“Please.”
Amy was left standing near the foot of the stairs after her mother had disappeared above. The click of the bedroom door closing was as decisive as ever.
She felt very strange. Adrift. Nobody’s motives were what she’d thought them to be.
I do love you.
Was it true? Had her mother always loved her and simply been unable to show her emotions?
And Jakob... A bolt of lightning seemed to flash in her peripheral vision, followed by the crash of thunder. She shivered at the power. Nope, not ready to think about him.
Of course, there was no way she could avoid it. All of this was so...intertwined. It shouldn’t be. He and Mom had only the most distant and long-ago relationship. But they were her life, two of the three people she’d needed most. And now all three were claiming what she saw, what she experienced, wasn’t really the way it had been at all.
Would believing any or all of them heal her, or tear her apart? she wondered, and kept standing there for a long, long time.
* * *
I NEEDED SOMEBODY to love me.
Slumped on his couch, Jakob groaned and buried his face in his hands. Damn it, damn it, damn it. He’d known how she felt. How poorly her tough-girl persona guarded her underlying vulnerability. And still, he hadn’t fully understood how completely he had devastated her. Even though his own feelings for Amy were huge and entirely subterranean, somehow he’d still managed to deceive himself and believe that his little sister really did dislike him. That his unrelenting cruelty had done nothing but infuriate her.
I should have hated your guts, but I didn’t. I kept hoping... Remembering the expression on her face when her voice cracked, Jakob yanked painfully at his hair. In his head, he heard her finish, softer, more tremulous. If I’d had you, it would have made a difference.
Protecting himself, he’d never considered the cost to her. Even these past weeks, getting to know her again, letting himself begin to hope that the impossible might actually be possible, he hadn’t had a clue how much he’d hurt her, or how she’d react to his upbeat news that, Oh, by the way, really I always liked you just fine—in fact, I had the hots for you.
And he was surprised she hadn’t reacted with delight? Flung herself in his arms?
More like, once and for all hated his guts, and who could blame her? Not him.
He didn’t know if she’d answer the phone if he called her tomorrow or the next day. Whether she’d ever want to see him again, talk to him.
I have to think about this, she’d said.
Like she needed one more thing to think about. One more betrayal to try to understand.
Why hadn’t he waited? Given her a chance to deal with the shock of finding out who her father was, of the lies her mother had told? Offered the uncomplicated, loving support she needed?
Because he was selfish, Jakob concluded. One hundred percent. It had always been about him. His torment, his guilt, because he’d felt something he knew he shouldn’t. Thank God he hadn’t labeled it love, because love wasn’t selfish.
Shock hit him with all the cold, brutal force of an avalanche. No, it wasn’t love then. Only...the potential. A seed he’d recognized and had to kill by salting the field. Staring at the wall of windows, seeing neither the reflection of his condo and of him, nor the lights beyond, Jakob realized he’d failed. A seed had sprouted anyway.
He loved Amy, fierce and vulnerable—not my sister, thank God not my sister—as he’d never loved anyone.
And the only grain of hope he could hold on to was one of the last things she’d said.
You’re not my brother.
He had to accept whatever she decided. If what she needed was an affectionate, supportive stepbrother, by God that’s what he’d be, although he didn’t like to think what that would do to him long-term.
Didn’t matter. She did.
* * *
HER MOTHER WAS trying to be quiet, as Amy had tried the night before when she crept into the house. But what snatches of sleep Amy had gotten weren’t deep enough to allow her to miss hearing the bedroom door across the hall opening.
She dragged herself up, made a face at herself in the mirror and went downstairs. She’d shower later—if she didn’t go back to bed.
Her mother, already dressed, had just poured herself a cup of coffee. “I tried not to wake you.”
“I know. It’s okay. I wanted to say again that if you change your mind at anytime, I’ll be glad to join you. I’ve helped friends with garage sales and I’ve bought half of what I own at them. I’m a whiz at pricing.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Her mother was shaking her head in faint disapproval. “You know Ken and I together make an excellent living. I don’t understand why you’ve been so stubborn about accepting help.”
“Because I’m stubborn?” She grinned, although the stretching of her facial muscles reminded her of the yoga class a friend had once persuaded her to take. The body did not like being asked to contort in unexpected ways.
“I’m afraid you came by that naturally,” Mom said, shaking her head.
“You can say that again.” Amy crossed the kitchen and gave her mother a hug, which did not feel natural, but did feel right. She wasn’t stupid enough to give her time to reject or return the brief embrace, though. Rejection was too good a possibility.
Mom looked startled and the faintest of flushes touched her cheeks. “We do have some things in common.”
“Probably more than I’ve wanted to admit.” Another unsettling thought in a succession of them.
Ten minutes later, Mom was gone. She’d already packed the night before. She had decided to take Ken’s SUV rather than her own sporty Volvo, in case she decided to keep more from her parents’ house than she expected. In parting, she gave Amy’s car a disdainful look, but said, “If you’d like to park in the garage while I’m gone, you’re welcome to. You know where the spare remote control is.”
