“All right, all right.” Rob was impatient. “This isn’t the time or place—”
“You brought it up. Nina will have to know sooner or later.”
“Not if I can fix it.”
“What? By telling more lies, doing some more cheating? Have you called an attorney yet?” She knew by his expression he hadn’t, and she sighed in disgust.
“I’ve put out some feelers. It can’t be just any lawyer, Caro—”
“Having this accident, Rob—doesn’t it show you how quickly it can happen? We’ve been lucky one of our drivers hasn’t had one. What if they were to file for workers’ comp? They’re going to know you faked the numbers—” Her head throbbed suddenly, and she clapped her hands to it.
“You’re not home—” Rob got up, pulling off his leather jacket, flinging it over the back of the chair.
“What has my being at home got to do with it? You had ample time while I was there and did nothing. You’ve broken every promise—”
“I know I screwed up, Caro. Please calm down. If you’d just bear with me—”
“It’s more than the business now, Rob. It’s us, too, our marriage.”
“What’s wrong with our marriage?”
Caroline averted her eyes. “You’re right; this isn’t the time.”
“You aren’t thinking about divorcing me, are you? Because I’m going to fix this. I swear.”
Caroline looked back at him. Neither of them had said the word, not since all this mess started, but she couldn’t deny she had thought about it. While the idea alarmed her, on some level it also relieved her that he and not she had been the one to bring it up.
“You’ve always said you wouldn’t do it to Nina, what your folks did to you.” Rob sat down.
“I was five. Nina’s almost twenty. Even if I were to fall into a depression the way my mom did, it wouldn’t have the effect on Nina that it did on me. It’s a good thing, too, because there’s going to be no”—Caroline’s voice stumbled, and she took a moment—“no Auntie Lanie to pick up the pieces for Nina.”
Half rising, Rob made as if to comfort her. Caroline shook her head, warding him off, and he sat down, looking hurt. She twisted her wedding band around her finger. He shifted his feet. Outside the room, in the corridor, voices echoed. Someone shouted for ice water. A doctor was summoned over the PA. But that noise was tolerable. It was the silence inside the room that was difficult. Caroline felt battered by it.
Rob broke it. “Your mom’s really worried about you, Caro. She told me about the letter you found from your dad, that it’s given you this idea you can find him. She wanted to know if I thought it wasn’t crazy.”
“I’m not crazy, Rob. Certainly not for wanting to fulfill a last wish for someone in my life who has meant the world to me, who’s been there for me when my parents couldn’t be or refused to be or whatever it was they were.”
“I get it, but Maggie’s afraid you’re wasting your time.”
“No, she’s upset because I’m doing something for Lanie. You know how she is.”
“I know you’ve said she’s jealous.”
Caroline shrugged. That wasn’t it, not exactly. Her mother resented Lanie to this day for doing the very thing she’d asked Lanie to do, which was to care for Caroline. Nurture her, feed her, braid her hair. Hold her and comfort her when she cried for her daddy and her home with two parents that had once held all the love in the world. How did you explain where that had gone to a five-year-old child? What were the words you said to reassure a little girl it wasn’t her fault for forgetting to recap the toothpaste or refusing to eat her broccoli? Even Caroline’s aunt Lanie hadn’t known those words. But she had known how to pull Caroline into her lap and rock her, read to her, sing to her when Caroline’s mother could not. And even as her mother had relied on Lanie to provide this very support, she’d harbored a long-standing grudge against Lanie for having done it so beautifully and with such grace.
Caroline glanced at Rob. “I can’t not look for my dad just to reassure my mother.”
“Okay, but you’re usually not so impulsive. I think that’s what caught Maggie off guard. The letter you found is so old.”
“It’s the only clue I have, and it’s not as if there’s a lot of time.”
“Have you tried the internet?”
