Angel Falls (Angel Falls Series, #1)

by Babette de Jongh

  “I know, honey.” Lois patted my shoulder. “It was never just Mel, or just you. Everything y’all ever did, it was both of you, together.”

  Like loving Ben. Even that, we’d both done together.

  “Lunch is ready.” Lois took plates down from the cupboard. “It’s just the two of us. Herb had something else he had to do.”

  “That’s okay.” I knew what else Herb had to do, because he’d left the garage door open, and his bass boat wasn’t there. I couldn’t blame him. I didn’t want to be here, either. It was just too painful. Unfortunately for me, without Herb here, I knew Lois would take the opportunity to ask about Melody’s death.

  “I’ll finish setting the table.” I knew where everything was in this kitchen. I gathered napkins, forks, spoons, knives, wondering if I’d be able to eat anything with the dreaded conversation about Melody’s last moments looming. Before coming here, I had made the decision to lie, to say that she hadn’t suffered. I had also made the decision to save Lois from asking the question, by giving her the answer first.

  But the words hid behind the flimsy wall of my good intentions and refused to come out.

  We both filled our plates with comfort food—mashed potatoes, roast and gravy, corn, green beans, homemade yeast rolls. But as Lois and I bowed our heads to say grace, I knew that none of it would bring us the least bit of comfort.

  “Dear Lord.” Lois took my hand. “We give thanks for the bounty spread before us. Most of all, we are thankful that You saw fit to spare the life of this beautiful child, Casey, so she might continue to live in Your service, and provide a loving light to those of us who must now survive the darkness without our beloved Melody.” Lois squeezed my hand then released it. “Amen.”

  “Amen,” I echoed by rote, then sat there staring blindly at my plate.

  Was Lois right? Was I spared so I could light the darkness left by Melody’s passing? Was my only purpose in life now to atone for her death? Not because of my jealous thoughts. I knew, realistically, my thoughts hadn’t killed Melody. But our shopping trip had been contrived for my benefit. She’d have been safe at home, with her husband and children, if not for me.

  “Casey.” Lois laid her cool fingers on my arm. “Honey, are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. I was just—”

  “I know. It happens to me, too.” Lois withdrew her hand and pushed the plate of yeast rolls closer. “Something reminds me of Melody, then I’m reliving the past, and it becomes more real than what’s happening right now.”

  I tore my warm yeast roll in half, but couldn’t imagine putting the delicious bread in my mouth, much less chewing and swallowing it. “Lois, can we talk before we eat? I just don’t think I can eat a thing until I get this done.”

  “I’m not sure what you mean.” Lois turned her chair toward mine, and gave me an expectant look of hope mixed with fear. The unasked question shone in her eyes.

  “Lois...”

  She leaned toward me. “Yes, honey?”

  “When we had the wreck...”

  She scooted closer, her chair scraping on the linoleum floor. “Yes?”

  “The truck that hit us...”

  Lois bit her lip and blinked rapidly. “Go on.”

  “We only saw it for a second. It came up over a hill, and it was just... there.”

  Lois nodded, a desperate, I-hate-this-but-I-have-to-know nod.

  “It hit us before we knew what was happening. The impact knocked Melody out. What I’m saying is...”

  “Yes, go on...”

  “She didn’t feel any pain. She didn’t have time to be afraid. I think all she had time to feel was a second or two of... surprise.”

  Lois crumpled, and pitched forward into my arms. “Thank God.” She squeezed me tight. “Oh, Casey. You don’t know how relieved I am. I was so afraid she might have been frightened or in pain....”

  “She didn’t feel a thing, I promise.” Liar, liar, pants on fire.

  Lois released me and sat back, dabbing at her eyes with her napkin. “Are you sure? Because at the hospital they said something about her lungs....”

  I couldn’t make up for Mel’s death, or for my jealous thoughts, but I could do this one thing for Mel’s mother. And later, I’d do it again, for Ben. I had never been good at lying, but I could do this.

