She gasped for air as he shuddered, and he captured her mouth as vibrations encompassed her body. Finally he collapsed beside her, taking her hand with him and pressing it to his chest.
They laid in silence for several minutes, breathing heavily. When he caught his breath, he reached out and caressed her cheek.
Marti moved her cheek into his palm. She still tingled inside, from her toes all the way to her heart. Their gaze held for several long seconds, and she wondered if he could see the question in her eyes. His eyes only reflected dreamy satisfaction.
She was far from satisfied. Physically, yes. But something inside her wanted more, and the fact that it wanted more from Jesse scared the hell out of her. The words slipped away from her like goldfish in a pond. “This shouldn’t have happened.”
He rolled onto his side, facing her. “I didn’t plan on it happening. But I’m glad it did.”
She forced out the words, “What are we doing here? Is this just satiating our sexual needs?”
“No, it’s…damn, Marti, living with you, watching you grow more confident and beautiful—on the inside—I can’t help but want you.”
The words warmed her, but they weren’t the ones she needed to hear. “That could have been you visiting Mark at the track, talking about having dinner with one of the NASCAR sponsors about future possibilities.”
His voice came out low and flat. “Do you really think you have to remind me that I could have been the one on my way to NASCAR? What’s your point?”
“Why do you want me to stay? So I can take care of house and baby, cheer you on at the track, and be okay with you caring more about racing than me? I told you I wasn’t good at relationships, and I’m still not. Because I can’t be that good kind of wife. Yes, I’m selfish. I want more.”
He rolled off the bed and slid into his jeans. “If you think I’m going to lose my head and give up racing because we had a good time in bed, you’re way off track,” he said without looking at her. He ruffled his fingers through his hair in an attempt to straighten it, then stalked to the door.
“What you need is a woman who will take care of the baby and be okay with being second best. Abbie is so crazy in love with you that she’ll settle for that. There was a time where I would have been okay with that, too, because I didn’t feel like I deserved to be important to someone, didn’t deserve that kind of love.”
She fisted her hand at her chest. “But I do. I started with the dog, Jesse, just like you suggested. For the first time in my life, I feel valuable. Worthwhile. That’s because of you, because of your family, and that damned dog of yours. But I don’t want to fall in love with you knowing I’ll never be the kind of wife you need. And you, Jesse, can’t be the kind of husband I need. So we’re back to square one: you’ve got racing and I’ve got California.”
His mouth tightened. “You’ve always had your head in California, and your heart with that perfect, rich husband of yours. I’m just a hick from the sticks. What I need to feel worthwhile is to make something of myself. So you go on back to where you came from once the baby’s born. Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out.”
She was so angry she wanted to throw something at him. Because she had fallen in love with him, and she’d wanted to hear that he had fallen for her, too. She didn’t expect him to give up his dream; she just wanted to be as important to him as that dream. “I wasn’t the one who started this!” She wildly gestured to the rumpled sheets.
His expression shuttered. “Taking care of my baby, cheering me on, that’s not why I asked you to stay.”
“Then why?”
She wanted to hear him say that she meant something to him, meant more than a baby carrier.
“Right now, I can’t imagine why.” He walked out the door to leave her wondering the same thing.
Over the next three weeks, Jesse was more irritable than ever. He concentrated on rulebooks for racing, car mags, and pointedly shut her out. He slept on the edge of the bed and hardly even grunted at her in the mornings.
Marti understood it, and even dredged up a similar attitude in return. Still, she’d never wanted a man so much, never lusted with her body, soul, and heart as she did Jesse. She could not get their lovemaking out of her mind, though sometimes it was hard to imagine the grumpbag being so tender, so passionate and concerned with her pleasure. If he’d felt anything for her, and she wasn’t sure that he had, he had squelched it completely. It was for the best, she told herself. It just didn’t feel that way at the moment.
He had revealed, though, his own struggle with self-worth, his need to make something of himself. She couldn’t give him that; all she could do, in his mind, was take it away.
