I kneel beside the wheelchair and take my father’s hand. “How’ve you been?”
He stares at me, his hazel eyes unfocused. “Alexander,” he says after a moment, his voice hoarse as if he hasn’t used it in a long while.
“That’s right, Dad.” I see that the news of a stroke is accurate. Something has to have happened to take my father from the commanding captain of industry to the shell that sits before me now. “I came to see how you’ve been doing.”
He looks confused for a moment. “You were in jail. Locked up like a common criminal.” Some of the fog clears from his eyes. “For stealing from me.”
“Dad,” I say, unsure of how to start. “I’d never steal from you.”
“That isn’t what your brother said,” he replies, turning to stare off across the lawn.
“Yeah, well, Brent and I disagree about a few things.” I stand, sliding my hands into my pockets. “But this isn’t about me. How are you? Not feeling well?”
He grimaces. “That’s obvious, isn’t it?” He adjusts himself slightly in the chair and lets out a long breath. “I’m stuck in this stupid thing until my doctors say otherwise. So now they wheel me around like an old man, or keep me locked in my room all day, telling me it’s for my own good.”
I make a mental note to dig a little deeper into my father’s condition. A cold voice inside reminds me that I’m not here for that. Revenge on Brent doesn’t concern my father. If anything, it might hasten his own demise.
I can’t think about that now. I need to focus.
“It can’t all be bad,” I remind him. “What about Leigh? She seems like a nice girl.”
Finally, a ray of sunshine shows up on my father’s face. “Ah yes, my wife.” He stares hard at me. “She’s what a proper wife should be. Her folks own half of Boston. Just ask your brother.”
My lips compress at the mention of Brent. “She’s lovely, Dad.”
“That’s right,” he says. “Not like that townie you’d pinned your hopes on before they carted you away. What exactly has she amounted to, by the way? A pile of nothing, I suppose?”
“Let’s not talk about Sabrina,” I say, my voice ragged. “We have an irreconcilable difference of opinions on that subject.”
“Boy, I would have thought a few years in prison might have made you smarter. Plenty of time to think about your screw-ups.”
“I guess it’s like being stuck in that chair,” I say. “Or locked in your room. Enough time to consider your sins, old man?”
He tries to scowl, but I see the shadow of a grin beneath it. “Touché,” he says. “Sins do have a way of sticking around.”
My father eyes me up and down, looking me over closely. I can see that his eyes are now clear, and a sense of relief covers me. I don’t like the thought of my father as feeble as he appears.
“You look good,” he says after a moment, his voice gruff. “I expected a teardrop tattoo on your cheek or some such nonsense.”
I bark in laughter. My father has always had a curmudgeonly sense of humor. “Thanks. I guess prison agrees with me. Who would have thought?”
“Not me,” he says, a chuckle escaping his mouth. “I had such high hopes for you, son. It’s just like you to go and dash them all.”
I shrug. “I do my best.”
He shakes his head. “And like your mother. An unrepentant ruiner of my plans.”
I kneel again, my brow furrowed. My dad rarely talks about my mother. After her death, it was several years before I heard him say her name again. I know he misses her, but he never shows it. “How did Mom ruin your plans?” I ask, genuinely interested in his answer.
“She went and died on me,” he says in an old-man growl. “I had plans to spend the rest of my life with that damn woman.”
The sweet sentiment causes me to grin. “You think she did it to spite you?”
This time my father laughs so hard I’m afraid he’ll fall out of his chair. “You know, she just might have.”
Leaning forward, he grips my hand. “It’s good to see you, son. It truly is.”
“You too, Dad.”
He squeezes my hand, and his grip is as firm as ever. “You certainly pissed me off with your little military stunt. And just when things were getting good again between us, you go off and get yourself arrested.”
“I know,” I say, swallowing hard. “I never wanted to disappoint you. But I couldn’t live the life you’d plotted out for me. I needed to make my own choices.”
“Even if they were the wrong ones?”
