Charlotte's Homecoming

by Janice Kay Johnson

  “I could carry you up the stairs.”

  “Hell, no.” She shot to her feet, although she didn’t mind the fact that he was hovering, just in case.

  She really was fine, Charlotte decided, just a little shaky yet. Despite Gray’s promise, she went to the living room and found that her father had once again fallen asleep, his mouth sagging open. The snore he emitted was low and rough.

  She reached for his nearly empty water glass, only to have Gray take it firmly from her hand. “I’ll fill this. You get to bed.”

  “Faith…”

  “If Wheeler doesn’t bring her back soon, I’ll call him. I’ll let you know if she’s being admitted.”

  “Okay,” she conceded. She bent over her father and skimmed a kiss on his unshaven jaw, so softly he didn’t even stir. “’Night, Daddy,” she murmured, then started past Gray.

  His hand on her arm stopped her. She went very still, but didn’t look up at his face. Instead, she focused on his large hand and his lean, muscular forearm, dusted with golden hair. “Sleep well, Charlotte,” he finally said. “Don’t worry. At least not tonight.”

  After a minute, she nodded. “Thank you, Gray. For racing to the rescue. And for staying.”

  “You’re welcome.” He let go of her arm. “Where do you keep your broom?”

  She startled herself with a bubble of laughter at the prosaic question. “Hall closet.”

  He followed her to the foot of the stairs. Part way up, she said, “Good night,” and kept going, not looking back to see if he was still watching.

  In her bedroom she changed into flannel boxer shorts and a clean tank top instead of a gown, figuring that she should be decent in case the night held any more excitement. After brushing her teeth, she came out of the bathroom to the sound of voices downstairs. Charlotte went to the landing just as her sister started up. Ben and Gray stood in the hall, looking up. Both, she thought, looked grim.

  Faith hurried the last few steps and flung herself into Charlotte’s arms. They hugged and murmured stupid things like, “You’re all right?” and “That was so scary!”

  Why was it she and Faith were never so close as when they were traumatized?

  As if I don’t know whose fault that is.

  Faith sniffed. “Dad’s okay?”

  “Yeah, snoring away. He’s mad at himself, though, because he can’t do some manly thing like standing outside all night with a shotgun.”

  As she’d hoped, Faith laughed. “Lord. My whole head feels as if it’s been stuffed full of rags.”

  “But your hearing is coming back.”

  “Yeah, although you sound weird.”

  “You, too.”

  They grinned at each other, their arms still around each other’s waists.

  “Hey,” Charlotte said. “How would you feel about a sleepover?”

  Delight lit Faith’s eyes. “My room or yours?”

  “You have a better bed.”

  “I do, don’t I? I got the new mattress and springs.” She stuck out her tongue. “So there.”

  “That was eighteen years ago,” Charlotte replied. “So they aren’t exactly new anymore.”

  “They’re still better than yours,” Faith taunted.

  “That wouldn’t be hard,” Charlotte said ruefully. “My bed has this dip in the middle.”

  “Well, it was Grandma Peters’s—waste not, want not!”

  “God. I’d forgotten.”

  Faith laughed again and disappeared into the bathroom to brush her teeth.

  She reappeared, hair brushed and tidily braided, and they snuggled into bed and turned out the light. Even though they weren’t touching, Charlotte could hear her sister breathe.

  Into the darkness, she asked, “Do you suppose they’re both still standing downstairs?”

  “Ben and Gray?” Faith was silent for a moment. “Bristling with manliness, you mean?”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “I don’t know. Ben said something about staying out in his car until morning.”

  “Gray’s sleeping on the couch.”

  “Tonight… I don’t think it meant anything that Ben…”

  “Yeah,” Charlotte said. “I think it did.”

  Faith’s hand groped for hers and found it. Squeezed. “I’m sorry, Char. I don’t know what happened.”

  Charlotte smiled in the dark. “There’s nothing to be sorry for. I like him, Faith. He’d be good for you.”

  “He asked you out, not me.”

  “I think you scare him.”

  “Why would I?” Faith asked softly.

