Through the Sheriff's Eyes

by Janice Kay Johnson

  I don’t know if I can get up the stairs, Faith thought.

  If she had to call for Dad, he’d think she’d gone crazy. And he would be right. She had. But she didn’t want anyone to know that, any more than she wanted them to know how much she hurt inside, how desperate she had been for one single thing in her life to be right.

  I have Char back. That’s right.

  But tonight it didn’t feel like enough. Faith wasn’t even sure she believed in the reconciliation with her sister.

  She didn’t believe in anything. Not God, not justice and, most of all, not herself.

  But if she wasn’t truly crazy, then she had to take care of herself. She couldn’t let her father find her here, collapsed, come morning.

  If she were the Tin Man, her joints had now locked and the tears had corroded her face. Somewhere inside, she found enough strength to stagger, finally, to the utility room and with shaking hands strip off her wet clothes. Scrabbling in the hamper, she came up with her own dirty jeans and a mercifully thick sweatshirt of her father’s and struggled into them. Thank goodness she’d put in a white load and not dark, or there might have been nothing at all to wear in here.

  The washer had reached the spin cycle. She put her back against it and slid down to sit on the floor. The rumble and rhythmic vibration were somehow a comfort, as if she were a newly weaned puppy missing her mother who had found an artificial heartbeat.

  Her mouth opened in a silent wail, and then she buried her face in her hands and let go.

  BEN COUNTED the unexpected peace of Halloween as a blessing. Despite the rain, he’d double-shifted his officers and been out patrolling himself. A few determined trick-or-treaters in rain slickers ventured to neighbors’, their accompanying parents huddled on the sidewalks beneath umbrellas, the yellow beam of flashlights faint beacons through the downpour. By seven-thirty, even that modest burst of activity had ended. He’d sent the extra officers home and had a good night’s sleep himself.

  He’d seen less of Faith this week than he wanted, and hadn’t had time to do more than make some inquiries of other police departments about the names he’d extracted from Michelle Hardesty. The rain had brought flooding—not from the river, still too low to top its banks although now turgid and brown, but from overwhelmed storm drains. Patrol cars with flashing lights were stationed to block streets that were a foot underneath water and to protect the utility workers trying to clear drains and ditches. A school bus had ended up stuck axle-deep in a dip in the road and the kids had had to be carried through the water to another bus. There were two calls about rats, of all damn things, apparently driven to scuttling up to the limbs of trees and onto windowsills, where they scared the crap out of residents. To top it all off, the roof on Ben’s house had sprung a leak, and he’d spent a nightmarish couple of hours in the dark on the slippery, steep-pitched roof trying to anchor a heavy plastic tarp to keep out the rain until he could get a roofer out to work on it.

  The endless dark gray, wet skies felt symbolic. He wondered whether the incessant downpour was depressing only to him because he was used to the endlessly blue skies of Southern California, or whether the gloom would be weighing on Faith, too. The one day that week he’d trapped her in her classroom for lunch, and the one evening he’d stopped by at the farm, she’d said only, “We’re used to rain.”

  But there was rain, and then there was rain. He hadn’t minded last winter’s drizzle as much as he’d expected. But, for God’s sake, would this deluge never end?

  Sunday morning, he was up early. He had today off, unless unexpected disaster struck, but after a quick breakfast he drove around town anyway, needing to see that it was still peaceful. After a quick survey, he turned onto the highway, drawn by a pull so great he couldn’t stay away from Faith even if he was unwelcome.

  He’d put on his turn signal and slowed for the first, muddy pothole when he noticed the gaps in the plywood signs along the road verge. Ben stopped and set the emergency brake, then despite the rain got out and walked over to see what had happened. Had a car plowed off the highway and taken them out? He saw immediately that they’d been sawed off, and crudely. Occasional ruts torn in the lawn showed they had been dragged to the house.

  What the hell…?

