Cry Love

Home > Romance > Cry Love > Page 6
Cry Love Page 6

by Eve Gaddy

After a lot of whistling and cheering and backslapping and kissing, Jonas looked at Claire. She was watching her friend with a curious expression on her face. Happy, but wistful at the same time.

  “What’s wrong, don’t you like engagements?”

  “Of course I do. I’m happy for them.”

  He simply raised a brow.

  “I am,” she insisted. “I’m—oh, hell,” she muttered and took another sip of her drink. “If I tell you something, you can’t repeat it.”

  Jonas crossed his heart with a finger and waited.

  “I’m jealous. Oh, not because she’s marrying Joe. They’re perfect for each other. But they’re so happy . . .” her voice trailed off.

  “And you’re not.” She didn’t have to hold up a sign for him to get that.

  She sighed but didn’t agree or disagree. “It’s not something I talk about often. Or to casual acquaintances for that matter.”

  “Is that what we are?”

  “I don’t know. What are we?”

  “Friends?” he hazarded.

  “We don’t know each other very well.”

  “We could change that.” Of course, he didn’t want to be her friend. He wanted more.

  “I could use another friend,” she admitted. “One who’s more objective.”

  Objective? Him? About Claire’s husband? Right.

  “Lanie isn’t rational on the subject of Glenn,” Claire continued. “She doesn’t understand why I don’t divorce him and get on with my life.”

  “At the risk of being too much like her, why the hell don’t you? You’re clearly unhappy.” From what little he’d seen of her husband, he didn’t blame her.

  “Have you ever been married?”

  “No.”

  “It’s not that easy to admit you made a mistake and possibly should never have married someone. I made vows. They meant something to me.” She was quiet a moment and added, “I keep thinking things will get better.”

  “And how’s that working for you?”

  She laughed unhappily. “Not well. He won’t admit there’s anything wrong.” She looked at her glass, which was empty. “But you didn’t come here to hear my marital woes. And I need another drink.”

  “Coming right up.” If she needed a shoulder, he thought as he refilled her glass, he was willing. Even if it probably wasn’t a good idea to offer one to the woman you wanted to take to bed.

  But if she got rid of the husband, then that was one big obstacle out of the way.

  “THE PARTY’S WINDING down,” Jonas said to Claire some time later. “Do you want to go get a drink? A cup of coffee or something?”

  She shouldn’t. She really shouldn’t. She’d already spent most of the evening with him. God, if Glenn got wind of that no telling what he’d do. But she was so enjoying being with a man who talked to her, who listened. Who seemed to appreciate what she had to say.

  Unlike her husband.

  “Just coffee,” Jonas added with a smile.

  “All right. There’s a place not far from here. La Costa.”

  “Mexican? For coffee?”

  “It’s a little bit of a dive, but they have good coffee. Good food, too. It’s open late. We used to go there when we were kids. Didn’t you?”

  “Maybe the white kids did but my friends didn’t.”

  “Where did you go?”

  “Ol’ South Pancake House. Or if we were trying to score drinks, the Bluebird Lounge.”

  She laughed and shook her head, then gave him the address. “I’ll meet you there.”

  On the way she asked herself why she felt so guilty. She was meeting a friend for coffee. A very attractive friend of the opposite sex. Claire didn’t cheat. At least, she never had before. She’d never been tempted, no matter how unhappy she’d been.

  Until she met Jonas.

  Jonas had arrived before her and gotten them a table in the corner. They’d both ordered decaf coffees.

  “They make a mean margarita, too,” Claire said. “But I had my limit at the party, and I have to work tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  “Do you ever wonder what would have happened if we’d met back when we were in high school?” Claire asked Jonas. “Maybe we did meet and just don’t remember it.”

  “No. I’d have remembered you.” He looked her over and smiled. “Someone who looks like you? Oh, yeah, I’d remember you.”

  Claire laughed. “Flatterer. How do you know what I looked like in high school?”

