Where Dreams Begin

by Phoebe Conn

  He drew back slightly to strip away her clothes, and to hasten their joining, she helped him with his. She braced herself against the door for support and hooked a leg around his hip to ease his way. Mindless of her brazen invitation, he thrust into her to begin a forceful coupling, fast, hard, and she fought to hold on and ride the force of his despair.

  Ablaze with his own inner heat, he held her pinned in his arms, prey to his need, and poured his grief into her. He twisted and ground his hips against hers to pound her against the cool flatness of the door.

  With her hands in his hair, she took each plunging thrust deep, then at last surrendered to a violent climax that caught and swept through him as well. Exhausted by his strength, she remained coiled around him even as she sagged back against the door and fought to catch her breath.

  When he picked her up and carried her into his bed, she slid under the covers beside him and drew his head down upon her breast to sleep. He had not uttered a single sob, but she felt the unshed tears splash deep in his heart to mix with her own.

  The evening’s tragedy invaded Catherine’s dreams, and she slept fitfully, but each time she awoke, she found Luke’s arms still wrapped tightly around her. When he left the bed at the first light of dawn, she sensed his absence almost immediately.

  He had pulled on a pair of Levi’s before stepping out on the balcony, but even in profile, he looked haunted. Head bowed, he grasped the cement wall enclosing the balcony, and the muscles across his shoulders and back flexed in an uneasy rhythm. He might have been in bed several hours, but he didn’t appear to have slept any better than she had.

  She grabbed an oxford cloth shirt from his closet and joined him on the balcony. She knew how rotten he felt, and rather than offer sympathy he’d surely refuse, she stood silent beside him and waited for him to speak. She rolled up her shirt sleeves, but the garment was still much too large. It was a comfort, however, just to wear his clothes.

  He shuddered and closed his eyes as though the sight of her actually hurt. “I’m sorry about last night. It won’t happen again. I can’t take anymore, Catherine, I’m finished.”

  She reached for his shoulder, but he pulled away. “Don’t touch me. I can’t bear it. I’ve known all along we’d end badly, and the fault is all mine, not yours. You’re a wonderful woman and deserve a man who can love you. That won’t ever be me.”

  She’d always feared he would cut and run rather than share her dreams, but not like this when he was hurting so badly. “You’re not the only one who was devastated by Nick’s death. Let’s wait a few days before we make any decision about us.”

  “It won’t help,” he swore, “and I won’t give you false hopes. Whatever there was between us, it’s over right here and now.”

  She drew in a deep breath. She had the advantage of knowing they had a lasting link, but this was no time to reveal that precious tie. “All right. Now what about a memorial service for Nick? Even if it’s no more than having the kids share their thoughts and sing along with Eric Clapton’s ‘Tears in Heaven’, we ought to do something.”

  “I’ve buried other kids,” Luke snapped. “I know what to do. I’ll wait a day so Max can attend, but I don’t want you there. I don’t want you to come back to Lost Angel ever again.”

  She recoiled from him. “You’re not only shutting me out of your life, but Lost Angel as well?”

  He shook his head. “You’re not usually so incredibly dense.”

  “You think I’m dense?” Catherine peeled off his shirt and threw it at him. “I said I’d supervise the mural and I will. I’ll park by Toby’s rather than curse Lost Angel with my presence, but I won’t let some low-riding sleazebags chase me off. Nor will I allow you to scare me away.

  “Now, unless you plan to give me cab fare to get home, you better get dressed and take me there yourself. One last piece of advice. The next time you break up with a woman, put on a shirt, because you look sexy as hell without one.”

  He was used to her temper, but clad only in righteous indignation, her beautiful auburn hair tousled, her doe eyes flashing with fury, she was the most delicious distraction he’d ever seen. She made him ache for all he’d just thrown away, but when it was all he could do to hold himself together, he had nothing left to give for her.

  “Wait,” he offered wearily, “I didn’t use a condom last night, and if I’ve gotten you pregnant—”

  “Don’t worry,” she interrupted before he made an offer she refused to hear. “The timing wasn’t right.”

