Was Renae right? Was she now a volunteer rather than a victim? Was she to blame for the stark state of her life, holding on to old hurts when she might have been able to move beyond them?
It seemed improbable, but not impossible.
More and more she seemed to be open to other ideas, to be willing to take a look at her life from a different direction. And while nothing had been capable of erasing the pain she’d felt almost every day for the past sixteen years, she no longer winced away from it.
Lucky put the pillow in her lap then reached in for the next item. The eight-by-ten frame was cheap, but the degree in business in her name it held wasn’t.
Right behind the frame was a savings passbook. Still holding the frame, she opened the check-sized plastic holder. The bulk of the money she’d inherited upon her father’s death was still there, the only withdrawals had been to cover her college tuition. She hadn’t even relied on the money to pay for room and board but had instead worked throughout college to support herself, the money seeming tainted somehow. The degree she’d used the money to achieve had seemed dirtied, as well.
She’d wished for her father’s death and he had died. Which made her reluctance to touch any thing connected to her inheritance doubly intense.
The next item in the box was the family photo album.
She paused, not knowing if she was up to open ing it. She smoothed her fingers over the faded, dark leather. She hadn’t looked at it since the day of her mother’s funeral. She had been unable to gaze at the other life she had once known, for it made what had come after doubly painful.
Now she opened it, the smell of old paper and photographs filling her senses.
The pages were filled with memories her mother had so carefully catalogued of smiling faces, her first steps, her first bike…and the three of them as a family.
She caught herself staring at her father’s face, back then happy and handsome and full of the right kind of love for her.
Accept…move forward.
Renae’s words echoed in her mind. She’d lived so long with one foot firmly planted in the dark shadow of her teenage years that she didn’t know how to pull it out. But she vowed that she would learn. And she would not only bring the foot parallel with the other, she would edge it forward, finally taking a step toward the future.
She would one day be able to look at the past and not feel as though it had happened yesterday. Would remember the good along with the bad.
She closed the album and hugged it to her chest, a mental photograph of another man filling her mind and her heart.
Colin…
Her heart gave a tender squeeze.
As for Colin, he deserved better than what she could give him just then. He deserved more than the shattered soul she had to offer.
And she vowed one day to give it to him if he’d still have her.
COLIN STOOD at the double doors to the mammoth house that bore the address in the file Jenny Mathena had given him. He’d wanted to come earlier, but his brief visit with Melissa had turned into a day-long event at Crossroads, ending in him stick ing around for dinner with the house mates on the premises and Kathy Oberon, the housemother. He’d even kicked in with clean-up.
When he’d finally left a half hour ago, Kathy had thanked him for coming, for helping the teens.
He’d told her that they were helping him more than he could ever help them. And after spending casual time in their company, drinking in their unflappable spirit, that’s exactly the way he felt.
While he’d gotten to know them to a certain degree during the group sessions he’d sat in on monthly, he’d never seen their other sides. He’d marveled at how…normal they’d appeared. They’d looked and acted just like the houseful of teenagers that they were. While he’d read about the resiliency of the human spirit, he had never viewed it firsthand.
Today, he had.
And that gave him even more hope for what he was about to do.
Clutching the envelope from the private investigator under his left arm, he knocked on the door in front of him with his right.
Jamie Polson, aka James Randolph Polson, IV. Only son of wealthy Toledo industrialist James Randolph Polson, III. Twenty-nine years of age, unemployed, five years of college with a degree in nothing.
And another member of the walking wounded Colin was beginning to realize comprised a good deal of the regular population.
The door opened on a housekeeper who blinked at him before saying, “May I help you?”
“Yes. I’d like to speak with Jamie, please.”
“Is he expecting you?”
No, Colin thought. He probably wasn’t.
But he should be.
“Yes,” he lied.
The housekeeper led him into what looked like a library, replete with floor-to-ceiling bookcases. Everywhere he looked reeked of money and privilege.
Everywhere he looked reeked of isolation and loneliness.
He knew this was Jamie’s father’s house. And that James Randall Polson, III, for all intents and purposes didn’t live there anymore, but rather home was his Myrtle Beach estate home where he lived with his fourth wife, a woman half his age.
Jamie lived all by himself in this hulking, dark manor, with nothing but the staff to keep him company.
It occurred to Colin that perhaps in some patients’ cases a house visit would be in order. In two minutes he’d learned more about Jamie than in six months of one-on-one sessions.
Of course, having a private investigator look into a patient’s past was bad form, and was very likely illegal. But Jamie had crossed the line from patient months ago and there was no turning back.
Except for this one last session.
“What are you doing here?”
Colin slowly turned to face Jamie where he stood in the open doorway. Though the same height as Colin, Jamie had a much thinner frame, the polo shirt and shorts he wore ill-fitting, too big, as if they weren’t his clothes at all but somebody else’s.
His father’s?
“I’ve come to convince you to call this whole thing to a halt.”
Jamie lifted a brow. “Why ever would I want to do that?”
