True Confessions

by Rachel Gibson

  Incredible but true, and something deep inside Hope swelled and answered the yearning in his green eyes. His lids lowered a fraction, and he stared at her lips. Her breath caught in her throat, and her chest got tight. She raised her face as he slowly lowered his mouth toward hers.

  The back door was thrown open hard enough to hit the wall. The moment shattered, Hope and Dylan jumped apart as Paul and Shelly raced into the kitchen. Paul held Shelby’s hand above her head as blood ran down her arm and dripped from her elbow.

  “Shelly cut her hand with my hunting knife,” Paul yelled before anyone had the chance to ask. He grabbed a towel off the counter and wrapped it around her hand.

  “That’s dirty,” Shelly protested calmly. “Hope, behind you in the third drawer down are the clean towels.”

  “What happened?” Dylan asked Paul.

  “I put my knife in a bucket of soapy water she had out there for the kids to put their dirty dishes in. Before I could tell her, she stuck her hand in it.”

  Under the circumstances, Hope didn’t think she could have remained as composed as Shelly. In fact, she was sure she’d be screaming her head off. She pulled a towel from the drawer and handed it over. “Is it deep?”

  “She’ll need stitches for sure,” Paul answered. His breathing was shallow, and he was clearly more panicked than his wife. “I’m going to run her to the clinic.”

  “I’ll drive you,” Dylan offered. “We’ll get there quicker.”

  “What about the little boys?” Paul wanted to know.

  “I’ll watch them,” Hope volunteered.

  Dylan turned to her. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’ll call someone.”

  “I can handle two small boys,” she assured him, slightly offended that he didn’t think her capable.

  “Are you sure?” Dylan asked.

  “Sure.”

  How hard could it be?

  Chapter Eight

  MAN HYPNOTIZES CHICKENS TO LAY MORE EGGS

  “Bloody finger one block awaaay…” Beneath a makeshift tent of blankets, safety pins, and kitchen chairs, Hope shined the flashlight under her chin and stared at the two young faces across from her. She opened her mouth and continued her scary story in her scariest voice. “I ran and hid behind my bed, but still I heard, ‘Bloody finger one house awaaay…’ ” She slid her hand under a pile of sleeping bags and rapped her knuckles against the hardwood floor. “Bloody finger at your door…” Adam’s eyes got wide and Wally chewed on his lower lip. “… knock… knock… knock.” She reached out her hand. “I opened the door… and there was a kid standing there.” She paused for dramatic effect, then continued. “He had a bloody paper cut, and he needed a Band-Aid.”

  For several long moments the boys stared at her within the darkness of the blanket tent. Then they looked at each other and snorted.

  Adam shook his head. “That was really lame.”

  “It wasn’t even scary,” Wally added.

  “You guys were scared,” she said. “I saw you.”

  “Wally was, but I wasn’t.”

  Wally punched Adam on the shoulder. “No way.”

  “Come on, guys,” Hope complained as the two started punching each other in the arms. “You’ll knock down the tent again, and next time I won’t put it back up.” The two had spent most of the evening in a wrestling tangle, and while they seemed to really enjoy slamming and pounding on each other, it drove Hope crazy. Made her contemplate that bottle of zinfandel she had in her refrigerator. One glass probably wouldn’t hurt, but Adam’s daddy already thought she couldn’t handle two little boys. Probably wouldn’t look good if he came to pick up his son and Hope was knocking back vino.

  “You two tell each other stories while I clean up,” she said as she crawled out of the tent. She stood and stretched her arms over her head. Growing up, she and her brother had wrestled, and he’d tickled her until she’d wet her pants, but geez, never like Adam and Wally. Those two were in constant motion.

  She picked up the half-empty cans of Pepsi from the coffee table, a bowl of popcorn kernels, and walked into the kitchen.

  She’d heard from Dylan about forty-five minutes ago, calling to tell her that they’d transferred Shelly to the hospital in Sun Valley. The wound in her hand had been severe enough to require surgery to repair some of the damage. He’d also said that the twins were on their way to the hospital, and that as soon as they arrived, he would leave to pick up the two boys.

