by P. G. Forte
A moment later, Nick’s voice pierced through the drowsy haze that had begun to claim her. “I don’t know about you, hon, but I’m getting a little hungry. You think maybe this place has room service?”
“Mm-hmm,” Scout murmured, not opening her eyes. She snuggled closer, slipping lower, until her head rested in his lap. “I’m sure it does, Nick. But it’s gonna cost you.”
“Not a problem.” His voice sounded warm and sure, and Scout smiled at the sound of it. “It just so happens I’m a wealthy man.”
“Are you now? How wealthy?”
For a moment, she wasn’t sure he’d heard her. And then he spoke again.
“Well, let me put it this way,” Nick said, as he stroked her hair with gentle fingers. “I’ve already got everything I could ever possibly want right here.”
“Good answer,” Scout murmured as she drifted off to sleep. “Me, too.”
* * * *
Marsha shifted and turned on her bed; trying to get comfortable, trying to fall asleep, at last giving up. She stared at the ceiling, listening to the drumming of rain on her roof, as she once again replayed the events of the evening in her head. She couldn’t have handled things any worse, could she? But she knew the answer to that. Sure she could. She could have said yes.
She’d been so tempted. Once he’d put the ring away, once she’d finished her tea and her emotions had dropped to a more manageable level, the thought of everything she was saying no to had all but overwhelmed her. And if he’d asked her again...
Luckily, he hadn’t pressed her. But then, she thought grudgingly, he hadn’t needed to, had he? He knew what would happen when he took her home, the rat, and he’d set her up for it anyway.
He’d left her on her porch, after one long, lingering kiss that left them both wanting more. She’d watched him disappear into the rain, and then she’d opened her door, her mind still reeling from the effects of that kiss, and found herself face to face with her sons.
“How was dinner?” Frank asked, in a voice as carefully bland as his face.
Jesse frowned, his eyes moving from her hand to the door she’d just closed behind her, before settling accusingly on her face. “Where’s Sam?”
Marsha blew out a deep breath. She’d been a teenager the last time she’d received this kind of post-date grilling. “He’s gone home.”
“You mean to the cabin?” Frank said. “Well... are you seeing him tomorrow?”
Marsha nodded. “I imagine so.”
Jesse was still frowning. “What happened? Didn’t it fit?” he blurted out, at last.
Marsha felt her shoulders sag. There was no need to ask, she knew just what he was talking about. “I don’t know. I didn’t try it on.”
“But why not? Don’t you—” Jesse asked, before Frank cut him off.
“You think you might someday?”
She steeled herself to say no. She started to say it – but she couldn’t get the word out. “I don’t know,” she told them, instead. “Maybe.”
Both boys nodded, apparently satisfied, but she could feel the deep disappointment welling up inside them. They had wanted this, too. What was she doing to them? What was she doing to them all?
“Guys, I’m tired.” she said as she kissed them both good night. “I’m going to bed. Don’t stay up too late, okay?”
But now, the sky had begun to grow lighter, and she still couldn’t sleep. She lifted her head at the sound of her doorknob turning. The bedroom door opened and Sam walked in. She frowned in surprise.
“Sam, what are you doing here?”
“I couldn’t sleep,” he said as he climbed into bed beside her. “So I thought I’d come for a visit.”
“You came all the way back here – in this weather? Sam, that’s so dangerous.” Marsha tried to twist around to face him, but she was overcome with lassitude, her body wouldn’t move.
He laughed in her ear, so softly that his breath didn’t even feather her hair. “No, it’s not.”
He held her close and Marsha felt his warmth seep into her. Her body relaxed automatically, her mind drifted towards sleep. She’d missed this the last few months, more than she would have believed possible. She’d missed him. She had to find a way to make this work. She couldn’t just—
He’d left the door open. The thought intruded itself into her brain and she struggled against her body’s need for sleep. She had to get up. She had to close it. “Sam, the door. The boys—”
“Shh.”