  Their hands were still linked. Charlotte was the one to tighten her grip this time. “I don’t know.”

  “Gray?”

  She hadn’t confided in anyone in so long, she almost didn’t. Anxiety washed through her, and she had a desperate desire to roll over and turn her back to her twin. But she closed her eyes and made herself breathe steadily, in and out. Finally she whispered, “He scares me.”

  Faith didn’t move, but Charlotte could feel her staring, as if trying to read her sister’s face in the darkness. “Why?” she whispered, at last.

  “I don’t know,” Charlotte said, which was mostly true. No, she didn’t want to become attached to a guy determined to spend his life in West Fork, but there was more to it than that. She just didn’t know what that more was, why he drew her even as he awakened the most primitive of flight instincts in her.

  Or why just the idea of him lying downstairs, stretched out on the lumpy old sofa, determined to protect her, tangled up her insides until she felt terribly vulnerable and yet safer than she had in years, all at the same time.

  Eventually, Faith murmured a good-night, and Charlotte did the same. When they fell asleep, their hands were still clasped, and it was Gray’s face Charlotte saw.

  CHAPTER SIX

  FAITH AWAKENED TO SUNSHINE and the realization that she was alone in her bed. She wondered if she’d imagined falling asleep with her sister sprawled beside her, within arm’s reach. After Char had moved into her own room when they were kids, they’d had “sleepovers” sometimes, when they’d needed to whisper or muffle excited giggles late into the night. Faith treasured the memory of all those times, when for a few hours Char had given her the closeness she craved.

  With a sigh, she got up and dressed, grimacing at the sight of herself in the mirror. Her face and neck looked like a teenage boy’s after his first attempt at shaving. Dried blood beaded the smaller puncture wounds; white tape and gauze covered the larger ones. Maybe to avoid scaring customers she should lurk out of sight today and let Char handle the counter. Avoiding the mirror, she brushed her hair and plaited it.

  Voices drifted toward her as she started down the stairs and she tensed. Had Ben really stayed the night? But she recognized Dad’s voice along with Char’s by the time she reached the first floor. She turned toward them and went to the living room.

  Char smiled at her from their father’s bedside. “Sleep well?”

  “Amazingly,” she admitted. “You?”

  “Yeah, I was out like a light.”

  “You okay, Dad?” Faith asked softly.

  His color was better this morning and his jaw fresh-shaven. A basin of soapy water sat on the hospital table they’d rented along with the bed.

  “Be better if those damn pills didn’t knock me out.” His tone was morose. “Lucky Van Dusen was willing to stay.”

  “Was he still here when you got up, Char?” Faith asked.

  “Yes, just finishing a cup of coffee.” Charlotte sounded as if she were commenting on the time the newspaper had been delivered. No biggie seeing him first thing in the morning, she wanted everyone—especially her sister—to believe.

  “Brought me a cup, too,” Dad said in satisfaction.

  “No more disturbances, I take it?”

  Char shook her head. “Did you expect one?”

  “No, but…”

  When she trailed off, her sister made a face. “Me, to
o.”

  Their father had been watching them with shrewd eyes. “That was some dedicated public service last night,” he observed.

  Char kissed his cheek. “This is a small town, Dad. Apparently we’re adding some excitement. Now, what do you want for breakfast?”

  Faith could tell he wasn’t fooled, but she fled his bedside right on Char’s heels.

  “Scrambled eggs,” Char said. “Um…do we have any bacon?”

  “Sure.” Faith found it in the fridge as Charlotte took the frying pan from beneath the stove and turned a burner on. “I take it Ben didn’t stay,” she said, keeping her tone casual.

  “Gray said he won the toss. And Ben wanted to track down Sean Coffey and Rory first thing this morning.”

  Faith nodded, glad to hide her face behind the refrigerator door. She took out the milk, margarine and a carton of eggs. “It was nice of Gray to stay.”

  Char already had bacon frying. “Last night Dad was so shaken up he took it for granted. This morning, the whole time I was in there he was scrutinizing me with slitty eyes. He’s working his way up to demanding to know what the hell is going on and whether Gray really stayed on the couch.”

