Endless Fear

by Adrianne Lee

  In the dim illumination afforded by the single dirty window, he proceeded toward the center of the room. He was paying so much attention to what lay beyond his vision that the crackle of paper beneath his feet startled him. Looking down he realized he was stepping on one of Lily’s posters. He moved back. His gaze rolled across the playbill and on to the next and the next, all scattered about like litter on a roadside.

  “What the hell?” The last time he’d seen Lily’s trunk was when he’d come back up here to retrieve Thane’s poems and discovered April had beaten him to it. Even as upset as he’d been at the time, he’d replaced every item with care. Now the contents were strewn about, the lid flipped open, the trunk empty. The evident disregard to both the age and the worth of Lily’s effects implied a hastily conducted search. But for what? Surely not the poems. And yet, although he’d never understood why, someone had stolen them from April’s room.

  Or had they?

  Was this April’s doing? God, he didn’t want to think so, but a perturbing worry accompanied him from the attic back into the hallway. Was there actually someone in this family who wished April harm? No matter how long he chewed on the possibility, he couldn’t swallow it. It was unthinkable. The only evidence substantiating any foul play was the electricity being turned off on purpose, and that didn’t prove whoever had done it knew April was in the basement.

  The gold cross in his pocket seemed to burn a reminder into his side. This possibility was even too tough to chew. He couldn’t bear to suspect his mother of any wrong doing. An awful thought occurred to him. Had April stolen the cross from his mother, then handed it to him in the wine cellar as though she’d found it on the floor?

  He shut the attic door harder than necessary as his mother’s words rushed into his mind. April’s not out of the woods yet. She still has hurdles to overcome. Try as he might, Spencer couldn’t dispel the unwelcome memory of finding April hysterical in the basement, or the disoriented way she’d ushered him down the attic stairs, or the peculiar action of plonking July’s Barbie doll on the breakfast table as though accusing someone of some unclarified crime. And what about her two mishaps? Had her state of mind contributed to her being in the wrong place at the wrong time?

  He ran his hand through his hair and headed toward the kitchen. As much as he’d prefer to ignore them, these signs pointed to the instability of her mental condition. Which was all the more reason to find her, tell her the truth, and give her the chance to get well.

  This time he found the kitchen full of people and activity and something else: an unease—so subtle Spencer half-suspected he was imagining it. The sense hovered elusively in the click clack of March’s knitting needles, in the copper lids Helga rattled atop cooking pans, in the murmur of conversation between Cynthia, Thane, and Vanessa who were hunched around the counter, holding mugs of fragrant coffee. But he couldn’t pinpoint its origin.

  “Hello, everyone,” Spencer said. He paid particular attention to each person’s expression as they acknowledged the greeting, yet the source of disquiet remained unknown.

  Curious, he steadied his gaze on the cook as she bent over the open oven door basting a huge sirloin tip roast. The slight tremor in her hand spoke volumes, but it was only natural she’d be nervous with the governor’s family coming for dinner. Moving toward her, he wondered if he should mention the dark smudge on the crisp white apron shielding her stomach.

  He decided instead to try to lessen her distress. “It smells great, Helga.” Dropping his arm around her shoulder, he felt her flinch. The baster slipped from her hand and sank in the thick juice at the bottom of the pan.

  She glared at him with exasperation. “Now look what you done.”

  “Oops.” Without meaning to he’d managed to upset her more. “Here I’ll get the blasted thing.” He reached for the baster.

  Helga smacked his hand. “Don’t be putting that filthy paw in my food. Liable to poison the whole lot of us.”

  Throwing his arms wide, palms flat, he backed away. “No problem. I’ll stay out of your way.”

  “Good.”

  Surprisingly the round of laughter which circled the room did nothing to dispel the aura of tension. Strange, Spencer mused. He strode to the counter, grabbed a cup from the mug tree, and filled it with hot coffee. It crossed his mind that it could be his own anxiety—to speak to April—that was disturbing the quietude. Perhaps if he lightened the mood… “See what you get for trying to help?”