  “What did you look like, Claire?”

  “Younger. Chubbier. But pretty much the same.” She sipped coffee. “I’m positive I’d remember you, too. Do you look a lot different than you did in high school?”

  He grinned, his teeth a flash of white. “My hair’s shorter and I’ve filled out but basically I look the same.”

  “Were you a jock?” He sure looked like an athlete.

  “Nope. I played basketball my freshman year, but there were others a lot more talented than me. I decided hitting the books was my ticket, not sports.”

  “You could have done both. Joe, Lanie’s fiancé, was a football star in high school and college. I don’t know why he didn’t go pro. I guess he decided medicine suited him better.”

  “That’s what I decided. Speaking of your friend Lanie, why do she and your husband dislike each other?”

  She set down her cup and grimaced. “Dislike is a mild word. They detest each other.”

  “Do you know why?”

  “No. Neither of them will say. Although they’re both outspoken about their feelings, they won’t tell me why. Lanie’s especially vocal. Glenn says she’s trying to undermine our marriage.” She laughed unhappily. “I told him we were doing that without anyone’s help.” God knows that was true. “I’ve always wondered if—” she broke off and shrugged. What was it about him that made her so chatty? She was never this open with people she didn’t know well. Or people she knew well, for that matter.

  “If there was more to it,” he hazarded. “Can you pinpoint when she started hating him, or has she always disliked him?”

  “Funny you should ask that. Shortly after we married, we were living in San Antonio. Glenn was going to law school. Lanie came to visit and stayed with us. I was a resident, and you know what those hours are like. I went to bed early. Lanie left the next day. She was supposed to stay but she said she had an emergency come up.”

  “That’s when it all started?”

  “I think so. I don’t remember it being bad before that. Maybe I never noticed, though.”

  “You’re thinking he hit on her and she shut him down.”

  “I think he might have. It makes sense.” She’d tried to ignore her uneasiness, but she’d always wondered. “Why wouldn’t she tell me, though? Do you suppose she thought I wouldn’t believe her?”

  He shrugged. “It happens. Maybe she was afraid it would wreck your friendship. Was he drinking?”

  She nodded. “They both were. I didn’t because I had to work the next day. I went to bed early and they stayed up and drank. I didn’t think anything of it.” At the time.

  “Are you sure it wasn’t the other way around? Maybe Lanie did something she’s not too proud of.”

  “No, not Lanie. She would never betray me. Drunk or sober.”

  “But your husband would.”

  She didn’t answer. But then, he hadn’t voiced it as a question.

  “Maybe he threatened her,” Jonas continued. “Threatened to screw with your friendship if she told you.”

  “I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

  “You could ask her. But really, why does it matter now? Your problems with your husband are in the here and now. Not something he might or might not have done yea
rs ago.”

  “True, but it would prove again how wrong I was about him.”

  “And you need proof you were wrong? Before you can do anything?”

  Claire shrugged but didn’t answer.

  “Why now?” he asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m sensing this isn’t a new problem. So why now? Has he done something recently that pissed you off?”

  Claire bit her lip. “Not pissed me off. Not exactly.”

  Jonas waited, saying nothing.

  “We haven’t been getting along well for a long time. He’s been especially strange since we ran into you at the hospital. And again after dinner the other night, he . . . damn, I don’t know what came over him. He flipped out over me talking to you. He became totally, irrationally jealous.”

  “Jealous of me? Of you and me?”

  She nodded.

  “That is weird. Especially since I was there with a date.”

  “I pointed that out.”

  “Did you tell him there’s nothing going on between us?”

  “Yes.” She met his eyes. “Even though that’s a lie.”

  There was a long silence before Jonas asked quietly, “Is it?”

  “You know it is,” she said. “Every time we touch, something happens. There’s a connection between us. We both feel it.” She put out her hand and waited.

  He took her hand. Rubbed his thumb over her palm. She met his eyes and lost herself in them.

