by Kate Merrill
“That’s funny. I’m sure I locked it.” He reached inside for the light and hit the switch, but nothing happened. “Good lord, the power’s out. What next?”
She grabbed hold of his waist and trailed him into the dark house. Ursie lagged behind whimpering, her ears pinned back. “What’s her problem, Matthew?”
The muscles in his jaw tensed and his dark eyes glittered. “Stay right here, Diana, while I check it out.”
“Did someone break in?”
“Don’t move, you promise?”
She nodded and latched onto Ursie’s collar to keep her from following, but then a growl rumbled from deep in Ursie’s throat as Matthew disappeared into the dark kitchen. And for the first time, Diana felt truly afraid.
“Shh… be quiet, Ursie,” she begged, but the dog wasn’t listening.
The growl became downright menacing as Ursie struggled to break loose. Diana planted both feet, but the huge animal dragged her towards the living room. Suddenly, Ursie ducked backwards out of her collar and lunged towards the bedrooms. Toenails clattered on the hardwood hallway floor until Ursie reached the carpeted master bedroom and charged inside. Diana heard a high-pitched scream and furious barking. Then the barking abruptly stopped. Ursie yowled in pain just before Diana heard a loud thud, like a body falling to the floor.
She tried to call to Matthew, but fear sealed her throat. At the same time, her feet stumbled forward through the dark and she toppled a floor lamp in her rush towards the bedroom. When she got there, she almost tripped over the dog sprawled out near the entrance.
Her eyes stung from a nasty, sharp smell in the air, and then she spotted a dark figure lounging on Matthew’s bed. The person was backlit by the picture window, a panorama of flashing lightning, and while the face appeared only in silhouette, she sensed the intruder was young and female.
“What did you do to Ursie?” Diana coughed through her aching throat as the stranger sat upright.
“Hey, it was self-defense. That dog came at me!” Although the intruder was coughing, too, her voice was deep, with a southern accent smooth as warm honey.
Diana groped closer through the dark. Adrenaline flooded her veins and fueled her fury as Ursie lifted her head, whimpered, and swiped at her eyes with her paws. At least she wasn’t dead.
“It’s only pepper spray.” The woman laughed as she swung her boots off the bed.
Diana intended to strangle her with her two bare hands, but as she approached, she saw slim, muscular forearms, covered with tattoos. “Who the hell are you?” she choked.
A bolt of lightning illuminated the woman’s hand as she lifted it towards Diana. “More important, who the hell are you?” the stranger demanded.
Then Diana saw the small pistol, aimed directly at her heart.
TWO
A direct hit…
Diana’s hand flew involuntarily to her chest, as if her fingers could stop a speeding bullet. She had been on the receiving end of a bullet before and did not want to repeat the experience. Blood drained from her head, depriving her brain of oxygen, and her knees started to buckle. Refusing to faint, she gaped at the black ceiling, hoping for what, divine intervention? Instead she saw a jumping beam of light dancing in the rafters like a deranged Tinker Bell.
“Drop the gun!” Matthew roared as the beam focused on the shiny silver barrel in the intruder’s hand. “Do it now!”
Diana felt his body close behind her. She smelled his fear.
“Or what?” The woman giggled. “You’ll beat me to death with that flashlight?”
“Drop it!” Matthew’s left arm encircled Diana’s waist, preventing her from sinking. He guided her around behind him, becoming her human shield.
The intruder’s laugh was deep and throaty. “Jesus, Trout, it’s only a starter pistol…” She tossed the weapon onto the carpet. “Don’t you recognize it?”
Matthew’s breathing was heavy and irregular as he aimed his light on the discarded gun, which now looked like a harmless toy. Ursie whined and crawled up to sniff the thing as Diana’s knees decided to support her, after all.
Nonetheless, Matthew eased her down onto his desk chair and beamed his light at their unwanted guest. The woman’s face was young and pretty, but for the dark streams of mascara trickling from her weeping eyes. Diana stared at the shiny silver stud embedded in her left nostril.
The stranger opened her palms in a gesture of peace. “Sorry about the pepper spray, Trout. Can we start over?”