His whisper was a command her mind would not refuse, her words died on her lips. Her restless thoughts stilled.
“Not to worry, angel. I don’t think they can see me.”
And that made perfect sense, she thought, as peace and contentment settled in her soul. Really, she didn’t know why she was making such a fuss when—
A tiny meow made her open her eyes again. Shadow, her cat, wandered in through the open door, and peered curiously around. Great, Marsha thought drowsily. She could feel Sam breathing deeply and evenly beside her, could feel his arm, warm around her. He was tired. They both were. And now the cat would jump on the bed and wake him up, and disturb this perfect moment.
“Shadow, no. Don’t!” she muttered, but it was too late. The cat landed on the bed beside her. And Sam was gone.
Marsha sat up, blinking back her confusion. The bedroom door stood open. Shadow kneaded the blankets, purring loudly.
“Oh, my,” Marsha whispered as she stared at the indentation in the pillow next to hers. Suddenly, the absurdity of her situation struck her, and then it was all she could do to keep from laughing.
Life was a river, it would take her where it wanted her to go, regardless of her wishes. She could either struggle against it, or she could give in, and go with the flow.
Maybe it didn’t have to be so hard, she thought hopefully, just as a flash of lightning illuminated the sky. How far, she wondered as, barely breathing, she waited for the thunder.
Rivers could flow peacefully but they could also flood and, raging out of control, sweep everything away. There was a river in the canyon, right behind her cabin. Sam. Her mind was suddenly so filled with the sound of rushing water that she nearly missed the roll of thunder, far in the distance.
Heart pounding, Marsha pushed back the covers and reached for the phone.
* * * *
In the pearly morning light, Siobhan glanced through her window at the glint of metal in the parking lot. He was still there, she thought, as the rage that had been building all night long continued to simmer. Well, good. She hoped he’d had a miserable night, too. Why should she be the only one suffering, after all?
The trees outside the window twisted in the wind. Their tortured writhing seemed to mirror the agony of her thoughts. It had taken awhile for everything he’d said last night to sink in, but when it did, it unleashed a flood of tears, and more pain than she could ever remember feeling. Even now, anguish threatened to choke her. She took another sip of tea and swallowed it down.
Ryan’s dog whimpered, and Siobhan glanced down at it. “Forget it, we’re not going out there. He’s just lucky I don‘t own a gun.” They all were. She was furious with the lot of them. And with herself most of all.
Stupid, he had called her. And if he was right, if Tim really was alive, then stupid she had been.
But then, so was he.
He thought she knew. She still could not get over that, and she couldn’t even come close to forgiving him for it. But that wasn’t even the worst of it.
“I don’t know yet if he killed your daughters,” he’d said. He didn’t know? Well, who the fuck did he think would have done such a thing – her? Did he think that, too?
Probably he did. And, in a way, it was almost true. She’d gone off to party and left her daughters behind to die. No. It was worse than that. She’d put them in her car and practically driven them to their deaths.
“That wasn’t your fault,” he’d told her. But that was so long ago, no doubt he’d chang
ed his mind by now. If he’d ever really meant it, the liar. The traitor. The sneak. Looking for answers – who knows where.
“Nick knows some of this,” he’d said, as well. And wasn’t that just fine? Now, he’d not only gone behind her back, he’d brought Nick into this, as well? Nick, who was supposed to be her friend. Some great friend he’d turned out to be.
A gust of wind sent rain sheeting across the parking lot, she watched it and smiled in satisfaction as she thought how cold he must be out there in the jeep. How cramped and stiff and tired. She took another sip of tea. But all she could taste was resentment, black and bitter as ashes, and all she longed for was revenge.
“Revenge is a dish that tastes best served cold,” she murmured.
Who had said that? She didn’t know, but right now... she just hoped it was true. The last ten years had been awfully cold. This was a dish she was ready for. This was one meal that was long overdue.