I nod. “Even if they were the wrong ones. A man learns from the mistakes he makes. He doesn’t learn to be a man by having everything handed to him.”
My dad leans back and purses his lips, then nods slowly. “I’ll buy that.”
We rest in silence for a few beats. I can see my father start to squirm and imagine how confining the chair must be for him. He’d always been fit, always doing something. Sitting still must be killing him.
“So what now?” he asks, releasing my hand with a pat. “Why are you back here?”
I shrug. “Where else would I go?”
He nods, then fixes me with a heavy gaze. “Got any more dirty tricks up your sleeve?”
“Dad, I never had any up there to start with.” I fill my voice with as much righteous indignation as I can summon.
He nods. “I never thought it was you, not really. Sure, I was fucking pissed. My ancestor brought those over from England, and they’ve belonged to the Craven family for half a millennium. The thought that you’d take them just because I wouldn’t let you have your way, that burned me up.”
Dad tilts his head. “You were a good boy. Too headstrong by half, but that makes for a strong leader. But when I heard you’d looted the museum, I had a kneejerk reaction. Disappointment and shame. Embarrassment. I was embarrassed in front of the entire town.”
So, to spare my father the embarrassment, I’d been locked behind bars, the crime neatly wrapped up. And I’d been ostracized, exiled, stripped of my good name.
I’m beginning to wonder if the name Craven is worth a damn. Maybe it should be taken literally. We’re cowards, too scared to live in the world as it is, so we build up elaborate means of avoiding it. With enough balls and enough money, anything is possible.
I can feel my anger starting to rise, and I fight it. This is the first fruitful talk I’ve had with my father in ages. I can’t let my emotions get the better of me.
“I regret it,” he says then, his voice soft. “I should have helped you. Hired you better lawyers. Instead, I took your brother’s word for it.”
I shrug. “The past is the past.”
Dad scowls. “I’m beginning to wonder about your brother. I’ve heard the complaints against him by the board, by the shareholders too. He’s not exactly doing a yeoman’s job of running things while I’m ‘on leave.’”
I school my features, keeping them expressionless. This could be a crack in my brother’s façade, one that can be exploited. Instead of answering, I listen.
“He keeps me in this damn chair, getting doctor after doctor to tell me I need to rest. That I can’t handle any work yet. It’s driving me up the wall.”
I frown. “But how do you feel, Dad? Don’t you need the rest?”
“I’ve been resting for fucking months. Ever since my honeymoon when I had this supposed stroke.”
Supposed stroke. My ears perk up, listening as much to what my father doesn’t say as to what he does.
“Ever since, they’ve been pushing me around in this chair, filling me with damn pills that make it so I can’t think straight. I hate it.”
“Who’s they, Dad?”
“Your damn brother and my beautiful little wife.”
“Here she comes,” Chuck mumbles, still staring off across the lawn. I turn and watch as Leigh Craven catwalks her way to us, the gauzy wrap she’s wearing flowing out behind her, leaving her alabaster skin covered only by the skimpy black bikini she’s wea
ring.
“Hi, honey!” she says as she approaches. She leans down to kiss my father on his mouth, causing the old man to light up like a Christmas tree. “There you are! I’ve been looking all over.”
Her gaze slides to me, and she gives me a shy smile. “Alexander. You’re still here?”
I nod. “I wanted a word with my father.”
“What about our deal?” she asks sweetly. “I thought you were going to wait.”
“I figured there was no harm in saying hello.”
“Your deal?” my father asks, his smile dimming.
“Nothing to worry about,” Leigh replies. She taps the gold watch on her slender wrist. “It’s past time for your pills, Christopher. You know you have to follow a strict schedule.”
“I’m fine,” he mutters. “I don’t need those damn pills.”
“That’s not what the doctors say,” she scolds, shaking a finger at him. “Come on, let’s get you inside.”
“I’m talking to my son,” he says in protest as Chuck begins to turn his wheelchair around.