  Oh, yes, they were connected. She didn’t know how, she didn’t know why, but she was absolutely sure that she and Jonas Clark had known each other before.

  JONAS WAS NOT a fanciful man. In fact, more than one woman had told him he had an amazing lack of imagination. So if it wasn’t his imagination, what the hell were these weird moments he had whenever he touched Claire? Flashes of feelings he couldn’t pin down. Flashes of dreams, the dreams he’d had almost nightly since he’d met Claire.

  They’re just dreams, he thought. So why couldn’t he remember them? Why was the only thing he remembered a couple of teenagers, one white, one black? He couldn’t even remember their names.

  It was enough to make him not want to sleep. Which was ridiculous. He wouldn’t allow some weird moments and even weirder wisps of dreams to bother him. He got into bed and willed himself to sleep, but his last conscious thought, despite himself, was of Claire’s eyes. Beautiful. Different. He knew those eyes. . . .

  October 1968

  “BELLA, WHAT ARE you doing here?” Calvin hadn’t realized she even knew where he lived, much less expected to see her show up at his house.

  “I didn’t know where else to go.”

  Even with the porch light on, he couldn’t see her clearly. The rain was coming down in sheets and she was wrapped up in a hooded raincoat that enveloped her entire upper body. Before he could decide what to do, he heard his mother behind him.

  “Let the girl in, Calvin. I know I taught you some manners.”

  Great. He wasn’t ready for his mom to meet Bella. He doubted she’d approve of him dating a white girl. Especially one related to Buster Cantrell. His mom considered the wealthy banker to be one of the dregs of humanity.

  “No, thank you, Mrs. Davis,” Bella said. “I don’t want to impose.”

  “No such thing. Come on in, child.” Fay was already drawing her inside. “Let me have your coat.”

  Bella took it off and gave it to her, then stood shivering, looking like a drowned rat with her hair hanging down her back in a sodden mess. She must have gone out in the rain before she put on her coat.

  “Go get the child some towels, Calvin. And bring a blanket, too.”

  “What’s wrong, Bella?” He did as his mother asked, running to the bathroom quickly and returning with the towels. As Bella dried off, he grabbed a blanket from the couch and wrapped it around her. She’d yet to look at him. As he led her into the den, she raised her head, and he got his first clear look at her face.

  He couldn’t stop the gasp. Or the suspicion that he knew what was coming. His mother said nothing, simply took her arm and allowed her to sit on the ancient sofa.

  “My father’s not happy with me.” The entire left side of her face was swollen, her eye already purpling. Her beautiful eyes, bruised and battered.

  Calvin felt a helpless rage that her father could use her so, and that Calvin couldn’t do a damn thing about it. “Why? Why did he do this?”

  Still quiet, his mother didn’t speak, but left the room to return with a bag of frozen peas. “This will keep the swelling down,” she told her, then sat on her other side. “Unless you think we need a doctor.”

  Bella shook her head. “No, it’s just bruises. Nothing I haven’t had before,” she added bitterly.

  “What can we do to help?” Fay asked.

  If his mother was surprised that an unknown girl, a white one at that, had showed up at their house asking for help, she didn’t reveal it. But he wouldn’t put it past Fay to know about him and Bella anyway. Fay Davis had channels. She knew about everything, or almost everything, that went on in the community. The black community, anyway.

  “Nothing.” Bella shivered convulsively. “No one can do anything. We’ve been going round and round about college. At first he was convinced I should go to TCU and live at home, but now he’s decided I have to go to Sarah Lawrence. I’ve begged and begged but he doesn’t care what I want.”

  Calvin started to ask if her father knew about the two of them, but on the chance that his mother didn’t, he changed the question. “Has he heard something about you? Something that upset him? Is that why he wants to send you so far away?”

