Stranger in the Mirror [Shades of Heaven] (Soul Change Novel)

by Tina Wainscott

  Jesse was too busy holding her to object, and Marti didn’t want him to leave for even a few minutes. He wasn’t racing. Thank God he wasn’t racing.

  They walked back to the pits, and a few seconds later, number 72 roared into the pit crew area, turning sharply as it weaved through small groups of people. As Dan pulled up to them and started to turn toward the trailer, the car didn’t turn.

  It was coming right at them.

  Jesse yanked her out of the way as the car kept coming while Dan frantically turned the wheel to the right. He slammed on the brakes and killed the engine.

  “The steering gave out. I don’t understand it.” Dan climbed out and kicked at the tire. “We went over everything yesterday, and now the damn thing won’t turn.” He looked at them. “I wasn’t trying to run you over, honest.”

  “I know,” Jesse said, his arm tight around her. “I could see you pulling on the wheel. What do you think is wrong with it?”

  He shrugged, staring at the car as though it could tell him. “It’s the darndest thing.” Then his eyes widened. “Jesse, the steering would have gone out during the race. You could’ve been—”

  “Shh,” Jesse said, covering Marti’s ears and steering her away from Dan.

  “And you think Paul wanted to tell you something? He wasn’t just trying to finish the job?” Jesse leaned back against the swinging bench, releasing a long breath of indignation.

  Marti realized it was time to tell Jesse about Paul’s strange visit in Donna’s front yard. She waited until the day after their return from Georgia, when the rain started pouring down. Bumpus emerged from his forage through the bushes and shook off a shower of droplets.

  She knew Jesse would be angry at her for hiding it from him, but she’d justified her reason. With a spear of panic, she remembered how well she used to justify her actions in the past. With Jamie.

  “This is different,” she said aloud.

  “What’s different?”

  “Paul was. He was scared, kind of. Urgent.”

  “Like he knew he was in danger?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. He said it was going to sound crazy. Something he noticed the night someone tried to kill me. Not looking over his shoulder scared. Worried might be a better word.”

  Jesse stared at the rain dripping from the edge of the roof. “Maybe he was trying to cover his butt. But maybe he had an idea who it was.”

  “I’d like to think it was Paul, because then I’d be safe. But I don’t feel safe. I look out the window at night and I can still feel someone out there. And Bumpus hasn’t stopped barking.”

  Jesse looked at the dog. “Someone’s been out there, haven’t they?”

  Bumpus gave a soft woof and glanced out to the woods. Maybe it was a coincidence that he’d seemed to understand Jesse’s question. But it scared her to death all the same.

  When Marti pulled into her driveway after a trip to the grocery store, she saw Caty’s car parked out front. She and Jesse sat on the couch, the unobserved late evening news the only light on in the room. Something was wrong.

  Caty stared blankly at something to the right of the television when Marti put her purse down and walked over to them.

  “Dean’s been picked up for questioning in Donna’s rape,” Jesse said blandly, as if he didn’t quite believe it.

  “Oh, no. Can’t be.” Marti sat down next to Caty. “How did they drag Dean into this?”

  “He sent her flowers saying he was sorry about what happened. Her father reported it to the sheriff. Something about the way the note was worded,” Caty said.

  “Don’t they know Dean’s kind of strange by now?” Marti asked. “Strange in an innocent way.” After a moment of silence, she added, “What? You don’t think he raped her, do you?”

  “He did send her flowers before, remember?” Caty turned to Jesse. “She came in the diner the week before her rape, telling us about her date with Paul and the flowers Dean had sent her and how he liked her but she wouldn’t deign to date him.”

  “Yeah, but don’t you get why he sent her those flowers in the first place?” Marti asked.

  Both Caty and Jesse stared at her.

  “Billy told him to get you jealous, wake you up some. Dean told me his strategy when we were at the races that weekend, but I had to promise not to tell you.”

