll have to hold it up to me. I can’t bend that low anymore.
Sliding from her sandals, she stretched her foot up to his eyes.
Rebecca Creighton shuffled the fritters to the opposite end of the table. Darcy, distracted by the oceanic roar inside her head,
barely noticed.
After fishing his glasses from his shirt pocket, Lorne studied her foot, holding it by the heel, turning it in the light. “Nope, nothing on this foot.” He released his grip, then motioned toward the other one.
Darcy squirmed her right foot out to him, thankful she had worn jeans.
“Hmm, I think...” He ran his finger lightly across the inside of her foot, tickling her. “Right here, on the side of the ball, beneath the edge of your big toe...do you see that little streak?”
Darcy took her foot from him and pulled it close to her eyes. A tiny silver dash, barely visible, caught the light.
“Oh my God! I see it!” She tugged her foot until it almost touched her nose.
“You’ll find a near-identical scar on your sister’s left foot. I’ll never know how you kids merged like that.”
“So, I guess you performed the operation?” Why hadn’t Gigi or her parents ever shared this story with her?
“I wouldn’t call it an operation. I just took my scalpel and sliced through the seam, separating the skin-tag. Neither of you even bled. The trouble is, anytime a doctor uses his scalpel inside a hospital, it’s considered surgery. I didn’t tell a soul, not even your parents. It wouldn’t be right for them to shell out for another ‘surgery’ in addition to the hefty fee for the caesarian. So, I just kept quiet. Until now. I guess after thirty years, it doesn’t matter. Interesting stories need to be told.” His eyes twinkled. “What do you think about all that?”
She traced her neckline with her fingers, unable to produce a coherent thought. “It… is a lot to take in.”
“Lorne, dear, go wash your hands,” Rebecca Creighton snarled.
The rest of the evening passed in a blur as Darcy let the strange news of her birth sink in. Could that have anything to do with the doll curse protecting Scarlett? She inwardly shook her head. That would be ridiculous. It was just a legend after all. Grateful when Cabin stood and announced it was time to leave, Darcy robotically said her goodbyes.
“Are you all right?” he asked after they drove for several moments in silence.
Darcy stopped her subconscious stroking of Lucy’s fur, and snapped her focus to Cabin. “Fine.” She forced a smile. “Thank you for the lovely evening.”
They arrived at her house, and Cabin unbuckled his seatbelt.
“It’s okay.” Darcy stopped him. “You don’t need to walk me to the door.” She’d had a long evening and needed to be alone to mull over the revelation from Cabin’s father.
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Okay. Goodnight.” He gave her hand a light squeeze. “I’ll wait until I get the all clear.”
Darcy nodded and climbed from the truck. She twisted the key in the lock and pushed the door open, turning to wave to Cabin. After his taillights disappeared, she flipped on a light and stepped inside.
She halted, letting out a gasp. Her knees nearly buckled. Someone had been in her house. And that someone had been enraged.
Furniture was overturned. The stuffing of her favorite chair spilled out from the sliced upholstery. Brown, gelatinous chunks clung to the walls and floor. Dark red smears—God, not blood, she hoped—stained the white couch cushions. Glass from broken lamps and trash from the kitchen lay scattered. A nightmare. Fishing her phone from her pocket with trembling fingers, she dialed 911 and backed from the house onto the porch, shivering despite the warm night air. The dispatcher assured her she’d send someone out immediately.
Who could have done such a thing? Why?
She expected tears, but everything inside her seized, and she was just numb. If tears were there, they refused to fall.
In what seemed like hours, she heard sirens. The sheriff’s cruiser pulled to a stop in her driveway. He climbed out of the vehicle and lumbered toward her.
“Are you all right, Darcy?” His face scrunched with concern.
She nodded, unable to speak, and pointed to her front door. He offered a soothing pat to her arm. “You stay out here. I’ll go take a look.”
The sheriff disappeared inside. His curses carried to where Darcy stood on the porch.
She turned at the sound of another vehicle, relief flooding her. Cabin’s truck. Almost before it came to a complete stop, he bailed out, standing by her side in a matter of seconds.
He took hold of her arms, his gaze searching her face. “What happened? I saw the sheriff heading this way and I had a feeling…” He took in a deep breath and released it. “Are you okay?”
She opened her mouth to speak. Her lip quivered, and the pent up tears fell. Cabin drew her into his arms, murmuring gentle words and stroking her back. Somehow, face pressed against his chest, she managed to tell him what happened. His body tensed, but he continued to comfort her.
