Home to Eden

by Dallas Schulze

  "No." But there was no force behind the word. Kate stared at the water in the sink. She trailed her fingers through the slowly dissipating suds, vividly aware of Nick watching her. Waiting.

  Seeing her father had stirred up emotions she'd thought were long dead and buried. Things she'd told herself were all but forgotten, anger she'd convinced herself she no longer felt. She'd spent the day feeling restless and with a knot in her stomach the size of a fist. The emotional turmoil had exhausted her, and yet she was too wired to think about resting. She felt as if her skin hummed with nervous tension.

  She didn't want to talk about her father, didn't want to think about him.

  "Did he say anything more about how long he's going to be around?" The question had been haunting her ail day.

  "No. Just that he didn't have any firm plans."

  "That figures." She pulled the plug from the sink and stood watching the water drain. "He never liked to plan more than a few days in advance, if he could avoid it."

  "A spontaneous kind of guy?" he questioned cautiously.

  "A selfish, self-centered, self-indulgent kind of guy," she said and immediately wished she could call the words back. "I don't want to talk about him."

  "Maybe you don't want to, but I get the feeling you need to." Nick offered her a towel to dry her hands.

  "Don't tell me what I need!" she snapped, jerking the towel from him. His brows rose at her tone and she felt herself flush. "I'm sorry. I... It's not your fault. I just... I wasn't expecting to see him."

  "I know his job required a lot of moves when you were a child," he said cautiously.

  "It didn't require moves," she corrected him. She began pleating the towel, starting at one end and making neat little back and forth folds, keeping her eyes on the process. "He chose to move. I never went to school in the same place twice. We moved every year. Every year, I was the new kid. Yd eventually make friends but then we'd be gone again. I finally stopped trying to make friends."

  "Didn't he see how hard it was on you?"

  "I don't think he wanted to see." Kate threw the towel on the counter and shoved her hands in the pockets of her slacks. She didn't look at him but focused her gaze on the clock on the wall, watching the second hand tick its way around the dial. "He just had to keep moving, always looking for... something. I never did know what. The perfect job. The perfect town. I doubt if he even knew what he was looking for."

  "What about your mother? How did she feel about moving so often?"

  "His happiness was always her primary concern. Everything else came second to that." A tired kind of bitterness colored the words. "She did insist that we didn't move in the middle of the school year, but that was as far as it went."

  "Maybe she liked moving?" Nick hazarded. Once again, he had the sensation of picking his way through an emotional minefield.

  "I don't think she cared one way or another,"

  Kate said, shaking her head. "As long as she was with him, she was happy. He felt the same way about her. They were...complete. Children were nice, but we weren't necessary."

  "We?'' Nick pounced on the word, his expression startled. "You have brothers and sisters?"

  "Had," Kate said softly, almost as if speaking to herself. "I had a brother and a sister."

  Nick stared at her, feeling as if he'd just been kicked in the chest. "What happened?"

  "My mother died when I was twelve. We were in Denver then. Joshua was three and Mary was just over a year old—just babies, both of them. Mother got pneumonia and it just didn't respond to treatment. Before she died, she asked me to take care of them and of Daddy. I told her I would. I promised her."

  As she spoke, her voice became subtly higher and lighter until Nick had the eerie sense that he was listening to a twelve-year-old Kate. Her eyes were distant, almost unseeing, as if she was looking into the past.

  "After she died, I kept my promise. I took care of the children and looked after Daddy. I had to go to school but I always came straight home so I could spend time with Joshua and Mary and take care of^ the house, cook supper. I never minded. They wen such good babies."

  Nick's heart ached at the picture she was painting. She'd been just a child herself, too young to be trying to be mother to her brother and sister. "What happened?" he prompted when she didn't continue.

  She blinked and shook her head, as if physically shaking off the memories. When she looked at him, there was a fierce, burning anger in her eyes. "He gave them away," she said. "He gave them away like they were unwanted packages that he was returning for credit."