“And you can talk to him again after you’ve had a rest,” Leigh says, holding his hand. “Don’t you want to lay down for a little while?” she asks, slowly tracing her other hand down her chest to her toned stomach.
“I suppose,” he grumbles, his eyes glued to her body. I smile wryly. Leigh and her tight form has me beat, hands down.
“I’ll be around, Dad,” I say as they wheel him away. “Have a good rest.”
Leigh looks back over her shoulder and winks. I ignore the overture and head to my bike. I need to digest what just happened.
I wasn’t expecting to see my father, and I’m pleased that I could. It was good to see his eyes clear up, to hear him joke with me like he used to.
I also was surprised to hear him express regret over the way things had gone between us. I think forgiveness is a destination we can arrive at together. That thought gives me more hope than I’ve had in the past five years.
Still, there were red flags. His reliance on my brother is worrisome, but his recognition of my brother’s failings gives me something to work with. Nevertheless, in a way, this makes things harder for me. When I wasn’t considering my father’s reactions, plotting my revenge against my younger brother was easy. Now, I wonder if I will have to change things, soften the vengeance I’d planned, to spare my father’s feelings.
I ride Delilah downhill over the zigzagging road, putting my thoughts in order. I’ve yet to make an irrevocable move against Brent. There is time to make changes, time to figure out the best way to achieve my goal with the least damage to my father and his company.
Leigh herself also worries me. I’m not blind. I know she’s flirting with me. But why?
And then there’s the issue of my father’s stroke and his medication. I decide to track down his original doctor and see if I can get some information before resorting to confronting Brent about his care.
I push these thoughts aside as I pull into the mechanic’s lot. Jim is bent over Sabrina’s shitbox. I park Delilah and head into the waiting room, only to find it empty. Coming back outside, I shout at the mechanic. “Hey, Jim. Where’s Sabrina?”
“Gone,” he says, standing up and wiping his greasy hands on his worn coveralls.
“Where? You’ve got her car.”
“I don’t know. She said she needed her car back. I had the starter pulled out and said she couldn’t drive it. So she took off running like her ass was on fire.”
“What? What happened?”
Jim shrugged. “She didn’t say.” He gestures over his shoulder. “The starter’s ancient and the alternator is shot. Want me to order new parts? Might take a couple of days.”
“Yes,” I say, jogging back to my bike and starting it. Jim says something, but I can’t hear him. I steer out of the lot, gunning it, heading toward Sabrina’s house.
All previous thoughts empty. The only thing I can think about is finding out what happened to send Sabrina running off.
20
Sabrina
I slam through the front door, out of breath. My feet are killing me. I’d worn kitten heels to the interview this morning, heels that had been too tight but good enough for a sit-down meeting. But the mile and a half run home had been enough to start blisters rising on the back of my heels.
The pain is nothing compared to the sheer fright I’m experiencing. “Mom!” I shout. “Lex!”
“Back here,” my mom hollers, and I run through the front room and down the hallway. I find them in the bathroom. Lex is sitting on the toilet lid, tears streaming down her little face, making clean tracks in the mud covering her skin.
“What happened?” I ask, my chest heaving.
Lex opens her mouth to talk, but nothing comes out. She sobs then, leaning her arm against the sink and burying her head in the crook of her elbow.
“Shh,” I say, coming over to her side and running my hand through her hair. She’s caked with mud from head to toe, and my hands are quickly covered in the filth.
“I sent her out front to water the flowers,” my mother says. “I didn’t feel like tromping out there with that damn walker, so she said she’d do it for me. Next thing I know, I hear her screaming her little head off.”
My mom swallows hard, and I can see she’s fighting back tears herself. “I got to the door and saw three boys shoving her down in the mud. She’d dropped the hose, and it turned the dirt to muck, and they were pushing her face in it, holding her down in it. Little bastards.”