Ursie, at least, was willing to accept the olive branch as she continued crawling on her elbows until she reached the girl on the bed. Then she actually licked the intruder’s hand. Traitor!
“Who is she, Matthew?” Diana gasped.
But Matthew was staring like a zombie. He had seemingly lost the powers of speech and balance as he leaned against the wall for support. “How’d you get in?” he croaked at last.
“Would you believe I still have my key?” the girl answered.
What in God’s name was happening here? Suddenly Diana was the extra in someone else’s drama. Her eyes burned, her throat ached, and she absolutely refused to draw another breath of this noxious air until someone supplied some answers. She got up from the chair, headed for the hall.
“I don’t know about you…” she called over her shoulder. “But I’m outta here.”
Diana felt her way along the walls, then groping the tops of Matthew’s couch and easy chairs, she eventually made it to the back door and gulped the fresh, rain soaked atmosphere. Her lungs expanded while her mind raced with the possibilities--- all of them disturbing.
The thunder had stopped, so eventually Ursie felt brave enough to join her, and they both stepped out onto the covered porch. The incessant rain was a solid gray sheet hanging all around them. Diana located a tissue in her purse, which miraculously still hung on her shoulder, and held it out in the rain. She took the wet tissue and carefully wiped Ursie’s eyes. After all, the dog had taken a direct hit of pepper spray. She wet a second tissue and daubed at Ursie’s dripping nose. By the time they stepped back into the kitchen, where she hoped to offer Ursie her water bowl, the others joined them.
The strange girl acted like she owned the place.
“Hey, Trout, do you still keep the kerosene lanterns under the sink?”
Matthew remained in shock as he shined the flashlight on the lower cabinets. Next the girl rummaged on hands and knees, extracted the lanterns, then knew just where to look for Matthew’s stash of matches in the jar on the fridge. Soon the room became visible in the warm, eerie glow.
“That’s better.” The girl dusted off her tight black shorts, rubbed her hands together. Her eyes narrowed as she frowned at Diana. “So, who the hell are you?”
In Diana’s opinion, Matthew should speak up about now. Since their arrival, she had been attacked with pepper spray, threatened at gunpoint, and still had not heard anything remotely resembling an apology.
Her temper simmered. Obviously this intruder had an intimate knowledge of Matthew’s house, so clearly she had lived here with Matthew. Were they together before Diana’s time, or since they had known one another? Certainly the girl had resurfaced at a highly inopportune moment for Matthew, on the very day Diana intended to move in with him.
When the girl laid a possessive hand on his arm, then planted a loving kiss on his cheek, Diana’s temper boiled over. Diana snatched Matthew’s free arm and literally dragged him into the pantry. Once they were out of earshot, she balled her fist and delivered a punch to his chest. When he remained comatose, she hit him again.
“You should be ashamed, Matthew. That girl’s young enough to be your daughter!”
He hung his head. When he finally lifted it again, his eyes were strangely unfocussed. “That’s because she is my daughter, Diana.”
He gently took her hand and led her back to the kitchen, where the girl now seemed embarrassed. She must have overheard Diana’s stage whisper.
“Meet Ginny Troutman.�
� Matthew’s voice was hoarse with emotion. “I haven’t seen hide nor hair of her in six long years.”
THREE
Prodigal child…
The three of them remained frozen in suspended emotion, unable to proceed as fallen twigs skidded across the roof and rain gushed from a downspout just outside the door. They gaped at one another until Ursie plodded across the kitchen linoleum and lapped from her water bowl to clear the pepper spray from her throat.
“You are Matthew’s daughter?” Diana tried to recall the story of this prodigal child.
Finally, Matthew took Diana’s elbow and urged her forward. “This is my friend, Diana Rittenhouse,” he said, regaining his voice.
“So you guys are friends?” The girl’s tone was sly and suggestive. Her eyes, a shade darker than Matthew’s, sparked with mischief under her thick shag of punk-cut black hair. “I’d love to chat, but first, I left something very important in my car.”
Before they could respond, Ginny Troutman sprinted onto the back porch.