Colin had been afraid he’d say that. And was prepared for it.
“Why did you never tell me you were homosexual?” Colin asked, rather than answering Jamie’s question.
Jamie’s grin was one-hundred-percent malevolent. “Well, Dr. McKenna, why do you think my father, the king of heterosexual males, runs a tab with nearly every shrink in town? Because I’m straight?”
“Then I think your father might be interested in learning that his gay son bedded his young stepmother on the chaise lounge in their backyard in Myrtle Beach a little over a year ago.”
Jamie appeared prepared to deny the charges, but Colin held up the envelope in his hands to stop him. He didn’t need to show the proof. Just knowing he had it was enough for him. And apparently for Jamie.
“What better way to prove to dear old dad that you’re not gay?” Jamie said quietly, the bitter challenge in his voice gone.
“But once you did it you couldn’t bring your self to confront your father with it, could you?”
Jamie didn’t say anything, merely stared at him as if he’d like nothing more in that moment than to see him gone. “Now you play therapist. Isn’t that special?”
Colin mentally winced but kept himself from visibly reacting, Jamie’s comment hit a little too close to home. “If you’ll remember, I suggested you consult with someone else because it was obvious we were just wasting each other’s time.”
Jamie’s smile was nothing short of malicious. “I’d have loved to have seen your face when you were served the initial intent to sue papers.”
Colin narrowed his eyes. Even after everything that had happened, all that Jamie had done, he’d been woefully unprepared for the malice dripping from the other man’s voice. “My guess is that if you didn’t see my face, you had someone get a picture of it for
you.”
Jamie didn’t say anything.
“Is that how you occupy your time nowadays, Jamie? No dad around to bully and poke for a reaction, so you’ve transferred your immature, juvenile play for attention on to others.”
“You don’t know anything about me.”
“On the contrary, Jamie, I think I know more than even you know about yourself.”
He put the series of photos on the nearby desk.
“I stopped by to see if we could work this out, Jamie. Despite everything, I don’t want to add more hurt to what you’ve already experienced from other people in your life.” He shook his head. “But since that’s not going to happen, I thought I’d let you know that I’m planning on leveling the playing field a little. In that envelope you’ll not only find shots of you taking liberties with your father’s wife, you’ll find photos of you gaining access to my apartment, following me around. I’d have to check with my attorney, but I’m pretty sure what you’ve been doing falls solidly into stalker category.”
Jamie stood completely still, apparently unsure what to do now that his bluff had been called.
“So know that if you continue to pursue this fraudulent case against me, I’m going to counter-sue for libel. And given your past record of bringing false suits against a number of others…well, guess who the courts and Daddy are going to believe?”
Colin stepped toward the hall, but before he left he stopped alongside Jamie and said, “My advice to you would be to get out of this house…now. The sooner the better. You need to get out there and find out what life is really about, kid. Accept your homosexuality, embrace it even, and push aside whatever issues remain between you and your dad until after you get to know yourself a little better. Learn to support yourself. See that there’s more to life than trying to make everybody else’s as miserable as yours.”
Jamie had kept his gaze forward and Colin watched as he swallowed hard.
Colin softened his voice. “And if you want a referral to a good therapist who just might be able to help you if you let her, here’s her card.”
When Jamie didn’t reach out for it, Colin slid it into the other man’s breast pocket.
He crossed the cavernous foyer, opened the door, then looked back to see Jamie holding the card and reading it.
17
THE LETTER was delivered in care of Women Only.
Lucky stood at the counter and froze midway through sorting the mail. In the upper left-hand corner of the plain white envelope Colin had written his name and address.
Her heart did a triple beat as she turned away from Renae.
“I’m going to go straighten up in back,” Lucky whispered, unsure if Renae had heard her but too preoccupied to care. She walked into the massage therapy room and pulled the curtain shut behind her, unaware that it was still half open as she stared at the envelope she held.
Shakily, she tore open the end.
Inside was a simple square sheet of personal notepaper.
Meet me at this address on Thursday at 7:00 p.m.
It was signed simply Colin.
She absently pushed her hair back from her face as she turned the paper over then back again, rereading the words. The address, though near downtown, wasn’t that of his apartment. She didn’t recognize it at all.
“What is it?”
Lucky looked up to find Renae watching her through the partially open curtain. “Um, nothing.
Colin wants me to meet him somewhere.”
Renae came to stand next to her, reading the note over her shoulder. Such familiarity would have made Lucky bristle a week or so ago. Now she welcomed it as she tilted the note so Renae could read it.
“Cryptic. Are you going to go?”
Lucky swallowed thickly. “I don’t know.”
She felt Renae’s hand on her shoulder. “If you go, you don’t have to stay, you know that, don’t you?”
Lucky nodded.
“But even I’m curious to see what the sexy doc has up his sleeve.”
Lucky stared at her. “How did you know he was a doctor?”