  She left him on the balcony, gathered up her wrinkled clothes by the front door and went into the bathroom to shower. He had a handsome home decorated in shades of charcoal and rust, but she saw little through her tears. By the time she left the bathroom to him, however, she’d dried her eyes and was anxious to get home.

  He said not a word to her on the painful trip to her house, but when they arrived and she opened her car door, she gave him one final warning. “I know what’s happened to you, because I’m fighting so hard not to slide down into the pit of grief I dug for myself after Sam died. Deal with whatever you must, then remember where to find me. I’ll never turn you away.” She took care to close his car door rather than slam it, but he sped away as though he were overjoyed to be rid of her, and that made her heart ache all the more.

  She made her way up the walk and with every step became more convinced she would never spend a more remarkable night nor ever love a more challenging man. Worn out in both body and spirit, she apologized profusely to Smoky for not having fed him his dinner, then fell across her bed and slept until noon.

  Positive no one would feel up to working on the mural that day, she stayed home, but she wandered aimlessly from room to room without hope she would find anything compelling to do.

  Late that afternoon, Joyce came through the side gate and found Catherine seated at her patio table cuddling Smoky in her lap. One look at her dear friend’s downcast expression was enough to convince her that things had not gone well with Luke.

  “It’s plain Luke didn’t take your news well, and I can’t believe any man you cared about would be that great a fool.”

  Catherine waited until Joyce had slipped into the chair opposite hers before she recounted how the evening had gone so dreadfully awry. She said only that she’d spent the night with Luke, without revealing any of the lurid details.

  “Nick was a popular kid, and his death hit Luke hard. My news will just have to wait until he’s pulled himself together.”

  “You’re being awfully considerate of his feelings, but that’s got to be damn hard on yours,” Joyce exclaimed. “I thought being abandoned at a restaurant was bad, but this is so much worse. Couldn’t Luke have taken a moment to consider your feelings?”

  “Actually, I think he did, but there’s no point in my brooding over it. In time, Luke will either choose love or he won’t, but with any luck, I’ll have a child to raise. I’ll always be grateful to him for that.”

  “Grateful?” Joyce gasped. “How can you put such an optimistic spin on what was obviously a disastrous affair?”

  “It’s easy. I know just how rotten it feels to lose someone you care about, so I don’t blame Luke for being overwhelmed with grief when he was already carrying too much.”

  “You’ll still have to tell him about the baby one day, though.”

  Catherine nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, but it doesn’t have to be any time soon.”

  Joyce leaned across the table. “You want me to do it? I can look up Lost Angel’s address and pay Luke a real informative visit.”

  “I imagine you would, but no, don’t you dare. I don’t want him hurt.”

  “Well, it sure looks to me like you’re hurting, and you don’t deserve to be thrown away.”

  Catherine glanced around her beautiful yard. “I’ve scarcely landed in a trash heap.”

  “No, but even a palace could be as dismal as a prison when you’re all alone.”

  Catherine didn’t argue, but
she didn’t really feel alone. She was sad, for Nick and for all the kids who’d loved him. Her sorrow for Luke ran deeper still, but she wasn’t ready to give up on him.

  “Luke’s built his own prison,” she murmured, “but I trust him to break out before long.”

  “If Shane were to give me that old, ‘it’s not you, it’s me, baby,’ good-bye speech, the only thing I’d trust him to do is get lost. Men,” she fumed. “I’ve a Wolfgang Puck pizza in my freezer that’s calling my name. You want to eat with me tonight?”

  “Sure, that’s the best offer I’ve had all day.” Catherine set Smoky aside before leaving her chair, and determined to inspire Joyce to talk about Shane all evening, she walked home with her friend.

  Catherine couldn’t bear to wear black to the memorial service and instead chose a lavender two-piece dress she usually saved for summer. When she arrived at Lost Angel, the sanctuary was nearly filled. Volunteers were seated in folding chairs toward the back of the room, while the kids were seated cross-legged on the floor at the front.