  He got back in his SUV, shook the water from his hair and drove up to the house. The closed sign remained on the barn door. He frowned. Would Faith not be opening on Sundays, now that Halloween was past? God, he hoped she’d take a day or two a week off. Maybe her sister had persuaded her to use some common sense.

  Yeah, right, he thought wryly. How likely was that?

  Gray’s black Prius was parked beside Faith’s battered Blazer. Ben pulled in behind the Blazer. He should probably go away, now that he knew Charlotte was here, with or without Gray, but he wasn’t going to. He was being tugged forward by some force beyond him.

  Ben didn’t like knowing exactly what that force was. He had been fighting it too long, and something told him he’d just lost the final battle.

  No one was in the kitchen. He knocked on the back door and waited until Gray appeared from the direction of the living room. He raised his brows at the sight of Ben and opened the door.

  “Has something come up?”

  “No. Just…stopping by.” He kept his voice low. “What’s with the signs out by the highway?”

  “Faith took them down last night.”

  Ben swore. “Last night? In the pouring rain?”

  Gray didn’t look any happier than he felt. “Yeah. We’re…having a family meeting right now.”

  “I should leave, then.” But his feet didn’t want to move.

  “I think the rest of us would be glad enough to have you here.”

  The rest of us. In other words, except for Faith.

  “I’m not family.”

  “Technically I’m not yet, either.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “They’re talking about selling the farm.”

  God, no. To Faith, it would be like another death. No.

  His reaction was instinctive, and surprised him. He wanted the burden lifted from her, would have said it would be a good thing, but he knew that Faith couldn’t handle it. Not now. Not yet.

  “No.” He shook his head. “She’s not ready.”

  “She called the meeting. She says she is.”

  Without another word, Ben walked past the other man and into the living room. The hospital bed was gone, he saw, the sofa restored to its place. Don was in a wing chair in the bay window. The two sisters sat on the sofa, near enough to touch, but not doing so, their separation palpable. Faith sat with her spine utterly straight, her hands quiet on her lap. Ben was willing to bet her fingers were rigid, the outward serenity of the neatly folded hands as deceptive as her frequent insistence that she was “fine.”

  All three heads turned when Ben strode into the room, and he thought he saw relief on Don’s face and even perhaps Charlotte’s. Faith stared at him as if she didn’t know who he was.

  “Can we help you?” she asked politely.

  His gaze boring into hers, Ben said, “You wouldn’t surrender two months ago, or two weeks ago. Why now, Faith?”

  She didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “The rain. And…” her voice cracked “…what happened. We needed October to be successful. It wasn’t.”

  Damn. The weather, not in anyone’s control, had conspired to join that weasel Hardesty to render Faith completely powerless. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, as gently as he could. He couldn’t help thinking how many times he’d said that to her, and how little good it had done.

  She gave a dip of her head in acknowledgement. She couldn’t react any more than that, he guessed, without falling apart completely.

  “Everyone but me seems to have known this was inevitable. I just…” Her voice drifted, and she swallowed hard. “This is home.”

  “I know.” God help him, all he wanted was to take he
r into his arms and absorb all of her grief, all of her disappointment, all of her pain. He crossed the living room, and Charlotte scooted sideways to leave the middle cushion of the sofa open for him. Ben was mildly surprised that she’d made way for him, but right this minute he didn’t care why she thought he could do something for her sister that she couldn’t.

  He sat down beside Faith and laid his hand over hers. They were as tense as he’d expected, and chilly to the touch. She jerked, as if in surprise, and looked at him with seeming helplessness.

  “There’s more to it,” Don said. “I was developing some arthritis anyway, but I’m not coming back from having that tractor roll on me the way I should have. Faith can’t run the place herself, we can’t afford to hire much help and I may not be able to do the hard work anymore.”