“You know I have, and I’ve never found anything.” Caroline was referring to a handful of attempts she’d made in the past, searching any number of the people-locater sites for her dad’s name. The last time had been when Nina was a high school freshman, working on her family tree for a class assignment. She and Caroline had hunted online together. Before then Caroline’s searches had been sporadic, riddled with uncertainty and apprehension, and as the years passed, it had become easier to ignore her dad’s absence and the mystery it posed. If she found him, she’d have to deal with the reality of their estrangement, which had begun the year he’d remarried when she was twelve. Caroline had been furious with him, refusing to speak to him, leaving the room when he tried to visit her. She’d believed then that love was finite and that he’d chosen to lavish all he had on that boy, Harris, who belonged to his second wife. It wasn’t until she had Nina that Caroline realized love was expansive, inclusive—forever. But by then her dad’s trail had gone cold.
Rob bent his elbows onto his knees. His gaze was somber. “You know it’s possible he’s died.”
“Yes, of course I know that, Rob,” she said impatiently. “But regardless, Lanie needs to know. I need to know—so I’m doing this. I’m going to find out as best I can as much as I can.”
“The coach you saw—Kelly—did he know anything?”
“If he did, I didn’t get a chance to find out.”
Rob frowned.
“His son came. It was late. Coach Kelly isn’t well. I really don’t think he had any information anyway.” Caroline hesitated, but no, she wasn’t going into it: that Jace had been hostile, even threatening, that she suspected he may have run her off the road. She couldn’t trust that Rob wouldn’t repeat her suspicions to her mother, causing more needless upset. More than that, she didn’t trust her recollection. Maybe Charlotte was right, and her head injury had caused her to conjure the threat. It made sense, she thought, given her state of mind leaving the Kellys. Her brain had been churning.
“So how did you end up driving into a ditch?”
“I’m not sure I did drive into it. Someone was behind me . . . the road was icy. I lost control.”
“Someone hit you? On purpose?” Rob stared at her.
“I’m going to get dressed.” Caroline tossed aside the bed covers, swung her feet to the floor, closing her eyes against the sensation when her head went swimmy.
“Whoa.” Rob reached out a hand to steady her.
She ignored it. “I’m fine,” she said. She found her clothes in the bathroom, the charcoal wool slacks, tailored white shirt, and dark blazer she’d worn on the plane yesterday, and put them on. She finger combed her dark, chin-length hair, tucking it behind her ears, and wished for a toothbrush. Settled for rinsing her mouth instead.
“I know you have a lot on your mind, Caro.” Rob spoke from the doorway. In the mirror, his image looked abashed and yet somehow defensive. “But this stuff with the business, if you could hold off telling Nina, give me more time—”
“I’ve given you time, Rob. I haven’t said a word to anyone since I found out in October, more than two months ago, out of respect for you and our marriage. I wanted so much to believe you when you said you’d do the right thing, but you haven’t, and you don’t show any sign that you will.” She kept her eyes on his mirrored reflection. “You seem to think if you wait long enough, I’ll forget.”
“No, that’s not—”
“You’ve done it before, Rob.”
His brow furrowed.
“In college, our junior year? When you reported your bike and television, and I don’t know what else, were stolen? You filed that bogus claim with the insu
rance company. How much did you get? Five hundred? A thousand?”
“My God, Caro, I can’t believe you’re raking that up. That was before we—before we were married. We weren’t even going out then, were we?”
They had dated off and on through college. At that particular time they’d been mostly off. But Caroline didn’t know why it mattered and ignored his question. “You said it wasn’t how you handled things. You promised me you would never do it again. We talked about it, how much we both hated cheaters and liars.”
“I was busted, desperate. My folks had lost their farm, if you recall. They weren’t able to give me anything. There was rent due, bills to pay. I couldn’t ask them. You know all this.”
“I trusted you, Rob . . .” She had believed him when intuition had warned her she shouldn’t. Some sixth sense had advised they didn’t navigate the world with the same moral compass, but then she’d foolishly gotten pregnant. It had happened after they graduated from Drake University in Des Moines, where they’d both attended college.