Renae shrugged and smiled at her. “When I first saw him come in here I knew I’d recognized him from somewhere. His friend owns the condo downstairs from mine.”
“Will?”
“You know him?”
“We’ve met once or twice.”
“Now talk about your sexy docs. I wouldn’t mind getting the tongue depressors and anal thermometers out for that one.”
Lucky burst out laughing, recognizing the sound of happiness in her own voice.
“Now that’s something I haven’t heard in a while,” Renae remarked. “I think you should go, Lucky. Hear what he has to say.”
“I don’t know if I’m ready yet.”
“Sweetie, if any of us waited for when we were ready, well, we’d be waiting forever.”
COLIN COULDN’T REMEMBER a time when he’d been more nervous. He paced the floor in front of the door to Crossroads, pushing his watch around his wrist and staring out the front window at any cars that might be entering the parking lot.
It was five after seven and upstairs the group was already gathering, waiting for him to join them before beginning the rap session.
He absently rubbed the back of his neck. He hadn’t really considered what he’d do if Lucky didn’t come. Sure, he’d realized the possibility existed, but once he’d put his plans in motion he’d moved full steam ahead, not allowing for variations.
Such as her not showing.
Damn.
He stared at the face of his watch again, trying to work out a cut-off point. If she didn’t show within the next five minutes, he’d have to admit that she probably wasn’t going to show.
The door beside him opened, startling him. He looked up to find Lucky standing there, her vivid green eyes wide, her face pale.
“Hi,” he said, silently cursing himself for the lame greeting. But he couldn’t help himself. It seemed a lifetime since he’d last seen her, heard her voice, enjoyed being in her presence. And just looking at her made his longing for her multiply exponentially.
“Hi, yourself.” She offered up a shaky smile.
“What is this place?”
His plan. Standing there gaping at her, Colin had nearly forgotten where they were and what he’d planned to do.
“I’m glad you came,” he said quietly.
She searched his eyes for a long moment. “I’m glad I came, too.”
He held out his hand for hers, hoping that he was doing the right thing. Praying that he wasn’t rushing things. But he’d sensed on a fundamental level that calling her up and asking her out on a date wouldn’t have brought her to him. So he’d determined that while he couldn’t help her, he could maybe help her to help herself.
“They’re waiting for us,” he said.
She slowly looked around the quiet first floor of the old house, craning her neck to peer into the rooms branching off from the foyer.
“This is a shelter,” he said as he began leading her up the narrow staircase.
“A shelter? For whom? Homeless people?” A shadow of wariness backlit her eyes.
“Of a sort, yes,” he said, purposely being cagey.
He was afraid if she knew it was a shelter for runaway teens she’d turn and walk straight out the door.
His hope was that the instant she saw the kids face to face, she wouldn’t be able to turn away.
Just as he hadn’t been able to so many years before.
“Everybody, I’d like you to meet Lucky,” Colin said as he drew her into the room.
“Hi, Lucky,” the eighteen teenagers greeted loudly.
LUCKY FELT like the section of wooden flooring she was standing on had just been cut out from under her.
A shelter…the age of the kids in the room…She realized that the house wasn’t a place for homeless adults, but homeless children. Children the same age she’d been when she’d needed help. When she’d run away.
He
r hand felt ice-cold in Colin’s warm grasp. She was helpless to do anything but follow as he led her to a loveseat grouped in with the other sofas and chairs. She sat down, her legs feeling as substantial as water.
Why had Colin invited her there? She looked at him, her heart pounding in her chest.
As a woman slightly older than her on the other side of the room directed the teenagers to introduce and tell a little about themselves, he seemed to tune into her need to know more. “I volunteer here,” Colin whispered to her. “And I thought it was something you might like to see.”
Across from her, a girl of about thirteen began speaking, and Lucky’s gaze riveted on her young face. Miranda. Her alcoholic mother had abandoned her when she was ten, her father had left her home by herself most of the time, and she’d been a full-fledged alcoholic and drug user by age eleven.
Lucky’s chest felt so tight she nearly couldn’t breathe.
“My name’s Jason,” the teenage boy next to Miranda said. “I’m sixteen, have been through twenty homes in the foster-care system since I was five, and I…I tried to commit suicide last month.”
Lucky’s gaze dropped to where red, puckered scars were plainly visible on his wrists.
She tried to tug her hand from Colin’s, but he held tight.
The next teen spoke. Then the next. And with each, Lucky felt both overwhelmed and awed. Not only by what they had endured and were continuing to endure, but by the calm, reflective way they were able to tell their stories. A couple of them ended their introductions with “and I’m going to be all right.” And she couldn’t help believing that with the faith and friendship they were surrounded by they would not only be all right, they would flourish.
What had Renae called her? A damaged soul. Every last one of these teens was a damaged soul. And though she’d once closed off her heart in order to deal with her own past, now it opened up so wide it seemed impossible to stop the love that poured out.
She realized it was Colin’s turn to speak and she turned to look at him, her gaze feasting on everything that was him.
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