02 Turn to Me - Kathleen Turner

by Tiffany Snow

  Thankfully, Blane had already made coffee. I poured a cup and carried it to my living room. Looking out the window, I was delighted to see that it was snowing. I disliked the cold but loved the snow. Go figure. Too bad you couldn't have one without the other.

  I sipped my coffee for a few minutes, watching the thick flakes settle on the ground outside, already blanketed with what looked like two or three inches. The trees had turned into works of art, their dark branches now starkly outlined in white. Even the grunginess of the neighborhood in which I lived seemed briefly washed away by the curtain of falling snow.

  I heard Blane come out of the bathroom and felt him behind me. His arms slid around my waist in a light hug and I leaned back against him. We watched the snow falling outside my window.

  “Good morning,” he said, squeezing me lightly.

  “Good morning to you,” I replied with a contented sigh. “Thanks for making the coffee.” Blane knew that my morning priority was always getting my hands on that first cup. Seriously. Don't even speak to me until I've had my coffee.

  It was a nice moment and I was loathe to ruin it, but I had questions, things Blane and I needed to discuss. I steeled my resolve and shook off the compulsion to just ignore what had happened last night and pretend everything was okay.

  “When were you going to tell me about the trial? James? Running for Governor? The Senator?” I asked, my gaze still fixed outside. “Were you going to tell me at all?”

  Blane stiffened. I tensed as well, unsure how this was going to play out. He could very well call it quits at this point, after all, that was his M.O. - women were a diversion and none of them were allowed to get close. I knew what I was asking, but after last night, I realized I wanted to be a part of his life. I wanted to know what worried him, what he cared most about, what kept him awake at night. I wanted more than just great sex and a dinner companion. I just wasn't sure if he was willing to offer it.

  After a few tense moments, he answered me. “It's not like I've been hiding the trial from you, Kathleen,” he said reproachfully. I winced. He was using my full name, not a good sign. “It's been in the news. I just haven't spoken about it much.”

  So he had expected me to know about it, probably thinking I was a featherbrained idiot for not knowing. My face heated, but I came back at him. “And James? You didn't think it significant to tell me you were up against him? You know how crazy he is and he's obsessed with beating you.”

  “I didn't want you to worry,” he said calmly. “I can handle James.”

  “I care about you,” I said stiffly. “Of course I'm going to worry.”

  He turned me around, his jaw locking tight when he saw my bruised face. The backs of his fingers gently brushed against my skin and his eyes glittered with an unnamed emotion.

  “Likewise,” he said softly.

  I softened at this. Blane didn't often put his feelings into words – he was more a man of action – so I treasured it when he did.

  “You know what your apartment needs?” he asked briskly, changing the subject, and I shook my head. He'd filled it with everything I could need and then some, so I had no idea what he was thinking. “A Christmas tree,” he said, as if it were obvious.

  I broke into a wide smile. “Really?” I asked. “You'd help me get a tree in here? A real one?” I hadn't been able to get a real tree by myself and usually put up the little fake four-foot tree I'd had growing up.

  “Absolutely,” he said, his eyes, made even greener due to the hunter green sweater he wore, twinkled at me. “We'll pick it out and cut it down ourselves.”

  “That sounds perfect,” I enthused. I loved holidays and Christmas was no exception, though the past few had been more sad and poignant than I wanted to think about. But this year would be different – I'd have someone to share it with. Since Christmas was less than two weeks away, today would be perfect to get a tree and decorate it.

  “But where in Indy are there places to cut down trees?” I asked. It's not like there was a tree farm in the middle of the city.

  “There are a few places south of here,” Blane said. “We used to go to Tower's in Columbus when I was a kid. You'll like it.”

  I hurried to get ready, throwing on jeans, a long sleeved shirt and sweater over that. Tying my hair back in a French braid, I added a little mascara and lip gloss. Surveying the bruise on my face in the mirror, I grimaced. I concealed it the best I could with foundation and powder. I threw on some socks and boots and I was ready to go. Blane had already eaten so I grabbed a bagel, fed Tigger, and we headed out.

