The Long Road Home

by H. D. Thomson

  She spied John with his equipment behind a large sycamore. A camera slung across one shoulder, he looked over at her, his expression guarded. The stiffly pressed white shirt and black suit looked incredible on his large frame. Then she caught sight of Vivian by his side, and her heart plummeted. The blue sequined mini-dress hugged the redhead’s curves. The scooped neckline barely covered her breasts, and the hem—well, the hem—One little dip and a man could get an impressive view from behind. Clarisse didn’t think it an appropriate dress for a wedding, but then, she wasn’t the type to crave attention.

  She shook her head, disgusted with herself. Jealousy. Such a simple but destructive emotion. She needed to shake free from its claws.

  Seeing Vivian saunter toward her, she struggled to slow the erratic beat of her heart. She wasn’t ready for a confrontation. She never would be.

  “Lovely wedding. I can’t wait till the reception.”

  She searched Vivian’s smiling face, uncertain whether a threat lay hidden in the redhead’s words.

  “How’s your leg?”

  Catching the malicious sparkle in Vivian’s eyes, she tensed. A threat. She was positive. Obviously, Vivian wanted to provoke her into a fight, but she had no intention of sparing with the redhead. She knew she would never win, for Vivian already had the prize. Knowledge. It gleamed in her eyes.

  “My leg? Why—it’s fine of course.”

  “That’s not what I heard.”

  “And what do you mean by that?” she bit out, weary of Vivian’s threats and smug smiles but unable to crush her curiosity.

  “Come off it,” Vivian hissed. Her amicable facade tore lose, and loathing glittered from her eyes. “The game’s over. I know.” Lip curling, she looked up and down Clarisse’s leg. “It must be terribly ugly.”

  Clarisse flinched as if slapped. “Get away from me!”

  Vivian’s blue eyes hardened to shards of ice. “Don’t you dare talk to me in that tone of voice!”

  “I dare. And I will. I don’t have to listen to this.” She pivoted and joined the wedding party. Trembling with rage, she slipped in beside her mother. No, Clarisse determined, the redhead’s barbs would not hurt her. She wouldn’t allow it.

  “Are we ready then?”

  Not waiting for an answer, John focused his camera and snapped varying shots. He was brisk and efficient. Clarisse should have expected that. John never let anything interfere with his professionalism. After a minute, he pulled away from the camera and frowned. “Clarisse, can you loosen up a bit? You’re all tense, and it’s coming through.”

  She inhaled and made a conscious effort to loosen her facial muscles. She didn’t dare look at Vivian. Clarisse had already seen one snide smile. She couldn’t withstand another.

  Then it was over. The small crowd dispersed, and Clarisse escaped to the limo. She breathed easier when she entered the reception hall. With over a hundred guests, she could easily avoid Vivian and John.

  Clarisse sank into a chair at the table reserved for the wedded couple and their immediate family. She ate the food, drank the wine and smiled when needed. And every few minutes her glance shifted to the couple two tables to the right.

  “You know, you’re starting to look obvious. If you want to talk to John, I can call him over.”

  She looked at her sister in alarm. “Don’t you dare!”

  Laura giggled. “Calm down, I was just kidding.”

  Fumbling for composure, she swallowed too much champagne and choked on the bubbles. “I’m glad you’re back to your old self. You don’t look nervous anymore.”

  Laura laughed in delight. “I must have been crazy. It’s going to be a blast in Hawaii! One week of pure pleasure. And we’re not talking about the sun and sand.”

  Winking broadly, Laura lifted her glass in toast and drank deeply.

  “You better slow down on the champagne if you want to enjoy tonight,” Clarisse warned in mild amusement.

  Laura waved her warning aside. “Don’t be such a fuddy duddy.”

  Her brow arched. “Fuddy duddy? Now I know your brain’s swimming in alcohol.” Clarisse took another swallow, liking how the liquid dulled her nerves and warmed her belly.

  Laura’s smile widened. “It’s time.”

  “For what?” Clarisse frowned suspiciously.

  “For me to throw the bouquet and see who’s going to catch it and get married.”