  “Maybe you should help yourself to a bath.” Grinning, Thane picked a chip of wood from Spencer’s hair and handed it to him. “Unless, of course, you’d rather meet my future in-laws for the first time looking and smelling like a sawdust bin.”

  “Funny.” He quirked the corner of his mouth sarcastically. “I’ll shower before they arrive.”

  Oddly, this warmhearted banter seemed to add to the edginess in the air. Spencer frowned, sipped his hot coffee, and finally plunked the mug to the counter. He was finished playing who’s got the button. “Has anyone seen April?”

  Cynthia stiffened and lifted an eyebrow, but Spencer ignored the pointed look she sent him. He’d keep his promise to give April a wide berth—after he’d set the record straight.

  Although everyone responded negatively, one person in the room could have told Spencer exactly where April was. Dead. Sprawled on the treacherous rocks of Haro Strait as silenced as a slain seagull. Now the truth of how Lily Cordell had actually met her maker would forever remain a secret. The thought should have brought release and peace, at long last peace, but it hadn’t.

  Pain accelerated behind narrowed eyes. Fear. Still the fear of being caught. Too much to lose. Mustn’t let it happen.

  Cynthia poked a loose strand into her mussed chignon. “I’m sure April has the good sense to be getting ready.” She glanced at the wall clock. “Heavens, the O’Briens will be here in less than an hour. Does anyone know if Karl’s gone to pick them up yet?”

  “I’m on my way.” Karl strode into the room. Obviously he’d showered, shaved, and changed clothes.

  Begrudgingly, Spencer admitted to himself that in the form-fitting Levis and hand-knit, sky blue sweater his rival for April’s affections had the leading edge in more ways than one. Spencer raked a hand through his unkempt hair and fingered his whiskered chin. Before he talked to her, he needed every advantage he could muster. Starting with a shower.

  His mother caught his arm. “Darlin’, you and I don’t have much time to make ourselves presentable. We’d best get a move on.”

  He didn’t resist as she ushered him toward the stairs.

  * * * *

  Spencer scraped the razor over his face one last time, then rinsed the blade beneath the tap water and dragged a cold washcloth across his cheeks and chin. A strange calmness had settled over him, perhaps from resignation. He felt like a man readying himself for his own funeral as he scanned his appearance in the mirror and grunted with dissatisfaction.

  Where was that smooth persona he’d spent years developing, honing? Why couldn’t he eliminate the look of despair from his eyes, around his mouth? April. She’d done this to him, shattered his self-protective mode with her pliant body, her passionate kisses, her offers of love. Grumbling, he yanked on his terry cloth robe and trudged to his room. The best he could hope was that the years ahead would dull the pain.

  Politics. His career had always been his salvation. He could throw himself into his work even harder than ever, he decided, tossing his robe across the bed. Pulling on briefs, socks, and slacks, he toyed with the idea of aspiring to an office higher than the Mayorship of Bellingham, but the thought seemed as dull as the gray polo shirt he’d chosen to wear with none of the warmth of the coordinated pullover sweater.

  And suddenly he knew why. It wasn’t just his outrageous outspoken attitude keeping him from attaining the heights in his career that came so easily to Thane. His heart wasn’t in politics, or in anything, for that matter. He’d sealed it away in some nether regions t
welve years ago when April had looked at him with blank eyes and not known who he was.

  The only time in his life he remembered being alive had been these last two weeks, and now he was about to die again. But a major difference had occurred in him. He couldn’t go back to political office and carry on with a life he wasn’t participating in. The people of Bellingham, not to mention all of his campaign supporters, deserved a candidate who cared about their town and the issues.

  His mother’s gold cross stared up at him from its position on his dresser. There was nothing to be gained by keeping it, he decided. He plucked it up and stuffed it into his pocket. She’d be glad to have it back.

  A knock at his door was followed by Thane’s uninvited, but not unwelcome entrance. “You about ready?”

  Spencer ran a comb through his hair, peering at his twin’s image in the mirror. Thane, too, wore slacks and a sweater, the outfit a striking statement of black and white. Somehow, Thane always managed to merge good taste and up to the minute style, while he, on the other hand, yielded to comfort.