  Faith laughed. “I’ll assure him I never let you out of my sight.”

  “Yeah, you do that. Right after you’re done explaining why our tall, dark and handsome police chief felt compelled to hold you on his lap while the EMTs worked on you.”

  Oh, Lord. “He saw?”

  “Yup.”

  “Damn it,” Faith muttered. “It didn’t mean anything. He just scooped me up and… I guess I was shaking, so…”

  “I was shaking.” Char’s grin was wicked. “He brushed right by me.”

  Faith felt as if her heart was laid bare. “Do you think…?”

  “He’s got a thing for you? Of course he does. I told you last night. The question is whether it’s reciprocated.” Charlotte turned the bacon and then eyed her sister sidelong.

  She didn’t think she’d have admitted having a stupid crush like this to anyone but Char. Who, she reminded herself, had gone on a date with Ben Wheeler just a couple of days ago. But that didn’t seem to matter, not after the way Ben had looked at her last night. So she said, “I guess it is. Or it could be.”

  “Good.” Char gestured with the pancake turner. “Would you grab me a plate and some paper towels? The bacon is done.”

  While Faith had been standing here doing nothing useful. She hurriedly took out a plate and handed over the roll of paper towels, then started cracking eggs into a big ceramic bowl. By the time Char had drained most of the grease, Faith had added milk, salt and pepper and whisked the mixture smooth.

  They let the subject drop, Char tending to the eggs while Faith toasted and buttered bread.

  By consensus they ate breakfast in the living room with Dad, Faith sitting on the couch and Charlotte on an easy chair that had been pushed against the wall to accommodate the hospital bed. They balanced their plates on their knees.

  “So the police chief was here himself last night?” Dad said, his first hunger apparently satisfied.

  Charlotte stole a glance at Faith, then said, “You’ve met him, haven’t you?”

  He grunted. “He’d damn well better be out there this morning finding that bastard.”

  “He’s trying,” Faith said. “But how can he, when neither of us saw who threw that cherry bomb through the window?”

  “Who the hell would it be but Rory?”

  Not that long ago, Faith would have protested. Not because she wasn’t scared of Rory—she knew a part of her would never let go of the fear. But defending him had become automatic at one time, no matter what he did to her. That wasn’t the only reason she hadn’t wanted to believe Rory was tormenting her, though. If the arsonist had been a teenager, she wouldn’t have had to be as frightened. Even Sean, if he was mad about being fired, wouldn’t be relentless. His pique could be satisfied.

  But Rory… Rory, she thought, might never be satisfied, short of her crawling back to him on her knees, or dying. That last time he’d beaten her, she’d seen rage so bottomless on his face she had known that might be her last chance to escape him. He was going to kill her, she had no doubt about that. If a neighbor hadn’t heard her scream and called 9-1-1, Faith knew she would have died that night.

  Neither the barn fire nor the cherry bomb had been intended to kill her, or even hurt her badly. But the two incidents together reminded her of the way he used to work up to the bad beatings. He would do little things to scare her. Sometimes just sneak up behind her, or clean his gun or whet the butcher knife while he watched her. The worst was the time she’d gone up to bed and found a rat lying on her pillow, the head severed from the body.

  She’d been a fool to doubt that Rory had set the fire. Now she was convinced. Ben still couldn’t do anything, though, not without proof. She knew that after last night, he took the threat seriously. But how could he keep them safe?

  The sisters had washed the dishes and gone to open shop when Faith saw the police car pull in. She had been watering in the outside nursery, but turned off the faucet and went in to stand at Char’s side. They watched Ben walk toward them, the brightly lit rectangle of the open doorway behind him. Faith blinked, her eyes dazzled.

  His gaze went to her first, but his expression was too guarded for her to tell what he was thinking.

  “Faith.” He nodded. “Charlotte.”

  Char, of course, simmered with impatience. “Well?” she demanded, even before he’d come to a stop in front of them.

  “Last night Coffey was over at Lake Chelan with a friend and the friend’s parents.”

