She drew a deep breath and straightened up. “I’m okay. Really, I am,” she insisted, in the face of Valerie’s doubting expression. “Limping around all week has been tough. But it’ll give me a good excuse for not dancing.”
“Why wouldn’t you want to dance?”
Because the man she wanted to hold wouldn’t be there. “This afternoon I told Wade I’d be his date.”
“You did what?” Valerie stared at her, dismay written all over her face. “Why? Oh, Abby, why?”
“I—” She shrugged. “I might as well. Maybe he’ll stop coming in all the time. I just couldn’t think of a reason to refuse.”
“How about the fact that he’s a…a creep? That he’s been torturing Noah? That you don’t like him?”
“It’s just one night.” And she had a whole lifetime of nights to get through without Noah.
Valerie gazed at her for a few seconds, then shook her head. “I’m not looking forward to this anymore. Maybe Rob and I will just stay home with the kids.”
“No, you won’t.” She pushed Valerie out the door and turned the key in the lock. “You’ll show up and give me a chance to talk to you. We can go to the bathroom to check our makeup every thirty minutes.”
“I guess.” After a quick hug, Valerie ran through a drizzle of rain to her own SUV, but waited until the Volvo engine started before pulling away.
Abby drove home without the radio or a tape, trying to sort out the mess of her life in ten minutes. She wouldn’t be going away with Noah, that was definite. But she had her friends to take care of, her dad, her customers. Would she want to leave and miss Kate’s baby and Samantha’s, miss seeing Joey grow up to be just like his dad? She worked with Valerie’s Girls Outdoors! troop most weeks—what would she do without them? Adam and Rob, Tommy and Dixon and Pete were her weekend warriors. She cared about their basketball games as much as they did. How would she feel if she lost touch?
The very idea of leaving her dad was almost too painful to examine.
She pulled into the driveway, resolved to make the best of the blessings she’d received. Sex with Noah had been beautiful. If it never happened again, she would still be grateful. If she never saw him again, at least she’d kissed him, held him. Loved him with all she had to give.
The house was silent when she let herself inside. She turned on the TV but kept the volume low so she wouldn’t wake Charlie. He needed his rest.
And she needed food—she wasn’t sure she’d eaten today at all. In the kitchen, she was halfway through the construction of a peanut butter and banana sandwich when she realized Elvis hadn’t scratched at the door. He must be sound asleep, too.
But she wanted help boosting her shaky mood, so she opened the door. “Elvis? Hey, buddy, wake up. Elvis?”
Out on the dark sunporch, nothing moved. Was he sick? She flipped the light switch, afraid of what she would find.
Worse than a sick dog was no dog at all. The sunporch was empty.
Elvis had left the building.
LOST—ONE JOB, ONE WOMAN, one hometown. Found—the misery of regrets.
After spending the day riding the back roads of North Carolina’s farmlands, Noah sat on the couch in the apartment above Dixon’s garage, legs stretched long, hands behind his head, as he considered the rest of his life. He could go back to the old ways in Atlanta, walking a line between honesty and deceit, right and wrong. Or…
Before he had figured out what his alternative might be, he heard someone coming up the outside stairs. Not Abby’s light steps, but heavy, deliberate, uneven thumps. The knock on the door matched the sound—powerful, ruthless. Angry?
With the door open, he could only stare. His voice had deserted him.
“Don’t leave me standing out here in the rain.” Charlie Brannon stepped inside. “The dog here hates rain.” He bent with a groan and put Elvis down on the carpet. “Close the damn door, why don’t you?” Instead of waiting for him, Charlie did that, too.
Once on the floor, Elvis started celebrating. He hopped and skipped and jumped up at Noah’s knees, eager to greet and be greeted. When Noah picked the dog up, he got the licking of a lifetime all over his face.
“Yuck.” He found his voice, with the dog, anyway. “That’s enough. Come on, stop.” Setting Elvis on the floor, he looked at Charlie. “Have a seat.”
“’Bout time.” The older man lowered his bulk onto the couch. “You probably wonder why I’m here.”
Noah rested his hip on a bar stool. “To dump the dog, I guess.”
Charlie shrugged. “Incidental. I have something to tell you. Something you need to know.”
“What would that be?”
“You remember that Harley you had in high school? The one you put together from parts you bought in a box at a garage sale?”
“The Sportster XLS, 1983. Sure.”
“You told me you stole the hundred bucks to buy long-arm mirrors. Did you get them?”
“No. That money was all I had to live on when I left town.”
Abby’s dad nodded. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
“Where is this going?”
Charlie took a deep breath. “The night of the fire, I was in the dining room cleaning up. I glanced out the window, across the street to the school, and saw a motorcycle parked near the wall. A Harley Sportster.”
“Yeah, and you told the police.”
“Right. I knew you had one, knew that’s what I saw, and put the two together. But somebody else had a similar bike. Sheriff Hayes bought one for Wade, as a graduation present. Wade talked his dad into letting him use it early.”
“I remember.” He remembered the sheriff telling his mother how Wade had begged for a bike after seeing Noah’s. “So?”
