“What do you think?”
“It’s gorgeous.”
He drove us over the bridge, the wooden planks plunking beneath the wheels. On the other side, the road widened. We crested a hill and followed the road as it wound around finally straightening on a paved surface and into a more populated area. I saw a sign for Stone Rand, and Scott leaned into a sharp turn. He pulled into a parking lot of a grocery store, and we went in and bought enough food to get us through the next several meals. He asked for a box to put the groceries in and secured it to the back of the motorcycle with two elastic cords. Testing the cords around the box, he then put on his helmet. I did the same and climbed on.
After a few miles, we’d passed through the familiar gate and were in front of his house. I dismounted and rubbed my hands up and down my thighs. Something about the vibration of the motorcycle made them itch. On rubbery legs, I followed Scott into the house as I took off the helmet and handed it to him. He set them on the floor inside the door and made his way to the fireplace.
Despite what he’d said in the shower, we didn’t spend the rest of the day making use of his huge bed. After he built a fire and we warmed each other in front of it on the comforter, we dressed and held hands as we explored the woods behind his house. We played cards when we came back inside and took turns reading to each other as I sat on his lap on the recliner. It was a lazy and wonderful day.
I almost offered to go with him to buy some more furniture for his house, but I didn’t want him to think I thought I should have a say in what kind of furniture he bought, or even that he should buy anything else. How did I fit in with his present content and settled existence? I didn’t know. I wanted to ask but couldn’t quite figure out how to do without just saying, “Hey, what’s the deal, Scott? You said you loved me. Where are we going with this?” I didn’t want to hear that he didn’t mean it when he said he loved me. At the time he’d sure acted as if he were sorry he’d said it. But now?
I wish I didn’t suck at relationships.
My plane left early the next morning. At the check-in counter, he pulled me to him and kissed the top of my head.
“Are you going to come see me?” I asked with my head tucked against his chest.
“When?”
“Whenever you want.” Did he want to come see me? When he didn’t respond, I looked up into his face.
A shadow passed over his expression. “We’ll see.”
A lump wedged itself in my throat. I knew what that meant. My mom had said it any time the answer was no, but she didn’t want to argue with me about it. I hadn’t forgotten that I had invited myself here for the weekend. No declarations had been made about anything concerning a relationship. The air hadn’t been cleared about who loved whom or where we went from here. Scott’s unwillingness to come for a visit spoke volumes. He was building a good life here. This was what I wanted—for him to have a good life, a home. Every time I had wished and worked for Eli to have a better life, I had never envisioned me having that better life with him. Why was I so disappointed? Why did my heart feel like it had just blown up? Did I want and love him now that I knew he had only been homeless as an undercover agent? I stepped back and picked up my bag. Without another word, I walked to the metal detector and X-ray machine. I stared at my reflection in the glass wall as I waited my turn to walk through.
Get thee to a nunnery, you idiot, before you end up face down in somebody’s pool.
I told that inner voice to shut up with the dramatics. Fine, so I loved Scott, and if he was so sorry he loved me back, well, either he could get over it, or I would. I’d toss the proverbial ball in his court and let him throw it back or leave it there on the ground. But I absolutely was not going to call him or come back up here without an invitation, at least and preferably, some groveling.
We’ll see.
I snorted.
Yes, we would
****
It wasn’t quite a nunnery, but more and more lately, I did feel like praying for mercy or that a big anvil to drop from the sky onto Dale Potter’s head. He sat behind his desk while I sat on a small chair in his office listening to him tell me why flex time was just not going to work.
Funny how he was so ready to kowtow to my demands when he had the ATF breathing down his neck. I thought about calling Delia Travers to ask her to come and kick Dale in the face so I could go to the community center three afternoons a week.
“When you’re in the office, I don’t have a problem with you coming in the evenings to work, but when you’re auditing a business, you have to be there on their schedule.”
“The center needs me, Dale.”
“They can get someone else. You have a job that requires you to work until five.”
Except there was no one else. Paula had called me this morning and told me several of the volunteers were out because of the stomach flu, and she and Mr. Harvey were it for today. Since I’d gotten back, I’d thought about going back and had asked Dale about the flex time, but he hadn’t been responsive. Now they really needed me.
“I’m not even auditing this week,” I argued.
“You will be next week.”
“Then you won’t have a problem with me leaving now and coming back tonight at seven.” I stood up and walked out hoping I could get the last word in.
Hurrying to my office, I gathered up my purse and coat before Dale could call me back. Within forty minutes I was walking into the community center. A blanket of happiness settled around me. I’d really missed the people here. Poking my head in the auditorium, I saw Paula and Mr. Harvey standing beside the stage talking.
“Hi.” I waved as I approached them.
Paula’s face broke into a big smile. Mr. Harvey’s eyes narrowed.
“Abigail, what are you doing here?”
“I called her,” Paula responded to Mr. Harvey’s question.
“Good to see you.” Mr. Harvey declared.