  Faith groped for Char’s hand, which closed tightly around hers.

  “Hardesty is nowhere to be found. Doesn’t appear to have gone home last night. Didn’t show up for work or call in this morning.”

  “Oh, God,” Faith whispered.

  “We’ll find him,” Ben promised, his dark eyes steady. “I’m starting with a list of his supposed friends.”

  She shook her head and it kept shaking like a broken doll’s. “He doesn’t have any friends.”

  “I’m told he plays slow-pitch. Has beer after games with some of the guys.”

  “But they aren’t friends. Not the kind who would hide him if he’d done something bad.”

  Muscles flexed in his jaw. “Some men don’t think teaching your wife a lesson is bad.”

  That momentarily derailed her, because he was right. “Well…I suppose. But when we were married, he didn’t have any friends we socialized with. You know? They were all my friends.”

  She and Rory hadn’t socialized with other people at all after the first few months. Her friends had tried to like him, but couldn’t. It got to be easier for her to have lunch with them, sans husbands. That way no one had to pretend.

  “I’ve got patrol cars watching for his truck. County deputies, too.”

  “Yes.” Now she was nodding, and felt her head bob a couple of extra times. “Okay.”

  “I called the glass place. They’ll be out this morning to replace your window.”

  “Thank you,” Char said.

  “Do either of you own a gun?” he asked.

  Faith glanced at Char, who after all had become a big-city dweller, but she shook her head. “No,” Char said. “Dad has a hunting rifle, but neither of us ever learned to use it. And he’d, well…”

  “Take ten minutes to get out of bed and then would be so shaky without crutches he couldn’t aim.” Ben scowled. “I’d like one or both of you to consider purchasing a handgun and take some lessons to learn how to use it.”

  “No,” Faith said in alarm. “Oh, no. Not me.”

  Char frowned. “I guess I could think about it, although I’ve got to tell you, I can’t imagine shooting anyone, even a slimeball like Rory.”

  “Even if he broke in the house?”

  Faith was reassured by the way Char shivered. They weren’t so different after all.

/>   “I don’t know.” Char tipped her chin up and met his impatient stare. “I said I’ll think about it.”

  “All right.” He frowned impartially at both of them. “Your hearing come back okay?”

  They both assured him they were fine.

  His eyes lingered on Faith’s face, undoubtedly taking in the nicks and cuts. Then he dipped his head, the movement jerky, and said, “I’ll be in touch.”

  Neither sister moved as he strode out.

  “Well, so much for clasping me to his bosom,” Faith finally said, once his squad car had raised dust outside the barn doors.

  “He’s definitely running scared.” Char was still gazing after him, her expression pensive.

  “Let him run,” Faith said flatly, turning away. “Rory’s giving me plenty to brood about. I’m not going to waste any energy wondering what Chief Wheeler’s problem is.”

  Leaving her sister, she went back outside and turned on the outside faucet.

  To hell with Ben Wheeler, she thought, the flash of temper unusual for her, but welcome. It seemed to heat her blood and make her stronger. To hell with him. No more stupid yearning.

  Fool me once…

  With care and utter concentration, Faith went back to watering the potted perennials displayed on long plank tables.

  GRAY ATTENDED A COUNTY COUNCIL meeting that dealt with wetlands, zoning and building permits. All of those issues had a significant impact on West Fork, given that much of the recent growth was sprouting just outside the city limits. He had every intention of expanding those boundaries as soon as he could put the pieces for an annexation campaign into place. He didn’t think residents of those neighborhoods would protest—he’d heard enough dissatisfaction with response time from the sheriff’s department, and folks were frustrated that West Fork residents got cheaper sewer and water rates.

  After the meeting, Gray joined half a dozen other mayors of small towns in the north county to confer, grumble, gossip and generally shoot the breeze at a local tavern and steakhouse. He stepped out twice to call Wheeler on his cell phone.

  The second time his police chief said, “Damn it, Van Dusen, I’ve got patrol cars going by every ten or fifteen minutes! What do you want me to do, give them round-the-clock protection? You know how small the force is!”