He pulled her close until her cheek was pressed against his chest. “That’s what they were wearing. But Paul never saw them. By the time he got back home from Becky’s, the police wouldn’t let anyone in here. Why did you come in here by yourself?”
“Paul led me here, the same way he led me to his bedroom the first time I was here. Why is he doing this? Everything we find out is more incriminating.”
She felt warm and safe in Mitch’s arms, too warm and safe. One of his hands stroked down her back, up and down, up and down.
“Stop looking.” He moved back and tilted her chin. “I don’t want you hurt anymore.”
“There isn’t anything left inside me to be hurt.”
“Oh, Jenna.” He pulled her closer and rested his chin atop her head. She could feel Mitch’s pain radiating from him right into her. “I wish I could make it go away.”
He had done this, she reminded herself. Don’t feel bad for him! He’s the one who brought you to this place. She moved out of his embrace. “Paul wants us to find the whole truth. There must be something we’re missing. I got the image when I touched the wall, here. He must have done the same thing, leaned against the wall.”
He put his hand on her shoulder. “Jenna, you don’t have to do this anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, we can stop. We can leave it alone, just like you wanted to do.”
She searched his face, finding nothing but seriousness. “You’d give up your search for the truth? The very thing you’ve lived for all these years?” He nodded. “Why?”
“Maybe I’m afraid of finding anything else.”
“You’re not afraid of anything.”
He paused a moment before answering, but she saw the muscles in his jaw twitch. “How can you be so sure about that?”
Regret shadowed his eyes. He wasn’t afraid of finding the truth, that she knew. He was afraid for her, of what the truth was doing to her.
“I have to know. Not only for Paul, but for myself.” And she placed her palm against the wall. The image flashed through her mind again, the blood and Paul’s agony. What did you do, Paul? Show me what happened. Show me the missing piece of this puzzle. You owe me the answers.
Paul took a step into the room, then another. But as he continued to walk closer to the gilded bed, something blocked her from going forward with him. Almost like an opaque curtain had dropped before her. She tried to push past it, but it was bigger than she was.
She opened her eyes, finding Mitch hovering over her.
“God, Jenna, I hate when you do that. I keep thinking you’re going to … die.”
“Don’t you want to know what I saw this time?” Maybe it was mean, but she rather liked the concern on his features.
After a hesitation, he asked, “What did you see?”
“Nothing more. But that’s not the point. It’s like he doesn’t want me to see anymore. His room. I felt his agony in there before.”
She walked around the corner and up the central staircase, and Mitch followed. The first memory that assailed her was the kiss she and Mitch shared there by the bed. She sat down on the bed, holding onto the post for support. He stood beside her, hand on the post just above hers, body tense.
She closed her eyes and concentrated. The agony swept over her again, and the woman’s words — Becky’s words — Paul, what have you done? Jenna felt dizzy again, and the taste of liquor permeated her mouth. Her head swam with the effects until she pulled herself from the image. She covered her face with her hands.
Mitch knelt down beside her. “What’d you see?”
“He was drunk.” She lifted her face to his. “The truth isn’t helping. Everything we find out just looks worse and worse.” He started to touch her arm, but she shrugged him off. “I need to be alone for a while.”
“All right, I’ll leave you alone. But after everyone leaves, I’m coming up to get you. I’m going to show you an activity you’ll find very therapeutic. Be prepared to sweat.”
Jenna’s body had been on edge since Mitch had dropped those provocative words. She’d changed into shorts and stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. For all those years when she’d lived without mirrors, without bathrooms even, she seemed to be making up for lost time. For the first time, she appraised herself as a woman. Was she pretty?
She fluffed her blond hair, caught the glint of a few silver strands. She tilted her chin up, turned her face. Passable, she decided. Around Mitch, she had become aware of her body, of the feminine currents that coursed through her.
