EVERY BREATH YOU TAKE

by Debby Conrad

  Brad and Hollin were ideal children, always aiming to please her and John. They got good grades, didn’t talk back, respected the rules of the house and the curfews set for them.

  Rachel was a different story. She was rebellious, always picking fights with Brad. She would deliberately break curfew, didn’t care one iota about her grades or schoolwork, although her teachers said she was very bright. “Rachel doesn’t apply herself,” the teachers had said, year after year. “Is she getting enough attention at home?” one teacher asked. As if it were somehow Angela’s fault that Rachel didn’t care about school.

  Angela was sick. She couldn’t help it that she couldn’t go to the games to watch Rachel cheer in high school, or that she’d missed Rachel’s plays when she was in grade school. Or that she was too tired in the evenings to help her daughters study. At least she was there for them. If the girls had a problem to discuss they could come to her. Unlike Brad’s mother who had run off and left him when he was barely a year old.

  But now she felt as if she were under attack. By her own daughter.

  “I tried to be a good mother,” she said, looking at Hollin. “But I was sick. You don’t know what it’s like to depend on people your whole adult life. It isn’t something for which I’m proud.” She leaned into the chaise, trying to make herself comfortable. She covered her legs with a cashmere wrap, tucking it in under her legs. “Do you think I wanted to be sick all these years?”

  “No, of course not,” Hollin said. “I never meant to imply that you were a bad mother. I simply asked if you know why Rachel is so unhappy.”

  Angela thought for a moment. “I have no idea. But if I had to guess I would say she’s a little jealous of you.” Hollin was definitely the prettiest of her two daughters. And Hollin looked a lot like Angela. Although, if Rachel would take better care of herself, she could be just as attractive.

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Is it? You always did better in school. Brad and you got along, while Rachel and Brad always argued. And then when you moved away, Rachel became depressed. I tried to get her to see Dr. Alexander. I thought maybe he could prescribe something for her. A sedative maybe.”

  Hollin uncrossed her legs. She was sitting in a wingback chair across from Angela. “I moved away because you and John thought it would be best. You were the ones who picked the private school in Boston.”

  “Well, you were so traumatized. You refused to leave your room except for the trial. We didn’t know what else to do with you.”

  “I was raped, Mother. And I was fifteen. I was afraid to walk in my own backyard. Forgive me for being traumatized.”

  Angela scowled at her daughter. “Now, there’s no need to behave hostily. I was simply saying that maybe Rachel never forgave you for leaving. The two of you were close.”

  Hollin got to her feet. “I thought you might be interested in getting Rachel some help, but I can see I’m going to have to handle my big sister myself.” She started toward the door then turned around. “Please let me know when you make a decision about selling the land.”

  Angela swallowed hard. The land Hollin wanted her to sell to that convict had been in her family for generations. And yet, according to Ed Townsend, Angela stood to lose everything if she didn’t sell the land. She loved this house more than anything. She couldn’t bear to give it up. The tears threatened again. “Are you sure that man, Griffin Wells, wasn’t the one who hurt you?”

  Hollin’s expression softened. “I’m sure, Mom. Very sure.”

  “But what do you think people are going to say when they find out I sold that man my land?”

  “It doesn’t matter what they say. You and I both know you have no choice unless you want to lose everything.”

  Hearing that, Angela had to agree. She couldn’t face the humiliation of losing her home. “Very well. Please call Mr. Townsend for me.”

  Once Hollin left the room, Angela finally allowed herself to cry. She couldn’t remember ever suffering such an embarrassment. People in town would be talking, and she didn’t know if she could bear such shame.

  But she supposed if Hollin could hold her head up high after what had happened to her, then perhaps, with time, Angela could as well.

  #

  Peterson and MacDougal was located smack dab in the center of an ancient, two-story building at the edge of town. A florist sat on one side of the accounting firm and a dentist’s office on the other.

