If You Ever Tell

by Carlene Thompson

  Teri’s house! Her father had taken her to Teri’s new house this week. It was so close. “Too close,” Grandma Fay had muttered when she thought Celeste couldn’t hear her. Celeste knew Teri’s house was near one end of the mysterious place called Defense Logistics Agency, where Grandma said heaven knew what kind of secret stuff went on—stuff no doubt connected with dark and scary government experiments. Daddy had always laughed at Grandma, then told Celeste it was where Santa Claus lived, like Celeste was five or something. Anyway, she remembered seeing the edge of the Defense place when she visited Teri—the north end, Daddy had said, and Celeste knew that you turned right from her house to go north. She had to go north. North meant Teri.

  In moments, Celeste burst from the shelter of the shrubbery and, staying as close to the houses as possible, sprinted to the street running vertically from her own. She stayed low and close to the front of the houses, not wanting to alert any dogs that might be in their backyards, moving as quickly and quietly as she could.

  At last Celeste crossed another street and darted down a narrow road lined with woods. She darted into the woods, then began navigating around the trees—shaking, sweating, mad with fear, yet still thinking clearly enough to watch her footing. She knew that just a few feet away from the street lay what her father often referred to as “the low ground,” a sort of wooded ravine. I have to be careful, she told herself. I have to be careful to stay far enough in the woods so that I can’t be seen, but not so far that I fall into the ravine.

  Celeste wasn’t certain exactly how far she had run when she crashed to the ground and rolled behind a bush, gasping for air, her chest burning, a knife-edged pain gouging mercilessly beneath her ribs. She held a hand to the pain, knowing it wasn’t caused by a real knife, knowing she had temporarily escaped Death, and for the first time she realized she would never see her grandmother and her father again.

  But Celeste had no tears. She had no voice and she had no tears. All she had was the will to survive.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  1

  DANIEL HAD STOPPED CRYING by the time Teresa pulled into her driveway. She handed him the automatic garage door opener. “Push this button to make the door go up,” she told him. Daniel, his forehead furrowed in concentration, pushed the button. Up went the door, on came the automatic light, and he smiled. When they’d pulled inside, Teresa told him to push the other button, and the door shut with a bang behind them.

  “That was fun, Aunt Teri! Mommy never lets me touch the opener at our house.”

  “Well, this is a special occasion.” Your mother is God-knows-where in God-knows-what condition, that’s the occasion, Teresa thought sadly. But all she could do to help was calm down Daniel, whom his loving mother had scared half out of his mind. “Let’s go in and see Sierra.”

  “Can we go see Caesar later?” Daniel asked.

  Teresa pictured the expanse of dark land between her house and the dusk-to-dawn lights on the barn. She, too, had been shaken by Sharon’s emotional display, not to mention that the memory of Gus lying murdered in Eclipse’s stall still filled her mind. She’d checked on the horses before she left for the fireworks display, and they were fine. Now the last thing she wanted to do was go to the barn when all was so still and dark. “We’ll visit Caesar in the morning,” she said cheerfully. “Caesar is already asleep by now.”

  The answer seemed to satisfy Daniel, who climbed out of her car and hurried to the door. Sierra had heard them enter the garage and stood on the other side of the door, barking and jumping excitedly. Just as they entered, the phone began to ring and Teresa rushed for it, nearly falling over Sierra. Maybe someone had found Sharon.

  Teresa picked up the receiver and managed a breathless, “’Lo?”

  Labored breathing. Then, “Teri?”

  The voice was scratchy but definitely female. Teresa looked at the Caller ID and saw “Warner Jason.” Jason Warner? “Who is this?” Nothing. “Celeste, is that you?” Teri asked, fear edging her voice. “Celeste, what’s wrong?”

  Silence for a moment. Then a grating, “Kill.”

  “Kill! Is that what you said? Celeste? Celeste!”

  Someone put down the receiver. Daniel, who had dropped onto the floor to pet Sierra, looked up anxiously. “What is it?”

  “I’m not sure,” she said absently, dialing the numbers she’d seen on Caller ID. She could tell someone picked up the phone. Then she heard a woman’s voice in the background screech, “Hang up that phone!” The connection went dead again. Teri dialed once more. This time, nothing.