With Paul, she’d never found herself daydreaming about their lovemaking. She’d never looked at him and felt a stirring of longing. Mitch awakened all these disturbing, delicious feelings inside, and all it took were a few words to heat them to a boiling point. What had Paul seen when he’d looked at her? Someone to protect, to shield from the world’s woes. To hide away from the world. Maybe even to pity.
What did Mitch see? More than that, but how much more? She sighed, pulling down the collar of her shirt to reveal the top of her scar. Did it mirror the one on the inside, the one that ran the length of her soul? She touched the marred skin, wondering if either scar would really fade over time.
Never would she forget Mitch’s acceptance of the ugliest part of her. If he could accept it, then she could, too. Wearing low-cut shirts, however, would take some time. She released the collar and patted the wrinkles she’d created. Then she walked downstairs where the last few people were finishing up the remaining tidbits from dinner.
Mitch was watching Scotty chase Harvey around the living trying to ride him. Was that a wistful expression on his face?
Scotty’s laughter filled the room like the singing of angels. Jenna wanted to bottle the sound and wear it all the time. “Come on, horsey Harvey. I mean, horse Harvey. Giddy’up!” The big, black dog ducked and escaped capture once again.
Mitch looked up at her, obviously surprised she’d come back down so soon. He was leaning against the kitchen counter, leg jiggling with nervous energy.
“Arrggh!” Etta’s voice charged through the room where she was elbow deep in an arm-wrestling contest with Dave. “Come on, young thing, show me what you got.”
Dave stared hard at their joined hands, the muscles in his arms bulging, veins popping. Both Etta’s and Dave’s face were red, teeth bared. Jenna took the stool next to Mitch and watched Etta push, push, and finally bring Dave down.
“Two out of three,” he challenged.
Etta, wearing a bright purple tank top which showed her own impressive display of muscles tilted her head. “Consider playing a match of strip arm wrestling?”
Jenna watched Dave’s face go an even deeper shade of red, if that were possible. “Ah, I don’t think so.”
Etta grinned, obviously enjoying having the upper hand, so to speak. “Lesser man have taken the challenge. Older men have taken the challenge.”
Dave got to his feet and hitched up his faded blue jeans. “Well, truth of the matter is, you’d have an unfair advantage. See, I’m not wearing any underwear.” Etta’s mouth actually dropped open, and her gaze jumped to the seat of his jeans. “Gotcha,” he said, walking to the counter. “But I’m curious: how many times you win?”
Etta stood, hands on her hips. “I’ve got more men’s clothes than I’ll bet you do.” Her eyebrow, finely lined in black, raised. “Might be you’re afraid to take the challenge?”
He dipped his chin. “Very afraid, ma’am.” With a wry grin, he winked at the audience he now had. “Anyone up for riding into town and catching a movie?”
“I will, I will!” Scotty chimed up, coming up short when he saw Jenna for the first time. He gave her that little wave of his, then ran over to Dave. “Can I go?”
Tawny shrugged, looking at Mitch. “You want to?”
“Nah, I’ll pass tonight.” He shot Jenna a look that said he had more interesting things to do, then pushed away from the counter. “Go on, kids. Have fun.
”
Betzi, who was wiping down the counter, gave Jenna a warm smile that hinted of mischief. Hadn’t Betzi once said she could sense a tornado coming from miles away? Jenna’s body went on edge again.
“Come on, Etta,” Betzi said, hanging up her towel. “Let’s do the town.”
“Whoopee-do. That’s about as exciting as making a log cabin with lollipop sticks,” Etta mumbled. “Course, that may be the only way I’ll see action ’round this place.” She looked at Jenna. “You coming with us, girlie?”
Did everyone look at her, or was she paranoid? “Er, no thanks.”
Etta nodded her head indiscreetly toward Dave. “Well, one of us ought to get some action. You sure you don’t want to come?”
Tawny’s expression was rigid when she said, “Maybe she wants a different kind of action. The kind she can get around here.” She glanced at Mitch, then turned and walked toward the door.
