by Moriah Jovan
More shock. More surprise.
Her beautiful, rose-kissed mouth was open, then she bit the inside of her cheek. She said nothing, but he searched her eyes for some sign of . . . something. She held his gaze.
“Accepted,” she said finally, softly, “and you’re welcome.” He saw her eyes soften, the contempt and anger seeping away, but the wariness remaining. Moisture began to gather in her lower eyelids. He pulled out his handkerchief and offered it to her.
She laughed through her tears, again surprised. “I didn’t know men under ninety carried handkerchiefs.”
He shrugged. “Comes with being trained by a man who grew up rich and refined.”
Vanessa smiled in wistful amusement. “Knox Hilliard.”
“Indeed. I hear he grubstaked you?”
“Yes and I’m pretty sure you didn’t get to college on your own, either.”
“True.”
“Well, I guess it all turned out for the best for both of us, didn’t it?”
“Yes. So why are we still bitter?”
She laughed outright at that. “I have no idea.” Eric felt his gut tighten. They were communicating. Talking. Laughing.
Together.
As adults—a man and a woman.
Who had shown up with her thirteen-year-old nephew, but no husband, no lover.
He couldn’t not ask. Her more-than-gracious response to his presence had thus far been better than he had hoped. Promising, even. “Vanessa,” he began hesitantly. “Would you and Vachel have dinner with me this evening? Please?”
Immediately, the anger and contempt flashed back and her eyes dried miraculously. “I don’t think so,” she murmured, her voice scalpel sharp.
“Oh,” he breathed, shocked. “Um, okay. I’m . . . sorry.”
Her eyebrow rose as if to ask him why he was still standing in front of her wasting her time and he swallowed, turning to go.
“Oh, an’ ain’t this special?”
Eric sighed when he heard that particularly annoying scratch he heard at least once a week. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back on his shoulders.
“Ma,” Vanessa said, her voice still hard. “Grow up. You’ve been after him for the last fifteen years and he’s succeeded in spite of you. Don’t you think it’s time to lay it to rest?”
She was defending him? He opened his eyes then and looked down at LaVon Whittaker, who stared up at him with that hatred he’d come to know very well. He couldn’t even muster up any anger anymore. It was more like the tiniest pebble in his shoe he just couldn’t get out no matter how hard he shook it or dug at it.
Just part of his life.
She turned back to look at Vanessa. “You do got a thing for prosecutors, don’tcha? What, Hilliard dumped you when he started banging that barely legal redheaded whore of his? An’ you’re doin’ the ones down south? An’ now you move on to Mr. Rapist here?”
The sound of Vanessa’s hand connecting with LaVon’s cheek resounded throughout the funeral home.
Eric gaped. He didn’t know which shocked him more: LaVon’s accusations or Vanessa’s sudden violence. Everyone else was as stunned as he. Nobody moved; nobody spoke. He didn’t dare look at Vanessa.
The nice, pretty lady he’d met at Chouteau Elementary last year had vanished.
“You want to embarrass me and Eric so you can have something to chaw on with your groupies tomorrow morning?” Vanessa said loudly and clearly, for everyone to hear. “Fine. We can do that. Simone was a manipulative, lying bitch who got mad because Eric wouldn’t have anything to do with a minor and made sure all his friends knew how he felt about that. She nearly ruined a man’s life because he snubbed her and cut her off from the rest of her fun.
“And you! Instead of protecting her from all the men who took advantage of a thirteen-year-old girl— That you went after the one man who wouldn’t— What you did— Getting her wrapped up in that and then letting her take the whole rap for that is far more despicable than what she did. She was a minor, LaVon! A little girl! She had a baby when she wasn’t even fifteen yet. What is wrong with you?”
Eric did look at Vachel then, whose eyes blazed as he looked at his grandmother. The boy-man’s fists clenched at his sides and his mouth was tight. Eric realized that his eagerness to go home with an aunt he didn’t know had been a last-ditch effort to salvage something of himself—a gamble that had paid off.
The tension pressed in on Eric; he was as embarrassed now as he had been with Stacy, but this time it was his fault. Foolishness, just as Dirk had said, to think he could come here and talk to Vanessa, then leave without incident, and she was bearing the brunt of it.
He turned with a growl. “Vanessa,” he murmured and took her by the arm; she could be pissed at him later. “Let’s go. You don’t deserve this. You never did.”
“That’s right. And I don’t deserve to be propositioned by a married man, either.”
He stopped, aghast, and looked down at her. “What?”
“Annie Franklin? Your wife?”
“No . . . ” he said carefully. “We broke up last year.”
Her mouth formed a silent Oh! She blinked. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I— I didn’t know.”
And now she was apologizing to him.
“I’m leaving. Would you care to come with me?”
“Yes,” she breathed.
“Vanessa!” her mother hissed when they again began to walk toward the door. “Don’t you dare go with him!”
Vanessa stopped suddenly and looked over her shoulder. Eric would have never thought her capable of hatred so deep it radiated from her, hatred that Vachel’s expression mirrored.
“I chose Eric over you when I was twelve years old,” she snarled, and her mother pulled away from her as if stung. “And while we’re at it, let’s clarify one thing about Knox Hilliard. He was never my lover. He’s my dad.”
