“Anger cuts both ways.” Steve kept her gaze. “I’m sorry for the circumstances that brought you, but I’m not sorry you’re here.”
Caroline warmed beneath his regard, the confusion of her emotions. He’d been the first boy she’d loved, and she could still see that boy, still feel him, in this man sitting across from her. But the man was a stranger. Yet she couldn’t deny she was drawn to him. She felt at ease with him, as if all the years between then and now had lasted only a moment. “Dad had a terrible accident a few weeks before he wrote Mom the letter.”
“When he fell at the stadium.”
“You know—?”
“You told me.”
“I did? Oh . . . when I saw you last October.” She covered her face briefly with her hands. “Is there anything I didn’t talk about?”
“Not then. You told me about it the summer we dated, before you went to Iowa. The actual accident happened when we were high school freshmen, I think, or sophomores? Anyway, you were still beating yourself up that you didn’t go see him. And you were also still pretty pissed off at your dad for remarrying.”
Caroline sat back, flustered and somehow buoyed by his reminder of how close they’d been. They’d told each other everything. They’d imagined they would spend their lives together. Once they had gone to a state park, where guests were asked to register. Steve had picked up the pen and written Mr. and Mrs. Steven Wayman. It had thrilled her.
She had an urge to ask if he remembered doing that, but it felt wrong—even that she had the desire bothered her. Suppose he said yes? Suppose he said no? She loosened her gaze from his, watched as her fingertips traced the table’s edge, saying she regretted it, that she’d been so angry with her dad.
He knew about regret, Steve said, and when she looked up, he caught her glance and kept it, and the moment hung, waiting, prescient, alight with their history of what-ifs and if-onlys.
Caroline looked away first. “What time is it? I’m sure I’ve kept you long enough.”
“It’s after seven. Are you hungry? We could go for a burger.”
“Do they make a grilled cheese here? I don’t think you can mess up a grilled cheese, can you?”
“Let’s ask.” Steve got the waitress’s attention.
She shouldn’t keep him, Caroline thought, but she didn’t want him to go. Neither did she want to go with him somewhere else and lose the moment, the warmth of their connection. Bad coffee aside, they were fine here. The noise level was comfortable, the occasional louder clatter of dishes and cutlery underscored by a lower, more constant hum of conversation from other patrons. Outside it was cold and dark. Night wrapped the building like a cloak.
The waitress came over and agreed she could have the sandwiches right out, along with bowls of tomato soup, if they wanted.
Nodding, Caroline thanked her.
“That would be great,” Steve said, and once the waitress was gone, he found Caroline’s gaze. “When did you last see your dad? I know you told me, but I’ve forgotten the details.”
“Umm, I was maybe fifteen or sixteen? He drove down to Houston from Wyatt, where he lived with his second wife.”
“Wyatt’s south of here, not too far—thirty miles.”
“I saw the exit for it, driving up.”
“His wife had a son, didn’t she?”
“Yes.” Caroline didn’t want to go into it, her petty jealousy of Harris. “When Dad came to Houston, he stayed with Aunt Lanie. The last time, when I was fifteen, Mom drove me over there. I didn’t want to go; Mom made me. The second I got there, Dad started in, pressuring me to go to Wyatt with him for the weekend. I told him I would never go. Ever. I said horrible things.” Caroline brought her knuckled fist to her mouth, seeing it in her mind, hearing herself. “I told him I hated him, Julia, and Harris, and if he loved them so much, why didn’t he just go be with them and leave me alone. I told him—” Caroline paused and glanced at Steve, but on seeing his compassion, she jerked her eyes away. “I told him I hoped they all rotted in hell.”
“You were just a kid, Caro, a hurt kid—”
“I was evil, saying those horrible things.” Steve started to protest. Caroline put up her hand. “Please don’t defend me.”
“All right,” he said softly. “What happened after that?”