  "Gave them away?"

  "It was a private adoption." Kate picked up the towel again, wrapping either end of it around her hands and jerking it back and forth with tightly controlled violence. "After Mama died, he started drinking heavily. I used to wonder if he'd sold my brother and sister for money to buy booze."

  "Did he?"

  "I don't think so." She scowled at the towel stretched tautly between her hands. "I... could never really believe that of him. I think he just gave them up. I came home from school one day and they were gone. He said he did it for me, that I was too young to be trying to take care of my brother and sister."

  "You were only twelve," he began but Kate's head came up and her expression cut his words off short.

  "I was taking care of them. They knew me. They loved me. We were fine!" she said fiercely. "But he didn't care about that."

  "Maybe he really was worried about you," Nick said carefully. He'd seen David Moran's face this morning, had seen the longing in his eyes when he looked at his daughter. He didn't doubt that, whatever his faults, the man loved her.

  "He was drunk and crying when he told me they were gone," she said, as if he hadn't spoken. Her voice caught suddenly. "I didn't even get to tell them goodbye."

  Nick stared at her helplessly. He knew what it was to lose people you loved and he knew that there were no words that could take away the hurt. It was all too easy to picture her as a child, losing her entire family in a matter of months. First her mother, then her brother and sister and then, just as surely, her father. He wondered if, in some ways, the loss of her father hadn't been hardest of all because it had seemed like a deliberate betrayal.

  "He may have meant well," he said finally, knowing the words were hopelessly inadequate. "You can't know what someone else is thinking."

  "I know," she said coldly, her expression implacable. "I know him and I'll never forgive him for what he did."

  "Kate." He reached out to take her hand but she stepped back and he let his hand drop to his side. "It's not good to hang onto anger."

  "Are you telling me I should forgive him?" she asked incredulously. In a heartbeat, her mood shifted from icy rage to white-hot anger. "What he did was unforgivable, and he didn't do it for me or for Joshua or Mary. He did it for himself because he was weak and selfish and he didn't want the responsibility. Don't you dare tell me to forgive him!"

  "I'm not saying that." He'd never seen her like this—so angry that she was trembling with the force of it. "I'm just saying that you have to let go of the anger."

  ''I don't have to do anything. You don't know what it's like to lose—" She caught her breath and stared at him in shocked realization.

  "I don't know what it's like to lose people you love?" he asked mildly.

  "I'm sorry," she muttered, looking away. "Iknow you've lost—more than I have. At least I can assume that Joshua and Mary are still alive."

  "They're still lost to you," Nick said gently. This time, when he reached out to take her hand, he ignored her attempt to pull away. He tugged her toward him, drawing her into his arms and holding her. She didn't try to pull away, but neither did she relax in his hold.

  "You can't hold onto the anger forever, Kate. Sooner or later, it turns on you and starts eating you alive. You have to find a way to let it go."

  She didn't say anything, but the stiffness slowly eased from her body and she allowed herself to lean against his chest.
Nick rested his cheek on top of her head and tightened his arms around her. He hoped he'd gotten through to her. He knew from experience what that kind of anger could do to your soul.

  ❧

  The Red Lake Motel was on the south end of town, conveniently located near the highway. The name came from the swimming pool built by the original owners, the bottom of which had been surfaced in an imaginative, but not particularly attractive, terra-cotta colored plaster. The intention had been for the pool to be striking and memorable—and it had succeeded on both those counts. Unfortunately, a red pool wasn't exactly a positive memory for most guests, making them think of horror movies and great white sharks rather than basking in the California sunshine. The pool had eventually been resurfaced, but the name had remained, providing a minor mystery for the guests.

  Nick turned the Harley into the narrow parking lot. that fronted the low pink stucco building. If Eden had a tourist season, it obviously wasn't the middle of summer, if he could judge by the number of open parking spaces. He pulled into a spot that boasted a pencil-thin strip of shade, courtesy of one of the ubiquitous Mexican fan palms that had been planted with military precision along both sides of the street in classic California style.