Her mother’s mouth worked without a sound coming out. “Wha— What do you mean your dad? Your dad’s over there in that casket.”
“No. The man in the casket is my father, the one who kinda sorta loved me with whatever he had left after you and Simone sucked his soul dry. And that ‘barely legal redheaded whore’ is the sister I never had, the one Simone should have been but wasn’t, and I love her.”
Eric watched, listened.
“Knox Hilliard kept me from going hungry when you didn’t feed me. He kept me in decent clothes and shoes and coats in the winter—without stealing them. He paid for my cheerleading just because he knew that was something I wanted to do. He made sure I got to the doctor when I was sick. He put braces on my teeth and took me to get glasses and then you never noticed that I had braces and glasses.
“He pushed me to get through high school early. He taught me how to drive. He got me emancipated the minute I got my driver’s license. He gave me his car and sent me off to get an education, and you never noticed I was gone. He paid my tuition, my room and board, and gave me a credit card so I wouldn’t go without anything I needed or wanted. Now, today, right this very minute, he’s at my inn doing my job for me. He’s my business partner and he dropped everything on short notice to get on a plane and cover my job so I could come here today and pay my respects to my father—but make no mistake: Knox Hilliard is my dad. He took care of me the way you and Pops should’ve taken care of me but didn’t. He loves me and I love him.”
Eric’s mind churned and burned through those details. She was five years younger than he, the same age as Justice; Knox’s support of Eric and Vanessa would have overlapped by two years at least—and that wouldn’t account for whatever he’d paid toward Dirk’s mission and tuition.
I’ve never been so humbled by an act of courage in my life—and by a child. That girl saved your life, Eric . . . and at great personal cost.
Was this what Vanessa had braved at home after she’d gone to Knox on his behalf? He closed his eyes. “Thank you” just wasn’t enough; it wasn’t ever going to be enough, but it was
the only thing he had to offer her.
LaVon trembled in rage, her nostrils flaring and her eyes narrowing, her chest heaving. “Knox Hilliard murdered my Tom and you’re here singin’ his praises?”
“That’s what you get for fucking around on your husband with a serial killer, who, in case you never made the connection, raped and killed every woman he was involved with. You brought a man into the house who tried to get me alone more than a few times and he terrified me.”
Eric swallowed his tongue and he was pretty sure everyone else had, too.
“Knox’s only real problem was that he was the only man in this county who had the balls to hunt him down and pull the trigger—so the next time you see Knox, you better thank him for saving your miserable little life. I told the truth, Ma. I was rewarded for that by a man who values truth and courage and justice. I wish—” Vanessa stopped, her lips tight, her eyes sparkling with tears. “I wish you could understand what that means.” She looked up at Eric then, and he offered her his arm. “Let’s go,” she murmured. “I don’t ever want to come back again, all this, this trailer trash drama.”
Eric led Vanessa and Vachel out of the funeral parlor. Soberly, he handed her into her car while Vachel took the other seat.
“May I meet you back at your motel?” he murmured. “I think you and I need to talk.”
She looked at him for a long moment, then nodded.
Eric heard the roar of her engine as he jogged across the funeral home’s parking lot to his car, got in, and zipped home to get his truck. Just in case. He couldn’t have planned this any worse if he’d tried. He was sure, by the time he pulled into the motel lot, their tenuous connection would have dissipated, and Vanessa would again tell him to get lost.
But no.
Vanessa and Vachel stood leaning against her car, waiting. Vanessa stared off into the distance while Vachel looked down at an iPhone and his thumbs moved over the screen.
Eric parked and walked toward them, catching Vanessa’s eye, but Vachel moved off a bit as Eric approached, still texting or gaming or . . . avoiding Eric.
“Vachel told me you had a vintage Corvette,” Vanessa murmured.
“Seventy-three Stingray.” He shrugged. “Two seats. Three people. Doesn’t work very well.”
She clasped her hands in front of her and stared at the ground.
“Thank you,” he said again softly. “Knox told me you had sacrificed to clear my name, but I had no idea how much. I’m sorry, Vanessa.”
She said nothing for a moment, then murmured, “My life is far, far better than it ever would have been had I not done it. I didn’t need anything from you but a thank you, which you’ve given me, so we’re square.” She turned to leave him there, but he laid a hand on her arm.
“Please have dinner with me, you and Vachel.”
She stopped and glanced over her shoulder at Vachel, who must have been paying attention to the conversation. Some silent communication passed between them, which he couldn’t see and had no wish to.
“Okay,” she said. “Thank you.”
* * * * *
19: Broken Road
Eric held the passenger door open and offered his hand to Vanessa while Vachel reluctantly climbed in the back. “Thank you,” she murmured again, but her voice was distant, and he sighed as he went around to get in the driver’s side.
This wasn’t going to turn out well.
The clock read 9:36 p.m. when he started the engine and began to back out of the parking space. He glanced over at Vanessa, but it seemed she still didn’t want to look at him.