“He left. I never saw him again. Oh, he called a handful of times, and we talked. I should say he talked. I kept it up, giving him an attitude, until pretty soon he stopped calling. I’ve always figured it was my fault.” Caroline held her hands in her lap, one thumbnail picking the other. She was mortified by her confession. Until now only Lanie had known how awful she was.
“Well, I never met him, but there was always something in the way you talked about him—I know you were mad, but underneath I could tell you really loved and missed him. I bet he knew it too.”
Caroline glanced up at Steve, grateful and somehow also shamed by his kindness. It was a moment longer before her throat loosened enough that she could speak normally. “When I was growing up, until he remarried, he took me everywhere with him. He used to dance me around on his feet—” She paused now, afraid she would cry in spite of herself.
She saw it when Steve’s hand moved, when it stopped short of touching hers. She wanted that, his touch, and her desire for it disconcerted her. She was glad for the interruption when the waitress returned with their soup and sandwiches. They busied themselves with their meal.
“Mom thinks he was scared because some woman’s husband was after him.”
Steve looked up from his soup, brows raised. “I remember he cheated on her, didn’t he?”
“Yes. Mom’s convinced he had a woman in every town. She’s probably right. He cheated on his second wife too.”
“Men have disappeared for less,” Steve said. “Hell, men have been killed for less.” He sat back. “Wow. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. It’s the cop coming out.”
“It’s a possibility.” Caroline shrugged. “One of them, anyway, although I haven’t found any evidence of his being caught. From everything I’ve heard so far, it’s more likely his disappearance is related to his job.”
“How so?”
“He was involved with some men, the head coach at Tillman State and some of the boosters and alumni—they were paying athletes—” She stopped. “It’s such a wild story.”
“It might go well with dessert. We could take a chance, try the chocolate pie. What do you think?”
She smiled. They ordered a slice of coconut pie to go with the chocolate, and while they ate them, Caroline recounted the details of her meeting with Coach Kelly and her subsequent literal run-in with Jace that had first landed her in the hospital and then led to her flying to Wichita to talk to Tricia, who had mentioned Kip, the investigative reporter. “He’s the one who put the pieces of the puzzle together for me, the trouble Dad was in, the threat that was hanging over him. Kip, too, I guess, if he went ahead and exposed what those guys were doing.” Caroline set her fork on the opposite side of her dessert plate. “Kip suggested I might need to watch my back.”
“Because of Jace. That guy should be arrested—”
“Not Jace. Kip was talking about the men involved in the recruiting scam. They still have a lot to lose even thirty years after the fact, if the story should come out. Kip and Jace both warned me about this guy Farley Dade. His nephew, Brick, played for Tillman.”
“Brick Coleman, who played for Chicago? He was a powerhouse for the Bears back in the late eighties, early nineties.”
“That’s him. He won a lot of games for the Tillman Tigers too. Of course he, and who knows how many other football players, was paid to do it.”
“By his uncle.”
“By a whole bunch of boosters and alums. There were rumors of a slush fund, according to Kip, and wire transferring of funds between all these bogus accounts, and Jace’s dad and mine knew about it and went along.”
“Now you’re talking bank fraud.” Steve was grim.
“That’s serious business.”
“They could have gone to prison if it could have been proven, but in the end, according to Kip, my dad vanished before he could get his hands on much hard evidence.”
“Well, I’ve got to say I don’t like the sound of it. And what’s the deal with this guy Jace coming around, acting like he’s sorry?”
Clearly Steve wasn’t buying that Jace’s apology was sincere. She shrugged. He might be right. What did she know? She’d never have believed Jace would try to harm her under any circumstances, and yet he had.
“So the man in Lone Pine,” Steve said. “How did you find out about him?”
“From Jace. His dad hired a private investigator, who found a trucker who identified my dad from a photo. The man told the trucker his name was Raymond Berry.”
“Played for the Colts back in the day. Wide receiver, wasn’t he? Partnered with John Unitas?”
“I forgot you played football. You used to grill me on stats.”
“You’re the only girl—definitely the only cheerleader—I ever met who knew the game as well or better than me.” He grinned, then sobered. “It could be a coincidence.”