“We’re goin’ to a movie, we’re goin’ to a movie,” Scotty chanted, skipping to the door, charmingly oblivious to all the undercurrents. “We’re going to see an action movie.”
Jenna envied him his innocence. “I wish I were three again,” she said when everyone had gone.
“Would you do it all over again? Or would you live life differently, if you could?”
His question took her back. “I don’t know. I thought about life — and death — a lot when I learned about my heart problem. But I never wished for a different life.”
“Wishing never changed anything, did it?”
“No. I wished I didn’t have the heart disease, wished I’d had a better, happier childhood, wished Paul hadn’t died. It never made a difference.”
“Maybe it’s better to wish for something in the future, instead of wishing to change the past. Come on, let’s go sweat.”
She was already sweating, the blood rushing through her veins at supersonic speed. They walked through a moonlit night filled with the smells of earth, grass and pine. Harvey panted behind them, though he looked like a dark blur. Mitch’s white pants stood out against the grainy night, captivating her with the swing of his gait.
She cleared her mind of such thoughts. “We’re not going for a horseback ride, are we?”
“Nope.”
They walked to the stable offices, and he unlocked the door and stepped aside for her to enter first. He walked down the hallway and opened the third door. Half the lights came on when he flicked the switch.
“A gym?” She felt faintly disappointed, but didn’t want to explore what she’d really expected. “Wow, I’ve never seen a set up like this, except maybe in the movies.”
The walls were mirrored all way round, reflecting the myriad chrome machines as well as her and Mitch into infinity. “It’s here for everyone to use. Be warned if Etta asks you to spot her,” he said, nodding toward the free weight area. “She grunts a lot. And cusses.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. If I keep eating like I have been, I’ll need to start working out on more than my treadmill. I know, I know, I need some meat on my bones.” She pinched her stomach. “I’m getting meatier, believe me.”
For a moment, Mitch looked at her with a hungry expression, as though she were a juicy steak for his taking. No, it was probably her imagination. Had to be. This whole sweat thing had sent her brain — or more precisely, her libido — into warp drive.
Their eyes met, and her body responded to something it saw, some secret communication it failed to notify her of. This was crazy. She’d had a steady sex life once, and hadn’t had these mystifying feelings. And she hadn’t missed that sex life.
But Paul wasn’t Mitch.
Paul hadn’t looked at her the way Mitch did, hadn’t touched her in those unconscious ways that loved in more ways than any words could.
Well, not love, not from Mitch. Couldn’t be love.
Mitch walked over to some strange contraption and held up a pair of boxing gloves. “I know you’ll find this hard to believe, but sometimes I get full of piss and vinegar and need to work off some of that anger.” He laid his hand against the black leather cylinder. “This is whatever’s pissing you off. For me it’s been Paul or the horse that won’t break for us or the mare we tried to save but couldn’t.”
He walked closer and fit the bulky red gloves over first one hand, then the other. He laced them up tight, bracing her gloved hand against his chest. “It’s a computerized punching bag. It doesn’t grunt, or hit back, or pour guilt on you. It just lets you take out all your anger until you don’t have any left. For you, the bag can be Paul, or it can even be me.”
Jenna stared at the bag. It was taller than she was, attached to a heavy base. “So this is the Bluebonnet Manor therapist?”
“Better than your average shrink,” he said in a Yogi Bear voice, making her grin despite herself. He walked over and turned on the stereo built into the wall. The rock and roll he favored filled the room, bounced off the walls and surrounded her. “All right, think about whatever it is that’s on your mind when those beautiful gray eyes of yours frost over.”
Beautiful? She shifted her gaze away, focused on the bag and what Mitch had said prior to the beautiful-gray-eyes thing. She remembered Dr. Sharidon talking about her anger. “I think I have plenty to be angry over, don’t you?”
“Sure. Last week you were safe in your little world, living with your memories of your wonderful husband. But he dragged you out of that safe place and brought you here. You found out he lied about who he was, where he came from. Forgot to mention that little detail about having a twin brother. And was I understanding? No, I forced you to look even deeper, because maybe that wonderful husband of yours wasn’t just a liar; maybe he was a murderer.”
