Secrets Rising

by Sally Berneathy

  As she approached downtown Dallas, traffic became heavier. Rush hour. She'd heard talk about it on the Dallas radio stations but had never experienced it.

  Cars—hundreds of cars—zipped past her, around her, pinning her in her lane. It was impossible to check all the drivers, to watch for Charles. Avoiding an accident became her primary concern as the bumper-to-bumper traffic slowed but still moved fast enough that, if anyone made a mistake, dozens of cars would crash into each other.

  When she realized she had passed downtown Dallas without having a chance to choose an east or west route but had been funneled by the flow of traffic onto 75 north, she accepted that as her destination. It was as good a way to choose as any.

  The traffic slowed to a maddening crawl. She consoled herself with the thought that Charles wouldn't be able to wedge his car into the solid wall of automobiles and catch her even if he knew exactly where she was. For the moment she was safe, but frustration at the delay kept her on edge.

  The evening was warm, and she was perspiring from heat and anxiety. She rolled down her window and a popular song drifted from the radio in the car next to her. Then a traffic report.

  "...five car pile-up on Central Expressway just north of the Walnut Hill exit has traffic backed up all the way downtown. Expect about an hour delay as crews work to clean up the accidents."

  Mary wanted to scream. Though she hadn't seen any signs, she'd be willing to bet Highway 75 was more commonly known as Central Expressway. She had to get off. She'd lost too much time already.

  Almost thirty minutes later she finally made it off at Mockingbird Lane. All she had to do was continue northward, winding her way through the city, until she made it to the northern outskirts, then get back on the highway and head for...

  Well, somewhere north. Oklahoma City, Tulsa, Kansas City. Even New York City was somewhere north.

  ***

  Plano Diner, Serving Plain Ole Good Food

  Mary almost burst into tears when she saw the sign two hours later. It was only advertising. She knew that. But the hominess of it lured her into the parking lot.

  Since leaving the highway, she'd roamed through the Dallas area, becoming hopelessly lost. Streets were not straight. They changed names, dead ended, circled back on themselves, and with every wrong turn, the nightmare thickened around her. Panic beat at her with leathery bat wings. She felt trapped, an animal in a cage running in circles, unable to escape the hunter who could appear at any moment.

  Fearful that someone might remember her or her license plate if she stopped to ask directions, she'd tried to make her own way. Finally she'd purchased a city map when she filled up with gas and was slowly, determinedly, making her way back to the highway. Plano was a suburb north of Dallas, so at least she was on the right track.

  With her car door half open, she hesitated in the parking lot of the Plano Diner, afraid to stay and afraid to go.

  Since she'd awakened in the back room of a strange woman's house, barely avoiding an unwanted abortion, faced with the news of her husband's death, her world had become shrouded in a perpetual fog of sorrow, fear and frustration. If not for the precious life she carried, she'd have given up long ago. If Charles wanted to kill her and only her, she'd have let him rather than continue on this way...rather than continue on without Ben.

  But she had to continue. She had to go in the diner and eat. She hadn't had anything since breakfast at Paula's. She wasn't hungry, but her baby would need the nourishment.

  She got out of her car and headed for the diner, her gaze scanning every vehicle, every person. Logically, she knew Charles couldn't possibly have followed her here. But logic and terror were incompatible companions.

  The place was crowded so she'd be harder to remember if Charles came by looking for her after she left. And, paranoid as that sounded, she was unable to convince herself that it wasn't a very real possibility.

  She slid into a booth in the back that allowed her a view of the door.

  A waitress brought over a menu. She ordered the fried chicken then went back to studying every person who came in.

  A woman strode purposefully toward her, blocking her view, and Mary froze. The woman, of medium height and weight, somehow projected an image of strength. Mary's heart pounded so hard and fast she expected it to push right out of her chest.

  They made eye contact. The woman smiled, her brown eyes shining with kindness, then she looked away and slid into next booth over, and Mary released the breath she'd been holding.

  "All right, Dorothy," she heard the woman say briskly, "you have George call this number and ask for Harry Pemberton. I just talked to him, and he said he can use a worker like your husband."

  "Brenda, you're wonderful. I don't know how I can ever thank you."

  "Seeing that happy look back on your face is enough. We've got pecan pie tonight, and I'm going to send over a piece for you and one to take home to George."

  Mary lifted a shaky hand to her face. She had to get a grip on herself. Being careful was a necessity, but she couldn't go on being terrified of everything and everybody.

  Her hand on her cheek was sticky with perspiration and grime from the steering wheel. The first thing she needed to do was find the bathroom, wash her hands, splash cold water on her face and try to think.

  She rose from the booth, and the fog of fear thickened, turned black, swirled around her and completely enveloped her, pulling her into its inky depths.

  ***

  Mary's head ached as she swam up from the bottom of a dark, viscous lake.

  "I think she's coming around."

  She bolted upright, panic knifing through her. Where was she? Had Charles brought her to another abortionist? She clutched her stomach, fighting the black, dizzying fog that tried to overwhelm her again.

  "My baby! What did you do to my baby?"

  A tall man grabbed her shoulder, and she flailed against him. "Easy! Easy! I'm a doctor. You're okay. You just fainted."