  Caty stood and paced in the blue glow from the television. “It doesn’t matter anymore. Nothing matters.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  When Caty didn’t answer right away, Jesse clarified. “Dean was at the house when Carl picked him up. Caty was so shocked about the flowers and everything else, she couldn’t answer him when he asked if she believed he was innocent. I guess he was pretty torn up about it.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Caty said dully. “Everything’s screwed up anyway.”

  “Caty, I think it does matter. You love that boy, whether you want to admit it or not.”

  “As a friend, maybe.”

  “No, as more than a friend. He needs you right now.”

  Caty kept pacing. “He’ll never forgive me for not believing in him.”

  “You don’t know that, do you? Go down to the station and wait for him to come out. Sheriff’s not going to find anything on him.”

  Caty looked at Jesse. “Why couldn’t I have believed in him like she does? No, I had to show a glimmer of doubt. It was the flowers that made me wonder. And he turned away and never looked back. I hurt him bad.” The resolve on her face crumbled, and a tear slid down her freckled cheek.

  Jesse put his arms around her. “Do you think he could have raped Donna?” Caty shook her head. “Then let’s go down to the station and pick the guy up. Marti and I’ll follow you down there. We’ll wait with you until Carl’s through, then we’ll leave you alone with him.”

  Caty swallowed. “You don’t think he did it?”

  Jesse shook his head.

  “You always make fun of him and say he’s weird.”

  He kissed her nose. “We give him a hard time because we know you like him. And he is a little odd, but he’s not a rapist. Right now, I wouldn’t trust anyone else with my sister.”

  She hugged him, then slipped her arm around Marti as they headed out the door. “Thanks, you two. I just hope Dean forgives me.”

  “He will if he loves you,” Marti said. And she was sure he did. Just like Jesse had believed in her after her arrest. She looked at him, realizing how much having someone believe in you meant.

  They only had to wait ten minutes before Carl came out with Dean in tow.

  When Dean saw them standing there, he dismissed the sheriff and walked over, avoiding Caty’s worried expression. “Did you come by to give me a ride home, or find out if they’d booked me?”

  Jesse shook Dean’s hand. “Hell, we know you’re too stupid to do something awful like that.”

  Dean gave a grudging smile. “Thanks. I think. I sent her flowers, that’s all. Never even took her out or anything. That jerk was trying to make me confess to something I didn’t do. But he didn’t have enough evidence to hold me, so I’m out.” He glanced at Caty, then looked away.

  Jesse put his arm around Marti’s shoulder. “Well, my wife here is tired, so we’re going to let Caty take you home. You don’t mind, do you?”

  Dean looked at his shoes, then back at Jesse. With a shrug, he said, “I guess not. That is, if she trusts that I’m not going to jump her.”

  Without any warning, Caty threw her arms around Dean, and he tentatively hugged her back. Jesse steered Marti to the truck. When they climbed in, Dean was holding on tight to Caty with his face buried in her curls. Jesse patted her hand as he turned the truck around.

  “Ah, ain’t love grand?”

  “Grand,” Marti repeated absently, still watching the couple now kissing on the sidewalk. Grand if you can treat it right.

  Two weeks later, Marti and Jesse started Lamaze class. The other six women in class laughed about how they co
uldn’t even think of making love to their husbands, making Marti feel wanton for wanting Jesse so much. Sometimes she wished he would just throw her on the bed and make wild, passionate love to her and forget about all the other aspects of their relationship. There were times when she caught him looking at her, raw hunger sparking in his eyes. It caught her own desire on fire, but damn, all she could think about was how badly it had gone the last time they’d given in.

  The baby moved almost all the time now. Jesse never seemed to get bored of feeling the baby move or hearing Marti tell him how many times he kicked or how he hiccoughed while she was taking measurements at a new client’s house. He listened with rapt attention, his hand on her belly the whole time. It seemed that the baby was all they had between them anymore. That was the way it should be, she told herself. He had a racing career, she had California. But somehow those words didn’t make the sense they used to.

