She was so, so tired of the same old arguments. Kevin refused to understand. “Dad, he doesn’t love me the way he loves her,” she said beseechingly. “It was never there for us. My being in New Hampshire has nothing to do with it.”
Kevin’s silence said he didn’t believe her.
“Trust me, Dad. This is for the best.”
“I really wanted you to marry Carl.”
“I know.”
“I really wanted to have grandchildren. Looks like that won’t happen now, will it?”
Tell him, Chelsea’s conscience said. But she couldn’t. Not with Carl just having married another woman.
“You’ll have grandchildren,” she said. “I want to be a mother.”
“Excuse me?”
“I said,” she repeated patiently, “I want to be a mother.”
“That’s a switch. I thought you wanted to ‘find yourself’ first.”
“I’m doing that.”
There was another silence, then, as though a curtain had lowered, a curt, “Yes. So you are.”
She wanted to cry. “It’ll be okay, Dad. I’ll learn what I have to learn and be better off for it.”
He didn’t say anything.
“Really.”
Still he was silent.
She sighed, closed her eyes, and put a hand on her stomach. She was feeling nauseated again. Early mornings were the worst, but the feeling was never far from her at other times of day, particularly when she was upset.
“We really need to talk, Dad. Maybe over the Fourth. I thought that when we have some time to ourselves in Newport—“
“I’m not going to Newport.”
She opened her eyes. “But we always spend the Fourth of July in Newport.” She wouldn’t be anywhere else on the Fourth.
“I had assumed you’d be with Carl, so I made plans to go to Mackinac Island. A colleague has been asking me for years.”
“But I was counting on—“
“We’ll have to make it another time.”
“Oh. Okay.” She felt close to tears. “Maybe we’ll talk again at the end of the week?”
“Sure.”
“Okay. Love you, Dad.”
“Bye, Chelsea.”
She hung up the phone and tried to gather herself together, but it was a lost cause. The disappointment she felt, the sense of abandonment, of loneliness, was overwhelming. Closing the door of her office, she backed against it, covered her face with her hands, and cried.
“WHAT IN THE HELL’S GOING ON?” JUDD ASKED. HE DIDN’T raise his voice. He didn’t have to. Russell Ives knew he was upset.
They were standing at the head of the quiet country lane, where the trees fell away and the farmland began. Before them were assorted trucks, materials, and men. Before the trucks, materials, and men was Chelsea Kane’s farmhouse.
“They won’t work it,” Russ said. “I been tryin’ to talk them into it all morning, but they won’t go nearer’n this. They’re not taking a chance with the ghosts.”
The ghosts. Judd couldn’t believe it. “These big guys are afraid of ghosts? You gotta be kidding.” But Russ wasn’t. And the big guys weren’t budging. “You think Buck would be running all over the place if there were ghosts?” The retriever was loping from window to door to window, exploring by way of his nose.
“There are voices.”
“No grown-up has ever heard any voices. Only kids.”
“So only kids hear them, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t there.”
“They aren’t there,” Judd insisted.
Russ tossed his head toward the men. “Tell them that.”
Judd rubbed a hand over the tight muscles at the back of his neck. There had been an accident at the quarry that morning, nothing serious, just a broken leg from a fall, but it had upset him. He didn’t like people getting hurt, not when he was in charge. He took accidents personally. He took lots of things personally. Like this job.
“You’re their boss,” he said. “You’re supposed to tell them. That’s what I pay you for, Russ. Christ, I can’t do it all myself.” He scanned the group of men in search of familiar faces. There were a few, but not enough. “Who are these guys, anyway?”
“I picked them up here and there.”
“Mostly there,” Judd muttered. It was Tuesday. He had wanted work on the farmhouse begun on Monday. He didn’t know when Chelsea would be back and wanted work under way when she showed. It was a matter of pride with him. When he did things, he did them well.