That morning, both in bed and awake but pretending to be asleep, the doorbell saved them from stiffness that had nothing to do with Jesse’s morning wood. He was up and into his jeans before she could even get out of bed.
“I’ll get it,” he said, grabbing that ever-present shotgun.
Marti followed, throwing on her robe.
Caty pushed her way in, motioning them to sit on the couch. “Donna Hislope was raped.”
“What?” Marti couldn’t stop the frantic beating of her heart.
“When?” Jesse asked, his muscles tensing.
“They’ve kept it under wraps, but Dr. Hislope had to ask for my help because she’s too upset to work. He tried to say it was something else, but he’s not a good liar. Finally, he broke down and told me. It happened last Friday night.”
Marti’s eyes widened. “Last Friday? After her date with….”
“You got it. She doesn’t want to report it, because she’s terrified of anyone finding out.”
“After her date with who?” Jesse asked.
“Paul Paton,” both women answered simultaneously.
“Jesse, calm down. Dr. Hislope said she doesn’t know who it was.”
He paced, glancing at his shotgun. “She was out on a damned date with the guy. Who else would have done it? I need to talk to her, find out what she knows.”
Caty shook her head. “You can’t do that. You’re not even supposed to know about it.”
“I’ll talk to her,” Marti said calmly, remembering Helen’s poise in such situations. “After all, I’ve been in the same situation, or so she thinks. I won’t tell her who told me.”
Caty threw her hands up in the air. “Great! She’ll think everybody knows.”
“What if her dad asked me to talk to her? Because I would understand? We could clear it through him first.”
“I don’t know. Let me talk to him about it.”
After Caty left, Marti walked to the window and wrapped her arms around herself. She thought of the man who had tried to strangle her—twice. He was still on the loose, and no one would be safe until someone caught him.
The following Wednesday Caty finally talked Dr. Hislope into letting Marti see his daughter. Jesse drove her over to Dr. Hislope’s house. Marti mulled over what she wanted to say as the truck rumbled to a stop beneath a shade tree on the other side of the road.
“I’ll wait for you here. Take all the time you need.”
Jesse had taken the day off, insisting on going with her because Dr. Hislope’s house was near Carl’s.
“Hello, Marti,” Dr. Hislope said without much of a smile when he opened the front door. “I hope this is a good idea. Maybe you can bring her out again. She hardly eats, doesn’t talk to anyone, not even me. Don’t be surprised if she won’t talk to you either.”
“She doesn’t have to talk.” At least at first.
Despite the wooden floors and white walls, the house seemed dim. Outside, birds sang and butterflies danced on the wind, and a breeze rustled through the flowers. Inside, the air was quiet and musty. She followed him down a hallway to the room at the end. He tapped on the door.
“Donna? Marti’s here.”
The room looked like something out of Seventeen magazine, with a lace canopy bed and frilly curtains. Donna s
at in the window seat, her knees pulled up to her chin. She kept staring ahead into nothingness. When Dr. Hislope started to say something again, Marti held her hand out to silence him.
He hesitated, then backed out and closed the door. Marti stood there for a few minutes, hoping for some kind of invitation to step closer. She thought then about leaving, but remembered Jesse waiting across the street, desperate for answers. Answers she could get from Donna. Marti spotted a wicker chair and pulled it to within a few feet of Donna’s still form. Again she waited for some acknowledgement, but it didn’t come.
“Donna? It’s Marti. Do you want me to leave?”
No response. Donna kept looking out the window at nothing. Nothing because the curtains were closed. She didn’t have any bruises around her neck.
“I’m not going to ask you how you’re doing, because I know you’re feeling pretty awful right now. I thought you might want someone to talk to, someone who’s been there. Almost.”
Marti tried to imagine how being raped might feel. She could easily imagine the fear of being attacked, though. She waited for some kind of reaction, but none came.
“Well, I just wanted to let you know I’m here if you need to talk.”