  “Oh that.” Clarisse shrugged and remained seated. She might be single, but she had no intention of jumping around like a fool for a bunch of flowers. Especially if Vivian was up there too. It was a silly ritual.

  “And you’re coming.” Giggling, Laura grabbed her bouquet and waved it beneath Clarisse’s nose. “Oh yes, you are. Don’t give me that look like you swallowed a prune. It’s my wedding day, and you’re going to humor me.”

  Laura grabbed her arm and pulled. She stumbled from her chair and nearly tripped over their gowns as Laura dragged her to the dance floor.

  “Okay people! Let’s see who’s going to be next at tying the knot!” Laura’s laughter tinkled in the ensuing silence.

  Clarisse hung at the rear of the crowd and away from Vivian. From somewhere, a drum roll rumbled. Then Laura flung the bouquet up and over her shoulder. In horror, Clarisse watched it catapult through the air toward her. She sidestepped quickly, just in time for the elderly woman beside her to latch onto the bouquet. The scent of carnations drifted toward Clarisse as the woman squeezed the flowers against her chest and smiled with delight.

  Amid the clapping and cheers, she searched the faceless crowd and caught John’s form seated at a table. Sounds of laughter, camaraderie, and silverware on ceramic died. His gaze touched her across the room and warmed her chilled body. She clasped her hands together to ease their trembling. Why did she have to always seek him out, almost as if she were a child begging for approval?

  “It’s just as well.”

  Clarisse blinked and focused on Vivian in front her. “What?”

  “It’s a good thing you didn’t catch the flowers. No one’s going to marry someone with a leg like yours.”

  Clarisse gasped and spluttered for a retort, but the redhead, flinging her vibrant mane over a shoulder, turned and wove through the tables.

  “What’s wrong?” Laura touched her shoulder. “You turned pale as a sheet after Vivian spoke to you.”

  Clarisse shrugged, wanting to downplay the situation. “She’s been tossing barbs at me ever since she learned about my leg.”

  “She knows!” Laura cried. She looked around, then lowered her voice. “Who told her?”

  “I don’t know. She must have a friend who works for my old agent. But it doesn’t matter now.”

  “Well, it’s obvious someone must have told her. I don’t know how, because it wasn’t big news in England. You went down in a single engine, not some commercial airline, and no one would have recognized the name you were flying under.” Frowning, Laura shook her head, clearly puzzled. “And for those people who managed to put two and two together, we bribed them. Nothing was leaked to the press. Everyone in the family made sure of that.” She grabbed Clarisse’s arm and led her to an empty table. “Sit down. It looks like you need it.”

  “Has she told John?” A look of exasperation crossed Laura’s face. “Of course not. We’d both know by now. But will she tell him?”

  “She hasn’t said, not in so many words,” Clarisse admitted, sinking into the nearest chair. “But she’s threatened.”

  “I just bet she has.” Laura’s voice turned nasty. “Right now she’s probably gloating, enjoying the power she has over you. But she will tell John. Given time. And all I can say is that you’d better beat her to it.”

  Laura looked over Clarisse’s shoulder and waved. “John.”

  “What are you doing?” Clarisse hissed, grabbing the edge of the table.

  “I want John to join us. Don’t you see? You have to tell him before Vivian does. He’ll never forgive you if he hears it from her
. You know she’s going to put you in the worse possible light.”

  “L—” Suddenly, Clarisse sensed him behind her.

  “So how’s married life treating you?” John’s teasing voice rolled over Clarisse. A shiver raced up her back.

  “Great.” Laura patted the tabletop. “Can you have a seat?” He hesitated. “Please.”

  As he sank in the chair next to Clarisse, she swallowed hard and grappled for poise.

  “Clarisse’s been meaning to talk to you about something.”

  Trembling, she half rose in her chair. “Laura!”

  “Tell him!”

  “Tell me what?”

  Gripping the end of the table, she rose fully. “Nothing.”

  “That’s a lie!” Anger flared in Laura’s eyes. “She needs to tell you what happened three years ago.”

  “I don’t give a damn as to what went on three years ago.” His frigid expression froze Clarisse in place.