  He’d said all that flatly, but cords stood out in his neck and on the backs of his hands. Watching his daughters, women, do what he couldn’t would have been hard for a man of his generation. Of any generation, Ben thought ruefully; men weren’t programmed to watch their women work themselves to the bone while they laid back in comfort. Ben glanced around and saw Charlotte biting her lip and Gray watching Don with compassion. Faith, Ben thought, was least affected by her father’s words, because she had known what he was enduring. And now, on top of everything else, she felt guilty for making him endure it.

  After a decent pause, Ben cleared his throat. “When?”

  Standing in the doorway watching, Gray said, “Don plans to call a couple of real-estate agents tomorrow. Find out whether it’s better to wait for spring, or go ahead and list the farm.”

  Ben nodded and looked at Don. “Where will you go?”

  Don cleared his throat. “I thought I’d buy a house in town. Where else? Faith has a job, and now that Charlotte’s back for good…”

  The jolt of fear Ben had felt was idiotic; of course Don and Faith wouldn’t be pulling up roots and moving across the country, or whatever the hell he had imagined for a second. He resisted the urge to rub the heel of his hand across the ache in his chest.

  “The business?” he said, looking back at Faith.

  Her eyes were so dark, he could have fallen into them. They seemed to struggle to absorb any light.

  “We’ll stay open for a few weeks, try to sell as much inventory as we can.” Her mouth twisted. “Going-out-of-business signs should be a draw.”

  He nodded, suddenly aware that Gray had been completely silent and Charlotte mostly quiet. He should apologize to all of them, say, I should butt out.

  Looking around, Ben did say, “I’m sorry. I interrupted. I’ll shut up and let you go on with your meeting.” But he didn’t move. If anything, his hand tightened, especially when he felt one of Faith’s swivel to grab hold of him as if she was suddenly afraid he was going to stand up and walk out.

  Not happening, he thought, and felt the burning in his chest that he wished was heartburn but knew wasn’t. He hadn’t just lost the battle; he was waving a white flag that probably had his heart painted on it.

  He just wished he thought Faith would accept the flag and everything that came with it.

  After that he sat beside her, holding her hand and letting them talk. It was all so damn prosaic, as if they weren’t discussing the misery of cutting up the carcass of an animal they had all loved. Gray recommended a couple of real-estate agents; Don knew who to call to set up an auction for the tractor and tools and other farm equipment. Faith planned to phone a couple of the restaurants in town and offer what was left of the produce and the pumpkins. Charlotte and she decided to paint some signs that said Twenty-Five Percent Off and Fifty Percent Off and Going Out of Business to post out on the highway.

  “We can do it this afternoon,” Charlotte said. “If you’re sure, Faith?” Her look held a question.

  “It’s time.” Only the tremor of her hands betrayed any emotion at all.

  When the discussion had wound down, Ben said, “It’s almost noon. I’d like to take you all out to Sunday brunch. My treat.”

  Charlotte gave him a grateful smile, pretty enough on her gamine face to make him wonder again in passing, as he had dozens of times, why she’d never attracted him when her sister did. They were identical twins, after all. But he knew better. Whatever it was about Faith that pulled him so powerfully had nothing to do with her looks, or very little, anyway. Right now, the bruises of exhaustion shadowed her eyes and her hair was pulled back so tight it must hurt, and he still ached with the knowledge of how much he loved her.

  Simple as that. Foolish as that. This was a woman who was being destroyed by the one violent act she’d been driven to commit. He would never be able to let her glimpse the dark places inside him. But after seeing her suffer these past weeks, he knew he could live with that. He could live with anything, so long as he had her.

  And the only thing that gave him hope he’d have a chance was the way she clung to his hand.

  “That’s kind of you,” her father said to Ben’s invitation. “It would be good for all of us.”

  Gray and Charlotte hastened to agree. Faith opened her mouth to excuse herself—Ben knew damn well that’s what she had in mind—but he shook his head at her.

  “You know I’m too stubborn for you,” he murmured close to her ear, and her eyes flashed irritation and acquiescence both. They were blue again, he saw with relief.

