The Broken (Echoes from the Past Book 8)

by Shapiro, Irina

  Chapter 46

  June 2015

  Berwick-Upon-Tweed, England

  Quinn stood on the bank of the River Tweed and inhaled deeply. She liked the smell of the river and she was enjoying the fresh wind that ruffled her hair. Alex, snuggled beneath a warm blanket, was fast asleep in his buggy, and Emma was playing with Buster and Rufus, throwing them sticks and watching them compete for her attention.

  Phoebe pulled her cardigan tighter around her ample middle. “It’s brisk out today.”

  “It was quite warm in London when we left,” Quinn remarked.

  “I didn’t used to mind the cold, but now my old bones can’t take it. I feel chilled even at the height of summer.”

  “You should have moved closer to us,” Quinn said. “There’s so much to do in London, and the climate is milder.”

  Phoebe shrugged. “I’ve lived here all my life. It’s home. And I would feel disloyal leaving Graham. Let’s walk,” Phoebe suggested.

  They strolled along, watching the river as it wound into the distance like a shimmering highway. The wind moved through the trees, the leaves rustling above their heads. After the bubbling cauldron of humanity that was London, Quinn found it pleasantly peaceful.

  “You seem sad, for lack of a better word,” Phoebe said. “Is everything all right?”

  Quinn shrugged. She wasn’t sure she wanted to talk about what was troubling her, but Phoebe was an excellent listener, and an even better advice giver. She was able to see the whole picture rather than focus on some minor point as many people did, and she often helped both Quinn and Gabe put things in perspective.

  “I suppose I am a little sad,” Quinn admitted. “More disappointed, really. When I first discovered I was adopted, I made up all these stories in my head, in which I found my birth family. I desperately wanted to have siblings, so I made up brothers and sisters who’d be my best friends, and we’d have the most amazing adventures together. When I discovered that I have actual siblings, I resurrected the fantasy, and thought that despite not knowing each other during our younger years, we could make up for lost time and become a family. I especially wished for that with Jo.” Quinn sighed. “She’s—” Quinn raised her hands in a gesture of defeat. “I don’t even know how to describe her—prickly, I suppose. She’s also defensive, competitive, and guarded. I realize her life’s been very different from mine, but I want nothing more than to be her friend, her sister. I have no desire to take anything from her, only to give.”

  Phoebe nodded as she listened and patted Quinn’s shoulder in a motherly manner as she considered the problem. Her gaze was clouded, as if she were recalling something from another time, but Quinn could see the compassion in Phoebe’s eyes when she stopped and looked her full in the face.

  “Quinn, when Graham and I were newly married, my sister Flora dragged us to a marriage workshop. I think she was having issues with her husband but didn’t want to admit to it, so she made it sound like a learning opportunity for all of us, a chance to work on our relationships and grow as partners, which in my day was practically unheard of. You just got on with things, you didn’t analyze them to death. Having met Graham, you can just imagine his reaction to this kind of psychobabble, but he went, for my sake. He knew I wanted to be there for Flora, and I had promised him we could stop at the pub on the way home. The instructor started the workshop by having all the wives stand with their backs to their husbands, and then asked them to fall backward. Most women did, but a few couldn’t do it. Flora was one of them.”

  “I’m sorry, Phoebe, but I don’t follow,” Quinn said. She was used to Phoebe’s roundabout way of giving advice, but this was too cryptic even for her.

  “What I’m trying to say, not very effectively, obviously, is that when you strip away all the layers of a relationship, you’re left with the foundation, and it should be built on trust. Nothing else matters if you can’t trust your partner to catch you when you fall. This is not only true in marriage, it’s true in any relationship between two people. Imagine your siblings standing behind you. Who’d catch you, and who wouldn’t?”

  “That’s a good question,” Quinn said, pondering what Phoebe had just said. “I know Logan would catch me. I wouldn’t think twice about falling into his arms. Jude, perhaps. Depends on the day. I’d never turn my back to Brett again.”