It was good to be seen. Mr. Harvey’s words were genuine. Either they were as desperate for help as Paula said they were or he wasn’t as worried about my life as he had been a month ago. No one had been caught yet for putting the pipe bomb on my porch, but maybe enough time had passed that the Nights had other things to worry about. Darvey had told me the police were keeping close tabs on any gang activity hoping to keep the gang members separated or busy so that they would no longer be a threat in the community. This was why I knew I needed to be here to help out. The community center played a vital role in keeping the kids off the streets and away from recruiters.
Among the three of us, we had nearly a hundred children and youth. Apparently, the stomach bug had only affected the adults in inner city Clavania. After all the kids had been picked up or taken home, I went back to work to finish my day. At nearly ten p.m. my cell phone rang. My heart jumped when I saw Scott’s name.
“Hello?”
“What the hell are you doing?”
As greetings went, he could have done a lot better.
“Sitting at my desk working.”
“No. Going to the center.”
“They needed some help. I’m fine. Nothing happened.”
“Nothing has happened yet. Why aren’t you at home?”
I huffed. “I really don’t like this spying on me.”
“I’m trying to keep you safe. As best as I can from five hundred miles away.”
“I’m okay.”
“For how long? You start going back out there and stirring things up, they’ll come after you.”
“What’s it to you?”
Silence.
Oh, but it was a very loud and telling silence.
“You don’t own me. You don’t get to say what I do and don’t do.”
After about ten seconds, he spoke. “You matter to me.”
A simple and direct statement, but still vague.
“I know. I got that the day you stole my car. I also got that you wish I didn’t matter to you.”
He didn’t reply, but his sigh was audib
le.
“Where are we going with this? Me flying up there weekends for sex? You having Bryant follow me around so you can keep me on the right side of the Clavanian bridge? Love me and claim me, babe, but until then, you don’t get a say in how I live my life.”
More seconds passed.
“Anything else you want to say to me?” I asked.
“I don’t like ultimatums.”
“Join the club.”
I clicked the end button. I got the last word in, but the bitter taste it left in my mouth wasn’t very satisfying.
****
I decided going home to Mom and Dad’s would be a good way to get my mind off Scott. I hadn’t been back in months. The irony was I had been so determined to get Scott to be a part of his family again, but I had withdrawn from mine big time. Of course, my dad made it easy to do. I wondered if he regretted naming me after his mom? Anyone with a name like Abigail Benton ought to at least want to try being a southern lady with a genteel accent.
Saturday morning I got up before the sun did and was walking in their door before ten a.m. Dad would be playing golf, but he always got the early tee time, so he would be back before noon. Mom was thrilled to pieces to have me there, and we sat out on the back porch and drank tea like the good southern women we were. I hadn’t told her much about Scott—just that I had met someone, and he had moved to Tennessee. She’d known that I’d searched for months for a homeless man who’d saved the three girls in the fire and had disappeared. But of course, she hadn’t considered that Scott and Eli could be the same guy.
“Go ahead and tell me, honey.”
I had been staring at the cheery platter on the coffee table. Mom’s question caught me off guard. “Tell you what?”
“About Scott. I recognize the wistful look, you know.” She gazed at me warmly. “How serious is it?”
Tears collected in my eyes, and I wiped them away. Stupid weepiness.
“That serious. You didn’t even cry over John, and you spent a night in jail over him.”
“I was too mad at John to cry over him.”
“You’re in love. Is he?”
“Yes, but I think he wishes he wasn’t.”
“Ah, Abigail. We women get all fluttery inside when we think about love. But men? It scares them to death. They think they’re all brave because they can hunt and tackle each other over a football. But when they fall in love, they see they’ve been caught, and, well, it just takes them by surprise because they realize they were the prey, not the hunter.”
“Mom, I haven’t hunted any man down.”
“You searched high and low for that homeless man. Eli.”
My mouth dropped. I met Mom’s wise eyes. She nodded in acknowledgment. She was right. I had hunted Eli down. I’d recognized him in the courtroom. Oh, my gosh. I was the hunter. “Mom, I didn’t want to be the hunter.”
“Sweetheart, you couldn’t help it. It’s just how we are.”
I shook my head in denial. We were in the twenty-first century. I thought we were beyond marriage as our highest ideal. I thought relationships were supposed to be by mutual consent. “I didn’t trick Scott into anything. I didn’t manipulate him into loving me.”
“Oh, don’t get all feminist on me, dear. It’s so unbecoming. Love can lead to marriage which is good for a man. Married men live longer. They’re happier, and they eat better. Not to mention that you’re providing him with a means to spread his seed and reproduce.”
I grimaced. “Mom, I can’t tell you how disturbing that is.”
She grinned and leaned forward to kiss the top of my head. When she sat back, she chuckled. “I’m going to call your father and tell him we’ll meet him at the country club for lunch.”
Later that afternoon, I was in my room looking at my college yearbooks. I had kept up with several of my girlfriends from school and even had been bridesmaid at Sharla Winston’s wedding last year. She and I had roomed together for three years. Had my involvement with John subconsciously been about me wanting to settle down? Had my search for Eli been about the same thing?
I went over to my bookshelf, pulled out a book from an art history class I had taken. Flipping through the pages, I found what I was looking for—a painting of Ophelia floating face down in the water.