  Hope set the bowl on the counter, then dumped out the cans of Pepsi and tossed them in the recycling bin. The drive from Sun Valley would take Dylan at least an hour, so she figured he’d arrive at her door anywhere from fifteen minutes to an hour and a half, depending on the Aberdeen twins.

  “Hey,” came a muffled cry from the other room, “get off my head, butt-munch.”

  “You’re the butt-muncher.”

  She closed her eyes and lifted her hands to the sides of her face. She was going to ignore them for a few minutes; maybe they’d work out all their energy and just pass out. Instead, they giggled, which she’d learned was not a good sign.

  She walked into the living room and stood quietly outside the tent made of blankets.

  “That was bad, Wally,” Adam said.

  “I’ve got another one. Quick, pull my finger.”

  She thought for sure no one would be so stupid as to follow that command. She was wrong, and the room was filled with rude noises and more giggles. Hope made a vow to herself right then and there: If she ever decided to adopt a child, she would adopt a girl. No boys. No way.

  She turned on the television and watched the ten o’clock news out of Boise. To her vast relief and utter surprise, the commotion within the tent quieted, and halfway through the weather report, Adam crawled out and informed her that Wally had fallen asleep.

  “Do you want to sit with me or color something?” she asked him.

  “Color, I guess.”

  Hope gave him a box of colored pencils she used to correct her articles after she printed them out to proofread. She placed pieces of copy paper on the coffee table and he got busy.

  “What are you going to draw?”

  “My dog.”

  Hope sat next to him on the hard floor. The antler legs of the table provided very little room beneath, and she was forced to sit Indian-style.

  “What are you going to draw?” he asked.

  “You.” She reached for the green pencil and drew a boy with big green eyes and brown hair sticking up on his head. She wasn’t much of an artist, and when she was through, the drawing looked nothing like Adam.

  He looked at it and laughed. “That’s not me.”

  “Sure it is.” She added a few freckles and pointed to the missing front tooth in her picture. “See?”

  “Okay, I’ll draw you.” He grabbed a clean sheet of paper and a yellow pencil.

  “Get my good side.” She presented him her profile.

  “My mom’s got yellow hair, too. But it used to be brown.”

  Her interest thoroughly piqued, Hope carefully asked, “Where does your mom live?”

  He glanced up at her, then back down at his drawing. “Most of the time in California, but when I see her, we go to my grandpa’s house.”

  “Where’s that?”

  He shrugged. “Montana.”

  Hope felt a little bad pumping the kid for information, but not bad enough to stop. “Do you get to see her very often?”

  “Yep. She’s on the TV.”

  On the TV? “You mean her picture is on your TV?”

  “Yep.”

  One more question and then she promised to stop. “Where does your mom work?”

  “I’m not supposed to talk about that.”

  Really? Hope immediately wondered what Dylan’s ex-wife did that was so bad Adam couldn’t talk about it. Hooker or stripper came to mind. “Hey,” she said and pointed to the drawing of her. “My nose isn’t that big!”

  Adam nodded and laughed. “It
is now.”

  “Fine.” She grabbed another piece of paper and drew Adam with big ears and crossed eyes. “Look at you,” she said, and the race was on to draw the goofiest face. When they finished, Adam won with his picture of Hope picking her nose with “wolverine claws.”

  “What do I get?” he asked.

  “What do you mean, ‘What do I get’?”

  “I won. I get something.”

  “Hmm… I have some microwave popcorn.”

  “No way.” He looked around and pointed at the stuffed bobcat on the hearth. “What about that?”

  “I can’t let you have that. It’s not mine.”

  He pointed to the bearskin rug. “That?”

  “Nope.” Hope rose to her feet and walked into the dining room. The only thing she could think to give him was a small crystal hummingbird she’d bought to hang in the window by her computer. “How about this?”

  “What’s it do?”

  “When you hold it up to the light,” she explained as she handed it to him, “it shoots really cool prisms around the room. It works best in sunlight.” His hair was a little too long and fell in his eyes as he studied the bird. She wondered what it would feel like beneath her fingers, or what he’d do if she pushed it from his eyes.