The sheriff came out, shaking his head. “Scumbags. I’ll get some fingerprints and we’ll do what we can. You ask me, there’s too much meanness going on around here lately. Never did find that Malcolm fellow, but I’d damned sure like to have a chat with him.”
Darcy stared, eyes bulging, as Sheriff Watkins wiped a gloppy red substance from his fingers onto his handkerchief.
He caught her gaze and chuckled lightly. “Meat loaf,” he explained, sniffing the handkerchief, then holding it out to her. “Seems as if the weirdo raided your fridge and flung leftovers all over the place.”
“Darcy? Dear God, what happened?”
Scarlett’s strident voice cut through the air. Darcy stepped out of Cabin’s embrace and waited as her sister rushed up onto the porch. Scarlett pulled her in for a tight hug. “What’s the matter? What’s going on?”
Already weary of explaining, Darcy once more recounted what happened.
“Malcolm,” Scarlett bit out. “He’s never going to stop. This is my fault.”
A part of Darcy wanted to agree, to blame Scarlett for leading a maniac to her town—to her home.
“It’s not your fault,” she whispered.
Chapter Six
Although Darcy would never admit it, she was more than a little disappointed when nap time rolled around and she hadn’t heard from Cabin. She slid off her shoes, then padded between the small mats in her sock-feet, bending to rub a restless child’s back, or smooth a bunched blanket, mindful of where she was positioning her derriere.
She folded her legs beneath her on the colorful area rug and hugged a stuffed bear to her chest. The second hand ticked steadily, competing with the soft lullaby that cooed through the portable CD player. She turned her gaze to the wall clock across the dimly lit room. So this is what eleven-fifteen feels like when you’re thirty, she mused. Exactly as it felt at twenty-nine.
Cabin hadn’t called to wish her happy birthday. They’d spoken every morning since the ransacking of her home. Sometimes he’d call, other times her. But today…on her birthday…it seemed that he should take the initiative.
Darcy pulled her phone from the pocket of her skirt. Maybe he’d called during pantomime-time, when she was buzzing around the room like a bumble bee, and she’d missed the vibration. No missed calls. She slid the phone back into her pocket.
A couple of the children stirred, followed by a few more, their little internal clocks rousing them from slumber. She quietly stood, marveling at the way their sleeping minds could retain a schedule. It was amazing how the brain responded to steadfast behavior such as consistent meals, consistent rest…
…or in your case, Darcy, consistent rejection.
She reeled, shocked by the intrusive thought. Was that the catalyst behind this despair she’d plunged into? Not the fear of a milestone birthday, or even the fear of a psychopathic intruder, but the fear of being rejected by Cabin?
Sick of her own ponderings, she forwarded the CD to an annoyingly upbeat song and danced the children from their mats. She initiated a brief, giggly pillow fight before reading the class a short book, then lining them up for lunch.
****
After lunch and recess, Darcy led her class
from the playground, through the green double doors, and into the main hallway. “Go to the restroom, wash your hands, then form a line at the water fountain, please,” she called, her voice lost in the excited babble of sweaty children. She couldn’t help but smile as she watched them interact with one another, connecting in that special childhood guild that she seemed to have missed out on while stumbling in the darkness of her sister’s shadow.
Almost ten minutes later—following three separate roundup trips into the girls’ restroom, one into the boys’, and a struggle with a clogged drinking fountain that splashed a water-blotch on her new periwinkle top—Darcy marched her students up the hall to her classroom.
She squinted ahead—it looked as if Liz ducked into Darcy’s doorway instead of her own. Darcy reached into the pocket of her skirt and wrapped her fingers around her classroom key. Her room was locked tight. Liz must’ve been entering her own classroom next door. Darcy just misjudged the distance. She could’ve sworn Liz made eye contact before dodging out of sight, yet hadn’t so much as waved.
Dread swallowed Darcy like quicksand. First Cabin had forgotten her birthday, and now Liz? Something was definitely off kilter.
She lined the children against the wall and slid her key into the lock, peering through the small window in the door. The room was dark. She was positive she’d left the SpongeBob SquarePants lamp on…
She swung the door open and flipped on the lights.
“Surprise!” A chorus of excited voices shouted. She jumped so hard her knees nearly gave way.
“Easy, now. Are you okay?” Cabin placed a hand on her waist to steady her. Liz jumped up and down and squealed, along with the twenty students she’d hidden under the desks. Darcy’s class ran in behind her, happy to join in the celebration with their friends from next door.
“I can’t believe it!” Darcy gasped, grabbing her chest, her heart soaring to the ceiling along with the helium filled birthday balloons. “This is incredible—but my door was locked. How’d you get in?”
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