“It doesn’t matter.”
He pressed a line of white through the bruise as a slow anger grew inside. “Are there more?”
The breeze caught her flimsy dress and flattened it to her body—hiding signs of battering?
“Was it Maury?”
She blinked slowly and her brow pinched. “It hurt him more than me.” Lance swore. Star shot him a glance, surprised by his vehemence. But how many times would he hear that lie and be expected to swallow it?
“I shouldn’t have told you.” She wilted.
“Kind of hard to miss choke marks.”
“He didn’t mean to.”
Lance stared at her. If he didn’t gravitate to women in need, he wouldn’t see all the ugliness. There were good, strong relationships out there, built on love and respect, women who were cherished. Did Star even know that?
“Don’t tell Rese. She’ll lecture me on respect.”
“She’ll see it herself.”
Star shook her head. “I’m just getting my clothes.”
He caught her wrist before she could stand. “Stay here, Star. Don’t go back.” The thought of her returning to that guy burned. He slid his grip to her hand and softened it. “Look at me.” She did, and there was a pathos in her that clenched his insides. “You’ve been assaulted. You should press charges.” But he knew in that sick, tight place that she would not do it.
“He just couldn’t let me go.” A corrosive brilliance illuminated her eyes. She needed to believe that. In those words was a want so deep no amount of pain would compare, the want of a love that couldn’t let go. And she thought she’d found it in an abusive man.
Lance fought the building rage and the helplessness that came with it. What could he say? “This guy is not what you need, Star.”
“Yeah, well…” She glanced sidelong. “Is that an offer?”
She knew the answer, but this was exactly how Tony must have felt with Gabbi and countless others. Too much need for any one man. Lord, help me help her without compromising. He stood up, drawing her with him. “Stay here and heal.”
The expression on her face speared him. “ ‘Tis healthy to be sick sometimes.’ ”
He was losing her; he could see it. “Not like this. You don’t—”
The burgundy van pulling in broke his thought. Chaz and Rico. Great. He let go of Star, half-expecting her to bolt, but she stood there as they parked and got out, and he realized with silent amusement that they had blocked her in.
Chaz was driving. He would have been aware of Star’s car and was courteous to a fault, yet he’d maneuvered in behind her. He came around the van, now, with a broad smile and a slow wave. But it was Rico who had caught Star’s attention. Not unusual, and not unusual that Rico had likewise fixated. But it was definitely unusual to have it all on the heels of a prayer.
Rese slid the chisel deeper, breathing in the scent of cut wood like perfume. Was it working with the wood she loved, or avoiding everything else? In her zone she could pretend no one wanted to hurt her, no one wanted her dead. In her zone every detail was controlled. She had power over what occurred; even a mistake could be modified. But a mistake in life could be final. That was why she’d worked so hard to maintain order, discipline, respect.
The wood did not resist. It allowed her to express herself, lent itself to her talent. But she could not have relationship with wood. She had thought it didn’t matter. She could live alone, run the inn for strangers who would pay the bills but not interfere, not expect something she couldn’t give or reject what she had. But Lance had exposed her inadequacy there.
She dreaded the small talk he handled with ease. He said it wasn’t small talk; it was little connections, a touching of lives that might never cross again but had come together for that moment. He saw every minute as part of the pattern of life, and he wanted that pattern as full and intricate as he could make it.
Watching him reconcile with Rico had almost brought tears when she realized Rico had slandered Tony. She knew how that must have hurt, but Lance reestablished their tie, took Rico back to his heart as he’d taken her every time she hurt and offended him. She’d never had that before.
Not even with Star. At the beginning, their differences had caused clashes like Lance and Rico’s, but instead of talking it out as Lance had, she just learned not to expect anything from Star, to let her handle things her own way, then be there when they came crashing down. It didn’t allow for much honesty, or any real intimacy, but it didn’t require much either.
Lance was the first person who had made her lose her temper. Not even Bobby Frank with all his dares had accomplished that. And Lance was the first to make her question her self-sufficiency. He didn’t make her need him, but he made her want to.
They had talked late last night, Lance reading to her, just as he’d described before when she couldn’t imagine it. But it hadn’t been strange. As he’d read, she had pictured Jesus forgiving the woman they wanted to stone, arguing with the know-it-alls, working miracles for the crowds.
It all came alive much more powerfully than any story Mom had read, because Lance described it as though they were there. He couldn’t just read the words; he’d break away and say, “Just think, Rese,” or “Can you see it,” and whatever followed would sink in with added fervor.
As she’d listened, she had felt a part of her open up, a part she had locked away where it couldn’t be hurt, a part the presence had sustained through her dark fearful night. She could well imagine Jesus reaching out to her, giving her breath as He’d given it to Jairus’s daughter.
She didn’t see God as a recalcitrant employee anymore. Instead, as she used her plane or her chisel, she pictured Jesus’ hands doing the same. Jesus the carpenter. That made Him real, as Lance had known it would. But what made Him more real was Lance himself. His care for Evvy in her grief had been achingly tender. He had the capacity to connect beneath the surface as she imagined Jesus had done, touching and healing and loving people—as he loved her?