  She’d bought flowers and carried the basket of white chrysanthemums, iris and daisies to the front and placed it at the foot of the podium. Polly, who was weeping softly into Tina’s shoulder, moved over to make room for her in the front row. She was about to sit down, when Dave brought her a chair. She thanked him and placed it at the end of Polly’s row so she wouldn’t block anyone’s view.

  Max then moved into a chair behind her. He was wearing baggy shorts, and his right leg was heavily bandaged. When he dropped his crutches, the thud echoed throughout the room. Catherine turned to smile at him, but he managed only a nod in return. He’d carried bookshelves for her, but she didn’t know him well.

  Catherine caught only snatches of the whispered conversations of those seated near her, but she overheard enough to learn many thought the mural would remain unfinished. She hoped Luke hadn’t stopped the mural project simply to be rid of her, but it wouldn’t have surprised her if he had.

  When he entered with Pam, she was saddened to see he looked no better than when they’d parted. His posture was still proud, but he moved slowly, as though he’d been unable to sleep and were desperately tired. She expected him to begin with a Bible verse or perhaps poetry, but instead, he spoke from his heart.

  “This is the most difficult part of my job, and I’m going to need your help to carry it off well. We all loved Nick. He always had a joke or something amusing to say regardless of the situation, and it’s his laughter I’ll miss the most. Despite having been shuffled through a succession of foster homes, he was outgoing and curious. He was an intelligent young man and had he been given a chance, I know he would have been a great success in life. Pam has a song she’d like to sing for him, and then I’ll invite anyone who’d care to, to share their memories of Nick.”

  Tears were now rolling down Catherine’s cheeks as fast as she could wipe them away. She hadn’t expected Pam to sing so beautifully, but the secretary had a lovely voice which made the wistful hymn she’d chosen even more poignant. It was a song to celebrate life rather than a sorrowful lament, but still, most of those listening were in tears.

  So many of the kids wished to relate an incident they’d shared with Nick that the service lasted more than an hour. At the close, they all joined Pam in singing “Amazing Grace”, but then no one seemed anxious to leave.

  “We’re scattering Nick’s ashes at sea,” Luke announced. “There’s a bus to take anyone who’d like to go, and volunteers are most welcome to drive their own cars to the harbor.”

  Polly pressed close to Catherine. “Are you coming with us?” she asked. “I went once last year when another kid died. It’s a nice boat, and everyone had a good time.”

  That Polly would describe scattering ashes at sea as though it were merely a nice outing was too much for Catherine, but fortunately, she had a handkerchief in her hand to cover her dismay. “No, I’d rather just say a prayer for Nick here, but thank you for wanting to include me.”

  “I’m staying here too,” Tina said. “Charlie doesn’t care much for sea cruises. Maybe we could work on the mural.”

  Luke hadn’t looked her way once, and Catherine supposed he would ride the bus with the kids. That meant she wouldn’t have to worry about running into him that afternoon.

  “I have extra clothes in my car,” she replied. “Give me a minute to change into them, and I’d like to do whatever we can.”

  Tina beamed. “Thanks, Mrs. Brooks, you’re the best.”

  Catherine gave her a quick hug, but she couldn’t respond, not when the man she loved hadn’t even wished her a good day.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Ford Dolan had never had any respect for housework, and with Violet gone from their dingy apartment, dirty dishes had piled up in the sink and filthy clothes lay strewn across the floor. He cursed Violet every time he tripped over something he’d left in his own way, but as he saw it, it was her fault for running out on him.

  “Ungrateful slut,” he muttered. He tightened his hold on his empty beer can to crush it and tossed it onto the heap of fast-food wrappers littering the cab of his truck. He pulled into a parking place in front of his apartment building and carried the rest of the six-pack and box of fried chicken he’d bought for dinner up to the door.