  “But the plane crash—” Laura’s pleading expression changed to one of shock as she looked beyond Clarisse.

  Alarmed at her sister’s odd look, Clarisse stiffened and her stomach cramped with nerves.

  “What plane crash?” John snarled, his face leeched of color.

  “Didn’t Clarisse tell you?” Vivian purred from behind John.

  Clarisse closed her eyes in mortification. This was not happening. Please let it be a dream, a hallucination, anything but— She opened her eyes. The scene had not altered. Vivian still stood with a red taloned hand cupping John’s shoulder.

  “No, she didn’t.”

  She flinched beneath his accusing glare. He was angry. Not just angry, but furious. His gaze pierced her, his gray eyes as cold as dead ash.

  “Poor girl got in a plane crash,” Vivian explained in a voice dripping with concern. “I guess she didn’t think to tell you. Charred her leg to a crisp. Not a pretty sight from what I hear. All twisted skin. Not like yours or mine.”

  Clarisse’s stomach rolled. She wanted to hide, skip town, be anywhere but at the table. She couldn’t take John’s condemning stare or Vivian’s triumphant smile. Stumbling from the chair, she fled.

  She slipped into the bathroom and was relieved to discover the place empty. Finding a paper towel, she swiped at a tear burning into her cheek. Damn Laura and her well-meaning interference! She caught her reflection and glanced quickly away. She looked like hell with her red nose and bloodless face, like some grotesque parody of Pinocchio.

  The door whispered open. Stiffening, Clarisse hurriedly wiped away the remaining tears. Laura stepped in. Clarisse hid her shaking hands in the folds of her gown, and inhaled a shaky but calming breath.

  “I’m so sorry.” Laura groaned, rushed over and hugged her.

  “You warned me to tell him,” Clarisse whispered in her sister’s hair.

  “But still. The way Vivian made you sound. It was terrible! Like some mutant.”

  Sniffing, Clarisse stepped away. “It’s done. I can’t change it. All I can do is move on. I’m just relieved it’s all out, and I’ll never have any further contact with Vivian.”

  “But still—”

  She placed a finger against Laura’s lips. “Let’s not worry about it. Okay?” When Laura nodded, she removed her finger and smiled. She lightened her voice, struggling to appear cheerful for her sister’s sake. “Come on, it’s your wedding day! Smile! You’re supposed to be having a good time.” Laura grinned half-heartedly and squeezed her shoulders. “We’ll talk when I get back from Hawaii. Darren’s ready to get going.”

  Clarisse nodded, pressing her lips together to stop their trembling. “I’ll be driving up to Seattle with Mom and Dad in two days. I’ll make sure your plants are watered, and we hide your key in the same spot. Give me a call when you get back. And promise me you’ll have a good time?”

  Excitement entered Laura’s eyes. “I will.”

  She watched her sister leave and shivered. To be so lucky. No. She wouldn’t get started. Nothing was ever accomplished by self-pity. She waited a little longer, then pinched her cheeks. She might be a mess inside, but she had no intention of letting everyone else know.

  Leaving the restroom, she caught sight of her parents dancing on the floor. She sighed. Was she asking so much? All she wanted was a deep, loving relationship. It was out there. All she had to do was look at her parents.

  “Would you like to dance?”

  Startled, she turned. A strange man with blond hair, slicked back and dripping with gel, regarded her with what he must have thought was a hot, seductive look. But it dripped off Clarisse like cold repugnant slime.

  “No, thank you.” She smiled politely.

  “Oh come on. Just a dance.” His gaze dropped to her breasts.

  Her hands tightened at her sides. “I’m really not interested.” He clasped her elbow and rubbed his thumb against the sensitive skin of her inner arm. “What’s one dance? You haven’t been on the floor all evening.”

  Clarisse shrugged off his grasp, and wanted to jerk his head up by the scruff of his neck so he’d stop staring at her breasts. It was obvious class wasn’t in his vocabulary. “You don’t get the hint, do you? I want to be left alone.”

  “No, you don’t,” the man insisted.

  John appeared at her side, wedging himself between the blond and Clarisse. He stood large, powerful and threatening by the slighter man. “Are you having a problem, Clarisse?”