  He swung off the bike, tugged off his helmet and stood for a moment, debating the wisdom of what he was about to do. Kate would be furious if she knew he'd sought out her father. Actually, seeing her furious would almost be a relief, he thought, frowning.

  Since David Moran's arrival two weeks ago, she'd been so tightly controlled that it seemed as if she didn't feel anything at all. She smiled, she even laughed occasionally, but there was always the sense that she was just going through the motions, that the real Kate, the one who let herself feel things, was locked away somewhere with her eyes closed and her hands over her ears.

  He'd tried to get her to talk to him but she just smiled politely and said there was nothing wrong. It was that politeness that bothered him more than anything else. If she'd told him to mind his own business, shouted at him to leave her alone, it wouldn't have been as frightening as that cool little smile and those empty eyes. He was obviously on the other side of whatever wall she'd retreated behind. She wasn't going to come out, and she had no intention of letting him—of letting anyone—inside. He couldn't shake the feeling that, if he didn't do something to break down that wall, she was going to close herself off so completely that he'd never be able to reach her again.

  Nick bounced the helmet lightly between his hands for a moment before coming to a decision. He wasn't sure what a visit to her father might accomplish. But he had to do something.

  Leaving the helmet with the bike, he turned toward the motel. David Moran's room was at the far end of the building, through the courtyard and past the pool. There was a couple lounging next to the pool, pale faces turned up to catch the blazing heat of the sun. From the look of them, they were attempting to go from winter white to California tan in one afternoon. He hoped they'd brought a good supply of sunburn cream.

  Nick hesitated outside David's door. Did he know what he was doing here? The answer came promptly. Not really. With a rueful smile, he lifted his hand and knocked. He'd already seen David's camper in the parking lot so he didn't waste any time hoping to be saved from the consequences of his own folly by the other man's absence.

  "Nick!" David looked surprised but welcoming when he answered the door. "Come on in."

  "Thanks." Nick stepped inside. The contrast between the heat outside and the air-conditioned room chilled his skin. It was like stepping out of an oven directly into a refrigerator.

  "I'd forgotten how hot summers in this part of the country could be," David said. "Last few years, I've been spending most of my time farther north. It's got to be close to a hundred out there today."

  "Hundred and one, according to the thermometer on the bank. But the heat wave's supposed to break tomorrow. Should be down to around eighty-five or so."

  "Break out the heavy coats." David said, giving an exaggerated shiver.

  Nick grinned and shrugged. "It's all relative. Compared to a hundred and one, eighty-five is practically a cold snap."

  "I guess so." He bent to turn down the sound on the television set, muting Rosie O'Donnell's monologue. "Keeps me company," he said, nodding to the television set. "Silence gets overwhelming sometimes when you live alone."

  "It can." Nick thought of the years he'd lived in New York, all the long, empty nights spent watching Leno and Letterman."

  "You want something to drink?" David asked. "This place has a kitchen—more or less. It's not much more than a closet but it saves me from having to eat out every night. Or fudge meals from my in-laws," he added, smiling over his shoulder. He'd had dinner with them twice, both times at Kate's invitation, though she'd barely spoken a word during either meal. He pulled open a pair of louvered doors to reveal a small kitchen area. 'I've got Four Roses, Chivas and some single-malt whiskey. Name your poison."

  "It's a little early in the day for me," Nick said easily. "You have anything cold and wet?"

  "Beer and I think there's a couple of Cokes."

  "A Coke would be great." Nick took the ice-cold can from him and opened it, watching while David threw some ice cubes in a tumbler and splashed whiskey over them.

  "Place didn't come with much by way of bar glasses," he said, lifting the tumbler as illustration. He smiled and shrugged. "When you travel as much as I do, you get used to making do."

  "Sounds like you've seen most of the country," Nick said.