She could feel the frost shuttering her expression, just like he’d said. “I don’t like this.” Her hands were prisoners in the padded gloves.
Mitch moved closer, his face intent, reminding her of those times he spoke of. “And when I chased you down in New England, you still defended him. You wanted to forget everything and curl up with memories that were nothing but lies. Go on, hit the bag. Hit it, Jenna.”
She slammed him in the chest instead, catching him off-guard. With an Ooof, he took a step back.
“Why are you doing this to me?” she asked.
“Because I’ve been where you are.” His voice was low, and she had to strain to hear him through the music. “After my parents’ murders, the sheriff and his deputies swarmed around trying to pin it on Paul, me or both of us. Not only did I have to deal with the murders, but I was a suspect. People looked at us like we were already convicted.
“I know anger, Jenna. Before I was smart enough to get this thing, I went out and picked fights. With guys a lot bigger and meaner than me. I know where you’re coming from. Sometimes the anger’s so twisted up inside, you don’t even know who you are anymore. It becomes a part of you, an ugly part that darkens everything in your life. Let it go. I want to see who the woman is behind the anger.”
Before she could even respond to those words, he turned her to face the bag. “Like a boxer. Fists up, body loose. Go to it.”
She felt ridiculous, standing there like some runt boxer facing the black bag. Anger, anger, anger, twisting inside her, taking over her body. She didn’t know where it left off and her real self took up. She felt small and weak, the victim of life. A little girl standing in front of her mother, head lowered as her mother spoke.
Don’t be selfish, Jenna. We can’t leave all these people who need us just so you can go back home. Think of others. You’re one life, and they are many. We can make a difference, and so can you. Those kids back in the States are learning hopscotch while you’re learning about hope.
She’d wanted to learn hopscotch and jump rope. She wanted her parents to take care of her sometimes, too. She wanted to be selfish.
Jenna punched the bag. Her glove landed with a dull thud, hardly moving the bag at all. Even so, something loosened inside her, breaking free like a chunk o
f a glacier. She swallowed, feeling her eyes sting. Wasn’t it a glacier that sunk the Titanic?
“That’s my girl,” Mitch said, his words distant.
The sound of a baby crying echoed in her mind, the memory that haunted her most. That tiny, emaciated baby lying in a little girl’s lap looking for that hope Jenna’s mother had spoken of. The baby’s mother had died two days before, and there wasn’t any food for the baby. It reached out to her, suckling on her finger. Where was the hope? The food and supplies were weeks late, and even Jenna and her parents had eaten nothing but rice for days. The baby’s crying faded by degrees, its flailing arms ceased their reaching.
“What do you see, Jenna?”
“A baby. It’s dying.”
“What baby?”
She punched the bag, this time making it rock back on the spring-loaded pole. “Just a baby, hungry and alone like all the other babies.” Her voice had taken on a child-like lilt. “And I’m too young to do anything. I can’t help her.”
The baby girl closed her eyes. Jenna jostled her, squeezing and trying to get her to suckle again. The baby’s ribs rippled beneath her skin, rising and falling, and then no longer. Jenna had carried the baby to her mother, held her out. Please, momma, help her! She could hardly talk through the sobs that racked her. Her mother took the baby from her and set it in a basket near the bed of the woman she was attending. Don’t cry, Jenna.
“Put it behind you,” she said, hitting the bag again. “Don’t cry.”
Another piece of the glacier broke loose, and she felt bare to the icy waters.
“Who said that?” Mitch asked in a low voice.
“My mother.” She punched the bag again, and this time it rocked farther back.
“God, Jenna.” She focused on the bag, the memories.
And then the sound of the helicopter filled the air. Her mother and everyone who could move ran out to the hope they’d been waiting for. Jenna stood by the baby in the basket, touching her arm. Hope had come too late.
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