Lilacs for Laura

by Dianne Miley

  “When your family left together, all dressed in black, I knew I was almost out of the woods.” He laughed at his own joke. Blasts of rotten breath came fresh now, after she’d almost grown immune to the smell.

  He’d witnessed her most vulnerable moments, her argument with Brett....

  Gritting her teeth, she repressed the embarrassment and fury boiling inside her. She had to remain calm, think clearly, and get free. “Let me go,” she pleaded. “I’ll do what you say.”

  He cocked his head and considered. “That’s what I thought. Just behave and I won’t hurt you. I’ve always had a soft spot for ya.” He bent and kissed her mouth tenderly.

  His vile taste puckered her face and made her eyes water. Chills ran down her spine as her body quaked with revulsion.

  He looked hurt and ashamed at her reaction. “I just want out.” He shoved off, hunching above her. Her thighs throbbed from the released pressure as he pointed a dirty finger at her.

  “Remember, you call the police, you tell a soul, and Rachel’s life is over. I don’t want to rat her out, but I won’t go to jail for her. Got that?”

  She stared into his blood-red eyes. “Got it.”

  “Get me a drink. And some food. I’m sick of Calvin’s wormy apples and those stinkin’ carrots in the barn.” He pulled at his torn shirt. “Bring me a shirt too. Something Daddy won’t miss.”

  He fumbled to his feet.

  Dizzy, she scrambled up. Forcing her jelly-like legs to move, she ran for the house. Her head spun as she bolted through the trees, past the flowers and her watering can. She stumbled up the path, across the grass, and into the kitchen. Breathless, she gripped the counter and threw up in the sink.

  She splashed her face with water, trying to wash away the wretchedness. Plunging her face under the faucet, she let water run over her lips, her mouth, her tongue. She grabbed a glass and filled it from the tap. After a long drink, she glanced out the window above the sink.

  Jake watched her from the edge of the woods. Her head hung in humiliation. Her insides burned with fear and anger as his threats reverberated through her.

  How she yearned for Brett! How horribly she’d treated him. And he’d left for work with Chad. She trembled, realizing she was alone.

  Her mother was at the flower shop. Beyond the pastures, her father worked in the greenhouses at least a quarter mile away. The barn blocked his view of Jake at the edge of the woods. And he’d never hear her above the sprinklers and whirring fans.

  What if she could reach him? Her father would be so angry, he’d lose it. He might get the shotgun and shoot Jake in cold blood. Daddy in prison. She shivered. And if Daddy didn’t kill him, Jake would fight back. He was battered but strong. With a bum knee, her father would be at his mercy. Jake had nothing left to lose but his freedom and his life.

  She felt certain he’d risk his life to keep his freedom.

  Then there was his threat against Rachel. Unwilling to take any chances, she’d stick to the plan. She was doing such a good job of handling this herself. Smelling of his stench, she tasted his revolting mouth.

  Her stomach lurched, and she ran to the bathroom. Dry heaves wracked her body and throbbing head. Daisy stood in the doorway, mewing with worry. Blood soaked Laura’s hair. Remembering Jake’s heaviness upon her, she hugged herself.

  Suddenly she realized the urgency to comply with him. Food, liquor, a shirt. She staggered to the mudroom and shuffled through work clothes hanging on pegs. Streaks of gray on navy peeked out beneath her father’s barn coat. She grabbed the old uniform shirt she’d worn to paint the steps and yanked it from the peg. ‘Brett’ screamed across the chest in red stitching, stabbing her with guilt and fear. But he’d never miss it.

  In the refrigerator, a nearly full bottle of sparkling cider and foil-wrapped pieces of chicken taunted her. Picnic leftovers would have to do—it was all she had. As she opened the door warily, Daisy tried to sneak out. Laura pushed her aside. With her back up, the cat scurried off.

  In the shadow of the woods, Jake waited. Halfway across the yard, she set down the booty a good distance away from him. He scowled at the bottle.

  “I need liquor!” he barked. “Bring it behind the barn after dark. And more food. Or you’ll be sorry.”

  Laura ran to the house, watching over her shoulder. He hobbled to the bottle and pounced on it, ripped out the cork, and guzzled.