Yes, Amy knew. Mom had made sure she knew where everything was. In case she forgot, there were lists. They had their own binder. Every name and phone number she could possibly need, from carpet cleaner to window washer. Where to find hidden keys, a credit card she could use for home repairs, emergency numbers.
Amy’s car would probably be scared if she parked it in the garage. After a lifetime as an outdoor car, it might get claustrophobia. Plus, she was pretty sure a week or two protected from sun and rain wasn’t going to magically restore the shine to the paint job.
She had a sudden image of Jakob studying her car, then reaching out to finger a spot of rust. His expression, come to think of it, had looked a lot like Mom’s.
What if he called today?
Don’t have to answer.
What if he came hammering on the door?
He won’t, she thought.
She’d told him she needed to think, and she did. She was entitled. But today, she had other things to do. Gardening was not among them. Her mother, Amy had noticed, hadn’t been able to resist deadheading and watering her roses. Amy had braced herself for a lecture afterward and been surprised when there were no accusations of neglect. She wanted to think that was because she’d actually been doing a good job taking care of the garden.
But, heck, maybe the real truth was that Mom had been shaken out of her usual behavioral patterns, too. They were both feeling their way.
Maybe, Amy thought with a new stirring of unease and hope, things could be different.
She tried to imagine her mother turning to return the hug, and failed.
* * *
A PICTURE OF her father appeared right above the fold on the front page of the local section in the morning newspaper.
Amy stared at it in shock. It looked as if he’d been waylaid by the press on the front steps of the courthouse. Mic
rophones bristled along the bottom of the photograph. His intensity was visible even via black-and-white newsprint. He had been looking directly into the camera, which made her feel as if he was looking at her. She scanned the article, which mostly summarized the testimony of defense witnesses, concluding with statements both from the defense attorney and from Steven Hardy, who expressed confidence in the case he’d presented and the jurors’ ability to see the truth.
She hastily turned the page so she couldn’t see him anymore. Thank goodness Mom was in eastern Washington by now and reading some other morning newspaper.
At which point it occurred to Amy that Hardy must often be quoted, at least, in the paper, and this was unlikely to be the first time a picture of him had appeared, either. Her mother must have learned to hide any discomfort, which she wouldn’t have wanted Ken to notice.
Amy rolled her eyes. As if Mom wasn’t a champion at hiding what she felt.
Still, it had to be pretty awful for her to discover, first, that the man who raped her lived right here in Portland, and worse yet was a prominent citizen who often appeared on local news broadcasts and in the daily newspaper. Amy didn’t like seeing his face. How much more horrible it had to be for Mom.
Yesterday Amy had finally managed to email the article about motorized bikes off to the publication at the top of her list. While she was at it, she resubmitted a couple of others that hadn’t yet found a home. This morning, she’d received email acceptance of yet another article, a long, reflective interview with an eighty-six-year-old man who’d spent fifty years employed first as a sanitation worker and later for the city public works driving a street sweeper. He knew full well most people looked down on “garbagemen,” but he had touching pride in having done a job that was important if most often unnoticed. There were funny stories about oddball things people left at the curb for disposal, a dark story about a dismembered body he had discovered in his load, the time he’d slowly pursued a purse snatcher in his street sweeper vehicle. He’d chuckled over how often his wife had to wash their sheets, especially in hot summers when he could never seem to get clean enough in the shower. Amy was really proud of the article, although it had been risky to write, not suitable for most publications. Now it had found a home. This time her pleasure wasn’t all financial.
Mom would still be in Frenchman Lake, unless she’d gotten there, felt nothing but horror and turned around and left. It was probably a good thing that so much had changed. Not the campus, though; the presence of a few new buildings wouldn’t overshadow how much the college must still look like it had thirty-five years ago.
Mom hadn’t said where the rape had taken place. Steven Hardy’s dorm room? An off-campus apartment? Surely not outside—spring would barely have been a hint in March, in eastern Washington.
Amy made herself finish the newspaper and then dropped it in the recycling bin. Out of sight, out of mind.
Her thoughts roiled anyway. All it took was the unexpected sight of him to stir up weird and conflicting emotions. He repulsed her, and fascinated her. She hated being fascinated, or any sense that she was drawn to him.
I want to talk to Jakob.
How could she, when she was still operating in avoidance mode?
He hadn’t called, and she was glad. Mostly glad. She missed him, which was disturbing in itself. Had she ever missed anyone in her life? Amy didn’t think so. Friends came and went. Guys were around for a while and then weren’t. She might have felt a pang a few times, but nothing any stronger than that, which was probably why none of them had stuck around.
This huge desire for one person’s company, to talk to that one person, was new.
After wandering aimlessly around, she ended up in the living room, where she curled up in relative comfort on her mother’s too-stiff sofa. She gave fleeting thought to the big, deep leather sofa in Jakob’s condo. Designed to lounge.
She was still mad, she decided, and had good reason to be. But also... Oh, face it. Thrilled. He had lusted after her. How amazing was that? A lifetime of feeling inadequate, certainly not wildly desirable to men, and it turned out that Jakob had had a major thing for her all that time. So major, it had scared him.
