It had been a month since that night in his bedroom. They never talked about it. She put it out of her mind as best she could. She imagined that he had forgotten about it, that it took no effort on his part to keep it at bay. He had only one thing on his mind these days and that was Estelle. The breakup had left him dazed, brittle to the touch.
He’d finally spoken to her that morning while she was setting candles on the mantle in the living room. It had been days. She’d felt him pull away from her, from all of them. His eyes had told them to leave him alone as clearly as if he’d spoken the words out loud.
He’d come up behind her as she arranged the candles. “The house looks great,” he’d said. “Can I help?”
Nearly everything had been done. An enormous tree decorated with white lights and lace stood in front of the oceanside windows of the living room. There were candles everywhere, holly and pine boughs on the mantel, and far too much mistletoe dangling in the doorways.
“The luminaria still need to be set up around the driveway,” she’d said. The paper bags and candles were waiting by the front door.
Cole had looked at them uncertainly.
“Are you sure you want to be here for the party?” she’d asked.
“Where else would I go? Everyone I know will be here.” He’d paused. “With one exception.”
Now he walked toward her with a smile. “Can I take refuge with you for a few minutes?” He leaned on the arm of her chair.
“Party’s getting to you?”
He sighed. “I’m not going to be any good at being single. I don’t like all the superficial chatter. ‘And what’s your sign?’” He batted his eyelashes at her.
She laughed. “Come on. I bet no one’s asked you what your sign is. Women are far more direct these days.”
“You’re right. I’ve had all types of invitations tonight. The last woman I spoke with asked to see the view from my room.”
“What did you tell her?”
“That my room is a mess. She said I could leave the lights off so she wouldn’t notice.”
“Clever woman.”
“I don’t know how to respond to that sort of thing. I used to be able to come back with an innuendo of my own, knowing that I’d never be taken seriously with Estelle in the next room. Now I have to tread carefully.”
“You really have no interest?”
“None. The thought of trying to get to know someone new is practically repulsive to me. And sex.” He rolled his eyes. “I don’t think I’ll ever do it again. I understand now how you felt about sex when I first met you.”
“I can barely remember that feeling. Right now there’s little else on my mind.” That was the only thing she missed about a relationship with a man these days—the physical side.
“Well,” he said, “I spotted Sandy a little while ago.”
“Sandy’s here?”
“Someplace. I’m sure he’d be willing to oblige.”
She shook her head. “That sounds like a bad idea. Besides, I’ve got my period.”
“Really? That’s two months in a row, isn’t it? Rare for you.”
She nodded. She was amazed herself. “This one’s nearly over, I think. They’re still not normal. Short and light. I guess they’ve started again because I haven’t been running as much.”
He was grinning at her. “How much have you had to drink tonight?”
“Why?”
“You’re slurring.”
“Ugh. Disgusting. Am I really?” Her words sounded perfectly crisp to her own ears.
He looked around the room. “We might have to put a few of these people up for the night if we don’t get some coffee brewing. I think you should have the first cup.”
“Whatever you say.” She handed him the rest of her daiquiri. “If I hold it, I’ll keep sipping.”
He smiled at her. “Are we back to being friends again?”
“I hope so,” she said. “I’ve missed you.”
He leaned down for a hug and they moved apart. “Back to the maddening crowd,” he said as he walked toward the heart of the living room, her daiquiri balanced between his fingers.
She should get up and help with the coffee, but the chair was holding her down. And besides, there was Sandy. He was leaning against the wall at the other end of the room, watching her, those big dark marble eyes locked into her own. She let herself stare back at him.
In a minute he was standing at the side of her chair. “You don’t seem to be in a partying mood tonight,” he said.
“I think I’m partied out.”
“How about one more dance?”
“Okay.” She stood up and nearly toppled over. “Whoa . . .” She grabbed his arm.