It couldn’t be true! Her eyes stung, but they were too dry, too scratchy, too swollen for any more tears. It was a mistake. It had to be! But if it wasn’t—
“Bring it on, you bastard,” she whispered through gritted teeth as rage flared again, with hurricane force. “Come on back and try it again. Just one more time.”
One more time was all she’d need. Just one last chance. Just one clear shot.
And after that, she really didn’t care what happened to her. Her life had been over for some time, anyway. She just hadn’t had the sense to see it.
Stupid. Yeah, that pretty much said it all.
Still there, she thought gazing once more out the window. Good. Excellent, in fact. Let him sit there. Let him sit there and stew. In the cold. In the damp. In the storm. Until his leg grew stiff and his fingers numb. And then... well, then he could sit there some more. He could sit there until the end of time, for all she cared. And she would not bring him coffee, or tea, or invite him in to share the warmth of her fire. The fire had gone out now anyway.
And where it had once been so warm, so full of hope and promise, there was nothing left but ashes. Ashes and anger and death.
Back to Top
* * * *
Chapter Thirty Three
* * * *
“Damn it, Scout, wake up!” the voice urged impatiently.
No. Not now, Scout thought reluctantly, struggling up through successively lighter layers of sleep. Not now! Not when she had, for once, escaped the nightmares. Go away, she thought. Leave me alone.
But the voice continued to force its way into her consciousness, by turns pleading and demanding, until it succeeded in catching hold of her attention. “Hurry, Scout, please! The phone, damn it. Answer the freakin’ phone!”
The phone? Scout opened her eyes at last, and glanced around the room in confusion. What phone?
She wasn’t at home, and it took her a moment to remember where she was. And then another moment to locate the phone on the night table, at the far side of the bed. She stared at it for a moment, blinking sleepily. The phone wasn’t ringing. And there was no one in the room with her but Nick, still sound asleep at her side.
She yawned and stretched, and then she heard it. A tiny sound. Barely audible. The ringing of her cell phone in her bag, in the other room.
“What the hell?” Scout muttered as she swung her feet to the floor. She padded barefoot into the other room, and retrieved the phone.
“Oh, thank God. It’s about time! Come on, Scout, wake up!” Marsha’s voice, sharp and sudden as lightning, crackled through the phone.
Scout winced at the sound of it. “Marsha? Jeez, quit yelling. And I am awake, I think. Sort of. What time is it, anyway?” she mumbled, pausing for a moment to rub her back, where it suddenly felt as though someone had drawn a red-hot poker down her spine.
“Never mind that now. Go get Nick,” Marsha ordered.
Sure sounds like she’s channeling Lucy this morning, Scout thought, almost amused by the idea.
“Marsha, come on, he’s still asleep,” she protested, and then abruptly changed her mind. “Okay, hold on,” she was surprised to hear herself mutter, as she padded back into the bedroom.
She sat on the edge of the bed, too groggy and confused to stand and nudged Nick awake.
“Here.” She handed him the phone. “It’s Marsha. She wants you.”
Nick ran a hand through his hair and frowned at her. “What are you doing up this early?” he asked. “Come back and lie down. You don’t look so good.”
“Oh, thanks. That’s just what I wanted to hear,” Scout mumbled as he moved over to make room for her. She curled up next to him, and felt herself drift back to sleep.
“Okay, hon. I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Nick said as he kissed her cheek, hours or days or minutes later.
What? Scout forced her eyes open again. Nick was leaning over the bed and smiling at her. He was fully dressed, with his jacket on, with his hair still wet and brushed back from his forehead as if he’d just stepped out of the shower. He was leaving? No. He couldn’t be! “Wait. Nick, where are you going?”
His smile disappeared. He sighed and straightened up. “Sam’s out at the cabin, and Marsha can’t reach him. Apparently the phone lines are down. She thinks there might be some flooding. There’s already been a few mudslides reported, and the road to San Bartolo has been washed out so, you know, she’s worried about him.”
Fear clutched at Scout’s heart. “So? What does she expect you to do about it?”