  She no longer worked at Bad Boys Diner. Jesse had insisted she quit when her ankles started filling up like water balloons. The heavier she got the more decorating clients she seemed to get. They didn’t even mind standing on the couch and measuring the height to the top of the window themselves.

  During their evening Lamaze class, Jesse was attentive and friendly, helping her to breathe properly and massaging her back. As the seven couples laughed at a joke, Marti longed to share that kind of intimate laughter with Jesse.

  Back at home, she took a shower and slipped into Jesse’s robe. His scent in the terry cloth made her close her eyes, thinking about the time they’d made love. Her face flushed when she realized that was exactly what it had been. Making love.

  She caught that look again in the steamed mirror, the one she refused to admit was there most of the time: contentment. Foolish girl. For one thing, there was him. And for another, there was her.

  Jesse hadn’t asked her to stay since they had made love, not that she had any intention to stay. She could never be that good wife who was okay being second best. And she would never, ever ask Jesse to put racing second either.

  No, he had Abbie, quietly waiting in the wings. She’d never mentioned the proposition or her observation to Marti again, but her boys kept her in their lives.

  It shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t hurt or annoy Marti. But it did.

  She emerged from the steamy bathroom, tucking her wet hair behind her ears. With a roll of her eyes, she pulled it forward again. The canned laughter of a television sitcom drifted into the bedroom, and she walked to the doorway. Jesse was crouched over an upside-down Bumpus with his four legs up in the air as he patiently let his master clip his nails.

  Wearing his faded blue jeans and nothing else, Jesse was a sight to behold. His muscles moved beneath his skin as he gently held each paw and clipped the nails with precision. Something stirred in her, making her feel warm and tingly inside.

  For no apparent reason, Jesse turned around. Her face flushed even more, and she hoped it was too dark where she was standing for him to see it. She wanted to shrug, to make light standing there watching him; she wanted to turn around and go back in the bedroom, but she couldn’t move. His gaze riveted her to immobility.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, coming to his feet.

  She instinctively put her hand on her belly, knowing it was the baby he was concerned about. At her movement, he walked over and put his hand next to hers.

  “You all right?” he asked, concern making his eyes seem deeper, more like a moss green.

  She felt as though some unseen force was squeezing her heart. She lifted her gaze to him, feeling that all of her heart was there for him to see and there wasn’t a thing she could do about it. He would hate her for trying to complicate his life, but she had no intention of doing that to either one of them. The warmth from his hand emanated to envelop her.

  She closed her eyes and whispered, “The baby’s fine.”

  When he touched her cheek, she opened her eyes again. “Marti…”

  She shook her head and walked into the bedroom, feeling embarrassed and angry at herself for the tears that threatened to spill over. She could not love him, no, no, no. Sure, she had felt in love with him, infatuated. But this feeling that overwhelmed her was more than lust or puppy love. It reached from her heart to every place inside her, even places she didn’t know existed.

  She wanted him to hold her, wanted to share evening walks down by the river, talks on the front porch swing, kisses anywhere and everywhere, even in the pits just before a race.

  Idiot. Marti shivered, facing the bed, wrapping her arms around herself. She couldn’t give up the value she’d found in herself. No matter that they were married, that they shared a baby together. Her fingers trembled as she put them over her mouth—shared a baby? Yes, she had thought that. Oh, God.

  Jesse stood so close behind her that she could feel his body heat, feel his breath caressing her ear. He touched her shoulder so gently she wondered how he could know she felt so fragile that even a regular touch would shatter her.

  “Marti?” The question laced his voice like aged whiskey.

  “Go away. I’m fine.”

  She heard his breath hitch, but he didn’t go. Her heart was on a fine wire, balanced between wanting him to leave and wanting him to stay. She only knew one thing for sure: she wanted him.

  He ran his fingers across her cheek and into her wet hair, turning her gently to face him. His thumb grazed her skin as he studied her eyes.