  Even though it meant that I could never tell another living soul the truth about what happened that night. I looked Lois straight in the eye, without blinking. “She didn’t die from that first impact, Lois, but she never regained consciousness after it. Her breathing just got slower and slower until it stopped. I tried to breathe for her, but I couldn’t... I couldn’t.”

  Lois took my face in her hands, kissed my cheeks tenderly, and enfolded me in her arms again. “You did everything you could, Casey. I know you did. Sometimes God’s will is hard to understand, and He just decided He needed Melody more than we do. I’m just thankful we still have you. I love you like a daughter, you know. Always have.”

  I released a sigh of relief and returned her embrace. “I love you, too, Lois.”

  Thinking I’d done what I came here to do, I relaxed, clueless that I was about to be enlisted for something much more difficult. I shoveled-in a forkful of the delicious food, then noticed that Lois was sitting there as still as a little bird, watching me, her hands folded in her lap.

  Chewing, I raised my eyebrows in question.

  “Casey, I hate to ask, but I need you to do something.”

  I swallowed. “What’s that?”

  “I need you to talk to Ben. No one else has been able to get through to him. You may be the only person on earth who can stop him from self-destructing.”

  *

  I didn’t have time to go to Ben’s house after lunch because I had an afternoon of teaching ahead of me. But before noon the next day, I stood on Ben’s front porch. I soon gave up ringing the bell and pounded on the door Melody had painted such a rich, dark red.

  Red for luck.

  “Ben, I know you’re in there,” I screamed, ignoring the twitch of the curtains in the house next door. Mean old Edna Fitzpatrick, unable to mind her own business. “Open the door, Ben, or I swear I’ll throw this damn bench through the window!”

  As if I could lift the heavy wrought-iron bench one-handed, I dragged it toward the window to show I meant business. It made a hideous screeching sound as its legs scratched a white line across the concrete porch. I was sweating like a pig despite the cool breeze, and my hair clung to my neck in strings.

  I stood to give my back a rest, and noticed the front door stood open.

  But I hesitated to go through it.

  What could I say that would bring Ben back to his children? How could I help him when I couldn’t even help myself? I had no idea, but I walked inside anyway. Lifting damp strands of hair off my neck, I shivered in the dark, air conditioned house. Every curtain closed, the place looked like a cave. A dirty, messy cave.

  “You’re a damn pushy little chick, you know that?” Ben’s slurred voice reached me from the shadowed den. I followed the sound, and stepped on something that crunched underfoot. I picked it up—a framed photo of Ben and Melody—and started to put the picture back on the piano where it belonged.

  “Leave it!” Ben’s voice sounded like the snarl of a wild animal.

  Lowering the shattered frame back to the floor, I looked around, now that my eyes had adjusted to the dark. He had swiped every horizontal surface clear of picture frames, vases, knick-knacks, and memories, then crushed them underfoot. The place smelled of rotting food and spilled liquor.

  On the coffee table in the den, a bottle of Wild Turkey sat surrounded by a mishmash of paper plates, pizza boxes and crumpled napkins. Ben lay sprawled on the couch, a tumbler of bourbon in his hand.

  Not his first.

  I sat on the edge of the cushion next to him. I had never seen Ben act this way. But then, he’d never had a reason to.

  “Have a drink.” He gulped back half a tumbl
er full of the nasty stuff. “Oh, I forgot. You only drink wine.” He drew out the last word obnoxiously, making it sound like “whine.”

  “Ben, you’re being an asshole.” I don’t know if I said it because I was finally getting as angry as he was, or because I thought it might provoke a reaction.

  It did.

  He lunged at me and pushed me against the back of the couch with his hands hard at my shoulders. I yelped in pain but he didn’t seem to notice.

  “My wife is dead!” He yelled through clenched teeth. His blue eyes were cold and his jaw stood out rigid in his face. “My wife is dead!” He shook me once, hard, then released me and sat back to cover his face with his hands.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, knowing how inadequate it was. “I’m sorry.”

  “God, Casey, I’m the one who’s sorry.” His red-rimmed eyes made the blue seem even bluer when he looked at me. “Did I hurt you?”