“I didn’t see a car. Where’d you park?” Matthew called after her.
“At the launching site down near the beach,” she hollered over her shoulder before the rain swallowed her.
“Why’d she park there?” Diana stupidly asked.
Matthew collapsed into his favorite chair. “She sneaked in to check the place out before making a commitment. Wasn’t sure she’d be welcome.”
“But she’s your daughter. Why wouldn’t she be welcome in her own home?”
He gave her a dark look, propped his elbows on the table, and buried his face in the fulcrum of his hands. “This can’t be happening.”
Diana agreed. This couldn’t be happening. But it was. She slid into the chair opposite Matthew and tried to compose herself. The wobbly glow from the kerosene lamp made her seasick as it undulated across the Formica surfaces. Over the years, they had avoided talking about their children---his, and hers. They had both confessed their inadequacies as parents and shared some of the guilt they felt, but only up to a point. When it came to Matthew’s sense of having failed Ginny, or to Diana’s conviction that she had somehow abandoned Mandy and Robbie, that point of retreat came fast. It hurt too much to look squarely at the truth of their dysfunctional families, and while it could be argued that they weren’t to blame for their children’s alienation, the end result remained the same. They had both screwed up.
“When did she get here?” Diana wondered aloud.
Matthew took a deep breath, rubbed his eyes. “I ’spect she arrived just before we did. Her hair and arms are still wet. She didn’t have time to dry herself off.”
Diana pictured Ginny prowling cat-like through the house, leaving wet paw prints with her boots and rummaging through the linen closet for a towel. Home invasion. Six years missing in action was a long time, yet the intruder had a blood claim. Diana had none.
Little bits of Ginny’s story resurfaced in Diana’s memory. She recalled Matthew telling her that Ginny ran away from home two years after her mother died. Matthew’s wife, Lynn, had lost her battle with cancer when she was only forty-two, when Ginny was a vulnerable sixteen-year old. Then when Matthew suffered despondency and depression, Ginny rebelled. She fell in with the wrong gang of kids, used drugs and alcohol, and barely managed to graduate from high school. To hear Matthew tell it, he drove her away. He wasn’t there for Ginny, and he had never forgiven himself.
She reached across the chasm between them and squeezed his fingers. “Look, you tried to find her,” she reminded him. “You even hired that private investigator, right?”
“Yeah, Ginny called me from somewhere in Texas, said she’d married a rough neck who worked on an oil rig in the Gulf, but the detective couldn’t find her.”
Diana heard desperation in his voice, all the scar tissue peeled off. “Don’t blame yourself,” she pleaded.
His eyes hardened. “Let it be, Diana. You can’t make this better.”
Maybe not, but wasn’t she entitled to try? Weren’t she and Matthew best friends, lovers, and soul mates? That’s what they said last night. “Why did she come home now?” she asked him.
“God only knows.”
“Is Ginny in some sort of trouble?”
Matthew sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, a sure sign he was fending off one of his migraines. “Ginny is always in trouble.”
“But she’s here now, so the two of you can work it out.”
When Matthew brought his fist down on the tabletop, Diana nearly jumped out of her skin. When she crawled back inside, she was more than a little angry. “Hey, don’t take it out on me.”
“This isn’t about you, Diana.”
“No, it’s about us.” Before she could expand her argument, the screen door slammed and a damp gust of air blew through the kitchen, almost extinguishing the lantern flame.
Ginny was back, and she was not alone.
At first Diana thought the figure by her side was Ursie, because it barely came to Ginny’s waist. But then she realized it was walking upright, holding Ginny’s hand. At the same moment, the electricity blinked once and the power was restored, flooding the kitchen with bright, incandescent light. Absurdly, Diana believed the sudden illumination was a dramatic trick. Some heavenly stagehand had pulled all the right levers for ultimate impact.
Matthew and she saw the enchanting child at precisely the same moment. A little girl, maybe six years old, with enormous blue eyes, a milky complexion dotted with summer freckles, and short, curly, flaming red hair. Diana heard the sharp intake of Matthew’s breath as Ginny guided the child towards them.