No one in his right mind would fall in love with her, especially knowing what Lance knew. But his words had sunk in and nested. Rese gripped the chisel. She still had to contend with everything: Mom’s situation and all the fears that went with that, the inn and the guests coming. Lance would—
The door opened and he came in. She knew the light that flooded the shed was sunlight from the open door, but…
“Star’s back.”
It was not what she’d expected him to say, and a rush of irritation surprised her. It was one thing to lose a room if Star was going to use it, another altogether if it sat empty while she was off who knows where. All the housekeeping had fallen to her and Lance since Star went out the other night, and when she thought about having to wait the tables herself tomorrow night, she’d been ready to bag Star’s stuff and throw it out the window. But Lance approached now with a troubled look.
“What’s the matter?”
He released a slow breath. “She’s been roughed up.”
Rese took that in. It wasn’t the first time, but it hadn’t happened since Star left home and her mother’s boyfriends behind.
“She thinks you’ll be angry.”
“Was it Maury?”
He shrugged. “That’s my guess.”
“Then I am angry. She knew—”
He removed the goggles from her face. “It’s not that simple. She’s not solid like you.”
With his eyes on her like that, she felt anything but solid. But there it was again; the rock. And she would let Star crash upon her like a frothy wave drawn back and tossed in an endless pattern forever at the mercy of forces beyond her. Or would she? “There’s no getting through to her. If I thought she’d listen to anything—”
“I’m not sure it’s a problem.” He spoke softly.
“Well, you haven’t known her seventeen years. At any moment she’ll fly off again, back to Maury as likely as not, and—”
Lance caught her shoulders. “I think the
Lord is working here.”
“I’m sure He is. But as you’ve pointed out, it takes two to tango, and Star’s a little stubborn about things that cramp her style.”
He smiled. “What would you know about stubborn?”
She raised her chin. “We’re not talking about me. I never should have counted on her. I knew better.”
“Rese.” He cupped her face. “I don’t think Star’s going anywhere.”
She folded her arms. “And why would you think that?”
“You know that high-voltage activity we’ve experienced?”
A jolt of it seized her at that moment. “So?”
“Star and Rico just lit up the yard.”
Rese stared at him. Sure Rico looked colorful enough to catch Star’s attention, and what man wouldn’t notice what she flaunted? But the last thing they needed was her bed-and-breakfast becoming the onsite shoot of some seamy flick. “Great. It’ll take Star all of three seconds to find Rico’s sleeping bag, and it’s anyone’s guess where it will go from there.”
Lance slid his hands down to rest on her shoulders. “I’ve got leverage. As long as he thinks I might say yes, Rico will behave.”
She dropped her head back with a huff. “Great. I lose my partner to the road, but Star’s virtue is saved.”
Lance leaned in and kissed her lips. “You’re not losing me to the road. We’re just buying her a little time.”
She didn’t want him to care as much about Star’s problems as hers, to have that tender look when he mentioned her condition, to find a solution that kept Star where he could watch over her. How callous was that to resent Star’s having exactly what she, herself, appreciated most about him?
“We can help her, Rese. And Rico’s not a bad guy.” He said that with just a hint of doubt. But then he readily admitted his own faults too.
She released her breath. “Well, you’re the managing partner. If you want to keep her on, go ahead. I’m not waiting tables tomorrow night.”
He smiled. “Nope. Got a sink reserved for you.”
“Very funny.”
But he obviously found it so.
“Would you leave so I can finish?”
The look he gave her was anything but Christlike. “Say please.”
She met his glare. “Stand there if you want. I can be perfectly oblivious.” But she couldn’t, and by the time her goggles were back in place, the “please” had burst from her lips. Thumbs in his jeans, he turned on one heel and swaggered out. She heaved a chunk of wood after him, but he’d cleared the door already.
Jamming with Chaz and Rico that afternoon built an energy that crackled. Several of the guests had come up and stood around or sat on the floor, clapping and nodding. It was like playing back home, with friends, and friends of friends—and people off the street, he sometimes suspected—and Momma applying the broom handle to her ceiling more times than not. Rese threatened to soundproof the attic, but with the house set back from the street, and with the distance between all but Evvy’s place, Lance hoped it wasn’t really a problem.
Star danced, showing none of the angst he’d seen earlier. In the gauzy dress, with a shimmery scarf around her neck, she skimmed like a nymph across the floor, Rico’s eyes following as he drummed the rhythm that moved her. The strangers there seemed alternately amused and enthralled, and Lance felt some of that himself. But when she asked for his microphone, he turned it over with no clue what she’d say or do.
“Play ‘Memory.’ From Cats,” she told them. Chaz played an introduction on the sax, then Lance and Rico came in and Star sang, her voice clear and rich, strong from stage projection and full of emotion. She was no old cat with most of her life behind her, but she’d had enough in her twenty-four years to capture all the pathos of the song. She finished with a deep, spectacular bow, and then held the mic out to Rese who looked like she’d rather stone her than take it.
