by Cait London
“Dani could stand a few facts of life. You shouldn’t be picking up after her.”
“We had a terrible fight. I just found out that she didn’t take her last high school exams. Her high school diploma was not in the folder they presented at graduation. I never knew she wasn’t going to class. She’s out with her friends—if you can call them that.”
Shelly shrugged carelessly, though her daughter’s behavior worried her. “She’s determined to make me pay. She calls herself a ‘bastard child,’ and she’s ruining her life. She’s got the notion that I played wild and free as a teenager. I didn’t. There was only Roman and that one night when he was hurting so.”
“She’s making you feel guilty to have her way. She’s spoiled, Shelly.”
“I know, but I guess I tried to make it up to her—not having a father, the whole town questioning her biological father, my parents not having anything to do with their own granddaughter. My mother is the only one alive now, and in the rest home. She still won’t talk to me.”
“She should. You’re paying for her stay there.”
“I do some special laundry and help out there, and pay when I can. She had Dad’s small pension, but it wasn’t enough. I hurt her deeply when I had Dani. My parents had big plans for me to go to college. Now I clean houses. And guess what? I like it better than my parents’ accounting business and office work, too. I like the movement and the feeling of being satisfied, of looking back and seeing that I’ve accomplished something. Ironing is possibly the best therapy there is.”
Shelly searched Uma’s face. “If Mitchell is back, then Roman could come, too. The Warren brothers were always close. You’re the only one who knows Roman is Dani’s father. I couldn’t trust anyone else.”
“Maybe Roman should know that he has a daughter.”
Shelly shook her head and slumped into a chair. She slowly studied her work-worn hands. “No. It was just that one night after the Warren ranch was burned and Mitchell was in the hospital. Roman needed someone, anyone. I found him in that old garage on Maloney Street—up there in the old office. He was furious with life, shaking. I didn’t know what he would do, but he touched something inside me. It wasn’t pity or sympathy, or anything like that. I gave myself to him because I wanted to. I wanted to hold and protect him and to love him. I wasn’t expecting promises of forevermore. He isn’t obligated to Dani, or to me. I’m glad he gave her to me. She’s my child, no one else’s.”
Uma took Shelly’s hand, studying the small pattern of burns. “What happened?”
“Grease splatters. Pearl was here, picking up her husband’s shirts, and I’d forgotten to turn off the stove. We were deep into the usual conversation of how good she looks and she assigned my duties with her latest charity. Then there was the usual perfect family talk, how wonderful her daughters are, how special her husband is, how much she paid for her new furniture. If we hadn’t grown up together, I don’t think we’d be friends, but I know how much she suffered from her parents—they were so cold, so demanding. I remember when she came to school, the bruises on her arms, poor little thin arms. And she has been good to us. I seem to be so distracted lately. It’s only a few little grease splatters.”
“You’re tired and you’re worried about Dani. Do you want me to talk with her?”
Shelly shook her head. “My daughter is my problem.”
“You’ve always been stubborn.” Uma crossed her arms. “I changed her diapers often enough, and I’ve watched you struggle to raise her. I don’t know if I can keep quiet. You don’t deserve what she’s putting you through.”
“Maybe I do.” Shelly studied Uma. “You’re angry about something else. What is it?”
Uma’s fingers bit into her arms and she leaned against the kitchen counter. “Billy. You should see that house. He’s ruined it. And he’s put all of Lauren’s things into one room—just heaped them there, like trash to be tossed. It was bad enough when he sold everything possible, but to just dump her albums and life like that—At least he didn’t throw them away.”
“He always was a disgusting, drooling, zipper-down swine. He exposed himself to me one time, and I couldn’t stop laughing. He was so pathetic. That was the last time he bothered me. I think the only time I ever saw you really angry was when Billy started selling her things. He wasn’t expecting you to light into him, and that was quite the sight to see—you backing him against the wall, your finger shaking in his face while you threatened him with—what was it? ‘An eternal haunting?’ and ‘cursed with erection deficiency’?” Shelly moved to put her arms around Uma, rocking her.
