Tribute

by Nora Roberts

  “I’ll do that,” he said when she started to flip the lid back over the tub. “Here.”

  He handed her pills, water, and when she’d taken them, helped her into the white terry robe she’d left at his place.

  “Sorry about before. You don’t need the ravings of another maniac.”

  “You’re wrong. You helped me, you gave me exactly what I needed by staying calm when I was the shakiest. You stayed steady, and took me to the cool and the quiet. You gave me magic peas, and you let me lean on you. There have been a very limited number of people in my life that let me lean on them.”

  She laid her hands on his chest, on either side of his heart. “And after I got through the worst of it, you gave me something else. The outrage, the anger, the blind thirst for revenge. It helps to know someone could feel that on my behalf. That while he was feeling all that, he could still take care. It’s no wonder I fell for you.”

  “I’m so in love with you, Cilla.”

  “Oh.” She felt a jolt, nearly as violent as she had while under attack. “Oh, Ford.”

  “Maybe it’s lousy timing, but that doesn’t change a thing. It’s not what I was looking for. It’s not simple and easy, just picking which bed we use and who walks home in the morning. That’s how I figured it, and I was wrong.”

  “Ford—”

  “I’m not finished yet. When that woman—Lori—called, she was careful to let me know right off you were okay. But all she had to do was say Accident, and my heart stopped. I never really understood what it was to be afraid until that moment.”

  Everything he’d felt, and was feeling now, swirled in his eyes. So much, Cilla thought. So much in there.

  “When I got there, and I saw you sitting on the side of the road. So pale. The relief came first, waves of it. Waves. There she is. I didn’t lose her. Waves of relief, Cilla, and this lightning strike at the same time. There she is. And I knew. I’m in love with you.”

  It had been a day for shocks and jolts, and huge moments, Cilla thought. “You’re so steady, Ford, and I’m so disordered.”

  “That’s just another way of saying, ‘It’s not you, it’s me.’ ”

  “It doesn’t make it less true. I’m caught right now between the thrill, and the terror, of having someone like you tell me he loves me. And mean it. And that’s complicated because I have such strong, real feelings for you. I think I’m in love with you, too. Wait.”

  She threw up a hand as he stepped toward her. “Just, wait. I probably have a mild concussion. I’m at a disadvantage. You’re steady,” she repeated. “And I bet you know exactly what you want out of being in love. I’m disordered, and I don’t. What I do know, or at least what I’m pretty sure of, is you’ll want, expect things to change.”

  “Yes. But they don’t have to change today, or tomorrow. Part of being steady might be as basic as knowing how to appreciate what you’ve got, in the moment.” He framed her face. “There she is,” he murmured, and brushed his lips to hers.

  Cilla closed her eyes. “Oh, God. I’m in such trouble.”

  “It’s going to be fine. Now let’s go up. You should get off your feet.”

  He lay her on the living room sofa this time, and as he’d expected, within twenty minutes the emotional and physical upheaval dropped her into sleep. He took his phone out onto the veranda, leaving the door open so he’d hear her if she stirred. Sitting where he could watch her through the window, he started his calls with her father.

  When he spotted Matt heading up Cilla’s drive toward his house, Ford figured his friend had been keeping an eye out for any sign. He finished up the call—this one to a friend, an RN, just to make sure he handled Cilla’s injuries correctly.

  He gestured Matt to a chair as he disconnected.

  “What the hell, Ford?”

  “Hennessy,” he began, and ran through it.

  “Jesus. Crazy bastard. Are you sure she’s okay?”

  “I just talked to Holly. Remember Holly?”

  “Nurse Holly?”

  “Yeah. She thinks it’d be better if I could talk Cilla into getting checked out. But in the meantime, heat, cold, rest, ibuprofen. Got that covered so far. You saw the truck.”

  “Yeah, did a number on it. His own van, too. She got him with a nut shot?”

  “Apparently.”

  “Well, goddamn good for her,” Matt said with both heat and admiration. “I’d like a shot at him myself.”

  “Take a number.”

  “Well, listen, you need anything, she needs anything, you know where I am. There are a lot of people across the road there who’d say the same.”

  “I know it.”

  “And tell her not to worry about the work. We’ve got it covered. You’ll want to come over and set her alarm if she’s staying here tonight.”

  “Yeah, I’ll take care of it.”

  “Any questions, messages, whatever, I’ll make sure I leave them in her famous notebook, and I’ll pass the word to Brian. I’ll check with you tomorrow.”

  At the two-hour mark, Ford debated rousing her just in case she actually did have a concussion. Before he could decide, he saw the unmarked car pull into her drive. So he waited, watched Wilson and Urick get out, go in. Come out, get back into the car and pull across into his driveway.