Caroline felt a prick of annoyance. “Raymond Berry was a hero of my dad’s. He even called himself that.” She went on, explaining it to Steve the way she had to Jace. “When I was a kid, he’d say we were a team like Berry and Unitas. I was Unitas.”
“Huh.”
“I have to check it out.”
“You always were stubborn.” Steve’s fresh grin teased her.
She had to work not to smile back. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Remember the time you ran out of gas? I was at work, two blocks away, but rather than call me or walk the two blocks to get my help, you walked a mile to a gas station, bought a can and a gallon of gas, and walked back.”
“You were working.”
“I would have come.”
She didn’t answer.
“I would have come to Iowa when you went away to school. I would have driven there to see you anytime you wanted.”
“I admit I was stubborn . . .” She trailed off, keeping his gaze, feeling the regret she saw mirrored there. The moment elongated, and her heart shifted, impatient, restless in her chest. Memories of how she’d left him, refusing to explain, to acknowledge his pain, slipped through some crack in her mind.
“You admit it, but—?” he was asking her, his gaze intent, searching.
“We were kids,” she began. “It was another—” Life. The word hung there, unsaid. I couldn’t do it. More words poured into her brain. She pressed her fingertips to her eyes, helpless to stop the careening train of her thoughts. It was as if sitting in such close proximity to Steve had opened a long-closed door in her mind. How could she tell him now, she wondered, after so many years, how frightened she’d been, that his love for her, and hers for him, had been too huge?
Suppose she had trusted it and given Steve everything she was in return, and he had left her, abandoned her, the way her dad had? She couldn’t have survived it.
So she’d done it first—
Before Steve could.
The revelation bolted through her brain. It took her breath. It had never come to her in such concrete terms before or with such force.
She felt Steve’s grasp gentle on her wrists, and she let him pull her hands away. She wiped her face, under her nose, and lowered her trembling hands to her lap.
“Caro?” he said. “Talk to me.”
She shook her head. She needed time to think it through. Her flash of insight felt crazy and scary. It dismayed and yet somehow exhilarated her. But there were too many feelings, a simmering brew of emotions jetting through her mind. It was too much to articulate. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called you, started this. I’m sorry, too, for before, that summer, I mean—the way I left—”
“It’s all right.”
“It’s really hard to talk about—the way we were then, what I did—”
“Then we won’t.” His eyes and his voice were so kind.
“It’s just, right now, the most important thing—” She struggled for composure, the breath to speak logically. “I’ve got to find my dad. I’m running out of time.”
Steve’s brows rose, a question.
Caroline explained about Lanie.
“Oh God, that’s awful.” Steve’s eyes were dark with concern. “I know how close you are to her. She was a second mother to you.”
“Yes.” Caroline’s throat was too tight to say more.
Steve seemed to understand. He wadded his napkin, tossed it onto his empty plate. “Well, I can’t let you go alone to Lone Pine.” He brought them back to the business at hand, the life they lived now, and she was both relieved and saddened. She didn’t know what to do with her feelings; there were so many, too many.
She said, “You would go with me?”
“Yes. What time is good for you tomorrow? I’m off, so I’m free anytime.”
“Is eight o’clock too early?”
“No. I’ll pick you up. You can get a room at the Ramada here. It’s just a mile or so down the highway.”
She agreed it was a plan, and when the waitress came with their check, she snatched it, insisting she would pay it.
“See?” He slid out of the booth. “Stubborn, just like I said.”
She punched him lightly on the shoulder, and for a moment none of the years that had passed since that long-ago summer mattered.
She followed him to the Ramada in her car, and he walked her into the lobby and waited while she checked in.
“Thank you for everything,” she said, taking her tote from him.
“You’re welcome. Thank you for dinner.”
They shared a beat.
“Eight o’clock?”
“Yes,” she answered, “if that works for you.”
He said it did, turned to go, and then turned back. “What about your dad’s second wife? Have you talked to her? Is it possible she or her son would know where your dad is?”