Annoyed with Russ for letting him down, with himself for taking the job so seriously, and with Chelsea Kane for insisting that it be done in the first place, he strode across the road to where the men were milling. “You guys have a problem with this job?”
“Yeah,” one said. “He didn’t tell us it was here.”
“Only a crazy man would work on this house,” another said.
A third said, “He thought he was safe taking a crew from another town, but we ain’t stupid or deaf. We heard of this place. Hell, if he won’t go inside, why should we?”
Judd thought about that for a minute before returning to Russ. Keeping his back to the men and his voice low, he said, “They say you won’t go inside. Is that true?”
Russ’s face grew red under his tan. “No need for me to go inside. They’re the ones doing the work.”
“Come on, Russ.”
“I told ’em to start with the roof. That’s not even inside.”
“And they’re too spooked to do it.” Judd was disgusted. “Big bruisers, and they’re spooked by kids’ stories. You could set an example, y’know. Go on inside, then come out and show them you’re still alive.”
“You go inside.”
“I did. With you. Yesterday.”
“Yeah, and I had the heebie-jeebies all night,” Russ argued. “I’m not doin’ it again.” He held up a hand. “When you told me about this job, I said I’d try, and that’s what I’ve done. You want to fire me from the other jobs, fine, but if you do, I’m takin’ my men with me. So where’ll that leave you?”
Up shit’s creek, Judd knew. The partnership papers had been signed, the clock was ticking. The shed at Moss Ridge had to be completed before the equipment arrived, same with the downtown office, if they didn’t want to fall behind. There were other crews, some even hungrier for work than Russ and his men, but Russ was good. In all Judd’s experience with him, this was his first letdown.
Judd glanced beyond Russ to where Hunter stood leaning against the side of the Plum Granite truck. He walked over, tucking his hands in the back of his jeans. “What do you think?” he asked in a voice that wouldn’t carry beyond where they stood.
“I think you’ve got a problem.”
“Me? Try us. She wants the house done.”
“She asked you to arrange it,” Hunter said. “I’m not involved.”
“Sure you are. You’re the one behind the rumors. But you’re no dummy. And you’re no country hick. There’s no such thing as ghosts, and you know it.”
Hunter’s face hardened. “You’re saying I made it all up?”
“No,” Judd answered. He had to be careful. Sometimes the slightest thing could set Hunter off, and he would disappear for days. But Judd needed his help. “I’m saying that you were a little boy when you heard those voices. No one had heard them before that, and it’s questionable whether anyone has heard them since.”
Hunter’s mouth was set in so much the same straight line as Oliver’s often was that just then it was easy to believe them father and son.
“So?”
“So,” Judd said, “you were the first to report the voices, you could be the first to say they’re gone.”
“But I don’t know that they are gone. I’d have to go in there to find out, and I’m not doing that.”
“Scared?”
“No. Smart.”
“You said it yourself, the voices never hurt anyone.”
“That’s because people run off when
they hear them.”
“When they imagine they hear them,” Judd corrected.
Hunter gave a scornful shrug. “Why tempt fate?”
“Because that’s your specialty. You’ve been doing it all your life. You never studied in school until the night before exams. You bounce checks the week before payday. You drive your cycle like there’s no tomorrow. Even the way you left that shack and headed for the main road when your mother died—most five-year-olds would have stayed put until someone came.”
“No one would’ve come. No one ever came.”
Judd heard the bitterness, but he had a point to make. “You left that shack. You’d never been in town in your life. You’d never been in the company of other people. But something made you wander down that road. You’ve got guts, Hunter. You may be foolhardy sometimes, and stubborn as sin, but you’ve got guts. You tempted fate when you left that shack, you tempt fate every time you spin out up on Seben Road, so are you tempting fate this time? Are you goin’ into that farmhouse or not?”
Hunter’s face was stony. “She had no business buying the place.”
“But she did. It’s done. She wants to live here, and she’s expecting us to make that possible. It’s straightforward work. It won’t look real good if we can’t do it.”