  Thane moved closer. “Is something wrong?”

  “Actually, for a change, something is right.” Spencer set the comb aside and faced his brother. “I’ve made a decision about my life, my future. I’m going to withdraw from the race for mayor.” He hadn’t known he was going to say that, but it seemed the decision had been made.

  “But—you’re a shoe-in! Have you lost your mind?”

  “On the contrary, I think I’ve finally found it.” Spencer felt as though an invisible weight had lifted from his shoulders.

  “Politics is all you’ve ever known. What the hell are you going to do?”

  Spencer slipped into gray loafers. “I do have a law degree, remember? Surely some big firm needs a lawyer with a political background. If not, hell, there’s always private practice. Be happy for me, Thane.”

  “I would be, if you looked happy about it, but you look like you’ve been hit by a train.”

  Striding to the window, Spencer lifted the drape and glimpsed the landscape in the dying sunlight. “I’ve decided to tell April everything.”

  “Dear God, why?” Springs squeaked as Thane sank to the bed.

  Spencer stared at the darkening scenery. “I would have gone to the grave honoring your confidence, but there’s no longer any need of secrets. Vanessa knows about your affair with Lily, and the wedding is going off without a hitch.”

  Behind him he heard Thane say, “I don’t understand what one thing has to do with the other. Why tell April?”

  He let loose of the curtain and wheeled around, not certain where to begin. Or if he wanted to. The subject was too personal, too raw. But after all these years of lying to himself and to Thane, the need to clear the air was powerful.

  He raked his hand through his combed hair, mussing it. “I’ve made some important discoveries about myself these past few days, bro. When April lost her memory, I built a wall around my heart as high and as dense as the one surrounding that damned sanitarium in Phoenix. Finding her again has released me. From here on out, I can start to live life instead of faking it.”

  And no matter how painful, at least it would be honest, Spencer realized, gleaning a small amount of comfort from the fact. “April has already missed too much of life to build a new start on lies and half truths. She deserves the same chance she’s given me.”

  Remorse was written on Thane’s face. “God, I’ve been a selfish ass. I didn’t even consider what your loyalty to me was costing you.” He gained his feet and clasped Spencer by the shoulder. “Would you like me to talk to April for you? I’ll tell her about the affair and clear up this mess.”

  He shook his head. “How are you going to ‘clear up’ the fact that I killed her mother?”

  Thane grabbed his other shoulder and shoved his face so close their noses nearly touched. “Lily’s death was an accident. Why can’t you accept that?”

  The old guilt churned in his gut. “Because I shoved her. She wouldn’t have fallen otherwise.”

  Blowing a sigh through pursed lips, Thane stepped back and dropped his arms. “You didn’t mean for her to fall. April won’t blame you.”

  “April saw the whole thing. If she realized it was an accident, why do you think she blocked it out?”

  “I don’t know. But I’m not sure telling her is the right thing to do. Didn’t her doctor say she should remember Lily’s fall on her own?”

  Stepping away from his brother, Spencer threw his hands in the air. “What if she never remembers? Don’t you see? I love her too much to keep her tied to a fantasy I wanted to play out. I have to release her.”

  The sympathy emanating from his twin melted some of the chill inside Spencer, and reminded him of the damper he was placing on Thane’s special evening. “No more serious talk. This is supposed to be a happy occasion.” He re-combed his hair and plastered on a smile. Yanking open the bedroom door, he motioned for Thane to follow. “Come on, we’re keeping your new family waiting.”

  As they traversed the hall, Spencer’s thoughts spun back to April. An anxious twinge traveled his middle. Now that guests had started to arrive, he didn’t know when he’d get to speak to her. Before dinner was out of the question, but perhaps he could make an opportunity afterward.

  They headed downstairs. Voices rose up to meet them and Spencer heard someone exclaim, “What a glorious sunset. I can’t wait to see the view from this window in the morning.”