“I got a little carried away. I was furious, or I’d thought of better curses.” Uma leaned her forehead against her friend’s. “He was a real dog. Lauren had no idea he was panting after every woman in town, and making passes at her friends. I don’t care what the sheriff said, in my thoughts, Billy had something to do with her death.”
“Honey,” Shelly crooned, rocking Uma. “We’re going to have to go on without her.”
“I know, but I want her killer found.”
Shelly wrapped her arms tighter around Uma. “That might never happen. We’ll have to live with that.”
“I don’t know that I can let it go. I see that man’s face over and over in my nightmares, the way the world seemed to stop, and that old car. And I feel Lauren’s blood, sticky on my fingers, how she just crumpled like that, not a sound. I feel her needing me and I can’t do anything about it.”
“She’ll always be with us. Let me know if I can help you with her things. I loved her, too.”
“I’d better go soothe family feathers. Dad is not happy about Mitchell returning to Madrid. Or about me visiting him. He’s going to be even more angry when he learns that I’m going back to sort Lauren’s things. And yes, I’d like you to be there. In a way, I can still feel her there, waiting, as if she can’t rest until her killer is found.”
“It’s been a year—”
Uma’s hand rested on her throat, on the pulse. “I know, but I just feel myself stirring inside as if something is going to happen. I felt that way the night she was shot—that cold, still feeling, waiting—I felt that way when my mother passed and my baby…I’d better go.”
Shelly’s hand smoothed the tendrils of Uma’s hair back from her face. “You’re very sensitive to others, and caring. You watch everyone’s lives pass beneath your office window, there in your father’s house. You know more about this town than anyone, and if Mitchell is here to heal, he’ll be asking questions of you. Just don’t get hurt, okay?”
Later, as Uma walked past Mitchell’s house, she noted him sitting on the front porch steps. He rose and walked toward her, towering over her in the shadows, the stubble on his face darker now, his appearance tough and dangerous.
Something quivered within her briefly, stirred and settled.
“I’ll walk you home,” he said slowly, the moonlight creating a silvery outline around his dark waves and broad shoulders.
She remembered a boy, lean and serious, and devastating when he smiled—but Mitchell-the-adult hadn’t smiled. Did he ever? “I’m almost there. It’s just next door.”
He walked quietly, slowly beside her. “What happened with Everett? Or do you mind my asking?”
She shrugged lightly, long having dealt with the love that had always been more friend than lover. “We were comfortable together. We still are. But after our baby—Christina Louise was her name—died, so did I, just a little. I thought Everett should have more than what I’d become. I’m happy with my life now. It fills me, but it isn’t right for him…we’re here.”
Mitchell scanned the white two-story house shrouded by towering oaks. Then he nodded and turned, leaving her alone in the night.
He disturbed her, her senses rustling, whispering. Why? Was it the past? Or the trouble he could bring with him?
“I read your article in the newspaper about Bonnie and Clyde’s visit here in Madrid. I suppose writing things like that
keeps you busy, since you’re not married anymore. Shelly called me this morning. She knew I’d be upset, and I am. I couldn’t believe that Mitchell-person would actually return to the scene of his crimes. I hope this isn’t another one of her fantasies. She’s been in another world since Lauren died. She can’t remember anything now…is it true? Is Mitchell really back?”
In Uma’s office Pearl stalked through the quiet shadows, her dyed hair gleaming, the cream linen suit reflecting her expensive taste. Pearl shoved her fingers through the heavy mass, preening before she sat in the single overstuffed easy chair. “I just came from the beauty shop and you haven’t said anything about my hair. Some friend you are. Walter loves this Rita Hayworth style on me. Jessie has finally gotten the shade right.”
Uma leaned back and saved the computer file on the travel brochure Everett had requested. The resort was new and upscale and sprawling, and Everett wanted her to go with him to sample it. She couldn’t do anything to encourage him, though the thought of the luxurious spa treatments were tempting.