  Hollin announced herself to the young woman sitting behind the counter. She was petite, with curly black hair and dimples. She didn’t look any older than eighteen, nineteen at the most.

  The woman picked up the phone and buzzed Brad, telling him Hollin was downstairs. “You can go on up,” she said, replacing the receiver. “First door on your left.” The woman looked flustered for a moment, then brought a hand to her mouth. “I’m sorry. Mr. MacDougal’s office is on the right. Mr. Peterson’s office is on the left.”

  Hollin smiled at the woman’s nervousness. “Thanks,” she said and started to head toward the oak staircase.

  “You aren’t going to tell Mr. MacDougal I screwed up, are you?”

  “Of course not.”

  “It’s only my second day. I’m a little overwhelmed.”

  “I understand.” By the time Hollin reached the top of the stairs, Brad had poked his head through a doorway and was waiting for her.

  “What a pleasant surprise,” he said, steering her into his office, which indeed was on the right. “Did Melissa give you a hard time since you didn’t have an appointment?”

  “No, not at all. She was very pleasant.”

  “Hmph. I find that hard to believe. In a day and a half she’s caused more havoc than a bunch of monkeys. She probably won’t last the week. Have a seat.” He nodded to one of the chairs around an oval glass conference table and Hollin sat down. “You wouldn’t be interested in working for me and my partner as a receptionist, would you?”

  “No, thanks. I’m really looking for something where I can be a little more creative.” She stuck her keys inside her purse and placed her purse on top of the table. “Maybe Melissa will surprise you. She may turn out to be a hard worker.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” Brad said without much conviction. He pulled out the chair adjacent to hers and sat down. “I just got back from having an early lunch with my partner, Mike Peterson. We needed to go over a few things now that April fifteenth has come and gone. Otherwise, you and I could have gone out for a bite.”

  “That’s okay. I know you’re busy, but I wanted to talk with you about Rachel.”

  His smile faded. “What about her?”

  Brad and Rachel had never gotten along. Growing up, Hollin had always been the buffer between them. And Hollin knew Brad didn’t condone Rachel’s lifestyle.

  “I’m worried about her.”

  “Rachel can take care of herself.” He didn’t seem the least bit concerned as he scratched at a spot on his red necktie. “Damn. I paid forty bucks for this tie.” Brad then busied himself with checking the cuffs on his snowy white shirt.

  “Have you noticed how thin she is? How much she drinks? That she barely spends any time with Chelsea?”

  Ignoring his cuffs, he looked up and met her gaze. “She’s an alley cat. Trust me, nothing you do or say is going to change that.”

  “I’d still like your help.”

  He raised a brow and studied her. “What do you want me to do?”

  “I’m going to try to convince her to go into counseling, go back to school, get a job. Something,” she said, out of options.

  Leaning back in his chair, he gave a short laugh. “Good luck.” Then seeing the disappointment on her face, he straightened his shoulders and quickly sat forward. “Hollin, I know you love your sister, but she’s a lost cause.”

  Hollin’s hands stilled in her lap, her knuckles turning white. “She’s insecure is all. Once we convince her of her true worth, I think she’ll feel better about herself.”

&nbs
p; “Her true worth?” he mocked with a snort. “She’s hopeless.”

  Feeling irked with Brad, she slid her chair back, about to stand. “I can see I’m wasting your time and mine. You obviously don’t care about Rachel.”

  A hand shot out to stay her. “That’s not true. I’ll talk to her. Okay? I’ll let her know we’re both here for her if she needs us.”

  “Thanks. I’d appreciate that.” She chewed on her lip for a moment, while she decided whether or not to confide in him more. Then she finally put her reservations aside. “Brad, there’s something you should know.”

  He cocked his head to the side. “It sounds serious.”

  “It is,” she said, stalling. She lifted a hand from her lap and ran a finger across the leather strap on her purse before meeting Brad’s gaze. “Griffin Wells didn’t rape me.”