  Before we left, I knocked on my neighbor Alisha's door. She was twenty-five, only a year older than me, and lived by herself. She worked in the library at Duke University. It was good to know your neighbors, especially if you both were young, female and lived alone. Alisha had been living here for only a few weeks, but we'd hit it off from the first.

  She answered the door wrapped in a blanket and holding her dog, a little Daschund named Bacon Bits. I had known I'd like Alisha the moment I'd learned her dog's name – bacon should have its own food group along with Rocky Road ice cream.

  “Hey,” I said by way of greeting. “We're going out to get a Christmas tree. Do you need anything from the store or something?”

  She pushed her glasses up her nose before answering. “I'm good, but thanks.” She glanced at Blane. “Did you measure?” she asked him. “Because you don't want to be like Chevy Chase in National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation and have it be too big. And make sure there aren't any critters hiding in it. You'll have sap everywhere, you know, and needles. Make sure you cut off the lower branches before you bring it inside or you'll really have a mess. And don't forget to drill a hole in the trunk so it can draw more water.”

  I grinned. Alisha acted older than her years and was the queen of telling people what they ought to do and the myriad consequences if they did not. She had what some might call eccentric advice on everything from what kind of fabric softener I should use to how to properly make coffee (“never use the tap in the bathroom – that's toilet water”). If she wasn't so genuinely good-hearted and sweet, it would be annoying. As it was, I found it humorous, especially since many times her advice turned out to be correct, except the toilet water thing – I didn't buy that. She was a little odd, a lot obsessive-compulsive, and very genuine, and I had liked her immediately.

  Blane just sort of stood there in stunned silence at this rapid-fire litany of advice. I bit back an even bigger smile and decided to save him.

  “You bet,” I said seriously, “we absolutely will do that. Catch you later,” I said, tugging on Blane's hand.

  “Drive safe,” she called out to us, “and try to get behind a plow truck if you can.”

  “Okay,” I hollered back, giggling a little as I made my way through the snow on the stairs.

  “Is she always like that?” Blane asked.

  I laughed again. “Yeah. She means well, she's just very opinionated, that's all. I don't mind.”

  It looked like Blane had exchanged his Jaguar for a Range Rover last night, as he led me to the large black SUV in the lot.

  “How'd you know to get this?” I asked, as he helped me step up and into the vehicle. The interior was freezing and dark, all the windows covered with snow.

  “I watch the weather,” Blane said dryly, a smirk on his face. I rolled my eyes. Smartass. He knew I hated watching the weather – I preferred to be surprised.

  He shut the door and rounded to his side, starting the engine and getting the defrost going before scraping the windows clear. I huddled inside, flicked the heater for the leather seats on, and watched him, something I never tired of doing. The windows were tinted so I could see him but he couldn't see me.

  We stopped by his house so he could grab a stand for the tree, then we headed south on I-65. The snow had stopped falling and the highways were clear, though not very busy.

  “I liked Senator Keaston and his wife,” I said after a while.

>   “I'm glad,” he said.

  “Vivian was very nice.” I paused for a moment before adding, “I didn't realize you were related.”

  “Robert is my grandfather's brother,” he said. “He was around a lot when I was growing up.”

  “I was surprised they knew about Kade,” I said, not really wanting to bring him up but curious just the same as to what he'd say.

  “Robert and my father were very close,” Blane explained. “Robert helped him out of some of the messes he got himself into. I'm sure he knew about Kade long before I did.”

  I thought for a moment, wondering if I should say what I was thinking. “Kade told me about how your dad wouldn't take him in,” I said hesitantly. “How you wanted him to and that you went to find him after your dad died.”

  Blane's eyes swiveled to mine, his gaze shrewd. “Did he, now,” he said.