  She snorted, shook his hand off and stood. “Fine.”

  Her favorite word. His least favorite.

  They all put on raincoats. Faith tried to maneuver herself to go in Gray’s Prius, but Ben gripped her arm and waylaid her. “Ride with me,” he said.

  Seeing her dad already getting in with her sister and Gray, she turned to Ben’s SUV without argument. He wished she’d snapped at him. As it was, she stared out the side window during the drive and gave monosyllabic responses to his couple of conversational forays.

  Don had suggested the River Fork Steakhouse, which he claimed did an excellent brunch. Ben would have been just as happy to go elsewhere, as the last time he’d been here was the one-and-only time he had taken Charlotte out on a date. Her glance as he held open the door for everyone told him she was thinking the same, and Gray’s sardonic expression wasn’t much better. Gray had walked in that night and seen the woman he was falling in love with dining out with his police chief. He hadn’t been a happy man. Never slow on the uptake, Ben had realized that Charlotte had gone out with him to make a point, perhaps to herself as much as to Gray. Sure as hell not because she was drawn to Ben. Just as well, since he’d only asked her because he was scared to death of what he felt for her shyer, sweeter sister from first sight. The night had been a debacle all around.

  Today, they were seated right away. Apparently the rain was keeping even the regulars home. The brunch was a nice spread, and everyone seemed to relax some now that they were away from the farmhouse that held too many memories for the Russells.

  In an effort to make conversation, Charlotte turned to Ben. “You must live here in town, Ben. Are you renting, or did you buy when you took the job?”

  “I bought.” He spread cream cheese on a toasted bagel. “One of the old houses up on the hill. Seemed like a plan at the time.”

  His tone had apparently been morose enough to capture even Faith’s interest. “You’re sorry?”

  “The furnace crapped out first. That was last winter. Then I got tired of having to go flip a breaker again every time I plugged my electric razor in.” He rubbed a reminiscent hand over his jaw. “I went back to a good, old-fashioned razor for a while, but that ticked me off, so I finally called an electrician out. Had to have a new electrical box and half the wiring replaced. Now I’ve got a leak in the roof, which is at least thirty years old. Yeah, I’m starting to have some doubts.”

  Gray was laughing. “You should have had me design you a house.”

  His fiancée elbowed him. “Those old houses have charm.”

  “It would have more charm,” Ben grumbled, “
if my budget had been spent on refinishing floors and moldings instead of a furnace and wiring.”

  Faith, at least, was listening. Why did he suspect she’d prefer a turn-of-the-century fixer-upper to anything modern, however much character the architect managed to give it?

  Gray flashed him a grin. “So, how’s the plumbing?”

  “It groans.”

  “Ours does, too,” Don admitted, a reminder none of them needed that their old house was likely to meet the blunt end of a bulldozer. The state of the plumbing wouldn’t matter.

  Faith laid down her fork, but she had eaten. Not as much as Ben would have liked to see, but some. He swore she was still losing weight. How had she had the strength to saw through those uprights last night and then haul the heavy signs all the way to the house?

  When he’d paid the bill and they were leaving, she said, “There’s no point in you coming back out to the house, Ben. I’ll just ride with Gray and Charlotte.”

  “All right,” he said, but drew her to a stop. When she lifted a wary gaze to his, he asked, “Are you sleeping at all, Faith?”

  She stiffened. “What makes you think I’m not?”

  With one fingertip he touched the betraying, deep blue smudge under one of her eyes.

  After a moment she said, “I refuse to take sleeping pills.”

  Frustration suddenly gripped him. “Do you know what I’d like to do right now?”

  Her teeth closed on her lower lip, betraying nerves. She shook her head.

  “I want to take you home with me and tuck you into my bed for a nap. I want to lie there next to you, just like I did that day at Gray’s house.” He wouldn’t even have to be touching her. He’d be satisfied just watching her sleep, like he had that day before he’d finally dropped off himself.