by Edie Claire
Sarah pulled back. She was taking advantage of Adam yet again, and she was ashamed. She let her hands rest loosely on his shoulders as she looked into his face.
"Sorry about that," she whispered. She expected him to release her, but he didn’t. His arms still encircled her waist, and one look in his dark eyes told her why.
He wanted her. Despite all his protestations about cows, milk, and commitment, he wanted her very much. And though there had been a time when she thought she would never desire any man ever again, she realized she had been wrong. What she felt for Adam now had nothing to do with what had happened to Dee so long ago. It was about wanting to make him—and by extension, herself—happy. She wanted to forget everything else in her life and simply enjoy being close to him.
She wanted him. Period.
Without restraint, she flung herself forward and pressed her lips to his. She clung to him as if she were afraid he would escape, taking all his warmth and goodness with him. She didn’t want to be alone anymore. She wanted to crawl inside his very soul, warm and safe and satisfied, and she wanted to stay there.
At the first touch of her lips, she could feel his resistance, but then suddenly, swiftly, he pulled her against him, deepening the kiss with a desperation that flooded her with joy. When she was close to him, everything that tortured her soul was obliterated—absorbed by his strength, his energy. He was the one and only thing that could take her pain away. He was everything that she needed, and she wanted more of him. So much more…
Abruptly he pulled away.
"No, don’t!" she cried, holding onto him. Why did he have to be so blasted noble? Two men in a hundred wouldn’t act this way!
He took her hands and held her away from him. His face glistened with perspiration, and his voice was rough. "This is not why I came over here, Sarah."
"I don’t care!" she cried. "I want you, and you want me. I’m not asking for anything more than that!"
His eyes burned with frustration. "I know you’re not! That’s the problem!"
He took several steps away from her, then walked down into the living room. She watched miserably as he stood, facing away from her, breathing slowly, deeply—obviously fighting hard to collect himself. It was a long time before he turned around.
"The police were here today," he repeated finally, heavily. "You fell apart afterwards, crying on Rose’s shoulder. I know you’re scared to death, and I know it has something to do with what happened in Alabama. I want you to tell me what’s going on."
Images. Sounds. Memories. They returned to her in a sickening rush.
Is he breathing? Her own voice had exclaimed. I don’t see his chest moving.
Who cares? Dee had shrieked. I hope he is dead! I hope he rots in hell!
Sarah’s own hand had reached down, felt along Rock’s bloody throat…
She focused her eyes on her coffee table and stepped down into the living room like a zombie. She could not begin to think straight. For a few, blessed seconds, her mind had been at peace... but Adam had dragged her back. Straight back to hell on earth.
She collapsed onto her couch and dropped her face into her hands. She knew he didn't mean it. He didn't realize what he was doing.
"Answer me, Sarah," he pleaded. "Why were the police here? What did they want from you?"
She lifted her face from her hands. But she didn’t respond.
I don’t feel a pulse!
Dee had paused then. Turned around. Her voice had held an eerie placidity. Really?
Adam sighed with exasperation. "You’re not going to tell me, are you?"
Sarah shook her head.
"And why not?" he demanded angrily.
She swallowed. "Because I don’t want to lie to you anymore."
Sarah wasn’t looking at Adam. She couldn’t. A part of her feared that if their eyes met, he would see everything that she could see. She kept her gaze on the table, but with her peripheral vision, she saw him turn his back. She was afraid he was heading for the door, but instead he paced a few steps, then returned and sat down beside her.
"Sarah," he began roughly, struggling to regain control of his temper. "I know that whatever this is, it’s not pretty. You’re ashamed of it, and you have this idea in your head that I’m going to judge you. But I promise you, that’s not true. I’m not in the judgment business. All I want to do is help you through this."
He put his hand under her chin and turned her head to look at him, and his touch—even a fingertips' worth—sent a shudder through her. "I know this involves your sister," he said gently, "and I know you were trying to protect her. You probably still are."