  I swallowed nervously. Kade had told me a lot of things about their family, and I wasn't sure how much Blane would have wanted me to know. “Is that a problem?” I asked.

  “Of course not,” Blane replied, looking back at the road. “I'm just surprised. Kade doesn't usually tell his life story to people.”

  “He didn't tell me his life story,” I quickly contradicted. “I just wanted to know how you found each other, that's all.”

  “Kade was in state custody when I found him,” Blane said. “He'd run away from foster home after foster home, living on the streets and stealing to get by.”

  “Why did he run away?”

  Blane shook his head. “He never would tell me. Maybe not all the people they put him with were bad, but enough of them were. When I brought him to stay with me he had nightmares - talked in his sleep. He was only six when his mother died.”

  “Did things go okay once he came to live with you?”

  Blane let out a little huff of laughter. “Hardly. I was only eighteen and they wouldn't grant me guardianship, even though I was his brother. Robert had to step in and pull some strings. Kade was scared, defiant. He ran away a few times. But I tracked him down and brought him home. I think it finally got through to him that I wasn't going to leave him. But it took time and patience. He'd learned not to trust.”

  The story fascinated me even as it tugged at my heart. I felt sorry for Kade, enduring such a childhood, and I was amazed at the strength of character and loyalty Blane had displayed even as a teenager to track down and take in his brother, working with him to gain his trust and affection.

  “Who took care of him while you were in the Navy and at school?” I asked.

  “Mona and Gerard,” he answered. “They never were able to have children. They took him in like he was their own and raised him. Mona was quite upset that he didn't come home for Thanksgiving. He usually doesn't miss a major holiday with them.”

  I hadn't realized Mona had been upset on Thanksgiving; she'd hid it well. I asked the question that I'd been wondering about for the past couple of weeks. “Why didn't he come?”

  “He didn't really give much of a reason,” Blane said thoughtfully. “Just that he was working and couldn't make it. I didn't press him for details.”

  The thought again came to me that perhaps he'd stayed away because of me, then I chastised myself for thinking such a thing. Kade was tough as nails and twice as hard.

  A memory replayed itself in my head of Kade standing in my bedroom, his hands resting on my hips as he towered over me.

  “You didn't tell him about us,” Kade had said, referring to Blane.

  “There is no ‘us.’”

  “You sure about that, princess?”

  The idea that he might feel something for me and want to stay away because I was with Blane was ridiculous and narcissistic.

  Blane interrupted my thoughts. “Do you want to tell me what really happened to Stephen Avery?”

  I jerked my head around to look at him, my eyes wide in surprise. “What…what do you mean?” I stammered, panic flashing through me. Stephen Avery had been the man who'd intended to rape and kill me. Only Kade's timely intervention had prevented him from doing exactly that.

  He looked at me, exasperation evident on his face. “Kathleen, I'm not stupid. Stephen Avery was a VP at TecSol. You and Kade went with him to Chicago that night. Then he ends up with a broken neck in his hotel room, supposedly an accident from slipping in water on the floor? Please.”

  I turned away to gaze out the window. The palms of my hands were clammy with sweat as I remembered that night, remembered Avery attacking me, hitting me. I'd been more terrified than I'd ever been in my life.

  “Did Kade kill him?”

  I didn't look at him as I gave a short nod, staring sightlessly out the window.

  Blane cursed and I jumped at the harsh sound.

  “Why the fuck would he do something so stupid?” Blane asked angrily. “He could have just knocked him out, tied him up rather than kill him. And he had to involve you in it as well! I swear, the next time I see him, I'm going to hit him just for being stupid.”

  I was alarmed now at Blane's anger toward Kade. Kade didn't deserve that. He'd had a reason for killing Avery, and it wasn't one I could disagree with. When it's either you or them in a matter of life and death, you tend to pick yourself.

  “Blane, it wasn't like that!” I protested, wondering how I could get Kade off the hook without revealing too much. “He had no choice.”