Marti started to get up when Donna spoke in a deadpan voice.
“Everyone knows, don’t they? They’re all talking about it, saying how stupid I was.”
Marti drifted back down into the chair. “Nobody knows. I haven’t heard anything about it and remember, I work at Gossip Gourmet. And you’re not stupid. You thought you were safe with Paul.” She was fishing for a reaction, but none came. Marti waited. Finally, she asked the question she most wanted to know. “Donna, do you have a weird scratch, right here?”
Without looking to see where she was pointing, Donna rested her palm over her left breast. Finding a small pad and pen, Marti drew the indents she remembered. She walked over to Donna and held it in front of her.
“Does it look like this?” she asked quietly.
Donna squeezed her eyes shut, and a tear slid down her broad cheek. Marti pulled the pad away and set it on the desk.
“I’m going now. Call me if you need anything. I’d like to come back again. Shake your head if you don’t want that.” No reaction. “Okay, I’ll be back.”
Marti visited Donna twice a week over the following two weeks, keeping her visits short, learning little with each one. Donna now seemed to expect her and even acknowledged her presence, but barely more than that. Marti was always disappointed that Donna wouldn’t share anything or even point out Paul as her rapist. The cut, if it had existed, was now long healed.
Marti arrived later than usual that afternoon, after running some errands when she got off work. Marsala, the Hislope’s housekeeper, opened the door, an expectant look on her face.
“Oh, I thought you were Mister Doctor Hislope,” the Hispanic lady said, stepping aside to let her in.
“He isn’t here?”
“No, a farmer on dee edge of town have sick horse, and he fix it. I must go now. Can you stay until he return?”
“Sure.”
“Hello, Donna,” Marti greeted as she entered the bedroom. The curtains were open this time, but Donna was in the window seat as usual. She hugged a pink teddy bear between her chest and her legs.
“I wish he had killed me.” Her words dropped with heavy thuds.
“No, you don’t mean that. You’ll be all right. I can’t promise it’ll go away, but you will take control of your life again.”
Donna dropped her head on her knees and wept, deep, guttural sobs that made Marti wish Jesse were there. It went on like that for a long time, as if she had broken the dam and let the barred tears flow. Marti put her hands on Donna’s shoulders, not feeling comfortable enough to hug her. Later, she called Jesse to let him know she would be later than usual. She was tempted to take him up on his offer to meet her there but suspected it would upset Donna if she knew.
“Call me when you’re leaving,” he said before hanging up.
She smiled, feeling that he at least cared about her still. “I will.”
It was almost nine o’clock before Dr. Hislope arrived. Donna’s renewed sobs reached them in the living room, and he rushed in to comfort her. Marti gathered her purse and said goodbye.
“If you’ll wait a few minutes, I’ll walk you out,” he offered, but Marti knew by Donna’s heaving chest it would be longer than that.
“Thanks, but I’ll be all right. The moon’s bright, and I’m parked just outside the door.”
The crunch of the mango leaves beneath her feet obliterated her thoughts as she walked toward the car. When she reached for her keys, a voice scared her into dropping them.
“Marti, don’t be afraid. It’s me, Paul.”
She stiffened, ready to run back inside. Would Dr. Hislope hear her screams over Donna’s sobbing?
“What are you doing here?”
“How is she?”
“You’re always so concerned about your victims, aren’t you?” Her anger pushed adrenaline through her veins, making her less afraid.
“I didn’t do that to her, to you, to anyone. But I’ve got to talk to you about something. This is going to sound crazy. Hell, I’m probably crazy for even thinking it.”
Something in his voice made her listen. A confession, maybe? “What is it?”
“I noticed it the night someone broke into your house. I—” The sound of a truck approaching made Paul stop.
“It’s Jesse,” she said, not sure if she was relieved to see him or not.
“Damn.”
“You’d better get out of here.”
Paul turned into a silhouette in the darkness, then disappeared right before Jesse’s headlights cut across the yard. She headed over to his truck, feeling as though she was betraying him by not alerting him to Paul’s presence.