“This is my daughter, Melissa Troutman.” Ginny grinned as she passed the girl to Matthew. “Trout, meet your granddaughter.”
As Matthew silently gathered the shy child into his bear-like arms, Diana heard the jerky hum of the refrigerator as its motor powered up to speed. She heard Ursie panting above the air conditioner vent, which had begun to blow, and finally, Matthew exhaled.
“Are you really my grandpa?” The child jutted out her plump lower lip and her sleepy eyes conveyed her suspicion.
“Of course, he’s your grandpa. Remember what I told you on the trip?” Ginny coached.
Diana was completely at a loss. Matthew had never told her he had a grandchild, because Diana was quite sure this was the first he’d heard of it. She could only imagine his shock, and in her opinion, Ginny had been damn insensitive to break the news that way. But Diana had no quarrel with the child. She reached across the table and patted her hand.
“Melissa’s a pretty name.” Diana smiled.
“Everyone calls me Lissa,” the child informed her. “Are you my grandma? Mommy didn’t tell me about you.”
“No, Lissa, I’m not your grandma.”
Ginny guffawed, then slid her long body into the chair beside Diana. She smelled of rain, sweat, and musky perfume. She urged Lissa into the fourth chair beside Matthew, so that now they were a table of strangers masquerading as a family.
Ginny pinned Diana with those eyes so eerily like Matthew’s. “I’ve been gone a long time, so I’m out of the loop. Are you guys married?”
Diana shook her head.
“Okay….” Ginny turned to Matthew. “I was hoping Lissa and I could hang out here a couple of days, get to know you again?”
Matthew cast Diana a look of pure panic. “Sure, why not?” he answered slowly.
“Do you live here, Diana?” Ginny asked.
Diana thought about her suitcase, her cosmetics bag, and her cappuccino machine all enjoying a soaking in the bed of Matthew’s truck.
“Absolutely not,” she told Ginny.
FOUR
Tough enough…
Lucky for Diana, the Troutmans had agreed last night that due to the raging storm, it was only polite to invite her to spend the night. Matthew had been angry, upset, and torn with conflicting allegiances as he split their cold barbeque four ways. When Diana magnanimously refused her portion and excused
herself, complaining of a headache, he had trailed her into the guest bedroom to apologize and reassure her that their plan to live together wasn’t dead, only on hold.
Diana knew he hoped she would sneak into his room and share his bed once the others were asleep, but she couldn’t do it. No hanky panky, no argument, no drama, no way. She had banished him to his newfound family and abandoned herself to a sleepless night and a growling stomach.
* * *
Also lucky for her, life looked more hopeful that morning. By the time she had showered, towel-dried her short, prematurely white hair, and slipped into her slacks and one of Matthew’s cuddly flannel shirts, she felt less like a forty-five year old fifth wheel and more like her audaciously curious self.
She found Ginny and Lissa seated at a sun-drenched dining room table. They were overlooking the fresh lake rolling under a clear blue sky. As Matthew rattled pots and pans in the kitchen, Diana smelled brewing coffee and sizzling bacon. She figured he was making eggs, grits, and homemade biscuits.
“Lord, I’m hungry!” she told the girls.
“Me, too!” Lissa piped up. When she smiled, Diana saw an endearing gap between her two front teeth, which she hadn’t noticed last night.
“Trout always does the cooking,” Ginny explained, as if Diana didn’t already know this. “Even when Mama was alive, he always made breakfast.”
“Really?” Best not let Ginny know how intimately Diana appreciated Matthew’s early AM culinary skills. “I’ll go give him a hand…” she said as she drifted automatically towards the kitchen.
“Don’t go in there, Diana,” Ginny warned, stopping her in her tracks. “He hates it when you get in his way.”
Diana turned around, crossed the room and sat down beside them. Maybe Matthew didn’t appreciate his daughter bugging him at the stove, but he had never objected to Diana hugging him. “Did you gals sleep well?”
“I did.” Lissa bounced up and down. Grandpa gave me Mommy’s old teddy bear to sleep with.”