  Oh, God, first Sharon, now Celeste, Teresa thought, her heart pounding. What could be wrong with Celeste? Why was she calling, then barely speaking? Because, like one terrible time before, shock and terror stole her ability to talk?

  Teresa’s first impulse was to grab her keys and drive to the Warner home. Then she looked at Daniel, now standing, small, wide-eyed, and pale. He was so frightened already because of his mother that Teresa couldn’t frighten him more over Celeste. She certainly couldn’t leave him here alone or load him in the car and drag him to the Warner house, either.

  Teresa took a deep breath. “I think someone is just playing a telephone game with me. It’s not very nice but not something to scare us. What about something to drink?” Teresa tried to look untroubled. “I have apple juice and orange juice and Coke and milk—”

  “I will have a Coca-Cola,” Daniel returned promptly with great dignity. “I’m parched.”

  “Coke it is,” Teri said, hiding a smile and glad that she’d bought caffeine-free cola. At least the drink wouldn’t keep Daniel awake. If any child needed a long, calming night’s sleep, it was her nephew. Sierra accompanied her and Daniel to the kitchen, staying close to Daniel, which pleased him immensely. Before Teresa fixed their drinks, she dug in a kitchen cabinet and found her police scanner. If there was trouble at the Warner house, she’d certainly hear about it over the scanner, she thought. Daniel laughed as they heard the cops talking with dispatch in crackly voices. Teresa was relieved that Daniel found the device entertaining.

  As she poured Daniel’s Coke, Teresa looked at all the food Carmen had brought earlier today. How she wished they’d had the party, the announcement had been made, and Sharon had found the grace not to make a scene. But she had made a scene. A frightening scene. Teresa now realized Sharon had been experiencing serious emotional problems for months—the mood swings, the tantrums, the extreme overpossessiveness. I should have recognized the signs of an oncoming breakdown, Teresa chided herself. My mother went through the same thing. I’ve seen it all before. I just didn’t want to see it again.

  “Want a cupcake, Daniel? I didn’t bake it, so it should taste really good.”

  “Sure. What flavor?”

  “Let’s see—we have chocolate and strawberry.”

  “Okay.”

  “Which one?”

  “Both,” Daniel said firmly. “I’m real hungry, too.”

  Sharon would disapprove of her son having a cola and cupcakes right before bed, Teresa thought, but right now all Teri cared about was restoring the child’s sense of well-being. If Coke and cupcakes would do it, she was happy to let him have what he wanted.

  As soon as Teresa set out the food, Daniel made a dive for it, but Teri insisted he wash his hands and his tear-stained face first. Then she sat down with him, marveling at the resiliency of children as he wolfed down both cupcakes and drank his big glass of Coke dry. He looked at her with a satisfied smile. “I cleaned up my plate. You hardly ate anything, Aunt Teri.”

  Teresa glanced at her chocolate cupcake that looked like it had been nibbled on by a mouse. “I don’t have much appetite.”

  Daniel’s smile faded. “’Cause of Mommy?”

  “Well…” She hesitated. “Yes, Daniel, I’m concerned about your mom. I’m sure your dad and your grandfather will find her, though.”

  Daniel’s gaze dropped to his plate filled with crumbs. “Mommy’s been different than she u
sed to be,” he said quietly. “She cries. She gets into fights with Daddy. I try to make her happier, but I can’t.”

  How well Teri knew what Daniel was feeling. She’d tried so hard, wished so desperately, to ease Marielle’s depression, to hear Marielle laugh, to see the unhappiness disappear from her beautiful face. But Teri had been successful for only fleeting moments—moments she’d cherished and moments she mourned because they were all too few.

  “Sometimes we can’t make other people feel happy no matter how hard we try,” she told Daniel, speaking to him as if he were an adult. He seemed to appreciate her approach and listened intently. “You shouldn’t blame yourself because you couldn’t make your mommy feel happy. What’s bothering her is beyond your power to fix, honey, but there’s medicine that can help her.”

  “There is?” Daniel asked, his face brightening. “You mean Mommy might get better?”