The old ways, coming back.
No, this was different. Her sixth sense told her that she hadn’t been in danger, but Jesse wouldn’t believe that. He’d just kill Paul, and she had to admit, his waiting for her in the dark didn’t look good.
“What are you doing out here alone? I was getting worried about you so I drove by.”
“I was just leaving. Donna’s crying up a storm, and I didn’t want to wait for Dr. Hislope to calm her down so he could walk me out.”
He hesitated for a moment, assessing the situation. “Next time wait for him or call me. Let’s go home.”
CHAPTER 16
He sat in the dusty, dark attic. Alone. Filling his lungs with stale air and the aroma of lingering ghosts. Ghosts that taunted him, calling him a failure, a weak, good-for-nothing pile of flesh. He thrashed around in the darkness, shoving boxes onto the floor. A box filled with old china dropped with a muffled shatter. Dust clouds filled the air as he pushed over a coat rack and toppled framed paintings that were stacked along the wall.
Spent, he dropped to the floor and coughed, and those coughs turned into sobs. He let himself cry for two seconds. Then he stopped and listened. Nothing.
Clutching at his head, he wished he could make the buzzing and the words go away. Failure! Weak! It wasn’t his fault. If only the blood of his heart would have married him. If only his love would have seen that he was the only man for her. None of this would have happened.
Marti had looked so helpless, so female. Like that day long ago when his love had broken down on the side of the road and he’d given her a ride to the service station so many years ago. She had smiled nervously, the same way Marti had after admitting she’d run out of gas. Somehow he’d felt he had another chance to win his heart’s blood—and he wasn’t going to let her get away that time, no matter how hard she resisted.
He’d nearly killed her in his rage. If he convinced her that he loved her, she would forgive him. This time he’d keep careful control over his fury, no matter how much she fought, how fiercely she rejected him. He ran his fingers through his short hair, tearing at his scalp, scratching until he drew
blood. Pain, yes, pain would temper the rage.
Donna sure had not. She’d just lain there and let him pound into her. He pretended it was Marti, submissive, wanting him.
He shook his head. None of the past mattered now. Marti would be his soon. He had to find some way to make her understand how much he wanted her, and their baby. Their baby. He smiled. Yes, everything would be perfect … once Jesse was out of the way.
When Marti returned home from her shift at Bad Boys, she felt huge and achy. Squatting down, she picked up a piece of paper lying in the driveway and trudged inside. The thought of driving to the Port Charlotte racetrack didn’t thrill her, but Jesse had insisted, in light of Donna’s recent attack. He’d already headed there, along with Caty and Helen, a few hours ago. They were willing to wait, but Priscilla wanted to go up, too; she and Marti planned to ride up together. Priscilla, however, had gotten sick at the end of her shift, worse than Marti’s morning sickness, so Marti let her off the hook.
She changed and grabbed her oversized pillow for sitting comfort. Bumpus tilted his head at her as she made a groaning noise.
“Oh, I’ll live, I suppose,” she said to him. “Only a little while longer, and then I’m out of here.” Bumpus made an internal whining noise. She started to stoop down to pet him but thought better of it. “Will you miss me, boy?” She rubbed his head. “Will your master miss me?” She let out a sigh. “He’ll be happy to move on with his life. And so will I.”
Bumpus didn’t look as though he was buying those last words. Of course, she could be imagining it.
As she gathered her things and readied to leave, she remembered the piece of paper. She leaned over her pillow and read the scrawled writing:
Jesse, meet me behind the old Jenkins place before you go to the races. I want to settle this suspicion thing once and for all.
Paul.
Maybe Paul had left the note on Jesse’s car, and he hadn’t seen it before pulling away. She fingered the note, wondering what to do. If he’d seen it, he would have gone over to the abandoned house north of Helen’s place. What if he had gotten into trouble?
Stranger in the Mirror [Shades of Heaven] (Soul Change Novel) Page 22