She’d been working for Rob at New Wheaton Transit, helping him with the start-up. She’d handled marketing and scheduling. Rob had handled everything else. It had been fun being part of his new venture, but it had also involved spending a lot of time together, working late and on weekends. Sometimes the personal and professional lines had gotten tangled, and they’d reverted to their old college-romance days, sharing meals, pitchers of beer, and, on occasion, a bed. The sex was convenient, stress relieving, easy. Too easy. When Caroline had found out she was pregnant, she’d actually been planning to move back to Houston, at least for a while. Rob had already proposed marriage several times. He said he loved her. He thought it would be a good move for them. But she hadn’t been sure. She’d wanted time apart, breathing space to think—but then the prospect of a baby changed everything.
Although abortion was an available option, she’d never considered it. She’d wanted marriage and the stability of a two-parent family. She’d wanted a family unbroken by divorce. She’d wanted her child to have a full-time father. Rob was a good man, devoted to her and over the moon about the baby. Caroline had been determined to make a loving home with him where doubt couldn’t enter. And she’d done that.
Until now.
“If you tell—”
Caroline met Rob’s eyes in the mirror. “If I tell, we could both end up in prison. I looked it up. Lying to the IRS, lying to our insurance company, our employees—it’s fraud. You’ve made me an accessory, Rob, for who knows how many years you’ve been running this scam, when you knew the risk, that we could get arrested. When were you going to tell me? When I was handcuffed? Shoved into a cop car?”
“I’ll find the nurse, see if you can leave now.”
“I’m not going home with you.” Caroline kept his reflected gaze.
“You’re not serious.” His look assessed her, questioned her—pleaded with her.
“I am,” she said.
Rob had gone, reluctantly, and Caroline was waiting to be discharged when a policeman tapped lightly on the open door. He introduced himself as Officer Levosky. “I answered the security guard’s call for assistance last night.”
“I remember,” she said. “You waited with me until the ambulance came.” It was the sound of his voice she recalled, the way he’d talked to her, keeping her calm until the paramedics took over. “I’m glad you were there.”
“Part of the job,” he said. He pulled a small notebook from his coat pocket. “You were pretty shook up, though. You kept saying it wasn’t an accident. I was hoping maybe this morning you’d be able to tell me what you meant by that.”
Caroline saw the headlights again in her mind’s eye, closing in on her. “There was a car behind me; the driver had to see me, but he kept coming as if he meant to hit me. As if that was his intention.”
“Did you get a look at him? Could you describe him?”
She shook her head. “I’m pretty sure it was a man, but beyond that . . .” She trailed off.
“Well, I had a look at your rental car earlier, and while there’s some damage to the back bumper, it isn’t specific enough to say with certainty when it happened or how. Do you know what kind of car was behind you?”
“It was an SUV, a big one, dark colored.”
“But you don’t know a make, model, or license plate.” He wasn’t really asking. He could see by the look on her face she had no such information. He stowed his notepad.
Caroline touched her temples. “Maybe I imagined it? The nurse said because of my head injury, I could have—it just seemed very real, you know?”
“Well, I’ve heard a good knock on the head will have that effect.” Levosky gave her his card and said if she thought of anything else or had any questions, she could call the number on the front.
She thanked him, and looking at the card after he left, she thought all she had were questions, but there wasn’t a single one that Officer Levosky could answer.
4
Harris—Monday, January 8
Harris swipes a hand across the bathroom mirror, clearing it of the fog Holly’s shower has made. He strokes the razor down one cheek, avoiding his own gaze. He doesn’t like the look of himself these days, like a mangy dog. Holly emerges from her closet fully dressed for her day in western boots and skinny jeans topped by a cream-colored cashmere sweater. The upscale cowgirl look is one clients on the hunt for property in the Texas Hill Country seem to appreciate, one Holly wears to perfection. She’s fastening the clasp on the turquoise bracelet Harris gave her for Christmas around her wrist, and when she meets his gaze, it’s by accident. They glance away from each other quickly.