  “No,” she shook her head vehemently. “If he knew about you and me he’d kill me. He wouldn’t just slap me around. Tonight he hit me because I told him I wouldn’t go to Sarah Lawrence, I’d run away first. So he said we’d see about that.”

  Fay looked at Calvin with an expression that let him know he was in for it later. But he couldn’t be concerned about his mom now. Right now he was sick with worry about Bella.

  “Does he do this every time you don’t do what he wants?” Calvin asked.

  “Every time.” She looked up at him, her eyes brimming with tears. “I don’t want to leave you, Calvin.”

  “You don’t have to,” Cal said, regardless of his mother’s presence. “We’ll figure something out.”

  It wasn’t an empty promise. Cal was going to do anything necessary to make sure Bella didn’t have to live with that child-beating bastard for long.

  Chapter Seven

  October Present Day

  FORTUNATELY, GLENN had gone to bed when Claire returned home, so she didn’t have to deal with him. She was still uneasy over the time she’d spent with Jonas. When she touched him—it wasn’t normal. These feelings she had for him were not reasonable. And while Jonas hadn’t said anything at the restaurant, she knew he’d felt something too.

  But he wouldn’t speak of it. In fact, he’d made an excuse to leave shortly afterward. Because he was uncomfortable?

  That damn journal beckoned her. It was almost as if it had a mystic force to it, one that drew her in. She was tired. She didn’t need to read more and chance . . . dreams.

  You’re a doctor, a scientist, she berated herself. It’s just a fluke. Read the damn thing. Nothing strange is going to happen. She picked it up, cracked it open at random. The words jumped out at her.

  Rachel’s Journal—April 18, 1859

  Sarah came to me today in tears. Her husband, Victor, had her servant whipped.

  She tried to stop him and received a fist in her face for her trouble. He said Celia, her servant, had sassed him. He said she was lucky to only receive five lashes. We all know Celia would never have dared sass the man. He revels in his power o
ver those more helpless than he. Victor Lawrence has no compunction harming slaves, treating them as animals, or worse. It is rumored he has killed more than one slave, and no one has ever called him to account. Oh, how I abhor this world of slavery! If Victor knew that Celia was a freedwoman he would likely kill her. How Sarah keeps such secrets, I do not know.

  Claire closed the journal. And slept.

  April 1859

  “YOU ALWAYS SEEM to come to my rescue,” Sarah told Elijah. “This is the second time Peaches has come up lame, and here you are.”

  He didn’t say anything, just knelt down by Peaches’s head and picked up the horse’s foot to look at her front hoof. “There’s a stone in her hoof. I’ll see to gettin’ it out.” He got up to pull some sort of tool from his pocket and then knelt again beside the mare.

  Sarah knelt down beside him. “Poor thing. I didn’t notice she was limping until a short while ago. I hope I didn’t make it worse.”

  “Came out too easy to have bothered her long. She coulda’ just picked it up. She be fine.” He rose and patted the mare’s neck. Peaches nickered and nudged him. Elijah laughed. “No apples today.”

  It seemed a familiar routine. Sarah wondered how much Elijah stayed around the stables. She liked how gentle he was with the mare. Clearly, he knew and liked horses. She tried to rise and stumbled against him when her weak ankle buckled. “Thank you,” she said as he steadied her.

  He was staring at her, at the bruise on her face. She knew he wouldn’t ask. Wouldn’t dare to, so she told him. She was beyond embarrassment over what her husband did. She’d had too many episodes to care. Besides, Elijah wouldn’t tell anyone. “My husband gets angry at my clumsiness. I turned my ankle this morning and dropped the corn pones.”

  He had averted his eyes, but at this he looked at her. “Your husband beats on you?”

  “He doesn’t consider it beating. That he reserves for the slaves who displease him. But I’m sure you know that. He’s had you whipped before, hasn’t he?”

  Elijah shrugged. “Jest the once. When I was new here.”

  “This—” she pointed at her face, “he merely considers a reminder not to be so clumsy.”

 

‹ Prev