  Once safely inside, she locked the doors and windows. Jake sat behind a tree, shoving chicken into his mouth. He chugged down the cider and finished the chicken, spitting out bones.

  Seeing her at the window, he stood and gave her a look that reminded her of the night on Rachel’s sofa.

  Laura shuddered. But he’d been different this time, lost his arrogance. She felt sorry for him. The accident hadn’t changed him, sobriety did. It forced him to face the reality of what he’d done. And what it cost him.

  Now he’d keep drinking to dull the pain. He limped to the woods and disappeared down the creek bank.

  She stared into the trees. Sunshine filtered through the leaves. Dewdrops glistened in the morning light. At the entrance to the path, her antique watering can glinted in the sun.

  But she’d dropped it by the creek.

  It was his connection to her—he’d watched her water the flowers. She’d never use it again.

  Flowers! She was supposed to be at work. Her face fell into her hands. She couldn’t go, not today.

  Yet she couldn’t sit home alone, watching out the windows, startled at every sound. She’d be better off at work.

  Clearing her throat, she dialed the phone.

  “ Rosebuds . May I help you?”

  “Hi, Mama, it’s me,” she responded uneasily.

  “Honey, what’s wrong?” her mother sounded concerned.

  “Uh, I’m just a little shook up. I fell on the path and cracked my head on a stone.” Not exactly a lie.

  “Are you all right?” Emily’s voice rose in alarm.

  “Yeah, I’m okay.” Laura didn’t sound convincing. “But I need to clean up.”

  “Are you bleeding?” her mother asked with horror.

  “A little. Mostly I’m just dirty. I’ll be fine. Really.”

  “All right, if you’re sure. Take your time, okay?”

  She agreed and hung up. A wave of guilt washed over her. She wasn’t used to keeping things from her mother. But this time she had to.

  Shaking with paranoia, she peered outside. No sign of Jake. She checked the locks. With great trepidation, she bounded the stairs, rushed into the bathroom, and locked the door.

  Scenes of the movie Psycho plagued her. She ran the shower as hot as she could stand it, watching the door constantly through a gap in the shower curtain. Dirt and blood swirled down the drain. She scoured until the water ran clear. Never closing her eyes, she gingerly washed her hair three times.

  Repulsed and queasy, she fought the memory of Jake’s battered face burning into her mind. Even pumice soap couldn’t wash away her dirty feelings inside.

  How long would this go on? Would he really disappear forever? And what if he didn’t? Once he gained his strength, she wouldn’t be able to fend him off.

  ****

  By eleven o’clock that morning, Laura’s splitting headache hadn’t let up, nor had the nausea. She attached a lavender bow to an arrangement of purple coneflowers and pink dahlias in a basket of English ivy. Then she reached beneath her bandana to adjust the bandage tugging at her hair. With the movement, her head pounded worse. She massaged her temples.

  “Do you have a headache?” her mother asked.

  “A little,” Laura admitted.

  “Do you feel nauseous or anything?” Emily questioned.

  Laura could see where this was headed, and she didn’t have time for a doctor appointment. “No,” she lied nonchalantly. “Just a little headache.” The lies were getting easier.

  “You might have a concussion.”

  “Mama, I’m fine.”

>   “I don’t think so.” Her mother crossed her arms. “If you won’t go to the doctor, then at least go home and rest.”

  Relieved, Laura didn’t argue. Her mother’s radar picked up everything. She had to be extra careful. “Okay, if you insist. The afternoon deliveries are ready to go.”

  Quickly out the door, she drove around the one-way streets of the square and headed north on Route 3. Then she sped past Rose Hill Drive toward the town of Springfield.

  The parking lot of the state liquor store was empty. Nonetheless, she parked in front of the convenience store next door. She’d never bought liquor before, and certainly didn’t want to explain why she was doing so now.

  Panic seeped into her as she looked around. Satisfied the coast was clear, she left her sunglasses on and lowered her head as she hurried up the sidewalk. When she pushed open the glass door, a loud buzzer scared her nearly out of her skin. An old man behind the counter had a good belly laugh.

  “Got ya, eh?” he cackled.

  She nodded nervously.

  “What can I do for ya, miss?”