“Annie and I broke up the night before I came to ask you to breakfast,” he finally said as he navigated the streets, pulled out onto the highway, and headed south. He saw her reflection in the side mirror and he watched her swallow. He looked in his rearview mirror at Vachel, who was equally taciturn, his arms crossed over his chest as he, too, watched the world go by, though his lids began to droop and his head bob downward.
“Why didn’t you tell me that then?” she asked after another long moment.
“Would it have made any difference?”
“I would have accepted had you told me that before you said anything else. And thanked me. That’s all I ever wanted from you, Eric.”
Bullshit. He knew she wanted more, and he was only too willing to give it to her if he could slowly chip his way through the wall he’d made her build.
“I looked up to Annie,” Vanessa murmured abruptly, startling Eric. “She was nice to me even though she had every reason in the world to resent me because of her mother. She would talk about her goals for the future—” She smiled a bit. “She talked in bullet-point lists and I’d sit there and absorb every word of what she said. I wanted to be just like her.”
That gave him a jolt. “Really?”
“She never pulled that catty-girl bullshit and she wouldn’t tolerate it in the cheer squad.”
“I don’t think she knows you see her that way. She really admires what you’ve accomplished.”
Vanessa blinked. “Oh.”
Well, that and . . .
“I was lucky,” she said. “I had a lot of good, strong women around me to teach me what LaVon should’ve.”
“Oh? Annie and who else?”
“Giselle. Sister Jelarde.”
“Dirk’s mother?”
“Yes. She was the Young Women’s president at the time.”
Eric chuckled. “So you didn’t escape indoctrination, either.”
“Oh, no. But I needed it, that stability and perspective.”
“Did you get baptized?”
“No. Giselle wouldn’t let me.” She flashed him a sly grin. “She and Knox got into more than a few fights over that, but she won out. She said I wasn’t old enough to make that decision and that I was confusing gratitude and comfort with true faith. And, well, she was right. I didn’t understand much of it, much less believe, but Sister Jelarde made up for whatever holes Knox, Giselle, and Annie didn’t get quite filled. I’m very grateful and I try to pay them back down the line.” She took a breath. “So, since I didn’t get baptized, I make sure the missionaries in my area get taken care of and the church members have jobs, if they’re willing to work. Church members helped me when I needed it and so I do what I can to help them.”
Eric said nothing for a moment as he tried to formulate his most pressing question . . .
“Are you— Uh, well, I mean—” He stopped and took a deep breath. “I’m not seeing anybody,” he blurted.
“That’s nice.”
Shit. He’d made her retreat back into herself, but he didn’t know how far.
“Um . . . ?”
“Yes,” she said shortly. “Later,” she murmured tightly, casting a glance toward the back seat.
Eric released a frustrated breath. They weren’t getting anywhere like this and he didn’t want to spend the evening trying to ward off her chill.
“Okay, which part of this whole evening has you freaked out the most right now?”
She looked at him suddenly, then her beautiful mouth slowly curved up in a smile and the corners of her eyes crinkled. “All of it. It’s— My watches are melting.”
Eric blinked, confused, but then he began to chuckle. “Surrealism. Salvador Dalí.”
Her smile deepened, but faded fast on a sigh. “It’s just— I didn’t know— I mean, you and me, we’ve barely spoken, but our lives are so—”
“Entwined.”
She nodded. “I don’t . . . even know you, but you’re so much a part of my life. I mean, everything I have is because of you.”
Eric’s throat went dry when he realized how wonderful that sounded, how much more he wanted to be part of her life.
“Likewise you,” he murmured.
But he needed to get it all out there, get it out of the way, because it hung over his head like a—
“I’ve seen your painting,” he said bluntly. “And your magazine covers.”
Her body s
tiffened slightly. “Oh?” she asked quietly, in that gracious tone of voice he now realized was a complete front.
“You and . . . Sebastian?”
She held up a hand and she turned to the back seat, laid a hand on Vachel’s knee, then murmured, “He’s out.”
Then she looked back at him, and said tightly, “I don’t owe you any explanations for how I have or haven’t lived my life, and you have no right to ask.”
He looked at her sharply.
“Yes,” she snapped, her nostrils flaring. “He was my first. And just so you know, I can count my sexual history on two fingers. I doubt you can even remember three-quarters of yours, so don’t look down on me because I go for high-profile quality and not low-class quantity.”
Half angry, he opened his mouth, but—
“Don’t. You’re mad because you’re comparing yourself to Ford-slash-King Midas and feeling like you’re coming up second best.”
“Okay, so what? It’s not like I don’t talk to the guy regularly. He manages my money. And so, yeah, maybe I’m a little insecure.”
“Then let’s make you a lot insecure. My lover? Nash Piper.”
Eric felt like his chest had exploded. Two famous men, one of whom had gone completely missing years before.
“Turn around,” she said, her voice hard. “I’m not going to bandage your ego or coddle your pride, especially since I’m not the slut in this car.”
Suddenly deeply ashamed, he said, “Please, Vanessa. I’m sorry. Again. I— I just want to have dinner with you, please.”
“Who are you having dinner with tonight, Eric?” she demanded. “Ford’s muse? Chef Granny? The little girl? ’Cause you sure as hell aren’t having dinner with me.”