“Tsk, tsk, Kit.” He put his arm around her. “Sloppy drunk. You never saw me sloppy stoned, did you?”
She set her cheek against his shoulder and let her head fill with his familiar scent. “I don’t know how this happened, Sandy. I was sober one minute and looped the next.”
“Let me take you upstairs and put you to bed.”
She looked at him for a few seconds. “Okay,” she said. “Wait here a minute.”
She found Cole and pulled him away from a circle of women. “I’m going upstairs with Sandy.” She didn’t like the dark look in his eyes. She hooked her fingers in his jacket pocket. “Do you think that’s a bad thing to do?”
He put his arm around her. “Take some coffee up with you, okay?” he said. “Just sober up a little before you make any decisions.”
“I’m glad we had a chance to do this,” Sandy said, after they’d made love. They were lying in her bed. “It’ll be the last time. I’m moving.”
Sandy leaving the Jersey shore? “Where to?”
“California. Santa Barbara.”
“Really? I can’t picture you there.”
He laughed. “If you can’t picture that, try picturing this: I’m getting married.”
She sat up. “What?”
“I’m getting married.”
“To who?”
“A lady friend.”
“You were seeing her while you were seeing me?”
He frowned. “You knew I was seeing other people.”
“But how could you have sex with me tonight when you’re engaged to someone else?”
“She’d understand.”
“Well, I don’t.” She was suddenly depressingly sober. She envisioned this young woman, innocently planning her wedding in Santa Barbara while her fiancé made love to someone else on the other side of the country.
Although she hadn’t thought for a second about Estelle the night she . . .
“I shouldn’t have told you,” he said.
“Well, now that you have I really would like you to leave.”
He gave her a look of disbelief before he got out of bed and pulled on his clothes.
“I didn’t think you’d react this way,” he said, his hand on the doorknob. “I thought you’d be happy for me.”
He closed the door quietly behind him, leaving her feeling sober and a little ashamed.
21.
She let the hospital door fall shut behind her and started running toward the moon. She’d been watching it from her office window for the past hour, watching it lift into a black winter sky, and finally she could stand it no longer. She set her work on the corner of her desk where it would wait for her until morning, changed into her running clothes, dropped her work clothes off with Janni, and escaped.
A few flakes of snow fluttered in the air around her head as her footsteps fell into a steady rhythm on the sidewalk. She turned onto the main road and frowned at the bumper-to-bumper traffic and mounds of dirty snow piled in the gutter. She couldn’t run on a street choked with cars on such a beautiful night. No, tonight she’d run home on the beach, next to the water.
She reached the beach by Jenkinson’s Pier and ran for a while on the boardwalk, the rides surrounding her like huge, haunting monsters. At the end of the boardwalk she d
ropped down to the snow-covered sand, then ran out to the water’s edge, where the sand was packed and ice-hard. It was eerily quiet. Most of the houses were deserted, boards on their windows, and the splintering sound of the sea was all she heard as the miles fell behind her.
The lights of the Chapel House were in view when she noticed someone on the beach. A huddled figure, sitting near the water.
Who would be out here, sitting alone on the beach on a January night? Some degenerate, probably, warming himself with a bottle of whiskey nestled in a paper bag at his side. Kit slowed her pace, wondering if she should cut back up to the road to avoid an encounter with whoever this might be.
But it was more likely someone like herself, lured to the beach by the moon. She picked up her pace again.
It was a girl. A child? No, a little older than that. Thirteen, fourteen at the most. She was the only patch of color on the beach. Long, pale brown hair, gray pants, and a red sweater. Just a sweater? Kit herself wore a heavy warm-up jacket.
She slowed to a stop and smiled at the girl. “Hi,” she said. The sweater was thin, dotted with snowflakes. “Aren’t you cold? It’s no more than thirty degrees out here.”
The girl looked up, her huge eyes shining in the moonlight. Something was wrong with her. Drugs maybe? No, she didn’t look the type.