  “Mr. Sawyer.”

  “Getting to be a habit, isn’t it?”

  “Miss McGowan’s here?”

  “Yeah. Banged up, worn out and sleeping. Where’s Hennessy?”

  “He’s in a cell. Do you want a list of the charges against him?”

  “No, as long as there’s enough to keep him in a cell.”

  “We’d like to speak to Ms. McGowan, go over her statement.”

  “She’s sleeping,” Ford repeated, and rose. “And she’s had more than enough for one day. More than enough, period. If Hennessy had been in a cell where he belonged, he wouldn’t have had a chance to try to kill her.”

  “If we’d had any evidence, we’d have put him in a cell before this.”

  “So what?” Ford shot back. “Better late than never?”

  “Ford.” Cilla pushed open the screen. “It’s all right.”

  “Hell it is.”

  “Well, you’re right. It’s not. But I’ll talk to the detectives. Let’s get it done.” She opened the door wider. “Would you wait in the living room a minute?” she asked Wilson and Urick.

  After they passed, she let the screen door close behind her, and laid her hands on Ford’s shoulders. “No one’s ever shielded me.” She kissed him. “In my whole life, no one ever stood between me and something unpleasant. It’s an amazing feeling. It’s amazing to know I don’t even have to ask if you’ll stay with me while I do this. You can leave your silver armor in the shop. You don’t need it.”

  She took his hand, and walked inside with him to get it done.

  Part Three

  FINISH TRIM

  And though home is a name, a word, it is a strong one; stronger than magician ever spoke, or spirit ever answered to, in the strongest conjuration.

  —CHARLES DICKENS

  TWENTY-ONE

  How are you feeling?” Wilson asked when she sat on the sofa with Ford, with the dog between them. “Oddly enough, lucky.”

  “Have you been checked out by a doctor?”

  “No, it’s bumps and bruises.”

  “It would be helpful to have a doctor’s report, and photographs of your injuries.”

  “I don’t have a local doctor yet. And I’m not—”

  “I’ve got one,” Ford interrupted. “I’ll make a call.”

  “We interviewed Hennessy,” Urick told them. “Took a first pass at him. He doesn’t deny ramming your truck or forcing you off the road. He claims you were harassing his wife.”

  “I went to see her this morning. I forgot,” she said to Ford. “It wasn’t top of my mind after all this. I went to see him, actually, but she said he wasn’t home. We had a conversation, out on her porch. Then I left.
I didn’t harass her, or anyone. And if he thinks having a conversation with his wife justifies running me into a ditch, he really is crazy.”

  “What time did you speak with Mrs. Hennessy?”

  “I don’t know. Around nine. I left and did a number of errands. Four or five stops, I guess, between Front Royal and Morrow Village. I saw his van coming from the direction of my farm as I was heading toward it. He saw me, and a minute later he was behind me, coming up fast. He rammed me. I don’t know how many times now. Three or four, at least. I know I was all over the road. I went into a skid, thought I was going to flip. I went into the ditch. I guess the seat belt and air bag kept it from being any worse.”

  “You got out of the truck,” Wilson prompted.

  “That’s right. Supremely pissed. I started yelling at him, he yelled at me. And he shoved me. He shoved me again, and knocked me back into the gate of the truck. He said, ‘I see you in there.’ And he raised his fist. That’s when I kicked him.”

  “What do you think he meant by that? ‘I see you in there’?”

  “My grandmother. He meant he saw my grandmother. And I’d say if he had to hurt me to get to her, that’s what he’d do. He attacked my friend, vandalized my property, and now he’s attacked me.”

  “He hasn’t copped to any of the incidents before this afternoon,” Wilson told her. “He denies the rest.”

  “Do you believe him?”

  “No, but it’s hard to understand why a man who confesses to vehicular assault, reckless endangerment, assault with intent refuses to admit to trespass and vandalism. The fact is, Ms. McGowan, he seemed righteous about what happened today. Not remorseful or afraid of the consequences. If his wife hadn’t gotten a lawyer in there when she did, we might’ve gotten more.”

  “What happens now?”

  “Arraignment, bail hearing. Given his age, his length of time in the community, I’d expect his lawyer to request he be released on his own recognizance. And given the nature of the offense, his proximity to you, I expect the DA will ask for him to be held without bail. I can’t say which way it’ll go, or if it’ll land somewhere between.”

  “His wife swears he didn’t leave the house last night.” Urick picked up the notebook in his lap. “That they left the park right after they saw you, and he stayed in all night. We did, however, pull out of her that he often spends time in their son’s room, locks himself in, sleeps in there. So he could’ve left the house without her knowing about it. We’ll push there, I promise you.”