“Look, he’s not that familiar with the area, right? If he tries to make it out of the canyon in the Jag—”
He shrugged, not finishing the sentence. He didn’t have to. They both knew what he meant. He could get caught up in a flash flood, and swept away by the currents. He could drown.
“But what about you?” Scout sat up and grabbed at his sleeve. Her stomach clenched hard, as a wave of nausea washed over her, she had to struggle to get the words out. “Nick, you can’t be thinking of going out there yourself? If there’s any flooding – your car’s not gonna be any better than his.”
He smiled as he pried her fingers loose. “Which is why I’m taking yours. I guess it’s a good thing you bought that 4X4 after all, huh?”
Her Suburban. Which for some inexplicable reason, he had never liked. A premonition, perhaps? Oh, dear God, no. Scout tried to breathe and couldn’t. “Nick, please. I’ve got a really bad feeling about this. Don’t go. Please don’t go.”
“Hey.” He touched her cheek with warm, gentle fingers. “Come on now, relax. You don’t need to worry about me, hon. I’ll be fine. I’ve got too much to live for, right? Now, you just get some rest, I’ll be back before you know it.”
His eyes were warm as they flickered over her one last time, and she thought he would at least kiss her, but he just smiled and turned away. As she watched him walk across the room, past and present shimmered and bled together, and for just a moment time disappeared. He was leaving her, just like he’d done so many times before.
In how many different rooms had she sat, naked and in bed, and watched him walk away? In how many different lifetimes had they done this? And how many more lifetimes might pass before she ever saw him again?
“Please come back,” she whispered brokenly, her voice forlorn and hopeless, knowing it didn’t matter that he couldn’t hear her. How many times had she spoken those very same words, after all? And when had he ever listened? When had it ever made a difference to him how she felt, or what she said? Or how much she might need him?
She heard the door click shut in the other room, and she knew he was gone. She threw herself down on the bed, sobbing her grief and her fear out onto the pillow where his head had so recently been.
As if in sympathy with her sorrow, the storm seemed to grow more fierce, and Scout soon felt like she was lodged right in the heart of it. Lightning flashed, and muscles spasmed all down her back. The French doors of the balcony rattled and shook as the wind beat upon them like a giant fist, she trembled with each b
low. And every echo of thunder, as it reverberated in the room, rolled through her, as well, hot and heavy and hard, squeezing the breath from her lungs.
Awareness hit her with shattering intensity. Oh, Christ. “No!” she gasped, as she struggled to sit up.
While her mind tried desperately to formulate a plan Scout forced herself to continue breathing. In and out, slow and steady, fighting her body every step of the way, because all it wanted to do now was hold and push.
She was caught in a storm, all right, but it wasn’t thunder that was tightening her muscles. She’d never done this before, but it wasn’t all that hard to figure out. Unless she missed her guess, those were contractions she’d been feeling. And she was in labor, seven weeks too soon.
* * * *
“Okay, Scout, calm down,” Lucy ordered again, in what she hoped was a soothing tone. “I understand about the roads and the flooding and all the rest of it, but I said, I’ll come get you, and I—” she broke off, not really listening to the protestations that came pouring through the phone.
She stared at the bins of herbs lined up in the shed and tried to clear her mind. Raspberry leaves—she was pretty sure they would come in handy. And it never hurt to have a little lady’s mantle on hand. Sage and rosemary? She couldn’t remember, now, if they’d be any use, but Marsha would know. She might as well bring them along, just in case. And angelica, and blessed thistle, and – the voice on the other end of the phone went silent. “Scout? Are you still there?”
“Oh, shit, Lucy!” Scout’s voice grated painfully.
Great, she sounds like a cross between a raven and a toad, Lucy thought, as she sighed in frustration. But Holy Mother, another friggin’ contraction? That was way too soon. “Listen to me Scout. I’m leaving here right now. I’m gonna pick up Marsha and then we’re coming out to get you. You just stay put, okay?”
“Okay. I guess.” Scout heaved a shuddering sigh. “Be careful.”