“Are you all right?” Kit asked.
The girl shook her head, and Kit saw that she was holding a blood-stained tissue to her chin. Her left cheek was swollen and bruised.
Kit dropped to her knees. “Someone’s hurt you.”
The girl looked down at the sand. “Two men,” she whispered between chattering teeth. Her lips were blue.
Kit took off her warm-up jacket and wrapped it around the girl’s shoulders. “Where? Who?”
The girl shut her eyes.
“Do you live nearby?”
She shook her head.
“Where do you live?”
She hesitated a second before answering. “A few towns over.”
“What are you doing out here? Did you know the men who hurt you?”
The girl stared at her sneakers, at the toe where the threads were threatening to pull apart and let in the winter air.
She’s frightened by the questions, Kit thought. Trying to fabricate answers in a mind not used to lying. What this kid needed right now was help; the interrogation could wait. “Never mind,” she said. “Let me take you to my house. We can get you washed up and call the police from—”
“No, no, no!” The girl shook her head furiously, her hair whipping the air. “They said they’d kill me if I told anyone what happened.”
Kit nodded. “I won’t let them hurt you.” She made the promise as though she knew how to keep it. “Tell me your name.”
“Rennie.”
“Well, look, Rennie. Let’s go to my house and at least get you cleaned up. Let me see your chin.”
Rennie held the tissue away from her face, and Kit could see that the wound was wide, the skin ragged along its edges. It would probably need some stitches. “Keep pressing the tissue against it while we walk,” she said. She stood up but Rennie didn’t move.
“I don’t think I can walk. My chest hurts when I move. Across here.” She set her hands on her red sweater, along the bottom of her rib cage.
“Did they hit you there?”
Rennie shook her head. “They threw me against that wall.” She pointed toward the house behind them, boarded up for the winter. A long concrete wall ran the length of the patio. Kit winced. This girl was probably lucky to be alive.
Then she noticed the dark stain in the crotch of Rennie’s pants.
“Are you bleeding?” she asked.
Rennie looked at her in confusion and pointed to her chin with her free hand.
“No, honey, not there. Tell me, did they rape you?”
The girl began to cry. There was no sound, just rivers of tears flowing down her cheeks. “I can’t go home,” she said “I can’t.”
“It’s all right. We’ll get you to the hospital, get you fixed up—”
“No!”
“You have no choice. You’re hurt. The hospital will be legally bound to call the police, but you don’t have to press charges.” She was talking rapidly now, her heart pounding in her chest. What if the girl was hemorrhaging? She had to get her to Blair quickly. “Stay here. Don’t move.”
She turned and ran toward the Chapel House, glancing behind her to see the girl hunched over her knees again, staring out to sea.
She called the ambulance and then Cole.
“Aren’t you on call for the Emergency Room this week?” she asked.
“Uh-huh. Why?”
“I found a girl on the beach who I’m pretty sure has been raped. I called an ambulance to bring her over. Can you meet us in the ER?”
“The ER can handle it without me. Unless she’s really messed up.”
“I think she may be.”
She heard him sigh. It was six-thirty and certainly he wanted to get home, but she didn’t have time to sympathize. “Do you know if Janni’s still there?” she asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Could you look out your window and see if her car’s there?”
The sigh again. She heard his chair creak as he leaned back to look out the window toward the parking lot.
“Yeah, I see it.”
“Call her please, Cole. This kid’s going to need a social worker.”
If Kit had any doubts about Rennie’s story, they disappeared as she watched her being lifted into the ambulance. Lines of pain creased Rennie’s face. On the ride to Blair, she squeezed Kit’s fingers in her hand each time the ambulance took a turn or hit a dip in the road.
“Don’t let them send me home,” she begged.
Kit leaned down to give the girl a hug. Rennie nestled in her arms as though a loving touch was so rare that she would take it from a stranger.
22.