He’s dead, Dee.
Sarah’s heart thudded in her chest. Adam was too close to the truth. Way too close. How had she let this happen?
"But no matter how things may look," he continued, "no matter what evidence you’re worried about the construction uncovering, I know that you’re a good person. I would never believe the worst of you. You have my word on that."
Heat welled behind her eyes. She could picture the onyx elephant in the air. Descending.
"Whatever happened," he continued. "I know that you were young, and that it was a horrific time for you. For you to show bad judgment is almost a given."
Her breath caught. For the briefest instant, a flicker of hope surged through her. Was it possible? Could he understand?
But then he finished. "But I know that, whatever choices you made, you would never intentionally hurt anyone. You were a victim of circumstances, that’s all. You have a good heart, Sarah. And in the end, that’s all that matters."
The onyx elephant came down. It made contact with a sickening thwack. Her hand went numb. She dropped it.
Sarah closed her eyes, and a single tear rolled down her cheek. Tremors rocked her shoulders. No, Adam could never understand.
She wasn’t who he thought she was. She wasn’t normal, she wasn’t good, and she wasn’t redeemable. He was sure she could never hurt anyone. He was no doubt also sure that she could never bludgeon a man to death, conceal his corpse in a watery grave, and walk away as if nothing had happened. But he was wrong about that, wasn’t he? And if he ever found out the truth, he would condemn her just as she already condemned herself. Perhaps he thought he could forgive her—but whether he realized it or not, he had already limited his imagination to things he could forgive.
The truth was beyond his imagination.
"Sarah?" He lifted her hands away and forced her to look up at him again. "I’m asking you to trust me. I swear I’ll do whatever I can to help. But you have to tell me the truth. Now."
His brown eyes were warm. His expression was earnest. The combination made her body feel limp with misery, and she wished at that moment that she could melt herself to liquid, seeping straight down into the couch cushions, never to be seen again.
She hated what she was about to do. Her very bone marrow cried out against it, but she could see no other way. Telling Adam the truth would accomplish nothing. Not only would he be repulsed by her, not only would he feel betrayed by her duplicity, but he would forever after question the worth of his own judgment. He would regret ever having befriended her. Knowing he had touched her would make him sick.
Adam wanted to believe she had done nothing wrong. And if he needed to believe that, then maybe he should.
"They found drugs," she croaked, her voice barely discernible. "In the walls. I knew they were there, but I wasn’t sure where. I tried to find them once and couldn’t."
She pulled away from him and stood up. She collected herself. When she spoke again, her words were clearer. Her gaze was on the air; on nothing. She could not look anywhere near him.
"Dee fell in with a bad crowd. She was in deep, much deeper than I realized. After my parents died she agreed to use the house as some sort of storage place. That’s when she got into trouble. Her boyfriend stole something. Some men broke into the house one night and tore the place apart looking for it. They told Dee they would
kill her if she didn’t return it. But she didn’t know where it was. Only her boyfriend did, and he had disappeared. Whether he ever resurfaced or not, I don’t know. Dee killed herself, and I left."
Sarah took a breath. She was good at lying. It had been a skill borne of necessity, honed over many years. But she could take no pride in this fabrication. Every word of it gnawed at her gut like acid.
"I knew that if the house was demolished it would only be a matter of time before someone found the drugs, and I was afraid I could be in serious trouble—legal or otherwise. I didn’t know if Dee’s boyfriend had been murdered, and I didn’t know if there was anyone still out there looking for revenge. They threatened me too, that night. It scared me. But I didn’t go to the police. Dee begged me not to, and after she died I couldn’t stand the thought of everyone thinking the worst of her—plus I was afraid that reporting it could put me in even more danger."
She stopped. For the first time, she hazarded a glance in Adam’s direction. He wasn’t looking at her. He was looking at the floor. His face seemed flushed.
"The men roughed me up a bit," she finished, quieter. "I’m still a little gun shy when it comes to muscles."