  “Yes, Daniel. I think your mommy is going to be just fine.”

  Teresa smiled and prayed she wasn’t building false hopes, because she wasn’t at all certain Sharon was going to be fine ever again.

  2

  When Gabriel and Kent separated at the house, they’d agreed that Kent would go north and Gabe south in search of Sharon. Kent had sped out of his driveway and shot up the highway, seeming to know exactly where he was going. Gabe had gotten into his own car, pulled to the end of the driveway, and merely sat with the engine running.

  Why had he said he’d go south? Nerves, he thought. After all, Sharon had fled from the south end of town. Why would she drive back there, back into the mass of cars leaving the site of the fireworks display? Sharon wouldn’t drive into a possible traffic jam.

  At least Gabe didn’t think she would. Judging by her earlier behavior, he didn’t know what Sharon would do, and he didn’t believe she knew, either. He’d never seen his daughter in such a state. It had been almost unbearable for him. He’d lost her mother, whom he’d loved dearly. Now he was in danger of losing his daughter, whom he loved more than anyone in the world, even Daniel. Even Carmen.

  Gabriel felt the sting of guilt when he thought of Carmen. She’d seemed so dejected when she slumped away from the group after Sharon had fled. Even her usually animated face—her beautiful eyes—had looked blank. He knew he’d been short with her, but he’d been aghast at his daughter’s behavior. Horrified. Sharon’s reaction was not one of mere disapproval or displeasure—she’d been wild, fierce, full of hatred for Carmen and disgust for her father. She’d called his relationship with Carmen blasphemous. It wasn’t normal.

  Unless, of course, Carmen really had been involved with Hugh Farr as Sharon claimed. The idea of Carmen having sex with Hugh made Gabe feel nauseated. Sharon said her mother had told her about the affair. But her mother, Helen, could have been mistaken. Helen had to have been mistaken, because Sharon wouldn’t make up such a hideous lie unless she was sick. But if she was sick, what was wrong and when had it started? When he’d begun seeing Carmen. He realized that now, although for months he’d tried damnably to never acknowledge it. And now look what his willed ignorance had wrought. Look what he had allowed to happen to Sharon, his darling, his life.

  Almost without knowing it, Gabe had driven north, but unlike Kent, he’d made a right turn before he reached the road leading to Teresa’s property. The turn he made was into a cemetery—the cemetery where his wife was buried. He stopped his car, retrieved a flashlight from his glove compartment, and made his way through the dark, quiet grounds to the headstone of Helen O’Brien, his wife, who had died of a cerebral aneurysm just before her fiftieth birthday. She should have lived to be at least eighty, Gabe thought in misery. She should have lived to see the grandson she’d adored grow to manhood. Helen had been so gentle, so loving, quiet, and shy, a true lady, completely devoted to home and family.

  She’d been so different from the outgoing, flippant, glamorous Carmen, who’d never had a child, who’d been a widow for so long it seemed as if she’d never been married, who’d never understood his sensitive, delicate Sharon who needed to be babied, Gabe told himself. Sharon wasn’t strong like Teresa Farr. He didn’t want Sharon to be like Teresa Farr.

  Teresa had made no secret of her strained relations with Hugh. In fact, although Gabe couldn’t stand the sight of Hugh Farr, he secretly thought Teresa had borne the murder of her father a bit too bravely, almost as if she didn’t care that he’d been stabbed to death, which was downright unnatural, Gabe told himself, working up a case against the young woman Carmen seemed to admire so much while never quite successfully hiding her disdain for Sharon. Carmen hadn’t appreciated or understood his Sharon, who loved and honored her father, who visited her mother’s grave once a week and left fresh flowers even in the middle of winter.

  Sharon, who so often came to her mother’s grave when she was lonely or hurt or upset.

  But not tonight, Gabe saw with a plunge of his heart when he looked at the quiet grave with its simple gray granite headstone, the fresh flowers left by Sharon on Sunday now drooping almost desolately in the moonlight. Tonight, Helen O’Brien’s grave lay in peaceful solitude in the low, velvety folds of this beautiful July night.