  Cilla had barely settled herself down after the police left when her father arrived, with Patty and Angie. Even as the anger and emotion level rose toward what she thought might be the unbearable, Ford’s mother sailed in carrying a large Tupperware container and a bouquet of flowers.

  “Don’t you get up, you poor thing. I brought you some of my chicken soup.”

  “Oh, Penny, that’s so thoughtful!” Patty sprang up to take the flowers. “I never thought of food, or flowers. I never thought—”

  “Of course you didn’t. How could you, with so much on your mind? Cilla, I’m going to heat you up a bowl right now. My chicken soup’s good for anything. Colds, flu, bumps, bruises, lovers’ spats and rainy days. Ford, find Patty a vase for the flowers. Nothing cheers you up like a bunch of sunflowers.”

  Clutching them, Patty burst into tears.

  “Oh now, now.” Penny cradled the Tupperware in one arm, Patty in the other. “Come on with me, sweetie. You come on with me. We’ll make ourselves useful, and you’ll feel better.”

  “Did you see her poor face?” Patty sobbed as Penny led her away.

  “She’s just so upset.” Angie sat beside Cilla, took her hand.

  “I know. It’s okay.”

  “It’s not.” Gavin turned from staring out the front windows. “None of it is. I should have confronted Hennessy years ago, had this out with him. Instead, I just stayed out of his way. I looked away from it because it was uncomfortable. It was unpleasant. And because he left Patty and Angie alone. He didn’t leave you alone, and still, I stayed out of his way.”

  “Confronting him wouldn’t have changed anything.”

  “It would make me feel like less of a failure as your father.”

  “You’re not—”

  “Angie,” Gavin said, interrupting Cilla, “would you go help your mother and Mrs. Sawyer?”

  “All right.”

  “Ford? Would you mind?”

  With a nod, Ford slipped out behind Angie.

  Cilla sat, her stomach twisting with a new kind of tension. “I know you’re upset. We’re all upset,” she began.

  “I let her have you. I let Dilly have you, and I walked away.”

  Cilla looked into his face and asked the single question she’d never dared ask him. “Why?”

  “I told myself you were better off. I even believed it. I told myself you were where you belonged, and being there, being with your mother, allowed you to do what made you happy. Gave you advantages. I wasn’t happy there, and whatever turned between your mother and me brought out the very worst in both of us when we dealt with each other. When we dealt with each other about you. I felt . . . free when I came back here.”

  “I was only about a year old when you moved out, and not even three when you went away.”

  “We couldn’t speak two sentences to each other without it devolving. It was better, a little better, when we had a few thousand miles between us. I came out every month or two to see you for the first few . . . then less. You were already a working actor. It was easy to tell myself you had such a full life, to agree that it wasn’t in your best interest to come here for part of your summer break when you could be making appearances.”

  “And you were building a life here.”

  “Yes, starting over, falling in love with Patty.” He looked down at his hands, then dropped them to his sides. “You were barely real to me, this beautiful little girl I’d visit a few times a year. I could tell myself I did my duty—never failed to send the support check, or call on your birthday, Christmas, send gifts. Even if I knew it for a lie, I could tell myself. I had Angie. Right here, every step. She needed me, and you didn’t.”

  “But I did.” Cilla’s eyes swam. “I did.”

  “I know. And I’ll never be able to make it up to you, or to myself.” His voice went thick. “I wanted a quiet life, Cilla. And I sacrificed you to get it. By the time I understood that, you were grown.”

  “Did you ever love me?”

  He pressed his fingers to his eyes as if they burned, then, dropping his hands, walked over to sit beside her. “I was in the delivery room when you were born. They put you in my arms, and I loved you. But it was almost a kind of awe. Amazement and terror and thrill. I remember most, a few weeks after we brought you home. I had an early call, and I heard you crying. The nurse had fed you, but you were fussy. I took you, and sat with you in the rocking chair. You spit up all over my shirt. And then you looked at me. Looked right into my eyes. And I loved you. I shouldn’t have let you go.”

  She took a breath as something opened in her chest. “You helped me pick out rosebushes, and a red maple. You painted my living room. And you’re here now.”

  He put an arm around her, drew her against him. “I saw you,” he whispered, “standing on a veranda you’d built with your own hands. And I loved you.”

  For the first time in her memory, for perhaps the first time in her life, she turned her face into his chest, and wept.

  LATER, SHE ATE CHICKEN SOUP. It surprised her just how much better it made her feel. A tall green vase full of bright yellow sunflowers didn’t hurt, either. Cilla decided she looked a great deal better when Ford didn’t argue with the idea of her walking over to check on what work had been done that day.