  "Pretty much. Have a seat." David gestured toward the room's one overstuffed chair. "I've traveled through every state except Hawaii." He sat on one of the straight-backed chairs that flanked the tiny table. "Only reason I've missed Hawaii is because you gotta leave the ground to get there. I don't do planes or boats," he added with a self-deprecating smile.

  "That puts Hawaii pretty much out of reach unless you're one hell of a swimmer."

  "Not that good." David's chuckle ended on a wistful sigh. "It's a pity, though. It would be nice to make it a grand slam. Every state in the union."

  "Trying for a spot in Guinness?"

  "No. Just like to see what's over the next hill. I never could settle in one place for very long. Always had the feeling I was missing out on something."

  "More hills, usually."

  "More often than not," David agreed. "But now and again, there's something new. It makes it worthwhile." He took a swallow of his drink and shot Nick a shrewd look. "I imagine Katie told you we moved a lot when she was a little girl."

  "She told me." Nick kept his tone neutral.

  "She hated it." David shifted his eyes to his glass, swirling it lightly so that the whiskey slid in thin, amber curtains over the silvery ice cubes. "I always told myself she'd learn to love it, given time. But she never did." He shook his head. "I used to think that children sort of grew up in the direction you aimed them, but it doesn't always work that way. Katie hated every move."

  "Then why did you keep moving?" Despite himself, there was an edge to the question.

  David's fingers tightened around the glass and then relaxed slowly. "I thought about settling down. Even tried it a time or two. But I couldn't do it. After a few months, I'd get the itch and I just had to move along."

  No matter what it did to your family? But Nick didn't ask the question.

  "Sally—Katie's mother—she never minded," David said. The words held a faintly defensive edge. "She didn't care where we lived. Long as we were together, she was happy."

  Nick remembered Kate saying the same thing, remembered also the old hurt in her eyes. He felt the sides of the Coke can start to bend under the pressure of his grip and made a conscious effort to loosen it.

  "You were lucky."

  "And I always knew it." David looked at him again. "Did Katie ask you to come here?"

  "No." Nick raised his brows in surprise. "Why would she?''

  "I don't know." David frowned at his glass. "She...I n
ever did understand her. I never knew how to talk to her. She always seemed to see too much."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I always felt like she could see right through me, see who I really was." His eyes, the same smoky blue as his daughter's, focused on a point past Nick's shoulder, looking into the past. "She'd look at me with those pretty blue eyes and she'd see right through all my lies to the truth."

  Nick said nothing. He hadn't known what to expect from this visit, but he certainly hadn't expected the other man to open up to him like this. He glanced at the whiskey and wondered if it was David's first of the day and if that was what had loosened his tongue.

  David's eyes met Nick's for an instant before flickering away. "I suppose she told you about Joshua and little Mary?"

  "She told me," Nick said, making an effort to keep his tone neutral. He didn't want to do anything to discourage this flow of information, and he was curious to see what Kate's father had to say about his two younger children.

  "I shouldn't have let them go, I suppose." David rattled the ice nervously in his glass and then got up abruptly to splash more whiskey over the half-melted cubes. He sat down again and took a deep swallow, as if fortifying himself to continue. "I told myself— told everyone—that I did it because it was what was best for them, what was best for Katie. I said she was too young to be taking care of her brother and sister."

  "She was just a child herself."

  "Yes, but she was so much older than her years. And she knew." He sighed and let his head fall forward until his chin nearly touched his chest. His voice dropped to a whisper. "I could never fool her. She always knew why I did it,"

  "Why did you?" Remembering Kate's anguish, Nick had to struggle to keep his voice level.

  David didn't speak right away, and Nick wondered if he was going to ignore the question. But then he lifted his head and met Nick's eyes for a moment, his expression an odd mixture of defiance and pleading. "I did it because I was weak." He looked away. "I did it because I wanted to bury myself in the bottle, and I couldn't do it with two little ones depending on me."