  “Jesse,” she said softly, her voice thick with held-back tears. Go away. It will never work.

  He didn’t go away. He kissed her, firm, yet gentle. His mouth remained against hers, as though he were contemplating the sanity of the move. A second later he kissed her again, this time with more urgency. She relaxed her lips against his, opening them slightly. A hot tear slipped down her cheek, then another. She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could pretend things were different between them.

  Jesse stopped kissing her, but his hand remained against her cheek. Remaining only an inch from her, his thumb stroked the wet skin where another tear had splashed against his hand.

  “Talk to me.”

  She shook her head, looking down. Never in her life had she felt so caught up in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions and doubts. Maybe she could be happy here with Jesse and his family—her family now. But he had not asked her to stay, not from his heart. That had to be because he didn’t feel the same way. Even if she agreed to stay, he might tell her that he’d changed his mind, and that would kill her. No, she had to keep her feelings from him, no matter what.

  Jesse was sure he’d never seen a more beautiful woman, tears and all. He bracketed her face with his hands, wishing he could take away the pain that clouded her brown eyes. But she wouldn’t answer him, wouldn’t let him help her. God, but he wanted to take care of her, to protect her and cherish her. It went against everything he’d been telling himself he wanted—and didn’t want—for the last few years, and especially the last few months. A woman would get in the way of his racing career, distract him, confuse him. Hell, she was already doing the last two.

  He leaned back to get a better look at her, to put distance between them. Why did she look so darned sad? It was evident that she wasn’t going to tell him. Maybe she didn’t want to hurt his feelings by telling him how unhappy she was. She seemed content lately, other than being attacked in her sleep, of course. She didn’t talk about her former husband or California anymore, and she didn’t seem so out of place.

  He pushed away the twinge in his heart, grasping on an answer. She must be thinking about them, though, impatient to have the baby and get the hell out of there.

  “Marti, this will all be over soon.” He touched her chin, smiling. “You’ll have the baby and be able to go back home to California before you know it.”

  Her lower lip trembled, and another tear slid down her cheek. She turned away and hugged herself. Bumpus whined from the other room, and Jesse realized he was probably still waiting for
the claw trimming to end. Marti moved away from his grasp and lay down on the bed, keeping her eyes closed. Her delicate hands were lying on top of her belly, rising and falling with each breath.

  Jesse wanted to touch her, to somehow comfort her. Hopefully his words about going home soon had helped. He didn’t let himself think about her not being in the house, sharing his bed. He couldn’t let himself think about her staying either. She’d already told him she needed more than to be second best. Racing was more important than anything. He walked to the doorway, watching her. Wasn’t it?

  During the next week, Marti kept to herself. She ignored the almost constant pain that gripped her every time she thought of Jesse. He had been giving her odd looks since that night she had cried in front of him. She’d caught him twice just staring at her, his head tilted thoughtfully.

  She wouldn’t allow herself to think about the future, especially not after what he’d said about her being able to go home to California soon. He wanted her out, the sooner the better. Then he could go back to racing on the weekends.

  Donna was a great distraction every evening, fraught with her own anxieties and shame. Marti sat in her chair next to the window seat. She could always tell her mood by whether the curtain was open or not. It was open.

  “Did you kill Paul?” she asked Marti out of nowhere.

  “Do you think I did?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I didn’t. He was already dead when I got there. Somebody had broken his neck, then—oh, sorry.”

  She shivered, then faced Marti. “It’s all right. I wondered how he’d died. Nobody would tell me, and I didn’t want to ask.”

  “Do you feel safer now that he’s dead?” Marti fished for clues.

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe I’d like to have done it myself.”

  Marti proceeded cautiously, glad that Donna was finally opening up. “Do you feel angry enough to want to kill him?”

  She clenched her fists. “Maybe to rip all his chest hair out, to gouge his eyes, to—”

  “Did you say chest hair?”