  “No. He’s just leaving.” Her eyebrow arched. “Isn’t that right?”

  “Hey.” The blond raised his hands defensively. “I’m going. I get the hint.”

  She watched him disappear. “Thanks.” The word stuck in her throat.

  John shrugged nonchalantly. When he did not immediately leave, for an insane minute she thought he might ask her to dance.

  “I think I’ve had enough for one evening,” Clarisse muttered, too tired and frazzled to care how he construed her words.

  “I’ll drive you home.”

  Her body recoiled in protest. “My parents—”

  “Will be fine on their own.”

  His voice, deep and husky, slithered down her spine. She sensed the suppressed anger simmering beneath the surface. He hadn’t cooled down, Clarisse realized with dread.

  “I want some answers. And you’re not going to run away this time, Clarisse.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  She could ignore John, tell him to go to hell or flat-out refuse to go anywhere with him, but deep down she knew she owed him some type of explanation.

  “What about Vivian?” she stalled.

  “Don’t worry about Vivian. I’ve already talked to her. She’s taking a taxi.”

  His scowl did nothing to soothe her already shredded composure. “I-I just need to get my purse and say my good-byes.”

  As she followed him from the reception hall, a cool breeze scented with rose caressed her face and seeped through her gown. Shivering, she hugged herself, more from uneasiness than any chill. A full moon filtered through a layer of gossamer clouds, and the faint sound of waves crashing against the shore carried across the wind.

  While John guided the vehicle through the streets, she peered out the window but focused on nothing. Uncomfortable at the lengthening silence, she shifted in her seat and tried to swallow her rising apprehension. She needed to calm down. John wasn’t about to turn into some psychopath. Everything would be over in a matter of minutes and she would be safely back at Laura’s.

  John drove into a subdivision not far from her sister’s home. Houses in the middle of construction lined the empty street like cold, dry skeletons. He killed the engine and twisted around, swallowing the limited space between them. Suddenly claustrophobic, she fought the temptation to inch away. He was too big, too male, and too damn close.

  “Why?”

  The one word confused her. “Wh-why?”

  “Damn it! Don’t start acting dumb!” His eyes glittered in the dark. “Why didn’t you tell me about the accident?�
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  Spine rigid, Clarisse glared. He didn’t have to act so scornful. “I thought you wouldn’t want anything to do with me.”

  “Because of your leg?”

  “Yes.” The emotional pain of the plane crash and the weeks following flooded her. “You were always into how I looked, picking clothes that set off my figure and face. You never looked beyond my appearance. I was like some trophy you could parade around.”

  He reeled back. “That’s a lie!”

  “I don’t think so.” Her chin rose. “Just look at Vivian.”

  “Forget Vivian.”

  “How can I? She typifies what you look for in a female—physical perfection.”

  “She has nothing to do with what happened three years ago.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe the low opinion you have of me. If you think I’m like that, then you never knew me.”

  Her hands balled into fists, and bitterness burned the back of her throat. “How can you say I didn’t know you wh-when we—”

  “We slept together?” he cut in. “But I’m not talking about sex. I’m talking about you not having enough guts to trust me.”

  “You first have to earn a person’s trust,” she accused. “Vivian—”

  “Vivian has nothing to do with this. We’re talking about you trusting me.” He sighed. “And from what I see, that will never happen.”

  She struggled for words, but they died in her throat. Maybe it did come down to trust. The idea of baring her heart, her hopes, her fears scared the life out of her. Suddenly claustrophobic, she pulled at the strap digging into her chest, then unbuckled her seat belt.

  “What’s the point?” he bit out, sounding tired and discouraged. He turned away and gripped the wheel with both hands.

  She blinked back tears.

  Switching on the ignition, he shifted into reverse. The Explorer jerked back and hit something hard, tossing Clarisse off her seat. Hands flailing, she clutched John’s shoulder for support, throwing him off balance and against his door. The wheel slipped from his hands, and the car lurched sideways, jumping the curb. She grabbed the dashboard as her head hit the roof. The underbelly of the vehicle scrapped against cement. Tires spun wildly, kicking up dirt.