No, a voice seemed to whisper—not past tense. He said you scare him.
That didn’t mean he was hinting at the possibility of anything happening between them now. He might only have wanted to clear his conscience. It had been a long time since either of them had been a teenager.
But then she remembered scattered moments, a few things he’d said. I kind of like what’s happening with us. And him asking whether she had come to terms with the fact that they weren’t related.
Why would he care if he didn’t have something in mind that wasn’t brotherly?
The way he’d touched her that night in the kitchen, when he came to dinner, a brush of his knuckles against her cheek and then bending his head so that his mouth couldn’t have been an inch from hers.
Why don’t you sleep on that?
Even then excitement had zinged through her. It was just...mixed with so much else.
He scared her, too.
She did want him in her life. Amy knew that for sure. But a sexual relationship? Her body leaped to life at the mere idea, but she was still confused in her head. Even thinking about it took a major readjustment.
Would he be patient? Or was this a now-or-never decision?
“I could ask.”
Way to go—start talking to herself. Unlike friends who also lived alone, that was one thing she never did. She was too used to being alone. Holding conversations had never been necessary to her. People who talked to themselves, Amy believed, were only filling in until they had someone to talk to.
And now she yearned to talk to Jakob, who seemed to understand why she was so confused and upset, who seemed able to untangle some of the knot inside her.
With a sigh, she knew she had to call him. Maybe even forgive him for all the misery he had put her through.
She might have to forgive Dad, too, and even Mom.
Because nothing was as it seemed.
She could almost hear Jakob ask, Is that so bad?
No, of course it wasn’t. Only—she couldn’t help feeling like that English building on the Wakefield College campus. It looked fine, plenty solid, built as it was of stately brick. But really it was having to be torn down. The flaw in its foundation that doomed it had been there from the beginning.
That’s me, she thought dismally. Secrets exposed, damage irreparable. Definitely no solid foundation.
So...if nothing was as it seemed, that meant she wasn’t, either, didn’t it?
Stupid to be dazed by the obvious. Upside? At least she knew what was wrong with her. Wryly, she thought, I guess I’m a tear-down, too.
* * *
BROODING OVER FINANCIALS, Jakob frowned at his computer. He’d gone into his office on Saturday to make up for some of the time he’d missed lately.
The first few weeks at the new store in Flagstaff were looking good. Really good. He was less pleased with the obvious downward trend at the Santa Fe location. He was most disturbed because he still thought it was an ideal location for a Boulder River store. The manager who had shepherded the store through its opening and first year had left, though, lured away by a chain that sold women’s apparel, and been replaced six months ago. On his recommendation, the assistant manager had been promoted.
Past time Jakob flew down there and spent some time analyzing the problems himself.
He grunted. He’d had the same thought last week...and the week before. Unfortunately, he was no more eager to head out of town now than he’d been then.
His personal phone rang, and his heartbeat gave a sharp kick as he reached for it. The jolt was all but painful when he saw Amy’s phone number.
“Hey,” he said, answering.
“Hi.”
The little pool of silence was not peaceful. His apprehension was too acute to allow him to endure it long. “What’s up?” he asked.
“Mom’s gone out of town. I just thought we could get together.” She paused. “If you want to, that is.”
If he wanted? “I do,” he said hastily. “Ah...where’s she gone? Not back to Sydney, I take it?”
“No.” She gave a little laugh. “She’s taking a ‘personal journey.’” Jakob could hear the quotes. “She’s going to Frenchman Lake, and then to Florence, on the Oregon coast. Did I tell you that’s where she grew up?”
“Yeah, I knew that.” He felt reluctant sympathy for a woman he’d never liked. “Did she want to do this alone?”
“Apparently. I offered, she refused.”
“Why don’t you tell me about it over dinner?”
“Okay. I can cook if you want to come here. I mean, we don’t have to always go out.”
Always. He rejoiced at the word. It implied a future, didn’t it?
“Sounds good,” he said. “Six o’clock work for you?”
It did. A moment later, she was gone and he laid down his phone. He stared at the computer monitor, comprehension slow to click in.
When it did, he had no trouble deciding Santa Fe would have to wait. The downturn was subtle and didn’t qualify as an emergency.
A man who loved his job and what he’d created, he wished like hell it was time to leave for Amy’s.
* * *
OF COURSE, HE had no idea what to expect when he got there. At least he felt reasonably confident she wasn’t going to tell him she was still so pissed, she’d be glad not to see him for another five years.
After all, she’d said “always.”
He parked at the curb and bounded up the front steps with all the eagerness of a teenage boy going to see his girlfriend with the full knowledge that her parents weren’t home. Jakob was a little amused at himself.
Amy had the phone to her ear when she let him in, though. She grimaced an apology and mouthed, “Mom.”
He nodded his understanding as he followed her inside and closed the door behind him. Mostly tuning out what she was saying, he appraised her as the conversation continued.
From This Day On Page 18