Pearl looked around Uma’s small office, the white sheer curtains at the windows buffering the bright morning. “I remember sitting here when your mother was alive. She wouldn’t have liked you going over there to welcome that Mitchell-person. Your father told me about that when I called this morning. How could you, Uma? You know he’s here to make trouble. There’s no way the Warrens could do anything else.”
Uma watched Pearl smooth her skirt, a town matron out to protect Madrid’s social class from infiltration of the “lower element.” “Mitchell and Roman might have had a little teenage trouble, but they were never convicted—”
Pearl held up one perfectly manicured finger, and the soft light in Uma’s office caught the huge diamond wedding ring, sending a brilliant pattern onto the seafoam colored wall. “Only because their father was friendly with the deputy at the time—Lonny. Fred Warren should have been put in jail and they should have been put in reform school. You never did say you liked my hair.”
The penalty of an enduring friendship was to pay homage to Shelly’s vanity. Uma often wondered whether, if they had met afresh, they’d have been friends. But childhood bonds had only strengthened through the years; their lives were tangled, and in her way, Pearl needed them. Always quiet and composed and capable to the public, Shelly could speak freely to Uma, Lauren, and Shelly.
“I just drove down Main Street and saw my yard man, Dozer, sitting right on the same bench with Mitchell. There they were, having coffee, seeing who could shave the longest wood curls, pretty as you please. Mitchell looks like he’s been through hard times—probably prison. I want you to keep your distance from him, Uma. You’ve got a soft heart and just don’t see the evil in anyone.”
Uma ached for the trust that her parents had torn away from her as a child. “Pearl, don’t get all worked up.”
Pearl threw up her hands. “Worked up? Worked up? He’s living in Lauren’s house. He bought it and the old garage back on Maloney Street, and he bought back the old ranch, what there is left of it. Now, don’t you just wonder where a Warren would get money like that? He’s back here to stir up trouble. I told my girls to stay clear away from him. It’s a good thing they’re at Walter’s sister in Connecticut and then leaving for their private school in September. I don’t want them exposed to his kind.”
Tired of Pearl’s ranting, Uma changed the subject. “Your hair is the best I’ve seen it. I really do think it looks like Rita Hayworth’s.”
Pearl’s blue eyes widened with pleasure. “You think so? You think Walter will like it?”
“Yes, I do.” Walter. Nothing Pearl did was good enough for Walter. Uma studied the cardinals in the garden’s bird bath and wondered if Pearl would ever recognize his sly, insidious abuse, the way he demeaned her. Maybe that was why it was so easy to serve her compliments, to try to build her self-esteem.
Immediately brightened, Pearl stood and smoothed her skirt. “I have to go. I’m hosting the bridge club this afternoon. Walter is thinking of running for mayor in the next election, and I’m going to do everything in my power to help him. Now, Uma, I want your promise that you won’t speak to Mitchell. Leave it to me to find out what he’s doing here. And Everett won’t like it one bit that you went to Mitchell’s house. Don’t tell him.”
“Everett and I are friends, Pearl. He’ll understand…and I love that shade of nail polish. What is it?” Uma asked, to distract her.
Pearl blinked and stared at her hands. She smiled brilliantly as she did when complimented. “Delicate Bondage. Oh, not that Walter and I are into that sort of thing, that’s just the name of the polish. I’d better go. I have so much to do today. I’m planning to take the girls on a shopping trip to New York soon, before boarding school starts. There’s nothing around here that’s suitable for their private school. And I have to have that chat with Dozer. You really should get a suitable office, one with modern furniture and not just some old bedroom.”
“I’ll think about it.” But she wouldn’t. Right here was where she learned the past from her grandmother, where she had become “the keeper.” Some people are uppity, but if they knew their family’s history, they might be taken down a notch or two, Grandma had said. No sense in hurting people, but it’s only right that someone know the truth they’d rather hide.
“You do that. You know I only want the best for my best friend, and Shelly, of course. You’re all I have of Lauren.”
Tears shimmered in Pearl’s eyes. “I miss her awfully. Walter says the murderer will never be found—probably just some city hoodlum out to make points with his gang.”