“Wade had those mirrors you wanted. He still has them, and he just got the bike repainted. When I saw it the other day, I realized…”
Noah waited.
“The bike I saw that night wasn’t yours. It was Wade’s.” He opened his hands, as if presenting a gift. “Wade must have started the fire.”
Could there be such a simple explanation? “Why would he do that?”
“I don’t know. I thought you might. What reason would he have to destroy grades?”
Elvis went up on his hind legs, bracing his front paws on Noah’s boot. Noah picked him up and the dog immediately curled into a ball in his arms. “I don’t remember that his grades were so bad. But then, we didn’t exactly share secrets.”
“Besides the bike, what did the police have that connected you to the fire?”
“My reputation. And the argument I had with Floyd the day before.”
“You argued with the principal?”
“He took exception to my Grateful Dead T-shirt. I took exception to his face.”
“Smart.” Charlie shook his head. “I guess lots of kids at school heard this argument.”
“Probably.”
“And somebody who wanted to hurt you might take advantage of that argument to get you in serious trouble.”
“I suppose. There was definitely no love lost between Wade and me. Still isn’t.” He thought Charlie might ask for details and he braced himself to deflect the attempt.
But the older man just nodded. “So you need to let people know about this. You’ve been wrongly judged all these years. Wade Hayes deserves to be punished.”
Noah shook his head. “I think the statute of limitations has run out on that fire. And I don’t believe another newspaper article is called for.”
“You’ll just let him get away with it?”
“Does what happened fifteen years ago really matter anymore?”
“You tell me.” Charlie struggled to his feet. “This afternoon, Abby told Wade she’d go to the dance with him.”
He felt as if he’d been drenched with ice water. “That’s…her choice.”
“No, it’s her last resort.” His limp more pronounced than usual, Abby’s dad went to the door. “You think about that. Then decide what
’s the right thing to do.”
SEATED AT THE KITCHEN table, a mug of cold tea between her hands, Abby looked up as Charlie came through the back door.
“What did you do with my dog?”
He stopped for a couple of seconds, then shut the door behind him and shrugged off his jacket. “Took him where he belonged.”
“Where, in your opinion, was that?”
“I took him over to Noah Blake. He brought the dog with him. He should keep it.”
That meant Noah was still in town. Until tomorrow, anyway. “Why? Why tonight, at nine o’clock, did you suddenly decide this was an errand that had to be done before you went to bed?”
Charlie turned away from her to get a glass of water. “I saw how mad he was about the newspaper article. I thought he might try leaving town without the mutt. I wanted to make sure that didn’t happen.”
“It wasn’t your decision to make!” Her temper exploded into fury. “He’s my dog now. I want him here, with me.”
Her dad didn’t turn to face her. “He needs a fenced yard, somebody around most of the day. We talked about this before. And I figured Blake would take the dog when he left town.” He finished off his water. “He seemed happy enough to be there.”
“Why don’t you want a dog?”
“We don’t have time for a dog.”
“What kind of life is it when you don’t even have the time to enjoy a dog?”
At that, he turned to face her. “A damn good one. You’ve been happy with it all these years.”
“Comfortable, maybe. Happy?” Abby shook her head. “I wouldn’t use that word.”
She’d never seen her dad look so surprised, so confused. “You’re not happy?”
“I love you. I love New Skye and my friends, I love being needed. But when I think about what’s out there, the places I could experience, all the unique and wonderful people I could meet…” She shook her head. “When I think I might never even cross the North Carolina state line, I regret how much I’m missing in my life.”
“You would leave?”
“If I got the chance.”
“What would I do without you?”
That was the big question. Abby got up and went to put her arms around him. “It’s not a problem, is it? Noah will take the dog with him when he leaves and everything will go back to normal. We’ll have our vacation, like we always do, and we’ll start the New Year at the Carolina Diner with hoppin’ john and collards for good luck and more money.”
With his arms around her, Charlie took a deep breath and blew it out again. “You’re a terrific daughter.”
“You’re a great dad.”
And Noah Blake was just a stranger she’d have to learn to forget.
THE PHONE RANG AT MIDNIGHT. Abby had barely struggled awake when her dad knocked on her door. “It’s for you.”
“Who is it?” He didn’t answer—all she heard was his footsteps in the hallway, heading toward the kitchen. With fear settling in her stomach, she picked up the phone. “Hello?”
“It’s Noah.”
At the words, she started to cry.
“Abby, are you there?”
She struggled to control her voice. “Yes.”
“I apologize for calling so late, but—”
“Why don’t you just say goodbye and hang up?”
“I… There’s something you need to know, first.” When she didn’t say anything, he cleared his throat. “Are you there?”
“Yes.”
“I thought you might have hung up on me.”
“You deserve it.”
“Probably.” She thought she heard a hint of a smile in his voice. “Listen, your dad told me you’re going to the dance with Wade.”
Would the man leave her no pride at all? “It’s none of your business. But…yes.”
He was quiet for a second. “Wade set the fire in the school office.”
For a moment, the words made no sense. “Say that again.” He did, and she listened carefully. “How do you know?”