  It seemed to him the living room teemed with people, consuming drinks and hors d’oeuvres, exchanging the stilted pleasantries of two families meeting for the first time to celebrate the marriage of their children.

  Spencer’s eyes automatically scanned the room in search of April. Noting her absence, he breathed easier. As much as he wanted to see her, he dreaded the moment he would confront the pain he’d inflicted on her transmitting from those glorious aqua eyes. Nothing he could say or do would save the most precious gift he’d ever been given, April’s love.

  He headed straight for the makeshift bar, poured himself a Scotch on the rocks, and got down one bracing swallow before Cynthia caught him by the arm and escorted him around the room like a tugboat leading a lost ship. Keeping an eye on the doorway, he nodded through the introductions of Vanessa’s parents, grandmother, and aunt, but he couldn’t relate to Thane’s joy when his whole world was capsizing.

  Without warning, his hand was gripped in a hard, confident manner. Startled, he stowed his dark thoughts and looked at the man shaking his hand. Vanessa’s father.

  “Call me Walt.” Walter O’Brien had the lean muscled physique of an executive who spent his lunch hour in a gym. There was no question where Vanessa got her looks. Although his was grayed at the temples, her father had the same thick blond hair, and beneath horn-rimmed glasses, the same clear green eyes.

  By contrast, her mother Dee Dee—who stood at Walt’s side—had mahogany hair, a button nose, and the soft brown eyes of a cow, but nothing about the woman was the least bovine. She couldn’t weigh eighty-five pounds dripping wet, Spencer concluded, doubting the three inch high heels she had on brought her up to an even five feet tall.

  “I hear you’re running for mayor,” Walter beamed.

  Spencer blanched inwardly. The decision to withdraw from the mayoral race and politics in general, would have to wait until he could inform his family. In private. He gave Walter a practiced answer, then asked what the man did for a living.

  As Walter O’Brien discussed his position at the Boeing Company, Spencer nodded and forced himself to act interested. The anxious knot in his gut was growing to gargantuan proportions, and his face muscles were starting to ache from the effort it took to keep smiling. Although at first he’d welcomed April’s absence, he was starting to wonder what was detaining her.

  He murmured an “I see” to Vanessa’s father and hoped the response was appropriate, for try as he might to participate in the conversation, he couldn’t concentrate. Night pressed the plate
glass windows and coldly reflected a reverse imagery of the people gathered in the living room. It gave Spencer the eerie impression of watching a similar gathering in some other dimension. What was keeping April?

  As his gaze fell on Helga, who was passing around a platter of rolled cheese concoctions, it occurred to him that August had asked Karl to act as bartender for this little soiree. But his stepfather was the one pouring drinks. Where was Karl? With April? The thought drained the moisture from his mouth.

  Downing the last of his Scotch, he noticed July sitting all alone on the couch, fidgeting, observing the adults with a polite, if somewhat strained expression. The first genuine smile he’d felt tugged Spencer’s lips. Here was an ally. Excusing himself, he made straight for his young sister and claimed the seat beside her. “You sure look pretty in those fancy blue tights and that striped sweater. New?”

  “Yeah.” July smoothed the hem of the knee-length sweater and crossed her ankles above her white flats. Her sigh tore at his heart.

  “What’s the matter, twerp?” He patted her head where her wavy hair hugged in a single, tight braid down the center.

  July stole a glance at their mother, then said quietly, “I thought parties were supposed to be fun. Not just a bunch of hugging and shaking hands and talking about boring stuff.”

  He bit back a grin and gave her knee a sympathetic squeeze. “Yeah, well, adult parties can be kind of dull for a kid.”

  “You’re a grown up—so how come you’re not having fun?”

  The question caught him by surprise, although it shouldn’t have. Kids, he’d found, were often more perceptive than most adults. Too bad they didn’t have the wisdom of experience to offer solutions to problems they could so readily detect.

  “What makes you think I’m not having fun?”

  “You look sad.”

  He gave her an exaggeratedly broad smile. “Is this better?”

  “You look funny when you show all your teeth like that.” July giggled and crawled into his lap. “Spence, you want to play Nintendo?”