I pull my daughter into my arms, not caring that my nice outfit is getting covered in grime. “It’s okay, Lex. It’s all right.” Even as I say the words, they feel so inadequate that my anger starts to flare.
I lift her chin so I can stare into her face. “Which boys did this? Tell me.”
Lex’s bottom lip is quivering. “Boys from my class.”
I figured as much. “I want names.”
“Why?” she cries out, pulling away. “No one is going to do anything about it.”
“I am,” I yell. “If their parents won’t paddle their behinds, I will.”
Lex shakes her head. “You can’t, Mom, and you know it.”
I open my mouth to respond, but Lex continues, talking over me. “No one respects us in the town, Mom. We’re nothing. We’re as low as the dirt they shoved me in.”
“What are you talking about?” I can’t understand where her reaction is coming from.
“So what if you tell on them. Their parents aren’t going to punish them. They’ll come back to school and keep teasing me, keep talking about me behind my back.”
I shake my head, but she insists. “You’re the one who said it only gets worse in junior high and high school, remember? So what sense does it make to go after them now? They’ll only hit me back harder.”
I kneel there, my mouth open, but no words coming out. I can’t believe the situation is as hopeless as she paints it.
“Come on,” my mom says softly to Lex. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” I stand, feeling more ill-equipped than I’ve ever been in my life. What kind of mother am I, to allow this to happen to my child and to do nothing in response?
A shitty kind of mother.
“Go on out and change,” Mom tells me, giving me a gentle push out of the bathroom while she turns on the shower. “I’ll help Lex.”
I wander out of the bathroom and down the hallway, my mind a blank. I idly wonder if this is what shellshock feels like.
It takes me a moment, but I realize there’s a knock coming from the front door. Taking a deep breath, I move forward, praying it’s one of the little punks who hurt my daughter or their parents. I’m so angry, I feel like I could spit fire and swallow smoke.
When I reach the screen door, I freeze. Ax is standing on the other side.
“Can I come in?” he asks.
I shake my head, approaching the screen door. “What do you want?”
Ax frowns, his expression confused. �
��You weren’t at the mechanics. I asked Jim where you were, and he said you took off running. So I came to find you.”
“I’m fine,” I say, looking past him and wishing he’d just go away. Now is not the time for a deep conversation with Ax Craven.
“Liar,” he says, then pulls open the screen door. I grab the handle to pull it closed again, but he’s a hundred times stronger than me. Before I know it, he’s standing in the entryway, close enough to touch.
“What’s on your face?” he asks, running a finger on my cheek and coming away with a coating of mud.
“Nothing,” I say, brushing my hair out of my face. “I told you I’m fine. You can go now.”
Ax’s face hardens. “Fat chance of that.” He pushes his way closer, and I feel trapped in the entryway. I start taking a few steps backward toward the front room, but he follows me. “We’re going to talk, right now, and you’re going to answer my questions.”
I put a hand on his chest, trying to keep him in the entryway. “Ax, we’ve been over this. I appreciate what you did today. Thank you for helping me get my job back. But that doesn’t change what’s between us.”
“And what is between us, Sabrina?” he asks, his voice deep, making my insides vibrate. He puts his hand over mine, and I can feel his warmth radiating into my skin. I want so badly to melt into him, to confess everything and count on his strength to fix it all.
But I can’t. I can only count on myself.
“Nothing,” I say. “We dated in high school, had a fling a few years ago, and a couple of days ago. But now, we’re over.”
“We don’t have to be.” His voice is rough, filled with an emotion I can’t name.
“Yes, we do.” I stare up at him, hating the words I have to say as I say them. “You aren’t in Cape Craven to make things better. You’ve as much as said so yourself. And you won’t be sticking around. That means nothing can be between us, because once again, you won’t be around long enough to see it come to fruition.”
I’m breathing heavily, my chest rising and falling rapidly. His golden eyes take in everything, making my heart beat even harder as I feel his gaze on me. Suddenly, he pushes me up against the wall, his arms pinning me in place.
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