  “Uh...” Staring at the counter top, she grasped for words. “Uh, I need liquor.” Good night, she sounded like Jake!

  The old man chuckled. “We’ve got a whole store full, miss. What kind do you need?”

  She stared at him blankly.

  “Whiskey, scotch, gin? Rum, vodka, tequila? What’s your pleasure?”

  “Uh...” Her pleasure? She was appalled. What did Jake drink? She spotted a Latino on one of the bottles. “Tequila.”

  The man’s face wrinkled into a patronizing smile. “Jose Cuervo, El Toro, Montezuma?”

  “Whatever’s the cheapest.” Now she sounded like a wino.

  “Worm or no worm?”

  “No worm,” she replied with a shudder.

  “Yes, ma’am. This one’s on sale today.” He set a generic-looking bottle in front of her and named the price.

  Laura paid him hastily, thankful for the brown paper bag he slipped over the bottle. Just as she grabbed it, the buzzer went off. Startled again, she jumped.

  Oh my heavens! It was her neighbor, Old Bald Calvin.

  “Hi there, Laura,” he said with a suspicious look. “What are you doing here?”

  “Oh. Hello, Mr. Calvin. Good to see you.” A blatant lie. Trying to act natural, but failing miserably, she sidestepped his question. “Guess I’d better get home.”

  “Take care.” Baldy looked worried. “Be careful going home.”

  “Bye.” As she turned to go, she felt him watching her all the way to the door. She’d never had such a creepy feeling around Mr. Calvin before. Of course, she’d never been as frightened and jumpy as she was today.

  Shoving open the door, she was frantic when the buzzer scared her again. She ran to the safety of her car, scrambled inside, and locked the doors.

  At home alone, Laura slid the lock on the kitchen door. The morning’s events flooded back, along with the realization that she had to face Jake again with his blasted tequila.

  Angry and afraid, she curled into a ball on the sofa and cried. Daisy appeared, rubbing against her feet and purring. Trying to think clearly through her pounding head, she stroked her grandmother’s cat.

  Her heart whispered, “Tell the truth.”

  “But I can’t!” she cried out, startling Daisy. “I don’t even know what the truth is. What if Rachel killed Layla Gallagher?” Daisy scampered off.

  A car door slammed. She jumped up to see her father hobble out of his van in the driveway. She wiped her tears and hurried to unlock the door.

  “Hey, how’s my girl?” he greeted her upon entering.

  “I’m okay.” She adjusted the bandana.

  “Mama told me what happened.” He hugged her.

  After the embrace, he tugged at his collar. “It’s warm in here. Why are all the windows closed?”

  “Oh—well, I was cold,” she mumbled, biting her lip.

  He looked at her oddly. “Well, I don’t know how you could be cold. It’s over seventy degrees today!” He touched her pink cheek. “Your face is even flushed.”

  “There was a chilly breeze,” she rambled as he walked to a window and pushed at the sash.

  “Geez—you got ‘em locked too?” He eyed her head.

  “Don’t look at me like I’m losing it!”

  “Honey, everybody’s on edge with Grandma dying and Jake’s accident. And I know you’re upset about Brett moving away.”

  “Yeah.” Unbelievably, she’d forgotten about that.

  He came to her and held her. “Are you okay?”

  “Daddy, Jake’s alive,” she blurted in a cracking voice.

  “Honey—” He pulled back and looked into her eyes. “There’s no way he could have survived that crash. I combed the creek and the woods myself, all the way from the bridge downstream past Mitchell’s Mill.”

  What was she doing? “But you didn’t find his body.” She lost her nerve to confess, but backing down from an argument went against her grain. And her father would be suspicious if she let it go too easily. “Did you look upstream?”

  He dragged himself into a chair. “Of course not. A body doesn’t float upstream.” The fresh sorrow and weariness in his eyes drove a stake of guilt into her heart. “His body must be down river by now. It’s the only explanation.”

  The only logical explanation. She drew a ragged breath.

  “You’ve been through an ordeal, honey. Your mother and I better skip Devon’s tonight. We’ll order in and watch a movie.”

  “No,” Laura said, trying to hide her panic. “You can’t miss your Saturday night out. Go and enjoy yourselves.”

  “I don’t think we should leave you.”