  “It’s pretty, huh?”

  “I thought so,” she said and gave in to her curiosity. She raised her hand and combed his hair off his forehead. Warmed by his scalp, the baby-fine strands slid through her fingers.

  Maybe one little boy wouldn’t be so bad to have around the house, she thought as she dropped her hand to her side. “What do you think?”

  Adam’s shoulder itched and he scratched it. The bird was kinda girly, but okay, he guessed. “It’s all right.” He shrugged and walked back into the living room, watching his bare toes as he moved to the tent. He looked over at Hope. “Tell me when my dad gets here,” he said and crawled inside next to Wally. He lay down on a sleeping bag they’d found in a closet upstairs and stared up at the blankets arching over his head. He wished he were at home. He wished his dad would hurry.

  He held up the bird Hope had given him, then lowered it real close to his eyes. Light from the living room filtered in through the blankets and if he squinted really hard, he could see it through the hummingbird. He thought about Hope, and about her drawing pictures with him even when his dad wasn’t around. She’d given him a present, too. And she hadn’t brought it to his house just so she could see his dad. Not like those other girls.

  Maybe Hope was like Shelly. Shelly wasn’t like the others. She didn’t come over and pretend she liked Adam so she could talk to his dad.

  He rolled onto his side and shoved the little bird into his shorts pocket. Maybe he’d find Hope a cool rock. He liked it when she took pictures of him and Wally, and he liked those blue boots she wore sometimes. She’d built the tent out of blankets, and she was funny when she ran from bats. He liked the way her hair shone.

  Like an angel. Like his mom. Adam knew his mother wasn’t a real angel. He knew she lived in California and sometimes in Montana with his grandfather, but never in heaven. He knew she didn’t sit around on clouds and pray a lot, because she didn’t even pray at dinnertime. He knew his mom couldn’t live with them ‘cause she had to be on television. He knew he couldn’t tell all his friends about his mother because then people would come and bug her during their special time in Montana. The only friend who knew about his mom was Wally, and he couldn’t tell anyone, either.

  Adam tried to keep his eyes open, but the left one kept shutting. He thought maybe he’d close them both for just a few minutes, give them a rest before his dad came.

  He knew his mom was an actress and that was her job. He knew some of the stuff she did wasn’t for real, like she couldn’t fly and she couldn’t come into the room and be invisible if she wanted. But he figured some of the stuff she did on her show had to be real, and he wished he could meet those kids she’d saved when their house caught fire last week. She’d saved their cat, too. And his mom knew Santa Claus. She’d saved Santa when he’d drunk too much and got hit by a bus. She’d told him that he had to live for all the kids in the world who loved him, and Adam wished he could go to the North Pole and meet Santa. He and Wally had talked about that. Since his mom had saved Santa, for Christmas Adam would ask for something big, like the go-cart his dad said he couldn’t have until he turned ten.

  Adam yawned and shoved his hand beneath his cheek. He wished his mom could come live with him and his dad. Maybe if he were really good and wanted it really a lot, she would.

  Dylan knocked on Hope’s door and waited for her to answer. It was half past eleven, and he’d left the hospital as soon as the twins arrived, leaving them to take care of their father as much as their mother. Dylan had never seen Paul so upset. He’d never seen him so emotional before, but when they’d wheeled Shelly away, her husband had started bawling. Paul blamed himself and was acting as if he’d plunged the knife in her heart. He’d said he just couldn’t stand to see her hurt.

  Sure, Shelly’s cut was bad, but it was nowhere near life-threatening. As he’d sat with his friend, instead of being repulsed by Paul’s blubbering, he found himself a bit jealous instead. He’d never loved a woman like that. Not the kind that could make him cry like a girl, especially after nineteen years of marriage. He wondered why he’d never found a woman he could love that much. He wondered if he ever would.