  “I’m okay. You’re the one everyone is worried about. Are you okay?”

  He didn’t answer, just pulled me to him and hugged me hard, and I let him hold me. When I felt him begin to shake with tears, I reached up to smooth the silky curls of his hair, just as I would have done with any of his children. “I know you’re hurting.” I patted his back. “But your kids need you.” I kept talking, hoping to get through to him while I had the chance. “Ben, I know this is going to sound harsh, but I’m telling you this because I love you, and I love your kids. You have to get over yourself and take care of your children.”

  He sniffed and sat back, wiping his eyes. I took a napkin off the coffee table and handed it over. He blew his nose, then made a face. “Ugh. You gave me one that smells like rotten pizza.” He tossed the wadded napkin onto the messy table.

  I shrugged. “Sorry. But in case you haven’t noticed, this whole room smells like rotten pizza.”

  Ben looked around, then winced. “I guess I’ve been a little out of control.”

  “You needed some time to wallow in grief. It’s understandable. But now you’ve got to bring your kids back home and get on with your lives. It’s what Melody would expect of you.”

  “I know you’re right, but I can’t seem to pull myself together, and I don’t want them to see me like this.” He gave me a sad smile. “If you can tell me how I’m supposed to get over myself anytime soon, I’ll listen.”

  “Ben, I don’t have a good answer for you. I wish I did. But maybe putting that bottle back in the cabinet and cleaning up this mess would be a good start. Do you need me to help you?”

  He gave me a bleary-eyed glare. “I’ll do it myself. Tomorrow, when my head isn’t about to explode from an ongoing hangover. Thanks for the offer though.”

  “And you’ll pick up your kids from Lois sometime this weekend? They need you, and you need them. Besides, having them around might force you to pull yourself together.”

  He grimaced. “I guess I should thank you for giving me a kick in the behind.”

  I stood and patted his shoulder. “Anytime.”

  *

  A week later, I sat in my living room with a glass of Merlot, huddled in my favorite reading chair. I loved the big overstuffed chair even more because I’d found it at a thrift store for next-to-nothing. Someone had upholstered it loosely in antique quilt fabric, patched-over in even more quilt fabric, making it the comfiest chair on earth and the next-best thing to being in bed.

  The book I couldn’t read lay face down the chair arm, so I finally gave up and set it on the lamp table. I saw my reflection in the hall’s full-length mirror, and wondered for the hundredth time why I didn’t look different.

  Lois’s face was ravaged by grief.

  Ben looked like a different person entirely.

  But my face looked the same. Sadder, maybe, more solemn than usual, but the same face I was used to seeing. What was wrong with me, that I didn’t show the pain outwardly like everybody else?

  My mind floated back to last week, to the park bench, to Ian’s kiss. Maybe my pain wasn’t as bad as it should be, because I had a handsome Scot to distract me from my grief. But should I allow myself to fall for Ian? Did I have any business letting happiness into my life when Melody’s family was just beginning to suffer?

  My cat jumped into my lap, and I ran a hand along his arched back, sending a flurry of cat hairs floating through the air. Absently petting Chester and admiring his dark Siamese markings, I absorbed comfort from his thick, nasal purr and his warm bulk in my lap.

  Lizzie lay on the floor beside me, her soft snores adding to the quiet chorus.

  I should call Ben, see how he and the kids were doing. I was reaching for the cordless phone when its shrill ring made me jump out of my skin and made Chester dig his claws into my thigh. “Ow, dammit,” I yelled into the receiver. “Hello.”

  My tone may have been less than pleasant.

  “Casey, lass.” Ian’s voice was sexy and deep. “It’s so nice to hear your lovely voice.”

  I figured he was being sarcastic, so I responded the same way. “Well, I know you’re not calling because the music’s too loud, so...”

  His rich chuckle rumbled across the phone line. “I’m calling to ask if you’ll come to dinner with me on Saturday. Please don’t say no.”

  “No.” But a shiver of anticipation made my shoulders twitch.

  “Come, now. Remember our conversation?” His voice was intoxicating as a whole bottle of Bailey’s Irish cream. “What are you afraid of?”

