Always With Me

by Barbara Freethy

  "It's too bad the Carvers can't see their daughter for who she was and see you for who you are."

  "I'm trying to show them a way to compromise, but they want to put all of Rebecca's past away and out of sight, and I'm part of that."

  "Then we have to change their minds."

  He glanced over at Helen, who shifted onto her side and then started snoring again. "Should I try to wake her?"

  "You can try. Or we can keep talking."

  "All night long?" he asked, remembering another night a very long time ago.

  She met his gaze and smiled. "We did it once before."

  "You were afraid we were going to get caught by our counselors for sneaking out."

  "There was a good chance of that, or of one of the other girls turning me in."

  "But no one did."

  "Keira thought we messed around that night more than we did. She was the only one who knew I'd left the cabin after lights out. She was going to cover for me if anyone asked. She kept asking me afterward for the details, and I told her we just talked and kissed and talked some more until the sun came up. She thought I was lying. She thought we did it."

  "I wanted to do it, but—"

  "I wasn't ready," she finished. "And you didn't push."

  "I was as nervous as you were. It felt like…" His voice drifted away. He couldn't quite find the right words.

  "Like it would be important," she said, meeting his gaze. "Maybe too important for a fifteen-year-old and a sixteen-year-old."

  "Did you ever have regrets?"

  "Not about that night. I was just sad when it was over. I missed you, even when I was hating you."

  "I felt exactly the same way."

  "I wonder what did happen to my locket."

  "I doubt we'll ever know. But you have another clue to the girl in the picture. That's something."

  "It is," she agreed, stifling a yawn.

  "You should go to bed, Gianna. You have to work tomorrow."

  "I'm hoping Mrs. Carver wakes up soon."

  "Is there more coffee?"

  She nodded and got to her feet. "I'll get it for you."

  "Thanks."

  She refilled his mug, then pulled out a deck of cards. "Let's play. What's your game?"

  "I think I beat you at Spit about two dozen times."

  A smile spread across her face. "I haven't played that game since camp."

  "Let's do it."

  "It's better with two decks." She got back up and rummaged through the drawer. She returned with a second pack. "I noticed these the other day. Apparently, whoever lived here before liked to play cards. Okay, so remind me what we do?"

  "We each turn over four cards and then we say Spit and start trying to get rid of the rest of the cards. You can only play one up or one down on either pile. If we get stumped, we spit again."

  "It's all coming back to me. You're really fast and you play ruthlessly."

  "That's the only way to win."

  "There is such a thing as fun, you know. Winning isn't everything."

  "It's a lot more fun to win than to lose," he pointed out.

  "But winning at Spit doesn't get you much."

  "How about dinner out somewhere? Loser buys."

  "You seriously want to compete for a date?"

  "I said dinner, not date."

  She gave him a suspicious look. "I don't believe you, but I have wanted to try Gulliver's—a new restaurant in town. My mom said it's wonderful."

  "Gulliver's it is." They laid out their cards. "Ready?" he asked.

  "Spit," she said.

  The cards flew, their hands crashing into each other, as they reached for the same pile. He might have lost a little speed since his youth, but he was still faster than she was. He took the win with a happy, gloating smile. "I hope Gulliver's has a good steak."

  "Two out of three."

  "You want to buy me two dinners?" he teased.

  "That was a practice game."

  "No way. You have to call practice before you lose. And what happened to the joy of just playing?"

  "Fine, I owe you dinner," she grumbled. "Let's play again just for fun."

  "I'll still win."

  "We'll see."

  They played another six games, filled with competitive smiles and a lot of laughs. He felt like he was sixteen again. And it wasn't only the cards he was enjoying; it was Gianna. She looked happy, too—carefree, distracted from her problems and the questions about her birth. She was in the moment, and it was a moment he wished he could keep going for a very long time.

  Then Mrs. Carver groaned, shifted, and fell off the couch with a heavy thud.

  They both jumped to their feet.

  He made it to the couch first.