  “And Jo?” Phoebe asked gently.

  Quinn shook her head, realizing with eye-opening clarity that she knew the answer to this one. “Jo would let me fall.”

  “Then there’s your answer,” Phoebe said, nodding like a wise old owl.

  Quinn hadn’t realized she’d asked a question about trust, but perhaps the question mark had been right there, hovering above her head. Now that Phoebe had put it in perspective for her, she was amazed how clear it all was. She didn’t trust Jo. In fact, she wasn’t even sure she liked her. There was something about Jo that made her feel guarded, unsure. Even in her most candid moments, Jo seemed to be holding back, manipulating the situation to suit her own ends. Jo was not a sister Quinn could ever truly love. She had too many sharp edges, too many barbs to make dealing with her comfortable.

  The realization should have upset Quinn, but just as it had with Sylvia, she felt freer for it. She and Jo didn’t have to love each other. They didn’t have to be best mates, or even friends. They’d finally met after three decades, they’d talked and shared, and that could be the end of it if that was what Jo wanted. They could meet up for a drink from time to time, maybe even see each other at a family gathering, but it didn’t have to be more than that. Quinn had felt wonderfully liberated since she’d decided that she and Sylvia needn’t have a mother/daughter relationship. Perhaps it was time to do the same with Jo. “Cut her loose,” Seth would say with all his American directness. “If she cares enough, she’ll stick around, and if she doesn’t, well, then you’re better off without her.”

  Quinn chuckled. She often found herself repeating the things Seth had said in her head and marveling at them. Seth wasn’t a deep, self-analytical man, but he was sharp as a tack—another one of his sayings—and he saw people for what they were, not what he wished them to be. Well, everyone except Brett, but that was understandable. If she fell, Seth would not only catch her, but lift her up and set her on his shoulders, from where she could see the world in all its glory. He loved her; of that she was in no doubt.

  You win some, you lose some, kid, Seth’s voice said in her head. At least you got three out of six.

  “Yes, I suppose I did,” Quinn muttered.

  “Did what?” Phoebe asked.

  “In finding my birth family, I’ve gained three people who love me, and three people who’d rather leave me than take me as I am. It’s three out of six.”

  “Not a bad ratio, if you ask me. The better half is in your corner.”

  Quinn smiled. “Thank you, Phoebe. You’ve really put things in perspective for me.”

  “I’m glad I could help. And Quinn, watch out,” Phoebe said. Her voice had an ominous note to it, which Quinn found unsettling.

  “Watch out for what?”

  Phoebe didn’t reply. Instead, she called out to Emma, who was running too far ahead with the dogs. “Emma, dear, wait for us.”

  “I’ll go after her,” Quinn offered. She hurried along the path, leaving Phoebe to push the buggy at her own pace.

  It wasn’t until much later, as she lay in bed at the hotel, that she recalled Phoebe’s warning. Had it been a well-meant piece of general advice, or did Phoebe know something Quinn didn’t? She glanced at Gabe’s sleeping face. The only way Phoebe would know something was if Gabe had told her about it and had perhaps relied on her sage wisdom.

  Quinn sat up and rubbed her temples. She felt a headache building behind the eyes. If Gabe stood behind her, she’d let herself fall without a moment’s hesitation. She trusted him implicitly, and Gabe trusted Phoebe, so if Gabe had come to her for advice, he had to be worried. What was he trying to protect her from?

>   Chapter 47

  Gentle fingers of lights caressed Gabe’s face, waking him from a restless sleep. He always felt restless in Berwick, he realized, and longed to return home. Perhaps he still had some residual guilt about selling the family home, or maybe it was the sight of his mother that troubled him.