  3

  Celeste had rolled into a ball in the deep grass and weeds a couple of feet from the road until her ragged breathing slowed and the pain beneath her ribs receded to a slight, dull throb. She thought she’d eluded her pursuer, but escape wasn’t her only mission. I still have to get to Teri, the girl thought. I’m not the only person Death wants tonight.

  Cold although the night was warm, Celeste ran her hands over her T-shirt to discover she was soaked with sweat. No wonder, the way she’d been running earlier, she thought, and what were wet clothes compared to getting killed? Still, the clamminess was uncomfortable. Celeste reached into the pocket of her jeans and withdrew a rubber band she’d slipped in before they went to see the fireworks. She pulled her long, damp hair into a ponytail, exposing her hot neck to the barest whisper of a breeze that had sprung up sometime during her flight. The air on her neck felt wonderful and she almost made a sound of relief before reminding herself to be as quiet as possible.

  Celeste felt temporarily safe from the killer, but she knew she still had quite a way to go on foot before she reached Teri’s. This time, she took off in a trot instead of a run. In the distance, she heard the occasional boom of fireworks put off by individuals at their houses. Daddy always complained, saying fireworks were dangerous and most of the people who put them off didn’t have a permit, nor did they have police or emergency vehicles present in case of an emergency.

  Daddy.

  Celeste finally felt the press of tears behind her eyes, but she forced them down. She had to watch where she was going, where she was stepping. The moon and stars seemed to have abandoned this particular night when the only light came from the occasional flare of one of those illegal fireworks. Celeste knew she could not trip and maybe twist an ankle. She had to move as fast as possible but also with extreme caution. Grandma always said Celeste had to be careful. She’d said it so many times, Celeste had wanted to scream during her years of silence. Now Grandma would never tell her to be careful again. Once more, the tears pressed. Once more, Celeste fought them. Not now, she told herself. Tears could come later, when there was time.

  At least, Celeste hoped there would be time for tears.

  4

  “Gabe?”

  “Carmen.”

  “Gabe, you said you’d call me. I’ve waited for two hours. Did you find Sharon?”

  Gabriel sat down on his old, worn recliner, holding a can of beer in one hand and the phone receiver in the other. He felt hot and cold at the same time. He also felt overwhelmingly tired while at the same time thinking he’d never be able to sleep again—at least not unless he simply collapsed from either relief or sorrow.

  “No. Kent sent Daniel home with Teri and he’s still driving around looking for Sharon. He suggested that she might come to my house—her old home—so he told
me to wait here for a while. I don’t think she’ll come here, but I’ll wait a few more minutes. That’s all I can stand. I have to go back out again and look for my girl.”

  “Oh, Gabe, I’m so sorry. You sound exhausted.”

  “I am.”

  “Then you shouldn’t go out again now. Please stay home and rest,” Carmen pleaded.

  Gabriel felt a rush of irritation. Did Carmen think his getting enough sleep was more important than finding Sharon? Could Carmen possibly believe anything was more important to him than finding his daughter?

  “Carmen, I can’t rest until I locate Sharon,” he said with strained patience. “I’m not going to collapse from losing sleep for one night. I’m not a doddering old man, you know.”

  “Of course you aren’t! I didn’t mean to imply—” Carmen started over, “I’m so sorry for how Sharon took our news.”

  “We didn’t think she’d be happy about it.”

  “Not being happy and throwing a screaming fit are hardly the same,” Carmen said tartly. Gabriel could almost see her eyelids flutter the way they did when she thought her natural outspokenness had taken her too far. “I mean, Sharon was so overwrought. I knew she wouldn’t be happy, but I didn’t expect her to be—”

  “Out of control. Wild. A lunatic,” Gabe snapped. “I know what you think of Sharon!”

  “Gabe, I—”

  “You’ve never liked Sharon,” Gabriel rushed on. “You think she’s a spoiled brat, or now, even worse. You probably think she’s some kind of mental case like your good friend Marielle Farr!”

  “What made you believe I think she’s like Teri’s mother?”

  Because of the way she acted tonight, Gabe thought. Because she hasn’t acted quite right for a few months. Because something is wrong with her.