  Helen looked up at him with confusion and alarm. "You? What are you doing here?" She looked around. "Where am I? What's going on?"

  "That's what you need to tell us, Helen. Why did you break into Gianna's store?"

  Her face whitened, and fear ran through her eyes.

  He needed to find out what she was so scared of, because as much as she wanted to pretend it was him, he thought it was someone else. And he needed to know who.

  Chapter Fourteen

  He extended his hand to help Helen up, but she ignored him and awkwardly made her way onto the couch, her gaze darting toward the door, as if she were weighing her chances of escape.

  "Mrs. Carver," Gianna said quietly, drawing Helen's attention to her. "You broke into the antiques store. This is the upstairs apartment. Zach and I brought you here after you passed out."

  "I—I'm so embarrassed," Helen stuttered, her hands going to her hair as she smoothed down the wild strands. "I don't know what to say."

  "You can say why you needed to get into the shop after hours, what you thought was hidden in Rebecca's desk," he said.

  Helen's eyes widened. "Who told you about the desk?"

  "Gianna told me. You told her."

  Helen's gaze swung back to Gianna. "I told you there was something in the desk? Did you find it?"

  "The desk was empty," Gianna replied.

  "Are you sure?" Helen asked, fear and worry in her eyes.

  "She's sure. I also looked in the desk," he said, wanting Helen to feel the shift in power. She and Ron had been calling the shots since Rebecca's death, but that was about to change. "What were you looking for?"

  "It doesn't concern you."

  "Oh, but it does, because you were looking for something from Rebecca's past, a secret the two of you share, a secret you don't want to get out, something I might already know about."

  "She told you?" Helen breathed in horror.

  He had no idea what Helen thought Rebecca had told him, but it was in his best interests to keep her off-balance. "She told me a lot of things. You really should be embracing me as part of the family and not trying to keep me out of it. I've tried to work with you. I've offered many suggestions for compromise, but you blew me off each and every time. That's changing now."

  "What—what are you going to do?" Helen asked warily.

  "Well, that depends on you." He pulled out his phone and showed her the photos he'd taken of her sprawled on the storeroom floor. "I'm sure you don't want these to get out."

  "Oh, God," she said, putting her hands over her face as she hung her head. "What have I done?"

  He squatted down in front of her. "Helen, look at me."

  She slowly dropped her hands.

  "We can make a deal," he said. "You can let me see Hailey, and I can make sure that no one sees these photos."

  "You're blackmailing me?"

  "Let's call it a negotiation."

  "Ron won't allow you to see Hailey. He doesn't trust you. And he loves Hailey. So do I."

  "I love her, too. That’s what we have in common, and we need to put her first."

  "She's my granddaughter. She's all I have left of Rebecca."

  "And I took care of her for four years. I was basically Hailey's father."

&nbs
p; "You're not her blood."

  "I'm still her family, and you need to let me see her. I'm not trying to take her away from you. I'm trying to share her with you."

  "You won't stop there. Once you get in, you'll want her back. I lost Rebecca. I can't lose Hailey, too."

  He drew in a breath, choosing his words carefully. "You don't really have a choice, Helen. I think you know that."

  She stared back at him, her face white, her mouth tight. "I told you—Ron won't allow it."

  "Then you're going to have to convince him. Otherwise, I'll tell him about all this."

  Helen turned to Gianna. "How can you stand there and let him threaten me?"

  "You broke into the store, Mrs. Carver. I could have called the police. This could be a lot more public than it already is."

  "I don't understand why you called him."

  "Well, it doesn't matter if you understand. I know Zach. He's a good man. And your granddaughter could only benefit by having him in her life. I feel for that little girl. She lost her mother and she lost the man who was taking care of her."

  "She's fine. We are taking care of her."

  "Why can't you all take care of her?" Gianna questioned.

  "Because…" Helen's voice drifted away. "Zach hurt Rebecca. He got her into drugs."