  "My baby!" she shrieked, forcing her blurred mind and eyes to focus, to assess the situation...to figure out if it was too late.

  The purposeful woman with kind brown eyes stepped forward and clutched Mary's hand. Mary felt peace flow from her. For an instant she was reminded of her mother-in-law, a woman she loved as much as if she'd been her own mother. Doris could soothe her with a touch.

  But Doris was part of the past, someone she'd never see again. This woman was a stranger and not to be trusted.

  "I'm Brenda Patterson," the stranger said, smiling and holding tightly to her hand. "The blonde, chunky guy on your left is my husband, Jerry, and the tall character you tried to assault is a friend, Doctor Fred Wingfield. Jerry and I own this no-star restaurant where you passed out before you even ate any of the food. Most of our customers at least have one bite before it affects them that way."

  Mary drew in a deep breath and looked around at the small room, apparently used as an office. It contained the sofa on which she lay, a filing cabinet and a desk littered with stacks of paper that almost hid a typewriter. The three people crowded around her, their faces etched with concern. None of them meant her any harm. They didn't even know who she was.

  She longed to lie back on the sofa and rest, to take a break from the nightmare until she could gather the energy to fight again. To run again.

  "You came in alone," Brenda said softly when she didn't respond. "You didn't have your baby with you."

  Mary felt herself smiling as the horrible tension flowed away from her and her fingers traced the soft roundness of her stomach. No, she thought. I didn't come in alone. I had my baby with me, and she's still here.

  Brenda's alert gaze dropped to the movement then returned to Mary's face. "Okay, guys," she said, briskly, "let's give the lady a little breathing room. Fred, I really appreciate your help. Sorry to interrupt your dinner. Tell Hazel to bring you a plate of hot food and a piece of pie, on the house. Jerry, honey, would you check on this lady's order and bring it back in here along w
ith a glass of milk?"

  "Sure, babe." He gave Mary's shoulder a comforting squeeze. "I hope you like milk because if Brenda's decided you need milk, you're gonna have milk!"

  In the safe atmosphere, surrounded by the comfortable bantering of the Pattersons, Mary's eyes filled with the tears she'd held at bay for so long. "I love milk," she said.

  The men left, closing the door behind them, and Brenda sat on the sofa beside her. "Got the little one tucked away, huh? When's it due?"

  Don't tell! Don't admit it! Nobody can know! It's the only way to be safe!

  "Mid-May," she heard herself say, then a sound that was somewhere between a laugh of joy and a sob of relief erupted from her throat, and she burst into unrestrained tears.

  Brenda pulled Mary's head onto her competent shoulder and stroked her hair. Mary allowed herself a few moments of release, then bit back her sobs and pushed her hair off her face. "I'm sorry," she mumbled.

  Brenda handed her a tissue. "For what? Everybody needs a good cry now and then."

  Jerry appeared with Mary's purse and a tray of fried chicken, hot rolls, mashed potatoes, salad and a big glass of milk. "Everything okay?"

  "Absolutely," Brenda assured him.

  He set the purse and tray on the desk and left again.

  "He's not pudgy," Mary said.

  Brenda grinned. "You should see him with no clothes on."

  Mary found herself returning the grin. "I'd rather not."

  "A wise choice." Brenda winked, lifted the milk off the tray and handed it to Mary. "How long since you ate?"

  Mary gulped half the cold milk before she answered. "This morning."

  Brenda shoved aside a mound of papers and perched on a corner of the desk. "Not another word until you've finished every bite of food on this tray. Then you can tell me why you thought somebody wanted to hurt your baby."

  Though she hadn't been hungry when she came in, Mary found herself ravenous now. She ate most of the food, determined to ignore Brenda's request to talk. She'd pay for her meal and leave. She couldn't tell Brenda what had happened. She could never tell anybody.

  The heavy meal made her sleepy and languorous, but she set the tray on the desk and stood, retrieving her purse. "I need to pay and get back on the road," she said, fumbling for her wallet.

  Brenda laid a firm hand over hers, halting her search for money. "Food's on the house. We never charge our customers who faint. Where do you have to go in such a hurry?"

  "I'm not sure," she admitted. "North to a big city."

  "Who are you running from?"

  Mary gripped her purse tightly and refused to look at Brenda. "Nobody."

  "This nobody sure has you scared. You can't just go running across the country, pregnant, without anyone to help you or a place to stay. You can stay here until you have your baby. We need another waitress, and Jerry and I both adore babies. We'd have a dozen if we could."

  "I can't do that! I have to go farther away! He could find me here!"

  "Who?"

  Mary bit her tongue, realizing she'd said too much.

  "Well, it doesn't matter who he is. Even if he does find you, he won't recognize you." Brenda leaned across the desk, opened a drawer and took out a pair of scissors. "We'll cut your hair and dye it dark brown and get you a pair of glasses. Hey, it worked for Superman, and Clark Kent didn't even change his hair."

  The smile that crept over Mary's lips felt good, as good as the grin at Brenda's nonsense had a few minutes ago. It seemed like a lifetime since she'd done either. "Thank you. You have no idea how much I appreciate your offer to help, but I have to go. I have to get as far away as possible."