“Russ is the one who can’t do it.”
“But we’re the ones in charge.” He took a new tack. “You’ve been wanting more responsibility. Here’s your chance. Take over for Russ. Be the general contractor for this project.”
Hunter made a face. “Are you nuts?”
“No, not nuts. It makes sense.” The more he thought about it, it did. “You know what has to be done. You spent thirteen years living with Hibbie Maycock and his sons, and they did a whole lot more than quarrying. Hibbie was the best carpenter around. So you know carpentry, and you know roofing. And don’t tell me you didn’t moonlight as an electrician to buy grass—even if Oliver did buy you outta that charge—because I won’t believe you. You’re the most mechanically inclined person at the quarry, and you’re good with the guys. You could lead them just as well as Russ can.”
“Great,” Hunter said. “Give me the cutting shed.”
What Judd gave him was a short shake of his head. “We need you here.” He paused, then added, “Look, none of us wants her around. None of us wants her owning a piece of the company, but the fact is that she does, and there’s nothing we can do about it except work our butts off for a year and do things better than her. Are you helping?”
“This place isn’t part of the deal.”
“No, but you’d really impress her if you did it.”
“Why in the hell would I want to impress her?” he asked with such disdain that Judd felt a twinge of relief. He didn’t know why. He certainly didn’t want any part of Chelsea Kane, and he hadn’t thought Hunter would, but the possibility, vague though it was, must have registered in the back of his mind. Now he set it aside and focused on the practical.
“Because she’s a good contact. Think about it, Hunter. She’s an architect. She knows of projects right and left. Prove yourself a skilled craftsman, and she’ll remember you. She might have a friend who needs your services. She might be your ticket out of here.”
“Who says I’m looking for a ticket out?”
Judd didn’t answer. It seemed that every Notcher, at some time in his or her life, looked for a ticket out of the town that was so small and parochial. College had been Judd’s ticket. Same with Hunter. But they’d both come back, each to his private hell. Judd couldn’t believe Hunter didn’t dream of better days.
“Worried you can’t do it?” he goaded. If all else failed, there was still the dare.
“I can do it,” Hunter said, but his eyes had slipped past Judd and were focused on the farmhouse.
Judd imagined he saw a flicker of fear, something like the look on Hunter’s face when Chelsea had first said she was buying the place. He wondered if Hunter had ever really heard voices and, if so, what had conjured them up—not that Judd believed for a minute that they were real. But Hunter might.
He cleared his throat, looked at the ground, and said even more quietly, “I’ll go in with you if you want. I was in there yesterday. It’s empty, Hunter. Still as stone.” He raised his head. “Well?”
“I can go in myself,” Hunter said. His eyes were as defiant at Judd had ever seen them and more wild. “But if I do, this is my baby, mine all the way. The old man can’t take it away from me. Is that a deal?”
Judd could hear Oliver’s panicked voice saying, “A deal? What in the devil did you make a deal for? He can’t do that work. He ain’t never done that work. Wouldn’t put it past him to fix things so’s the toilets all flush every time you flip on the lights.” If anyone was capable of doing that, Hunter was. But Judd knew he was also capable of keeping the men in line and getting the work done well and on time. It seemed only fair to finally give him that chance.
“It’s a deal,” he said, and would have put out his hand to shake on it if Hunter had been anyone else. But Hunter wasn’t a toucher. Everything about him said “hands off.” Judd and everyone else in town took that literally. “So, when’ll you start?”
Brashly, Judd thought, Hunter said, “Now.”
“How you going to get the men inside?”
Hunter stared at him for another minute, his eyes even wilder than before. Then he broke into a determined stride in the direction of the house. He didn’t stop when he reached the men and the trucks, simply ordered, “Start unloading that stuff,” and strode on, leaving Judd behind, hoping he’d done the right thing.
ON FRIDAY MORNING, AT SIX-THIRTY ON THE DOT, AEROBICS began in the basement of the church. Donna was in her usual place in the back row, doing warm-ups with the others to a slow beat, when Chelsea appeared at the door. Immediately she straightened, smiled, and waved.