  Phoebe had changed in the year since Graham’s death. She’d become frailer, more resigned to encroaching old age. She’d had no desire to remain in the mansion on her own but living in a retirement community wasn’t doing her any favors. She jokingly complained that she was surrounded by old people who only left the community in body bags, but Gabe heard the bitterness underlining the joke. She’d reached an age where life didn’t have much left to offer except illness and loneliness. He wished she’d have moved to London to be closer to him and Quinn, and the children. Grandchildren were the antidote to decline.

  Gabe looked over at the portable cot he’d set up in the corner of the hotel room. Alex was sleeping peacefully, his fingers closed around the ear of the bear Jude had brought for him. Quinn was asleep as well, her breathing even and steady. She looked more relaxed than she had been in days, and Gabe was glad to have been able to offer her this little break from reality. Hopefully, Brett would be gone by the time they returned to London. In a few weeks, they’d be off to Spain to visit Quinn’s parents. The promise of sun and sea did much to lift Gabe’s spirits. It’d been a while since he’d been on a beach holiday, and he looked forward to playing with the kids and giving Quinn a chance to rest. She was emotionally overwrought and needed time away from her work and her birth family.

  Reaching for the phone, Gabe saw that it had just gone seven. He had several emails, and one text message from an unknown number that must have popped up overnight. Gabe wasn’t unduly worried. Sometimes he got calls and messages from students, and they came up as unknown numbers.

  He clicked on the text and an imagine appeared on the screen. A naked woman sat on a bed, facing away from the camera. Her back was arched, her buttocks resting on her heels, and her hands were in her hair. Her face was turned just enough for Gabe to make out Jo’s profile. He stared at the photo in disbelief. If Jo had been engaging in guerilla warfare before, now she had graduated to a full-frontal assault. The choice of words made Gabe cringe. Would a frontal image come next? He hoped not. He was only human, and the image on his screen was doing exactly what Jo had hoped it would.

  He deleted the photo and blocked the number from which it had come, then returned the phone to the nightstand before going to the bathroom, where he turned on the shower. Evidence of his arousal infuriated him, and he twisted the faucet, making sure the water would be cold enough to cure him of this particular need. He stepped into the water, gasped as the nearly freezing spray hit his face, and rested his hands on the tiles, bowing his head.

  At first glance, the photo Jo had sent was an invitation. Come and get me, it said, but it was so much more than that. It was also a threat. She was letting him know in no uncertain terms that she had the power to destroy his life, not only by getting into his head, but by coming between him and Quinn. Who was to say she’d stop at sending him a provocative photo of herself? She had boasted that she was a whiz at Photoshop. What if she superimposed an image of him into the photo and sent it to Quinn? She could find a photo of him easily enough on Quinn’s Facebook page. What if she went so far as to inform Quinn they were having an affair? Quinn would believe him if he denied it, but for just a moment, she would question the veracity of his answer. She would wonder if such a thing were possible. And that moment of hesitation could cost him his marriage. If she lost faith in him, no amount of professing his devotion would change her mind. For better or worse, she trusted Jo and would see her confession as the act of a guilty conscience.

  Gabe turned the faucet and released the breath he’d been holding as the water warmed up. His body had responded to the image, but the rest of him was angry and frustrated. What did Jo want from him? Would one night satisfy her, or did she want more? Was she only after sex or was this some elaborate mind game she was playing? If so, she wasn’t likely to stop. And what was he to do? Telling Quinn was out of the question; she’d be devastated. Confronting Jo was probably not a good idea either, since he’d be playing right into her hands. Ignoring her didn’t seem to be working, so what was left?

  This wasn’t something he wanted to discuss with his mother or even Pete. Pete was a good bloke, but he had never been known for the subtlety of his approach, and he’d probably advise Gabe to simply tell Quinn, which sounded great in theory, but would not play out so well in real life. And he had no wish to worry his mother. It was his turn to support her, not the other way around.

  Alex’s cry startled Gabe out of his reverie. He turned off the water, dried off quickly, and tied a towel around his waist. When he came out of the bathroom, Alex was standing inside the cot, holding on to the side and anxiously looking around, waiting for someone to pick him up.