He was sidetracked a few times on his way to the E.R. He was certain they could handle this without him. If it were truly an emergency, they would have paged him. God, he hated rape cases. Always felt like the enemy.
He saw her first through the little square window of the treatment room. She sat on the examining table with her back to him, clutching Kit’s arm through the warm-up jacket. Janni stood in front of her, talking, writing things on her notepad. The inch or two of the girl’s back visible beneath the ties of the hospital gown looked as if she’d been dragged by her heels across a bed of nails.
Janni came out of the room to greet him. She rolled her eyes as she handed him the girl’s chart.
“Good luck with this one, sweets,” she said. “She’s not going to let you near her. She’s afraid of her own shadow.”
“What’s wrong with her back?”
Janni looked through the window of the treatment room. “Scraped raw. So’s her front. Plus a cracked rib. And she needed seven stitches in her chin. She’s bleeding, too. Don’t know what that’s all about—that’s your department.” She paused to take a breath. “There’s a couple of swine running loose on the Mantoloking beach. Mantoloking. Do you believe it?”
“What do you mean, a couple?”
“There were two of them. Real bastards. I tell you, this kid’s a mess. And her family situation leaves something to be desired, too. Said she ran away ’cause her mother’s boyfriend was beating her up. I’ve got to call Protective Services—she’ll have to go to the Children’s Center for a while, where she’ll very likely be eaten alive.” Janni made a face. “Poor little kid. She’s sweet.”
He wasn’t really listening. “Did they take evidence yet?”
“Nail scrapings, I think. They’re leaving the rest for you. No one wants to hurt her. The doc stitching up her chin stumbled all over himself apologizing to her.”
The girl wanted nothing to do with him.
“Hello, Rennie. I’m Dr. Perelle.” He held out his hand, but she didn’t look up from her lap. He d
ropped his hand to his side.
Kit moved in front of the girl. “Rennie, Dr. Perelle is a good friend of mine.”
Rennie hung her head, the tips of her long, earth-colored hair touching the gown that covered her thighs. Her hands rested limply in her lap, the fingers thin and delicate, the nails chewed short.
“Your chart says you’re having some bleeding. Could you be having your period?”
The girl shook her head without looking up. He could see the stitches in her chin, the skin around them raw and bruised.
“Can you tell me when your last period was?”
She shrugged.
He shifted the chart to his left hand. “I know you’ve had a terrible time, Rennie, and no one here wants to make it any harder for you, but we have to make sure you’re all right.”
“I’m okay.” The childish voice surprised him.
“Do you know what a pelvic examination is?”
“I don’t need an examination.”
“I explained it to her,” said Kit.
“It’s very important to find out what’s causing the bleeding,” he said.
“Please don’t.” She looked up at him, her blue eyes wide.
Wendy and Becky, he thought. She had his nieces’ eyes, ten years from now. He looked at Kit, wondering if she saw the resemblance, but her gaze was on Rennie. She brushed a strand of the girl’s hair back over her shoulder.
“It’ll all be over in a matter of minutes,” she said.
Rennie began to cry, head in hands, shoulders shaking, and he shook his head at Kit. He was not about to hurt this girl with his nieces’ eyes.
He called Barb Chrisman in the Maternity Unit and told her there was a rape victim in the ER who could use a woman gynecologist. She examined Rennie while he told the police officer the little he knew. It was hard to concentrate on the questions when he could picture what was happening in the treatment room, step by step. Would they have to take pictures? Probably, with all those scrapes and bruises. And pluck fifteen pubic hairs for forensics. He cringed at the thought. He’d always handed the tweezers over to someone else.
After the police left, he sat in the waiting room watching a rerun of M*A*S*H. Next to him a woman cuddled a feverish-looking toddler, and across the room, a man held a wad of tissues to his son’s bloody nose. He focused his attention on the TV. He felt more squeamish out here than he did in the treatment room.
Secrets at the Beach House Page 14