Looking relieved to see her, Chelsea moved quickly around the others, dropped a small canvas bag against the back wall, and took up position beside her. “How are you?” she asked.
Donna made an okay sign with her hand and mouthed, “When did you get back?”
“Last night. Late. I wasn’t sure I’d make it here so early, but I really need the exercise.”
Donna thought she looked tired. She was pale, though since Donna hadn’t seen her without makeup before, she had no way of knowing whether that was her natural coloring. If so, it wasn’t unbecoming. She simply looked more vulnerable than before. Her hair, which was pulled away from her face into a high ponytail, leaving her features open, enhanced the impression. It was a different side of Chelsea Kane from the one she had previously seen.
Unfortunately the rest of the members of the class hadn’t seen any side of Chelsea Kane before and were interrupting their warm-ups to shoot curious glances her way. Recalling Chelsea’s self-consciousness, Donna motioned that they should continue. When she resumed her own stretches, Chelsea joined her.
The stretches went well. Chelsea was limber, though that came as no shock. Well before Donna saw it in her movements, she could have guessed it from her shape. She was a sleek swirl of neon pink and black in her exercise tights and tank top. Had the woman carried any flab, it would have showed.
No doubt, Donna mused, the others in the room were thinking the same thing, some with admiration, some with envy. The nine others there ranged in age from twenty-seven to sixty-eight. Some were slim, others were not. None looked as striking as Chelsea. Certainly none had as stylish exercise gear. Most wore loose T-shirts and shorts in colors far more muted than Chelsea’s things. Donna wasn’t sure she would feel comfortable wearing anything so bold. She wasn’t sure she had the courage.
The beat picked up, and the group moved into the first routine. Chelsea faltered, then caught up, faltered, then caught up. Not wanting to stare and make her any more uncomfortable than she was, Donna focused on the instructor, who was calling out the steps in advance and with more detail than she normally did, for Chelsea’s ben
efit.
Chelsea made it through the first number, then the second. By the time the music segued into the third, Donna could see that she’d begun to relax. It wasn’t that she was hitting the steps any better, but she seemed to have decided that whatever she did was fine, as long as she kept moving.
By the time the beat slowed into cooldowns, Chelsea was looking as warm as the rest. As soon as the music ended, she took a towel from her bag and blotted her face, neck, and throat.
Donna did the same with the hem of her T-shirt, which was pretty much what the rest of the class did. Then she caught Chelsea’s eye. “Okay?” she mouthed.
Chelsea grinned. “Great. Fun.” She took a deep breath, drew herself straighter, and put a hand on her stomach. “Good workout.”
Taking her arm then, Donna led her to where the instructor was unplugging her cassette player. Ginny Biden was the wife of a college professor who taught in Manchester. She was in her thirties and had a young baby at home. The early morning class was perfect for her, since her husband could be with the baby while she taught, then she could be with the baby while he taught. Although she was nowhere near as slim as aerobics instructors on television, as Norwich Notch wives went, she was lively, which was why Donna brought Chelsea to her first.
Chelsea extended her hand. “Chelsea Kane. Hi. Great class.”
“Welcome,” Ginny said. “Was it too much, too fast?”
“A little. But that’s okay. I’ll catch on.”
“You’re new in town, aren’t you?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Just visiting?” she asked with an expectant look at Donna.
Donna started to shake her head when Chelsea said, “Actually, I’ll be living here for a while. I’m working with Plum Granite.”
Ginny’s eyes suddenly widened. “Chelsea Kane. You’re Chelsea Kane. Wow, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. It must be too early in the morning.” She looked around, nervously, Donna thought. “Have you met the others?”
In various stages of recovery, the others were all looking at Chelsea. They had heard her name now. They knew who she was. They were, nearly to a woman, wary.
The Passions of Chelsea Kane Page 15