  “But I could use some time alone,” she insisted. “I’m fine, Daddy. Really.” They couldn’t be here when she met Jake.

  He searched her eyes for a long moment. “Well, if you’re sure.” With a smile, he joked, “But you have to lock all the windows while we’re gone.”

  She feigned a laugh, but it wasn’t funny.

  “Baldy’s picking apples.” He pointed out the window.

  Laura’s stomach knotted. Thank heaven he was a hermit. He wouldn’t tell anyone he saw her at the liquor store. She could only hope her father wouldn’t go over there and get chatty.

  She looked out and sucked in a breath.

  Old Bald Calvin wasn’t the only one out there. A hunched figure skulked at the edge of his woods. A beam of sunlight filtered through the trees, lighting the man’s face and glinting on a C-shaped metal trap in his hand. Laura’s heart pounded.

  It was Layla Gallagher’s father.

  ****

  The dreaded darkness arrived. The horses whinnied and neighed in the barn. Laura knew Jake was out there already.

  Grabbing a paper bag, she put the last piece of chicken inside, along with an extra slice of pizza from dinner. She double-checked the ammo in her father’s shotgun.

  If the food revitalized Jake’s strength, protecting herself called for way more than pepper spray. Drunk or not, Jake was used to having his way with women. She wasn’t taking any chances behind the barn after dark.

  She snuck out to her car for the hidden bottle of tequila. Cursing the needed dome light, she feared it would alert Jake while she prepared. She slipped the bottle into her bag and quietly closed the car door.

  A full moon lit up the back yard.

  Propping the gun on her shoulder, she neared the edge of the woods. She peered through the trees and searched for movement, her index finger twitching on the trigger.

  Lilacs For Laura

  Lilacs For Laura

  Chapter 17—Mexican Pond Water

  Silence fell over the woods. The throaty croak of a bullfrog ended abruptly. Crickets stopped chirping and the tree frogs’ night song ceased. Laura’s stomach wrenched in knots.

  What was she doing? She should cut and run, call the cops, and get this over with. ‘You call the police, you tell a
soul, and Rachel’s life is over.’ She couldn’t believe it, wouldn’t believe it, if not for Rachel’s reaction.

  ‘Blood on my hands.’

  Twigs crunched. A dark form appeared at the path entrance, straight ahead and coming fast. Tiny hairs stood on the back of Laura’s neck. Gripping the gun with both hands, she mashed the paper bag under her arm.

  Jake lumbered quickly toward her. The moon shone down on his matted hair, sticking up on top and stuck to his head on the sides. His battered face came into view. The knot in her gut tightened, her muscles tensed, and her mouth went dry.

  “That’s close enough,” she rasped, wincing at Brett’s name across the front of his shirt. He stopped only a few yards from her. She prayed he wouldn’t force her to defend herself.

  “What’s up with that?” He barked at the gun.

  Quaking, she stuttered, “It’s m...my pro...tection.”

  “Ha!” he spat rancid breath. Then he looked around the shadows. “I see you didn’t call the cops. At least you’re not as stupid as your sister with her stinkin’ restraining order.” He scoffed at the gun. “As if you had the guts to use that thing.”

  “As if you had the guts to be a husband,” she sneered.

  “I’m still her husband.” His mangled brows lowered and his voice held genuine hurt. “As long as I’m dead, she can’t divorce me. No lawyers, no court costs. She gets the girls. It’s best for everyone.” He pressed closer.

  Backing up, she lifted the gun, keeping her finger on the trigger. He was glad there’d be no divorce. Too glad. “How do I know you’ll leave?”

  Anger burned in his eyes, turning their hot fudge color to boiling tar. “I’m not sticking around to face no trumped-up manslaughter charge. The deader I am, the safer I am. And no one better find out otherwise, little sister.”

  She trembled and stumbled back several feet. How mean would he get after a bottle of tequila?

  “I ain’t going to jail, you hear me? I crawled around in the dirt, hiding from those cops and half the town lookin’ to drag me off to jail. Blow-hard Hunter and his green-horn deputy couldn’t find me then, and they’re not gonna find me now. Soon as I heal, I’m gone. I don’t want no more trouble, so don’t force me into it.” Desperation filled his eyes.