  "Stop with the lies," he ordered. "And that's not why you're keeping me away. It has something to do with Rebecca's secret, about what I might know."

  "You don't know anything. You would have used it already if you did."

  "Maybe I would have, or maybe I'm trying not to let things get down to that level. But you need to understand that you're no longer in charge."

  Helen licked her lips. "Maybe we can work something out."

  "No maybe about it. I want to see Hailey tomorrow. If you don't want to involve Ron just yet, then meet me at the park."

  "He'll be angry if I go behind his back."

  "He knows I'm in town. I could run into you accidentally."

  A hopeful light entered her eyes, and he almost wanted to dash it, because he didn't want her to feel anything but fear. But he had to walk a fine line, not overplay his hand. Once he saw Hailey again, once he told her that he'd never meant to abandon her, that he would always be there for her, he could shed the weight of guilt and frustration that he'd been carrying around the past six months. Then he could look further into the future.

  "I suppose Hailey and I could stop at the park after I go to the market," Helen said slowly. "We'd probably be there around noon. But what would you say to her?"

  "I'd tell her that I missed her, that I love her, and that I'm not leaving her again."

  Helen blew out a breath. "She'll be confused."

  "We'll talk it out."

  "You'll let her live with us?"

  "Unless I have reason to believe she's not safe or happy there. You still haven't explained your wild and reckless behavior tonight."

  "I thought that Rebecca might have left something in the desk that was personal. I wasn't around when Ron decided to ship her furniture over here. I didn't have time to check."

  "And you couldn't do that during business hours?" he challenged.

  "I—I should have. I was upset. I've been distraught since Rebecca died. I'm not myself. I'm sorry, Gianna."

  "How did you get in?" Gianna asked.

  "The window in the bathroom of the storeroom was unlocked."

  He couldn't believe the usually reserved Helen had gotten drunk enough to climb through a bathroom window.

  "I want to go home now," Helen added.

  "I'll drive you," he said.

  Indecision moved through her eyes, but she didn't want to talk to anyone in her family and calling for a cab or a ride at this time of night wouldn't be easy.

  "All right," she said.

  He stood back as she got to her feet.

  Helen looked over at Gianna. "I trust you will keep this private as well."

  "As long as you make good on your promise to let Zach see Hailey."

  He was more than a little happy to hear Gianna's words and see the steel determination in her eyes. It had been a long while since he'd felt like someone had his back. "Thank you," he murmured, giving her a grateful look before ushering Helen to the door.

  "I'll follow you downstairs," Gianna said. "I want to lock the window and the door behind you."

  "Did you drive here?" he asked Helen, suddenly wondering if she'd driven drunk. Maybe Hailey wasn't safe with her at all.

  "My car is at Walker's Tavern," she said, mentioning a bar a few blocks away. "I walked over here."

  "Well, you can get it tomorrow." He ushered her through the storeroom and into the parking lot, turning back one last time to say good-bye to Gianna. "I'll be in touch."

  "Good luck," she said.

  He opened the door to the truck for Helen and then went around to the driver's side and slid behind the wheel.

  "I'm not normally like this," Helen said, as he drove toward her house. "It's because Rebecca died. I haven't been myself."

  "It has been a difficult time. For all of us."

  "Rebecca was with another man the night of the fire. I assumed you were breaking up, that she didn't want you in her life anymore. I assumed that you wouldn't want to continue seeing Hailey. You were in the hospital. It made sense for us to take her home."

  "And have the funeral without me?"

  "Well, we couldn't wait forever, and you were in bad shape."

  He shot her a quick look. "Maybe in the beginning you had reason to believe you would be the better caretakers for Hailey, but when I got better, and I told you I did want to be in Hailey's life, you and Ron shot me down and shut me out. You called the police on me when I got here, and Ron came by the camp and threatened the project if I didn't abandon it and leave town. Those are very drastic actions, considering all I want to do is see Hailey, be in her life. So, what aren't you telling me?"