Caroline admitted that she hadn’t. “Aunt Lanie called her when she didn’t hear from Dad over the holidays that first year. Julia said she didn’t know where he was, that he’d left her too.”
“Maybe you should try her again? Might be worth another shot.”
“It’s my plan B, I guess, if I need one. I kind of hate the idea, though. Kid or not, I was pretty rude to Julia, to say the least, and my dad left her for someone else. I doubt she needs or wants to hear from anyone named Hoffman, and who can blame her? I really have to wonder if she or Harris would even speak to me, much less help me, and who could blame them?”
“Harris—that’s an unusual first name. His last name wouldn’t be Fenton, would it? I arrested a guy by that name a few days ago here in Greeley. He was released this morning on bail. His home address is Wyatt.”
Steve produced a thermos of coffee when Caroline climbed into the cab of his truck on Thursday morning.
“It’s not Starbucks,” he said, “but it’s good and strong. You look like you could use a shot.”
“That bad, huh?” She knew it was. She hadn’t slept.
“No. I didn’t mean—” He looked away, looked back. “You know better.”
Now it was her turn to drop her gaze. He had always told her that he’d have loved her no matter how she looked. The fact that she was so pretty was a bonus, he’d said. Like dessert, he’d told her. “Did everything work out okay last night?” she asked. He’d been called in to work just as they were parting.
“Yeah, it was fine. They needed help serving a warrant; turned out to be nothing much, though. I’m sorry I had to duck out on you.” He glanced at her. “I mean it.”
Face warming, Caroline sipped her coffee. “You were going to tell me about Harris Fenton. You said you arrested him?”
“Yeah. It’s a pretty sad situation.” Steve turned onto the highway. “When I drove up to the scene, he had a kid—what turned out to be
his own kid—on the ground, just whaling on him. He did a pretty good number on the kid’s face.”
“Are you serious?” Caroline was appalled. “Was the kid acting out, involved in some kind of delinquency?”
“The kid—his name is Kyle—was trying to stop his dad from taking drugs. If you can believe that.”
“No. I—wow, that’s terrible.” It was the last thing she’d expected to hear, that Harris was on drugs. Never mind that he’d assaulted his own son.
“Yeah, I know. Usually it’s the other way around.”
“How old is Kyle?”
“Seventeen. He was pretty shaken up. Pissed big-time, but scared, too, you know? I could tell he really loves his dad, but Fenton was messed up, not rational. It was like he didn’t really know it was his son he was slugging.”
“Was it the drugs, do you think?”
“Maybe. But I have a feeling there’s more to it. I’ve seen my share of fights, bar fights, street fights, where it’s a personal thing. You know, somebody goes off over something the other guy said or did. This was different. Fenton wasn’t there.” Steve glanced again, briefly, at Caroline. “The way he looked at me—I don’t know. There was just something crazy going on. Kind of made me think of this other situation I had recently—” He paused.
“Situation?” Caroline prodded, intrigued in spite of herself.
“A domestic thing. Guy pulled a gun on his wife. I could tell there was a lot of turmoil going on back there.” Steve took his hand off the wheel, raising it to the level of his eyes as if to indicate the space behind them. “Turned out he was a war vet, saw a lot of action in Afghanistan. He came home with a whopping case of PTSD. What set him off that night was a car that backfired. I felt bad for him and for his wife. You could see they didn’t know how to handle it; they were both sick it had happened. Fenton had that same look.”
They rode a mile or so in silence. They’d turned off the main highway some miles back and were driving now on a narrow, twisty ribbon of black asphalt, barely two lanes wide. A ragged mix of winter-brown grass and underbrush crowded the pavement’s edge closely enough that had she wanted to, Caroline could have reached out the truck’s window and run her hand over it. She wouldn’t have wanted to drive this road alone. She wouldn’t have wanted to make this trip by herself at all. She thought again of Harris, of how Steve had described the small details of his appearance, noting even the shades of emotion.
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