  Blane's astute gaze met mine and I realized even that much had tipped him off that there was more to the story.

  “Tell me,” he ordered.

  I shook my head in wordless denial, turning to look out the window again. Unwittingly, the memory came back with a vengeance of Avery's hand wrapped around my throat as he held me pinned against the door, squeezing until I nearly blacked out. His hands were on me, shoving my face into the mattress as I fought to breathe, knowing my last moments were going to be horrible – dying of suffocation while he raped me. It was the utter helplessness I’d felt that still woke me up some nights.

  Staring out the window, I saw none of the scenery going by. That night with Avery replayed in my mind, of Kade rescuing me, holding me while I wept. Avery had been dead on the floor, his sightless eyes staring up at me.

  I was abruptly shaken from my distraction by Blane and I realized he'd stopped the car on the shoulder of the road.

  “Why are you stopping?” I asked, confused. I jerked in surprise when Blane grasped my chin, turning my face towards his.

  “Kat, I've been talking to you and stopped when you wouldn't answer me.”

  “I...I'm fine,” I stammered, alarmed and embarrassed that I'd apparently been so out of it I hadn't even heard him talking to me. “I'm sorry...I guess I just didn't hear you.” My excuse was lame and when my eyes met his, I knew I wasn't fooling him for an instant.

  He studied me intently before finally saying, “Just tell me one thing. Would I have killed Avery, too?”

  It was a loaded question. I remembered the man who’d tried to mug me and how Blane had beat him unconscious. There was little doubt in my mind that Blane’s response would have echoed Kade’s actions if it had been him there that night.

  “Yes,” I said simply.

  Blane studied me for a moment, then pulled me into his arms, resting his chin on top of my head. “I'm sorry I upset you,” he apologized. “We won't discuss it again, okay?”

  I nodded. Blane's understanding eased my anxiety, and I was grateful at the concession he'd just given to me.

  After a moment, I pulled out of his arms and self-consciously smoothed my hair. Clearing my throat nervously, I watched in my peripheral vision as Blane silently studied me before sliding behind the wheel and pulling back onto the highway.

  “Do you have decorations somewhere for a tree?” Blane asked. It was obvious he was changing the subject and I gratefully latched onto it.

  “I have some things of my parents' in storage from when I was a kid,” I said. “Christmas was a huge deal in our house.” I smiled, rememberin
g. “My dad would fight the lights every year when he decorated the outside. He cussed a lot.”

  “Did you have white lights or colored?” Blane asked.

  “They started out white,” I said, “but my mom told me that when I was five, I insisted he put up multi-colored lights because I thought they were prettier. Apparently, I was quite persuasive.”

  “I can see that,” Blane teased. The tension from earlier was gone, thank God, and I appreciated his effort to turn the atmosphere around.

  “What about you?” I asked. “Did your dad hang lights?”

  Blane shook his head. “Not himself, no. We had professional decorators that did the outside lights and the inside. There was a Christmas tree in nearly every room – each with a different theme.”

  “Wow!” I said, impressed. “That must have been really pretty.” Professional decorators. Huh. Somehow I doubted his decorators would have approved of my homemade construction paper chains that had wrapped around our tree.

  “It was,” Blane agreed. “The house was beautiful and perfect.” His voice was slightly bitter.

  “I thought you said you came to this place we're going when you were a kid?” I asked, confused.

  “Mona and Gerard brought me with them to get their tree,” Blane explained. “That was the Christmas tree I remember decorating – theirs, not ours.”

  I wasn't sure what to say to that; it sounded so sad. Blane was matter-of-fact about it, the bitterness no longer present in his voice.

  “One year we went the day after Thanksgiving to get our tree,” I finally said, “and it was perfect. The absolutely perfect shape for a Christmas tree. We brought it home and decorated it, which always took forever because my parents had been collecting ornaments for each other and our family since before they got married. We finally finished and were so excited to have the perfect tree. Unfortunately, it was dead less than a week later.”