She continued to watch him. When it became apparent that she had finished, he rose. Without a glance in her direction, he headed toward the door.
"Adam, no!" she said quickly, rushing to intercept him. She was confused. He looked angry, and she wasn’t sure why. The story made her look like a victim of circumstances, just as he wanted her to be.
She grabbed his arm. "Where are you going? What’s wrong?"
He stopped. He turned and faced her. The look on his face was horrifying. He was livid, but it was more than that. Behind his eyes, where a twinkle should be, she saw a pain that seared her.
"What’s wrong?" he repeated, his voice laden with bitterness. "Nothing’s wrong, Sarah. That’s the best one you’ve come up with so far, and that’s saying something. Congratulations. Maybe you can make a career of improvisation someday. But you can stop practicing on me, because I’m done."
Sarah’s stomach turned to lead. She dropped his arm, and he whirled toward her door. But in the next instant she stepped into his path again.
"I don’t want to lie to you," she explained weakly, her voice cracking. "You just aren’t leaving me any choice!"
He stopped. He met her eyes. "The truth isn’t a choice?"
Another image. Rock landing face down, blood oozing through his oily curls. She hadn’t cared about the blood then. She hadn’t cared about him, period.
Sarah’s lungs weren’t working properly. Her breath came in gulps. "I don’t want to hurt you," she said softly, desperately. "Please don’t make me. You’ve got to let it go. You’ve got to let me handle this myself."
His expression softened. His anger was defusing, but that left him with only sadness. "But you’re not handling it, Sarah," he said in a low voice. "And if you would open your eyes, you would see that."
He turned away again. He put a hand on the doorknob.
She put her own hand on top of his. "Please don’t leave," she whispered, her voice barely holding together. "I don’t want to be alone tonight."
The look in Adam’s eyes was close to agony. "Neither do I." He took another long, searching look into her face. Then his voice turned as uneven as hers. "I would do anything for you, Sarah. If you would only trust me enough to tell me the truth."
Something inside of her seemed to break. A part of her soul she didn’t know she had. It had only just come alive—and now it was dying. She was destroying it.
"I wish I could give you what you want," she exclaimed, frantic to hold on to it—whatever it was. "I would do anything to make you happy. But I can’t. What you’re asking just isn’t possible. Please try to understand."
He grasped her arms and set her away from him. "I understand perfectly," he said, his voice still strained. "That’s why I have to go."
He opened the door. He was on the other side of it before she caught his hand again. "Please don’t leave like this," she pleaded. "Stay with me!"
His eyes flashed hot with desire, and for a brief instant, she thought his baser instincts might rule. But just as quickly, his expression returned to melancholy.
His answer was a hoarse whisper. "I’m sorry, Sarah. But I can’t."
He freed his hand and walked away.
Chapter 29
Sarah clutched her robe around her and leaned heavily against the window. She was tired. Every muscle in her body ached; her mind was mush. She hadn’t slept all night.
Trying to contain the images was hard enough when she was awake. In fitful sleep, she knew it would be impossible. Hence, she had whiled away the night hours with television, books, cleaning, and cooking—spending two full hours doing nothing but keying the words of a novel into a computer file she had then deleted. She believed that if she waited long enough, exhausted herself enough, she could at last fall into the kind of deep, dreamless sleep that she so badly needed. But it was mid morning now. And that hadn’t happened yet.
The cul-de-sac was still and lifeless. It was warm outside, apparently too warm for the locals to seek any more of the plentiful sun. Rose had checked in earlier, but Sarah hadn’t been in the mood to talk. She had explained that her plan was to sleep now, and Rose had retreated. But there was worry in the older woman’s eyes.
Adam wasn’t home. He would be at his church now, getting ready for the Sunday service. What that entailed, Sarah had no clue. But she couldn’t stop wondering if he was all right. What happened between them last night had affected her profoundly. She could only imagine what he might be feeling.