“I’ll do it.” The young woman staying in the Seaside room stood up. She named her tune, tossed back her big brown hairdo and drawled “New York, New York” to death. Rico looked like he wanted to pull the plug, but the rest applauded her, and she held the mic out for any takers, tried once again to give it to Rese, then put it back in its stand.
Lance could almost imagine the attic made into a Sonoma hot spot. They’d have to advertise the inn that way so they didn’t get folks who wanted the place quiet, but maybe two or three nights a week, they could play and even open up the mic for a set or two. He shook his head. What was he thinking? Rico wanted the big time, not some attic venture—though you wouldn’t know it to look at him.
If he’d just opened his eyes to the sunshine for the very first time, he could hardly be more enthralled. Lance drew in a slow breath. He’d never had much success as Rico’s conscience, but he’d made himself crystal clear— Star did not need a rebound. Amazingly, Rico seemed to get it.
Lance looked at Rese as they started the next song. Of all the people there, she was enjoying this the least. Something had her bugged, and he didn’t think it was being handed the mic. She’d probably deny it, but it was there, under the surface of her sober expression.
After the song, he took the guitar from his neck and bowed out. He needed to prepare dinner, since most of their guests had reserved for it. Rese walked down with him but said nothing. Was she regretting her decision to put him in charge? She’d seemed more than okay with it last night.
He reached up to the shelf for a mixing bowl. “Want to help?”
“Cook?” She said it with disdain closer to her old waspishness than he’d heard in a while.
“What’s the matter, Rese?”
“I don’t want to cook, all right? That’s what I hired you for.”
“Yeah, sure. That and the toilets.”
She glared.
“Now why don’t you tell me what’s really wrong.”
She expelled her breath. “I’m just not used to…”
“Loud, raucous, good times?”
“So many people. I liked it better when it was just…”
“The two of us snapping at each other?”
She eyed him. “Yes, actually. Now there’s always someone around, demanding your venerable self. I know there are more fun people, even Star, as I saw by your expression when she sang. And I know—”
“No, you don’t.” His irritation grew. “You’re putting all kinds of things on me that don’t belong there. If I was interested in Star you’d have known it before now. Just because I don’t want her going back to someone who chokes her, doesn’t mean I want to sleep with her.”
Rese glared. “You didn’t mind singing with her.”
“I’d sing with you too.”
“I can’t hold a tune.”
“I’d sing with you anyway.” He caught her hand and pulled her to him.“Haven’t I shown you how I feel?”
“I just…”
He closed her into his arms and made it clear. He hadn’t expected jealousy in Rese; she probably hadn’t either. But if he’d brought it on, then it was his responsibility to assuage it. When he was through, most of the starch had left her and she was breathing with difficulty. “Get it?”
“Okay, so I like your kissing better than Charlie’s.”
“You must.” He smiled. “You haven’t rendered me mute.”
“That would be a feat even for God.”
He chucked her chin. “Watch it.”
She gave him a smug smile and walked out, but her stride was nowhere near as stiff as it had been. If he tried to plant her now, she’d blossom.
CHAPTER THIRTY - FIVE
Progress.
They clap over a few stumbling steps.
Am I an infant that they make so much of so little?
One step, two steps.
What I’d really like is to kick … all of them.
Steam from Rico’s shower billowed into the carriage house as he stuck his head out the door. “Toss me my kit, will you?”
Chaz reached ov
er and gave him his toiletries. Lance shook his head, grinning. That was so like Rico to be halfway through his grooming before he missed the items in the kit he’d left on the table. Lance didn’t care that he must have used his soap and shampoo. He’d been lending, sharing, and giving to Rico as long as he could remember, though he drew the line at his toothbrush. Even friendship had its limits.
But he had to admit that playing with the guys Saturday evening and again on Sunday had been pretty close to heaven. If Rico made it up there, they’d do a thing or two with the angel chorus.
Perched on the sofa, Chaz threaded his fingers around his knee, one long leg crossed over the other. “So when are you going to tell me?”
“Tell you what?” Lance leaned against the wall.
“What you’re doing for Antonia.”
He had tried not to think about that. He’d expected Chaz and Rico would be gone by now, leaving him to handle Antonia’s quest as he had been—with no one the wiser. Then Rico got Cupid’s arrow between the eyes, changing his immediate priorities and there was no departure in sight. But Chaz had seen Nonna’s urgency, and would not take it lightly.
The question was what and how much to tell. Lance crossed his arms as a sudden desire to lay it all out gripped him. He’d never been the type to handle things alone. He thought best through tossing words around with people who mattered.
But this was a delicate business, people depending on him in too many ways. For a moment he wondered why he’d wanted that. He didn’t feel powerful or important, just inadequate. He slid down the wall until he sat on his heels. “It can’t go any farther.”
Chaz nodded. That was his code even if you didn’t stipulate secrecy. The hum of a blow dryer came from the bathroom. What about Rico? If he told Chaz, he could hardly keep Rico out of the loop. But maybe that was why they’d come. Maybe it was God directing his course. It could use some directing right now.
Lance drew a breath and said, “This was Nonna’s home when she was a girl.”
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