  But, oh, how she wanted to stay with these people who made her feel safe and made her smile.

  The door opened, and Jerry Patterson came in. "Feel better now?" he asked.

  "Jerry, this is our new waitress, Jane, um, Clark. She's going to be staying in our spare room."

  "Your spare room?" Mary gasped.

  Jerry didn't bat an eye. He stepped forward and extended his hand. "Pleased to meet you, Jane Clark. Can you start tomorrow night? We're awfully short of help."

  Mary shook her head in amazement. "You people don't even know me. You don't know what kind of problems I have, what kind of trouble I'm in. How can you offer me a job and a room in your home? How do you know I'm not a criminal?"

  Jerry shrugged. "If you want to steal the television, go ahead. It's black and white, and the focus is really bad on it. And if you have any need for a really ugly orange sofa, we could work some kind of a deal where I pay you to take it."

  "Jerry! He's kidding. He loves that sofa. His aunt gave it to us."

  Jerry rolled his eyes. "Sure. I love getting a good case of the flu, too."

  "Hon, can you handle things the rest of the evening? Jane and I have to go home and do her hair. We'll take your car, Jane, put it in the garage and close the door so nobody can see it."

  Mary couldn't agree to Brenda's plan, but she was too tired to argue and found herself swept along. It felt so good to have somebody else making the decisions, taking care of her. Maybe she could stay for a little while, just until she could come up with a better plan.

  Chapter 19

  Jake located a motel half an hour from Edgewater. Rebecca remained frustratingly silent the entire trip. At first he'd told himself he should leave her alone, let her work through this on her own. She was finally coming to grips with reality and, while it wasn't fun, it wasn't fatal, either. She was building those muscles he'd told her about.

  But he couldn't seem to do that. He felt her distress as if it were happening to him...as if he were once again a child, being tossed from one family to another and unable to cope with the confusion and hurt. So he'd tried to talk to her, making conversation about inconsequential topics, avoiding the painful subject of Doris' rejection, unsure how to bring it up until she did.

  She'd been unresponsive, answering in monosyllables or ignoring him completely.

  They stopped at a drive-in for burgers, hardly the pleasant meal with Doris Jordan in the best restaurant in town that Rebecca had planned. She ate determinedly, as if the burger was an enemy to be vanquished. But at least she ate.

  He checked them into the motel, relieved and disappointed that this place was full enough they couldn't have adjacent rooms. For the space of a heartbeat he'd considered asking for one room with a king size bed. What if the person who'd tampered with her brake lines tried to hurt her again? Shouldn't he be nearby to protect her?

  If somebody had tampered with her brake lines. If it had been deliberate and not an accident. If he wasn't trying to find an excuse to spend the night with her.

  He took the two rooms, returned to the car and drove around back. "You're in 145." He handed her the key. "You get the one with the patio door that opens onto the pool area."

  She gave him an imitation smile, took the key and got out.

  He carried her luggage inside.

  The rooms were nicer than the ones in Edgewater, but still institutional.

  Rebecca stood beside the bed, gazing around the room. When she turned to him, he saw that she was wearing the haunted expression she'd ascribed to Mary Jordan.

  "Thanks for bringing in the suitcase," she said.

  He wanted to go to her, take her in his arms, comfort her, kiss her, make love to her, see passion sweep that haunted look from her eyes.

  Instead he stood in the open doorway, one hand braced on the frame. He didn't dare close that door. No telling what stupid act he might commit if he did.

  "Rebecca, while we were gone this evening, something happened to Doris to change her mind about us staying there. Who knows what it was? We could speculate all night and still not figure it out, but something did happen. She seemed confused, even a little scared. You can't take it personally."

  She sank onto the bed and pulled one of the pillows into her lap, smoothing the white cotton case, avoiding his gaze. "My first guess would be that Mary told her I
was Ben's illegitimate daughter."

  "Which would still make you Doris' granddaughter, so I wouldn't give that idea a number one rating. Hell, she could have received a phone call from an old boyfriend who wanted to spend the weekend with her."

  Rebecca looked up and smiled wryly. "I wouldn't give that idea a number one rating, either."

  "Okay, but you see my point. We don't know. Nobody can ever know what causes another person to act the way they do unless that person tells you. And even then you can't be sure they're telling the truth."

  She tossed the pillow onto the bed and leaned back on her arms. "Thank you so much for sharing that bit of wisdom. Believe it or not, it comes as no surprise to learn that I don't know anything about anybody. I pretty much figured that out the day I discovered I was adopted."

  Sarcasm was better than the withdrawn depression she'd exhibited during the entire trip.

  "No, you didn't figure it out then. If you had, you wouldn't have come looking for answers and found only more questions. If you'd figured it out then, you'd have accepted that your real parents—the Pattersons—that's as real as you're going to get for parents—you'd have accepted that they loved you for a long time, longer than most people ever will, longer than most people are ever loved."

  She flinched as if he'd struck her, but he'd said what she needed to hear. He wanted to shout at her, shake her until she accepted the truth, until she stopped letting people hurt her.