She thought back on her plan in coming to Pittsburgh and let out a rueful laugh. Isolation, indeed. Privacy. Lack of emotional ties.
She couldn’t have failed more spectacularly. In a matter of weeks, Rose had become more dear to her than any of her elderly friends in Kansas City. If the worst happened to Sarah now, the poor woman would be both shocked and hurt—precisely the sort of grief Sarah had been trying not to cause anyone.
When her thoughts turned back to Adam, she could hardly bear them. Her downfall would hurt him most of all, and she had only herself to blame. She had let him get too close, and she had done it out of selfishness— because he had made her laugh. Brought her joy. Made her feel normal again.
She wanted desperately to spare him. But in his case, the law was only half her problem. No matter whether she was prosecuted or not, the guilt of what she had done would always haunt her. And if Adam could see it, it would haunt him, too.
She put a hand to her forehead and massaged her right temple. Her head hurt, like the rest of her.
I wish I was Catholic.
The spurious thought made her smile. Catholicism did seem to have her problem covered. She could simply walk into a confessional booth, shock a priest sworn to secrecy, do a little penance, and be done with it.
But she wasn’t Catholic, was she? She wasn’t anything. She had always figured that what her father taught her was all that truly mattered—that the most important thing in life was to love and be loved. Living right wasn’t about keeping ancient rules and regulations; it was about respecting all people, and alleviating suffering wherever one could. Her father’s beatnik philosophy had always made sense to her, and she had never blamed its lack of structure for the mess she’d made of her life. But neither, frankly, did it offer her any comfort now.
She closed her eyes and pictured her father. He had always worn a long, shaggy beard, and he delighted in the most outlandish of cheap plastic glasses. If at least three students didn’t insult a new pair, he would promptly buy another. Sarah smiled to herself at the thought. Her father’s approach to life had always been happy-go-lucky. Even when he blew a fuse and yelled, the unpleasantness wouldn’t last long. In ten minutes, he would be smiling again. In that way, he had been much like Adam.
She opened her eyes. She wondered, as she had done so often before, wha
t her father would have done in her place. Either of her parents would have done whatever it took to get Rock off of Dee. She didn’t blame herself for that reflex, even now. But her father would have stopped there. He would have called the police—and an ambulance. He wouldn’t have let a hysterical nineteen-year-old dictate his actions. He wouldn’t have done anything else to feel guilty about.
But she had. And she always would.
She turned from the window and walked to her bathroom. Then she extracted two more antacids from her medicine cabinet, chewed them up, and looked in the mirror.
The visage that looked back at her was ghastly. She wondered if she had appeared equally gruesome to Adam last night. If she had, he hadn’t seemed to mind. That was the kind of man he was, always looking under the surface. Trying to see the beauty in her, whether it existed or not.
She couldn’t help but love him.
That battle she had lost, finally and forever, somewhere in the middle of their second chess match. Never mind that her love was as good as poison—destined only to hurt them both. If she had been stronger, she could have shielded him, kept him from getting too close. Instead she had let her own desire drag him deeper into her abyss.
She regretted that now. She had been trying to use him, and he knew it. Still, he had done his best to stand by her.
He deserved better.
Much, much better.
She stared at her miserable reflection for another moment. Then abruptly, she straightened. She pulled open the drawer that held her makeup and snatched up her concealer. She repaired her eyes. She drew out some blush.
She smiled.
More than anything, right now, she wanted to see Adam happy again—wanted to give back some small portion of the joy he had brought to her. There was precious little she could do for him, under the circumstances. But she had the perfect idea where to start.
***
The sun was hot, but the air was only mildly humid. Sarah walked across the dry grass of the cemetery, hoping that her one and only dress—which she ordinarily reserved for job interviews, library galas, and funerals—was appropriate. She was lucky Adam’s church was within walking distance. Its proximity to the parsonage was no accident—the minister’s backyard was contiguous with the cemetery, and the church building was on the other side. Adam could walk to work every day if he wanted, but he often needed his car on the job.