  "I—we just think it's better for Hailey to move on without any reminders of the past. She's young. She'll forget what happened, and that will make it easier for her. She has nightmares now. I want them to go away."

  His heart ached at that piece of news. "Maybe she has nightmares because she wants to see me, because she doesn't know where I went."

  "This isn't all about you," Helen said tartly, which made him really happy he had the photos, because Helen was not going down without a fight.

  "What is it about? What were you looking for in Rebecca's old desk?"

  "Did she really talk to you about her past?"

  "Yes, of course. We lived together for four years. I saw her at her best and at her worst, when words were streaming out of her in a rambling, half-conscious state."

  "Rebecca had a big imagination. She used to make up stories—lies, really. She always had a play going on in her head where she was suffering some tragic problem and she had to be her own heroine. The stories weren't real. They didn't actually happen. You can't think that whatever she might have told you about us is true. We're good people."

  His stomach twisted at her odd words, and he gave her another speculative look. "What does that mean? What do you think she told me?"

  "Probably nothing, but Mitch said you'll fight us with everything you have, and when I realized it was missing, well, I didn't know if you had it."

  "What is it?"

  "If you don’t know, then you don't have it." Helen seemed relieved by that thought. "I loved Rebecca more than I loved anyone else in my life. She was everything to me—my beautiful daughter."

  "And yet you saw her so infrequently. It was only in the last two years that you showed up at all, and she never came home. Why is that?"

  "Well, she lived far away. We spoke, though."

  "Not that often."

  "That wasn't my choice." Helen turned her gaze out the window. "Like I said, Rebecca made up stories that didn't happen."

  He tried to remember what Rebecca had told him about her parents, her mother especially, but she'd
spoken in as many cryptic riddles as Helen was doing now.

  Rebecca had mentioned fighting demons in her head, the feeling that she couldn't run away, that she could be trapped. She'd told him she couldn't sleep, and he knew she was terrified of utter darkness. She'd always insisted on a night-light. The few times they'd gone to a hotel, she'd kept the drapes open, so she wouldn't wake up and not be able to see. He'd asked her if something had happened to make her so afraid, and she'd always said no. He'd thought her demons were inside her head, but he was beginning to wonder.

  "Someone hurt Rebecca," he said, taking a guess.

  Helen immediately shook her head. "No, that didn't happen. We protected her."

  "She was afraid of the dark."

  "That's because she used to sleepwalk and when she'd wake up, she'd be very confused and disoriented. That's why she liked to leave the lights on."

  It was a perfectly logical explanation, and one Rebecca had used as well, but he didn't think that was the whole story. "Rebecca kept a journal when she went to rehab. Did she ever share it with you?"

  Helen's eyes widened. "No. I didn't know that. Do you have it?"

  "I don't. It was lost in the fire, as far as I know. But she did tell me that she always felt better when she wrote things down. She mentioned that she used to have a diary when she was a kid. Is that what you were looking for in her desk?"

  "That diary disappeared years ago."

  "Then why were you worried it might still be in the desk?"

  "I wasn't thinking clearly. Ron took the furniture from Rebecca's room without asking me. I didn't have time to look through it, and I started wondering if she might have left something personal in there. I didn't want it to fall into the wrong hands."

  "Okay, but why didn't you just ask Gianna to let you look in the desk?"

  "She didn't even know where it was when I saw her on Thursday. It was bothering me, and I was drinking. I shouldn't have been. I'm a lightweight. It goes right to my head. I made a bad decision. If you loved Rebecca at all, you won't do any digging into her past. Let her rest in peace."

  He didn't think it was Rebecca who wanted peace; it was Helen. But as much as he was curious about the secret, Hailey was his main priority. Maybe Helen had given him another tool to wedge his way into their lives. "I'm more concerned about rebuilding my relationship with Hailey than digging into the past. If you don't come to the park tomorrow at noon, I will come to the house. And I will show Ron the photos and anyone else who needs to see them, including the police. You could be arrested for what you did. You could end up in jail."