  She watched as Brad took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Hollin, why would you say something like that? We all know he did. He was convicted.”

  Hollin shook her head. “I made a mistake. I was scared. Confused. I’d tried so hard to block out all the details of that night. I had no idea who the man was, and then when the sheriff found Griffin’s pocketknife, everyone, including you, convinced me that it had to have been him.”

  Brad’s blue eyes turned stormy. “It was him! He got you drunk at his trailer and took you into his bedroom. The only reason he didn’t rape you then was because there were so many people around. After dropping you off that night, he went back to the trailer, kicked everyone out, and then came back to the house.”

  Shaking her head, Hollin said, “He didn’t get me drunk. I did that on my own. And besides, how would he have known I was locked out? That I would be out back waiting for Rachel to come home.”

  “You said you left your purse at his place. He didn’t need to be a rocket scientist to figure out that you couldn’t get inside the house without your key.”

  “No, Brad. That’s not what happened. It wasn’t Griffin. And someone planted that knife of his near the garage.”

  “Who? Who would want to frame him? You said yourself you never saw whoever it was that came up behind you that night. So, why would anyone have to frame Wells?” He stared at her long and hard while she struggled with her thoughts.

  “I don’t know why. All I know is that he’s innocent, and I ruined his life by accusing him.”

  Brad spread his fingers on the glass table and leaned back in his chair. “When did you decide that Wells was innocent? Have you seen him? Talked to him?”

  “Yes.” Her answer was brief. She had no intention of sharing the details of her meetings with Griffin.

  His eyes showed a tortured haziness of disbelief. “I see.” He pushed his chair back and stood. As he paced the room, he straightened his tie. “Hollin, as your older brother I feel the need to warn you about this guy.” He glanced her way, then went to stand near his desk. “Wells can’t be trusted. And it’s only a matter of time before everything comes crashing down around him. He’s up to his eyeballs in debt. I don’t know what the hell he’s trying to prove, buying up all those properties. But one day he’s going to find himself in trouble, and trust me, no one in this town is going to bail him out.”

  Ignoring Brad’s warning, Hollin placed her purse over her shoulder and stood. “My mother is going to sell off the property to the east of the house.”

  Brad stiffened. “Don’t tell me. She’s selling it to Wells.”

  “Yes.”

  He closed in on her. “Hollin, don’t you see what he’s doing?”

  “No. What is he doing that is so horrible?”

  “He doesn’t care about you. He’s using you.”

  “Really? How so? I’m simply arranging a business deal between him and my mother. That’s it.” And I plan to sleep with him. Soon.

  “Is that what you were doing at the old trailer last week?”

  Hollin stared at him wide-eyed. “How did you--”

  “It’s a small town, Hollin. People talk.”

  She averted her eyes, embarrassed, wondering what else he knew. “What I do and who I see is my business. Not yours, and not Rachel’s.”

  Brad folded his arms. “So, Rachel and I at least agree on something.”

  Hollin looked up. “I don’t know what goes through Rachel’s head. I have a feeling she knew Griffin was innocent before I said a word. And she seems to know something about the night I was raped, but she won’t talk to me.”

  Letting his arms drop to his sides, Brad said, “Let me talk to Rachel. Sometimes she can get a little hostile. You don’t want to pressure her and have her do something crazy, do you?”

  She was momentarily panicked as her mind jumped forward. “Like what?”

  He shrugged both shoulders. “With Rachel, you never know. She’s unstable. Let me talk to her. Okay?”

  Hollin released the breath she’d been holding. “Okay. But promise me you’ll tell me everything, no matter what.”

  “I promise,” he said. “I’ll tell you everything, no matter what.”

  #

  Hollin studied the drawings and photographs on Griffin’s outer office walls. The last time she was here, she hadn’t taken the time to do more than glance at them. But since Frannie, Griffin’s secretary, had told Hollin that her boss was on a conference call, and that it may take awhile, Hollin was actually glad.