  The light was burned out in the hallway again, but he made his way to his unit without careening into the walls too many times. He’d just unlocked his door when he felt someone move up behind him. Expecting one of his nosy neighbors, he sneered as he looked over his shoulder.

  The blonde smiled and took another step closer. “Something smells awfully good, honey. Why don’t you invite me in for supper?”

  Ford’s mouth fell agape. The woman’s red dress barely concealed what appeared to be a gorgeous figure, and while he wanted desperately to invite her in, he feared she might take one look at the mess and run right out again on her spiked heels.

  “Sure,” he mumbled. “Just give me a minute to tidy up a bit.”

  The blonde edged closer still. “Sorry, your time’s run out.”

  “Huh?” Ford had left a light on, and he caught the bright gleam of her knife in the second before it entered his belly. He tried to scream as the blade tore through his flesh, but no sound came out of his parted lips. Warm blood poured down his pants, and he died thinking he would finally have to go to the Laundromat.

  Saturday morning, Rafael stood out on the sidewalk studying the mural with Catherine, but he hung his head in disgust. “I can hardly stand to look at it now that Nick’s dead.”

  Catherine understood his despair but refused to be trapped by it. “When Dave and I first discussed the possibility of a mural, I suggested including a panel where people could write the names of their own angels. Somehow I failed to mention it to you, but it’s still a lovely thought. We’ll have to ask Toby’s permission, but what would you say to dedicating the mural to Nick’s memory?”

  Rafael had gotten an early start that morning to paint the angel he’d based on Nick. He’d created not only a perfect likeness of his slain friend, but in one of Nick’s characteristic poses, the angel was looking back over his shoulder and laughing at some private joke.

  “It’s a nice idea, but it wouldn’t stop the hurt,” Rafael answered. “Even when good things happen, like this mural, they’re always followed by something incredibly bad.”

  “That’s no excuse to quit,” Catherine argued.

  “What’s the use when there’s no point in anything? I’m not going to get a scholarship from Art Center. You know I’m not.”

  Rafael had been so broken up by Nick’s death that all trace of his former arrogance had vanished. He was as frightened as the rest of them, Catherine realized, and she would get him the scholarship he deserved even if she had to put up the money herself.

  “Keep working on your portfolio. The scholarship will come through,” she promised. “Now let’s talk to Toby about adding a memorial panel.”

  Unable
to focus on his work, Toby was sitting on the porch. He nodded as Catherine explained her idea for adding names. “Sure, I’ll put some permanent markers out, but I’ll anchor them on cords so that no one draws a mustache on one of the angels.”

  “Who would do such a thing?” Catherine cried.

  “Plenty of people,” Rafael offered with a rude snort. “For guys who’d shoot someone they don’t even know, drawing a mustache would be nothing.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” Catherine conceded. She turned to find Detectives Salzman and Garcia approaching. They were both rather severely dressed in navy blue that day, and neither offered a friendly smile.

  After a brief greeting, Garcia got right to their news. “We checked out the license number of the green convertible. It belongs to a retired sheriff’s deputy. On Wednesday night, he had it on display over at a Bob’s Big Boy restaurant for their classic car night. So he’s in the clear. The slugs we dug out of the house don’t match any we’ve gathered at any other crime scene, so for now, all we have is dead ends.”

  Disappointed not to have supplied a crucial lead, Catherine chewed her lower lip. “Whoever shot Nick, must have driven by here before that night, and he’ll probably drive by again. Could we set up a camera to photograph traffic?”

  Garcia turned to Salzman and rolled his eyes. “Sure, but drivers tend to use the same routes to work or to run errands and back. All we’d have is a lot of license plate numbers rather than viable suspects, and we sure as hell don’t have the time to check hundreds of alibis.”

  Toby stood and stretched. “You know what kind of cars gangbangers drive. There’d be no reason to check up on little old ladies in Toyotas.”

  “Everyone’s a detective,” Salzman murmured under her breath. “You’re here every day. Have you seen any cars, other than the green convertible, that seemed out of place?”