  Quinn rubbed her eyes and sat up. “Oh, you pulled yourself up, you little rascal,” she said, smiling at the child. “How clever are you?”

  She got out of bed and lifted Alex out of the cot, holding him close. He rested his cheek against her shoulder and wrapped his arms around her neck, sighing with relief. Gabe wrapped his arms around them both and kissed Alex’s sweet-smelling head. If Jo cost him his family, he’d end her, he thought suddenly. He wouldn’t stand idly by and allow her to toy with his life.

  Chapter 48

  August 1961

  London, England

  Helen’s hands trembled violently as she reached into the pram and lifted Annie out. The baby was wearing a yellow cotton dress and the matching headband Helen had made from leftover fabric. The dress had cap sleeves and would have come to the knee had Annie been blessed with knees. David put a steadying hand on Helen’s back as they walked into the church, Davy behind them. They were greeted by friendly smiles and nods.

  “Oh, she’s lovely,” Agnes said. “Like a little angel.”

  Several more women made comments, having never seen Annie up close, but then a hush fell over the congregation as they looked closer. One woman covered a gasp with her hand, while others peered more intently, trying to understand what exactly was wrong with the child in Helen’s arms. Helen tried to hold her head high, but tears pricked at her eyes and she thought she might be sick. She wanted nothing more than to turn around and run, and never come back. She wished she could just run away from it all, from her secret knowledge, and from her pain.

  “Give her here,” David said quietly. He accepted Annie and herded Davy to their regular pew.

  Helen slid in behind them and grabbed on to the back of the pew in front of them, grateful for the unyielding wood that kept her from falling. She was shaking, and there was a ringing in her ears that thankfully blocked out the whispers and well-meaning comments of her neighbors. Most people had averted their eyes, unable to stomach the sight of her deformed child. She might have reacted much the same had this happened to someone else. She’d have been horrified, and so sorry for the parents who’d been dealt such a cruel hand. What would she have said to them, if anything? What could one say? It was too awful for words, since no comfort or acceptance could ever truly be found.

  Helen lowered her head and breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of wood and beeswax polish. The familiar scents comforted her somewhat, but she was too afraid to look up. She couldn’t bear the pitying glances or the cruel jibes that would soon follow. If one could count on anything in life, it was people’s cruelty.

  David settled Annie in his lap and reached for Helen’s hand, squeezing it until she finally responded and turned to face him. “You did it,” he whispered. “You did it, Helen. It will get easier from here on in.”

  It will never get easier, Helen thought angrily. Anywhere they went, anything they did, people would stare and comment. Everyone would assume the parents were somehow at fault, particularly the mother. It was always the mother who
got blamed for everything. Helen fixed her eyes on Reverend Hale, but she didn’t hear a word of the sermon. All she wanted was to grab Annie and run, to lock the door behind them, lay Annie in her cot and cover her with a blanket, then climb into bed, curl into a ball and cry until she had no tears left.

  You’ve already done that several times, her inner voice reminded her. It hasn’t helped, not long term anyway. This is your life now. Get used to it. Stop being so weak, so frightened. Annie needs you.

  Helen took a steadying breath and reached for Annie, who was becoming fussy. She held her close and rested her cheek against Annie’s head. The baby settled, and after a few minutes her eyelids began to flutter as she grew heavier in Helen’s arms. She finally fell asleep, pink lips slightly parted, and rounded cheeks rosy with good health. Her long, thick lashes fanned over her cheeks, and her dark hair curled over her ears. Helen’s heart welled with love and she held her closer, brushing her lips against Annie’s smooth forehead. When she looked up, several pairs of eyes were watching her. Some looks were pitying, while others were jeering and judgmental.

  “Monster,” a woman said under her breath. Helen couldn’t tell where the insult had come from.

  The service finally came to an end and Helen stood, ready to leave.

  Agnes patted her gently on the arm and smiled in sympathy. “She’s lovely,” she said again, a little defiantly this time.