Pearl’s vanity and lack of sensitivity sometimes gave way unexpectedly to the childhood friend Uma cherished. In her way, Pearl was helpless and sweet, and their lives were finely, intricately woven together.
After Pearl had gone, Uma tried to concentrate on creating Everett’s travel brochure.
Instead, she thought of Mitchell, of the darkness lurking around him, the coldness she sensed inside him.
And then she knew he’d come back to close the past, to watch and relearn through a man’s eyes. He’d come to heal.
Uma smiled in the shadows of her office, the colors soft and smooth around her, the fresh flowers from her garden scenting the room.
She drew comfort from the gentle, whispering memories of her mother and grandmother in the same room. Here, she was safe.
“I’ll dress how I want, go where I want, and if you don’t like it, I’m moving out. There are plenty of places I can stay—or go,” Dani stated stubbornly in Shelly’s small, neat living room. The sound system slammed loud hard rock music into the deadly space between Shelly and her daughter.
Dani’s dyed black hair, styled in short, straight peaks, matched the black T-shirt, tight black jeans, and heavy eye makeup. With one leg slung over an easy chair, her boot thumping the wall, Dani sat in the chair Shelly had salvaged from the church sale and reupholstered. “You don’t love me anyway. It’s not like you wanted me, or anything. I’m just the aftereffect of when you were my age and running around—”
“I did not run around. I loved your father. You’re a part of him,” Shelly stated, her heart aching for her daughter. Dani was hurt early, when Shelly’s grandparents refused to see her, to acknowledge her. Even now, her grandmother wouldn’t look at her—“the bastard child of Satan.”
“Yeah, right. You loved him so much, you won’t even tell me who he is. And like he stuck around to be a parent.”
“He didn’t know. I didn’t know when he left.”
Dani shook her head. “Mom, don’t hand me this bull. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree—you ran around and I might end up the same way—that’s what your old lady said.”
“She’s your grandmother. Don’t call her that.”
“So when’s she ever been in my life? When’s she ever recognized me as her granddaughter?” Dani demanded hotly. “Well, I’m not going to end up like you, slaving at other people�
��s houses every day, cleaning toilet bowls, and washing and ironing shirts at night, scrimping for every dime—”
“It’s good, honest work. You could try a little of it. Or at least finish school.”
“It’s a waste of time. I want to live and have fun. You did—”
“Dani, I was not hopping from bed to bed, and I’d better not find out that you—”
Dani leaped to her feet and slammed down the fashion magazine she’d been clutching. “Or? Or? What will you do? Kick me out? Maybe that would suit me.”
Despite her tough talk, there were tears in Dani’s eyes, and Shelly’s heart wept for her. “I’m sorry you grew up without a father, honey. I’m sorry my parents were cruel. But I love you so much and only want the best for you.”
“Sure. That’s why you won’t tell me or anyone else who he is. I have a right to know my own father’s name.” Dani was sobbing now, a teenager battling growing up and life and her love for her mother. “Face it, Mom. I’m just like you. Only I’m not ever getting caught with a baby I didn’t want.”
“I wanted you. I wanted you with every bit of my heart.”
Dani dashed her tears away, leaving rough black smudges across her face. The color of her eyes was dark, rich amber now, the same as Roman’s. “Sure. It wasn’t easy being stuck with a kid in this town, was it? Boy, I just can’t wait to get out of here.”
After Dani stormed into her bedroom, slamming and locking the door, Shelly felt as if her strength was gone, too. She sank into the chair Dani had been sitting in and picked up the magazine from the floor, automatically replacing it on the stack of others.
How could she explain that night to her daughter, all the depth of tenderness that had given her the most precious gift of her life?
How could she share the intimate details of seventeen-year-old Roman begging her to go with him? Of her choice to remain in Madrid, the safety she’d always known?
She wiped away her tears and studied her broad working hands. They were rough now, despite hand creams and plastic gloves, the veins pronounced. She would do anything to protect her daughter, and Roman’s name would only launch Dani’s search for him.