  Pretty much everything.

  Closing my eyes, I stroked Chester’s thick brown fur, entertaining visions of Ian’s kiss the week before.

  I shouldn’t say yes.

  I shouldn’t say yes.

  I shouldn’t say yes.

  I held my breath and imagined myself doing a swan-dive off the limestone cliffs of Angel Falls—and doing a belly-flop into the water below. “All right. I’ll come. What time?”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Propping my chin on my hand, I looked out over the dark river. The Riverboat Restaurant’s windows projected bars of light that floated like snakes on the rippled surface. My own image stared back at me from beyond the glass, a cameo hologram in space, my black velvet dress disappearing against the water’s inky backdrop.

  Shifting my gaze, I could see Ian’s reflection, too. He leaned back in his chair, stirring his after-dinner coffee. The spoon made slow clinking sounds inside the cup. In black jeans and an even blacker linen shirt, he looked like a magazine advertisement for something very wicked and very, very expensive. I still didn’t know exactly what it was, but I knew I wanted it, hoped I could afford it.

  I fiddled with my almost-empty wine glass, twirling the stem in my hand.

  Ian’s golden gaze settled on me. “You look lovely, as always. But tired, too. Are you not sleeping well?”

  “No. I close my eyes and all I can see is...” I folded the big cloth napkin in my lap, in half and then in half again.

  “It will get better.” His voice was low and soothing. “I promise it will.”

  “How do you know?” There was more than a trace of bitterness in my voice but I couldn’t keep it out, even knowing he was only trying to help.

  “I’ve lived through it myself.”

  “Your best friend died in a car accident right before your eyes?” I regretted my words the second they left my lips. Regretted them even more when I saw his sad smile. A smile that hinted at a deeply-embedded pain that still stung. I leaned across the table and covered his hand with mine. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

  “That’s all right.” He turned his palm up and threaded his fingers through mine. “It was a long time ago.”

  “What happened?”

  “My wife committed suicide.”

  “God, Ian! I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said—”

  “You’re angry. I understand. I remember the anger, too.” Ian looked down at the table while he spoke. His voice was flat, emotionless. “I wanted to kill Maeve even though she
’d already done it herself.”

  “Why would she—” I stopped myself. This was none of my business. But still, I wanted to know. “If you don’t mind telling me, I mean.”

  Ian gracefully picked up the ball I’d fumbled. “She’d been diagnosed with bipolar disorder and depression, and whenever I went on assignment she’d stop taking her medication and threaten to kill herself. I convinced myself she was making threats to manipulate me. I told her she could do what she wanted, and I went anyway.” He glanced up, guilt and grief reflected in his eyes.

  “Why didn’t she want you to do your job? That seems a little selfish.”

  “As a journalist, I was often sent to political hot spots, and she worried. A certain element of danger was expected. I was willing to take the risk, because I knew it would advance my career. I didn’t realize it was Maeve’s safety I was risking. Not until it was too late.”

  “Oh, Ian.”

  “She waited until I was on my way home from the airport. I don’t think she planned to die. I was supposed to arrive in time to save her. But a colleague who was on the same flight asked me to meet him for a beer on the way home, and I said yes.” Chagrin curled the corners of his mouth. “I was furious at her, at myself, at the whole world.”

  “How long—”

  “It was more than ten years ago.”

  “Does it still... Does it still bother you? I mean, how do you get over...” my voice trailed away as I struggled to find the right words.

  “Feeling like you’ve failed someone you love in the worst way possible?”

  His quiet tone held an underlying bitterness I couldn’t miss.

  The waiter placed a leather bill folder on table edge. Ian pulled his hand from beneath mine and dealt with the bill while I stared out over the water.

  “Shall we go?” Ian stood and offered me his hand.

  “Yes, but...” I put my hand in his, waiting to hear the answer to the question he’d helped me ask. But his face had a shuttered expression, as if the door he’d opened to me had just slammed closed. I knew he had revealed all he meant to. But I’d glimpsed a sensitive, caring man hidden behind the tough façade.