They’re like strangers now. The thought burns across Harris’s brain. It’s not the first time he’s had it. He rinses his razor, apologizes. “I’m sorry for waking you.”
She sighs.
An apology only works the first twelve dozen times you’ve screwed up, Harris has found. Shedding the towel around his waist, he ducks into his closet.
“I don’t think I can take it much longer.” Holly is standing out of his view beyond his closet door. “I’m not an idiot, Harris.”
No, he thinks. His wife is one of the smartest, kindest, and most beautiful people he knows.
“Something’s wrong. Something is obviously troubling you again, but you won’t talk, and I’m tired of begging. It’s not good for the boys.” Kyle is seventeen, Connor twelve. Their sons are Holly’s heart, but they aren’t less than that to Harris. “You think they don’t know, don’t see . . .” She pauses, and then it’s almost as if she’s speaking to herself: “I don’t know why I’m wasting my breath. You don’t hear me.”
Harris steps into jeans, puts on a T-shirt, and pulls a V-necked sweater over it. “I do hear you.” After walking out of the closet, Nikes in hand, he sits on the bench adjacent to the Jacuzzi tub to put them on. “But I’ve told you, the stress—the situation with one of the football players at school—”
“One more thing you won’t tell me about—”
“Can’t,” Harris interrupts. “Can’t tell you about. The boy’s got a right to privacy.”
“You aren’t his lawyer, Harris, or his shrink. You’re his coach. You don’t have a legal obligation—”
“If it comes out the wrong way, it’ll kill his scholarship chances. It could ruin his life. It might anyway. Is that what you want?” Holly wasn’t entirely correct, saying he was the kid’s coach. He wasn’t, not directly. The kid in question played football, rather than baseball with Harris, but played was too simple. He was the Wyatt Warrior football team, its star player. He could probably paper his bedroom wall with recruiting letters from every top program in the country—Penn State, Alabama, Oklahoma, you name it.
“You don’t trust me, Harris. You never have, and I’m beginning to think you never will.”
“That isn’t true.”
“Oh, really? Nearly from the day we were married, you’ve suffered from anxiety and b
outs of depression. You’ve been having the same nightmare for years—but you won’t talk about it—”
“It’s not related to anything—”
“That’s bullshit, and you and I both know it. There are the outright panic attacks too—”
“I haven’t had one of those since—”
“I know you’re back to taking something again. Drugs—Oxy or God knows what. I’m scared for you—for us—the boys.”
His heart stalls. “It’s—I’m not—”
Holly flattens her palm, traffic cop style. “Don’t bother.”
Swallowing the rest of his denial, Harris turns from her and the accusation and hurt in her eyes, and when he says, “About that kid,” he knows immediately it’s a mistake and clamps his mouth around the rest. It would be suicide, using the story to distract Holly. Turning back to her, he spreads his hands. “You’re better off not knowing the trouble he’s in, trust me. I’m trying to protect you and the boys. I’ve told you that.”
If anything, Harris is understating the situation. What the kid is doing is big time. When he’s caught—and it’s only a matter of time until that happens—the charges won’t be dismissed with a slap on the wrist. Harris doesn’t think even the kid’s rich daddy can pay his way out of it. But the kid isn’t the only one who’ll go down. Harris is on the same sinking ship. Collateral damage. A casualty of the domino effect. Whether he likes it or not, the kid has got him on his knees.
“This is a small town,” Holly says. “Kyle and Connor could be friends with this boy you’re so worried about. Are they? Do we know him?”
“I’ve got to go. I’m late for a meeting.” It’s a lie, but Harris wants out; he needs air.
“Sure. Go.” Holly swipes the air in front of her face as if to erase him from her vision. “It’s what you do best.”
He leaves the bathroom, Holly in his wake. Her anger is palpable, and she has a right to it. He deserves it and everything else she feels toward him. Although the idea of divorce sickens him, he’s thought of filing for her sake. Would it be less hurtful for her and the boys if he left—as in for good? Harris has asked himself this a hundred times, but no answer is forthcoming.
Tell No One Page 4