Oh, Ophelia. You were trying to save Hamlet, weren’t you? You were offering him a good and happy life with you. Why did you give up?
Someone knocked on my bedroom door, and it opened. My dad stood there.
“Hey.” I closed the book and pushed it aside. My dad hadn’t had a civil conversation with me since my arrest. The few times we had been in the same room had ended with him yelling at me about stupid decisions and with me rolling my eyes until I could practically see my brain.
“Your mom ran to the store.”
I stared up at him not sure why he needed to tell me this. He walked into the room, and to my surprise, lowered himself on the floor across from me. My stomach clenched. Oh, please, what was this about? I had come here for some peace away from the drama of Scott.
“Tony was telling me he forgave your community service, but you’re still going there to help out.”
Tony was the judge that had gone to school with my Uncle Fletch. Apparently, he and Dad were buddies. “They’re always short of help.”
“It’s so dangerous. He told me about the bomb. I haven’t said anything to your mother. She’d worry herself sick.”
“What about you?”
“I haven’t slept well since he told me. Abigail, you know I asked him to give you some brunt work to get your head out of the sand, but I meant for him to make you do taxes for old people or volunteer in your own neighborhood. I didn’t want you in a powder keg like the city. I never wanted you in a place like that.”
“Dad.” I sighed. “My whole life I’ve been so protected. You and Mom made sure I had whatever I wanted or needed. Those kids. They don’t have anything. Every day is a struggle for them. I can help make their lives a little better. They deserve me caring about them.”
“But not at your life’s risk.” His eyes, full of pain, appealed to me.
“Granny Abigail has her name on sorority houses. That’s her legacy. I respect that, but every girl that pledges there has had her life handed to her on a silver platter. I want my legacy to be my girls from the community center to go to college, get an education, and make a good life for themselves without getting pregnant at fourteen or being shot at in a drive-by, or to be strung out on drugs and be in a morgue by the time they’re twenty.”
Dad cracked a smile. “Your girls, huh? Your legacy. Lord, I should have known better than to marry your mother. My genes couldn’t compete with her pie in the sky optimism for helping every bleeding heart she meets on the street. You get that from her.”
“Yeah? Well, she wasn’t the one who put it in the judge’s ear for me to do community service.”
“No. If it had been up to her, she would have invited John Bowman to live with us.”
“He wasn’t a bleeding heart. His dad is head of anesthesiology at Brown University Hospital in Clinton.”
“And a Democrat, too. I’d bet my life on it. They hand out money like it grows on trees when their own houses are falling down around them.”
Instead of rolling my eyes, I grinned, leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “I love you, Dad, in spite of your political beliefs.”
****
I went back home and after about a week settled into a routine. It was nearly midnight, and I was coming home from work. I had been auditing a candle company in Hilliard, a town on the other side of Clavania. Though Dale didn’t know it, I was taking the afternoons off and volunteering at the center. When the kids went home, I’d go back to the audit. The candle people had gladly given me a key when I had explained I wanted to work evenings so I wouldn’t be in their way. Companies hate being audited so I’d heard no complaints when I left at two every afternoon and came back after everybody was gone.
Ang
el hadn’t been at the center since I’d come back. This was worrisome to me, so I had gone to his house. He lived with his great grandmother, and she told me he sometimes didn’t come home at night. She’d been called to the school several times, but she didn’t drive, so she couldn’t get up there. I offered to drive her, but I didn’t know if she’d let me. I’d wait on her call and see.
A creepy feeling crawled up my spine, like somebody was watching me. From the corner of my eye I caught a shadow. I jammed the key in my lock, opened the door, and slammed it shut within a second. My heart raced in my ears. Calm down. You’re safe. You’re home, I told myself. I went to the bedroom, undressed, and took a shower. Even under the hot spray I lost my breath when I heard glass shattering. I jumped from the tub and grabbed my robe on the back of the door. No way was someone going to catch me naked. I had closed and locked the door when I came in the bathroom. Did I wait until Jack Nicholson hacked through the door and announced “Here’s Johnny”?
Crap. I had nothing more than a razor and a fingernail file as weapons. Pressing my head against the door, I strained to hear any sound outside. Nothing. How long did I wait? I thought about every slasher flick I had ever seen in which the soon-to-be-dead dummy would go investigate the suspicious noises. That cinched it for me. I was no dummy. I was staying put. I had a toilet and access to drinking water. I could stay for several days if I had to.
I pulled all of my towels from the cabinet under the sink, fixed myself a pallet on the floor, and turned off the light. With the fingernail file clenched in my fist, I settled myself on the floor and waited.
And waited. And waited. I thought about my purse sitting on the table with my wallet and cell phone in it. Whoever was in my apartment was probably at the liquor store by now, charging up a bunch of booze on my credit card. Wouldn’t the killer have busted through the door already? I’m sure he wasn’t sitting on the couch waiting on me to come out.
Would he?
Ding dong.
Or would the killer ring the doorbell in a ruse to get me out of the bathroom?
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Or bang on the door?
I unlocked the door and wrenched it open, holding the file out ready to poke somebody in the eye if I had to.
Unforgettable Heroes Boxed Set Page 78