  She loved looking at the beautiful old houses that he’d renovated. She had an appreciation for them, and was glad he’d incorporated the old with the new on most of the properties hanging here.

  “Can I get you some coffee while you’re waiting?” Frannie asked. Griffin’s secretary looked to be in her late fifties. She was almost as wide as she was tall and had bright burgundy, frizzy hair. Her hair clashed with the bright red sweater and the deep russet skirt she wore. But her eyes and smile were warm and friendly when she spoke. Unlike the first day Hollin had met her, when she seemed guarded, protective of her boss.

  “No thanks. I just had breakfast and enough coffee to keep me afloat for the day.” She smoothed a hand over her white turtleneck and navy, linen slacks, thinking they were plain and dull compared to Frannie’s clothing, and went back to studying the pictures.

  Frannie rounded the desk and came up to stand beside her. “This used to be the old gas station on Main Street,” she said, pointing to a photo of a quaint tea shop, complete with awnings. “You probably don’t remember the owner, old Mr. Moneypenny, but he was the grouchiest and meanest man in town. And yet, at the time, his was the only place to buy gas within a five-mile radius.”

  Hollin laughed. “I remember Mr. Moneypenny. He had a silver mustache that reminded me of two corkscrews growing out of either side of his top lip.”

  Frannie nodded in agreement.

  “What ever happened to him?”

  “He’s in a nursing home near Pittsburgh, where his daughter lives. Fred has to be at least ninety by now.”

  “Wow.” Hollin thought it was amazing how many things had changed since she’d been gone, and yet how so many things still seemed the same. Not with just the town, but with her family as well.

  Her mother hadn’t changed any and neither had Brad. But Rachel seemed harder, distant, and was no longer interested in much of anything but going out for the evening. Other than seeing Rachel with Randy Schwartz and the tattoo guy, Hollin wasn’t sure who she was even spending her time with these days. But she was definitely going to make it her business to find out. And if Rachel wouldn’t tell her, then maybe Hollin would have to hire someone to spy on her sister.

  Then again, maybe Rachel simply chose to sit on a barstool in some dark and dingy place, smoking and drinking the nights away. At any rate, Rachel’s alley cat ways were going to stop, if Hollin had anything to say about it. Rachel was going to clean up her act, and start taking better care of Chelsea, or Hollin was never going to let up on her.

  “Here’s one of my favorites,” Frannie said, pointing to a two-story brick that loo
ked an awful lot like Griffin’s house. “Griffin had an especially hard time with this one. Everything had to be perfect. You don’t know how many times he changed his mind on things like the flooring, countertops, wall coverings, you name it. And yet he never entertains.” She sighed and shook her head before going on.

  “He hates anything to do with picking out colors, things like that. Doesn’t trust his own eyes. And me,” she said, pointing a finger at her own chest. “Do I look like someone who knows color? To tell you the truth, I’m color blind, but don’t tell Griffin. He doesn’t have to know everything.”

  Hollin smiled at Frannie’s admission. Which explained the color combo of the red sweater and russet skirt.

  “His home is beautiful,” Hollin said, “and the choices he made were perfect. He blended the old with the new, and used just the right balance of darks and lights.” She could tell Frannie seemed surprised that Hollin had obviously been inside Griffin’s home, but she didn’t feel the need to explain. “I love everything to do with color.” Though no one would ever guess from the conservative way she dressed. She supposed being raped had a lot to do with her wardrobe choices. She didn’t want to draw attention to herself in any way.

  “Is that so?” Frannie asked, hooking her arm through Hollin’s and steering her to the other side of the room. On a large glass table sat carpet, countertop, wallpaper and paint samples. “I could certainly use your help. We’re renovating the old Meyers home, turning it into condos.”

  Hollin smiled, feeling in her element. “Do you have a photo of the house?”

  Frannie dug around the samples and came up with two photos. A front view and a back view. “Oh, here are some inside photos, but remember this monstrosity is going to be divided into four units.