“Your dad figured it out.” He explained the motorcycle details.
“But—”
“I think he thought I would want to tell you.”
She could—and would—take that up with her dad later. “Why would Wade set fire to the records?”
“Good question. I don’t know the answer. I thought maybe you would have an idea.”
“Me?”
“You always know everything that’s going on. You listen and remember. What did you hear about Wade Hayes?”
“That was—”
“Fifteen years ago. Think hard.”
Abby closed her eyes, trying to travel back to those last months of school. Her mom’s death always came to mind first. Friends arrived in class every day with college acceptance letters. The prom—she’d gone alone because Noah didn’t ask her. Wade had come alone, too. And bugged her until she danced with him.
“Wade didn’t have a date for the prom,” she told Noah. “I thought that was strange, since he was the sheriff’s son and a basketball star. Some girl should have snapped him up. You, of course, didn’t go at all.”
“No tux, no car, no cash. So Wade didn’t have a girlfriend?”
“I don’t think so. But there was talk…” She rubbed her temples, picturing the crowded hallways, the lunch tables, the gossip during those last few weeks of high school. “I heard he was seeing somebody. Heard he’d been bragging.”
Noah listened to Abby thinking and tried not to push her. “Bragging?”
“About the sex.” He could almost hear her blush. “And with somebody older.”
Before he could ask, she gasped. “That’s it. I can’t believe I remembered. I can’t believe I forgot!”
“Abby, I’m going crazy on this end. What are you talking about?”
“The secretary,” she said in an excited voice. “Ms. Lacey. She was Mr. Floyd’s secretary, she took care of the important paperwork for transcripts, report cards, stuff like that.”
“She was involved with Wade? How old was she?”
“Not very—maybe twenty-five. She was pretty, too. Very blond, blue eyes, cute figure. Cheerleader material. Oh, yes, I can see she was just Wade’s type.”
“But why would he set fire to the records, just because he was…uh…”
“Screwing the secretary?” She was laughing at him. “I don’t know. Maybe you should ask Ms. Lacey.”
“If I could find her.”
“Oh, she’s still right here in New Skye. She got married about ten years ago, to a farmer. Kenny Riddle, that’s his name. I bet their address is in the phone book.”
HE FOUND THE ADDRESS just as Abby had predicted he would, and rode out there early Friday morning. The white farmhouse sprawled under tall old trees. A separate garage in the rear housed a minivan and a small barn huddled farther back. Several horses grazed the fenced pasture and a child’s swing set sat within sight of the front porch.
When he rang the bell, a woman holding a baby on her shoulder faced him from the opposite side of the screen door. “Can I help you?” Then she recognized him. “It—it’s Noah Blake, right?”
“Yes, ma’am. How are you?”
“F-fine. Just fine. What can I do for you?”
“I wondered if we could talk for a minute.”
“Well, I’m kind of busy right now. My eight-year-old has the chicken pox and the baby’s ready for a nap….”
He smiled as gently as he knew how. “Looks to me like the baby’s already asleep.” The little face was turned out on her shoulder, eyes closed, mouth relaxed into a soft kiss.
“But my son—”
“I don’t hear a sound. Could it be he’s asleep, too?”
She threw him an irritated glance. “What do you want?”
“I want to talk to you about the fire.”
THEY FACED EACH OTHER across the kitchen table, a mug of tea in front of each of them. Pamela Lacey, now Pamela Riddle, had put the baby to bed and chec
ked on her son.
“I don’t know anything about that fire,” she told Noah. “I didn’t do it. I didn’t have any reason to—to burn those records.”
“I’m sure of that. I’m sure I didn’t, either.”
“The police said you did.”
“That’s what they said, whether they believed it or not.” He took a sip of tea and realized how long it had been since he ate. “I think you know who set that fire, though. I think you’ve known for fifteen years.”
“No.” She looked away from him, but her cheeks turned bright red.
“I can give you a name, or you can give me one.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Wade Hayes.”
She jumped, and that was all Noah needed. “Why? Why did he burn those records?”
He waited a long time before she finally spoke. “He…wanted his grades changed. He’d goofed off in biology and failed the last grading period. He wanted me to make a new transcript. And I wouldn’t.” Pam curled forward onto the table, covering her head with her folded arms. “I argued with him and he went crazy, started pulling the drawers out, dumping the files on the floor. He found his transcript and lit it up while he still held it. Then he threw it onto the pile. And everything just blazed up. I ran,” she sobbed. “I was afraid he would kill me.”
“Why didn’t you tell the police?”
“W-Wade said he would t-tell them about us. I would have lost my job. Everybody would know.”
Another long pause. “A-and then you were gone, and it was easier just to let them blame you. I never dreamed…”
“What?”
“That you’d come back.”
WHEN NOAH WENT TO HIS mother’s house on Friday afternoon to get more work done, he thought for a second that someone else had opened the door. She’d had her hair cut the way she used to wear it, just below her ears, and now it curled, as he remembered. Her outfit looked new—soft black pants, a white turtleneck and a red sweater. He thought she might even have put some makeup on. Lipstick, at least.
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