  Now, lust. Lust was different. He’d had a real luston since the morning MZBHAVN had pulled into town. And during the drive home, he’d thought of little else but standing in Shelly’s kitchen, studying the soft skin of Hope’s hand and the lines on her palm. And during that long drive from Sun Valley, he’d thought about the night he’d brought her home from the Buckhorn, too. He remembered the way she’d touched him, and like watching a movie stuck in slow motion, he recalled every detail. The moist texture of her mouth, the caress of her hands sliding down his chest, the heavy ache between his legs.

  The front door swung open and there she stood before him, backlit by the chandelier in the entry. After so many hours with Wally and Adam, he expected Hope to resemble a crazed Medusa. She didn’t. Her hair was down and a little messy, but she looked warm and drowsy, like she’d just gotten out of bed.

  “Did I wake you?” he asked.

  “No, I was lying down on the couch watching the end of Leno.” She stepped back and he entered the house.

  She smelled all warm and drowsy, too, he thought. “The boys give you trouble?”

  “They’re asleep.” She led him to the living room, and he let his gaze travel from the top of her hair, down her straight back, over the nice curve of her behind, to the backs of her smooth thighs. Her feet were bare. “We found some sleeping bags and kind of camped out.”

  The tent made out of blankets shocked him. He supposed he would have been less surprised if they’d constructed a beauty parlor.

  “They played haunted house upstairs for a while, and then when they got bored with that, we told scary stories down here.”

  He moved his gaze from the tent to Hope. “They weren’t too much for you?”

  “Well, they did wrestle almost constantly. Everything they picked up turned into some sort of sword or knife or gun, and the pulling-finger thing was a bit disturbing.” She cocked her head and looked up at him through the corners of her eyes. “I only thought about hitting the sauce once or twice.”

  His attention was drawn to her smile, to her pink lips, and he wondered if she’d taste all sleepy, too. If she’d taste all warm and willing, as if he’d just woken her in the middle of the night to make love.

  “Adam’s a nice little guy. You’re lucky to have him.” She brushed her hair behind her ears. “How’s Shelly?”

  He opened his mouth to ask “Who?” but caught himself. Pushing aside the opening in the tent, he looked in on Wally and Adam. “She cut herself pretty bad. The doctors had to repair some tendons, but she’ll be okay. She should be home by
morning.” The boys lay on top of more blankets and sleeping bags and were curled up like hibernating bears.

  “That’s good news, I guess.”

  “I think she’s doing better than Paul. He was carrying on like he’d killed her.” Dylan dropped the edge of the blanket and looked over at Hope. “I wasn’t around when Shelly had her boys, but she said that Paul was pacing and crying when they were born, too.”

  “Didn’t you pace and cry when your wife had Adam?”

  He didn’t correct her about Julie not being his wife.

  “I didn’t have time. I barely got Julie to the hospital before he was born.”

  “Short labor?”

  “Long drive. We were visiting her father.” He moved toward her and glanced at the drawings on the coffee table. “Adam was born in the hospital there.”

  “Adam mentioned her tonight.”

  Dylan glanced up. “Julie? What did he say?”

  “Just that she lives in California and has blond hair that used to be brown.”

  It was definitely time to change the subject. “You all recovered from your encounter with Rocky Mountain oysters?”

  “I’ll answer your question if you answer one of mine.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “What your ex-wife does for a living.”

  He looked her right in the eye and lied, “She’s a waitress.”

  “Oh.” A wrinkle appeared between Hope’s brows as she sat on the arm of the couch.

  “Now tell me if you’re recovered from the oysters.”

  “Barely. If someone had told me that there were people who actually ate those things, I wouldn’t have believed them. It’s just too bizarre.”

  At least when she talked about it now, she wasn’t screeching and pale and looking like she was about to vomit. In fact, a smile threatened the corners of her lips. Dylan liked her smile. He liked the sound of her laughter, too, feminine and sort of breathy. He liked it so much, he opened his mouth and told her the second biggest secret he knew. The secret so embarrassing no one in his family talked about. Not even at Thanksgiving, when they all got together and got hammered. “If you think that’s bizarre, then you should meet my cousin, Frank. He can hypnotize chickens.”