Carly knew without having touched her friend that Caroline was gone. Still, unable to stop herself, she pulled off a glove and laid her palm against Caroline’s neck, feeling for a pulse, just to be sure. Nothing but cold stillness lay beneath her hand.
Taking hold of Caroline’s hand, she cradled it in her lap, and she knelt there in the dirt, waiting to hear the scream of an ambulance. Surely the men in the motor home had phoned 911. Surely they’d seen Lucky swerve and the car plunge off the road.
She sat there as Caroline grew cold, her own throat raw and burning, until she was so cold she couldn’t feel her fingers anymore. Finally she let go and pushed herself to her feet and stared down at Caroline. Her beautiful friend was lying against the sandy soil of the Arizona high desert Indian country like a broken, discarded Barbie doll.
As the sun rose higher over the mountains, staining the sky a bright orange-pink, Carly blinked, fumbled with her glove, then adjusted the strap of Caroline’s purse. Dazed, confused, she climbed up the embankment until she reached the highway and started walking. Her shoulder ached, her mind refused to work.
She’d gone blissfully numb inside, cold and silent as Caroline.
She walked for two miles or more before a big rig pulled over and stopped at the side of the road up ahead of her. The driver, five-foot-ten with a thick mustache and kind eyes the color of black coffee, asked where she was headed.
“Someplace warm,” she mumbled.
“I’m going to California,” he told her. “Get in if you want a ride.”
He had to help her into the cab of the truck, let her sit in silence for miles and miles as the endless desert rolled away from them like a parched seascape.
When he pulled over for a lunch stop around noon, he finally spoke to her again.
“M’ name’s Wilt Walton. I’m sixty years old, and I’m gonna retire in ninety-three days. Not that I’m counting.”
She listened but couldn’t seem to form a complete sentence.
“You got a name, honey?”
Her hand tightened on the purse resting on her lap. “Look, it’s none of my damn business why you’re out on the road alone. You don’t have to worry. I’m not sending you back. If things were so great at home, you wouldn’t be out here by yourself, right?”
She stared through the windshield at all the big rigs lined up in the parking lot alongside a diesel station and diner. There was a twenty-foot-tall bright red plaster teepee in front. Yum-Yum Pie was painted on two sides of the teepee.
“You high, honey? You smell like the inside of a joint.”
She tried moving her head, finally nodded ever so slightly.
“Yeah,” she whispered. “A little. I guess.”
As he leaned on the wheel, waiting for her to tell him her name, her mind sluggishly started working.
The foster care people in New Mexico were surely looking for her by now. Her and Caroline both.
She was only fifteen. She’d be hauled in to explain Caroline’s death. Maybe Lucky and Raul were dead, too. If she were older, if she were eighteen, she could stay on her own, but she was only fifteen. They’d test her. Find out she’d been smoking pot. Throw her in juvie. Worse yet, send her back to Dennie and Nola’s. There was no way out.
Unless . . .
She ran her fingers over the scarred surface of Caroline’s vinyl purse and tried to speak, but her throat was stuffed with tears she’d yet to shed.
She cleared her throat, turned to Wilt.
“Caroline. My name is Caroline Graham.”
28
“SO YOU BECAME CAROLINE.”
Jake had sat down again, listened while staring at the top of the trunk where all her magazines were neatly arranged, as if life could be as perfect, easily altered by moving the furniture or choosing the right paint for the walls.
“If she’d lived, Caroline would have been eighteen a month after we ran away. I figured I could fend for myself using her identification. Wilt offered me a room at his place.” She shrugged. “At first I thought he felt sorry for me, but when I got to know him better, I realized he’d been looking out for me. He told me more than once how lucky I was that he’d stopped to pick me up before somebody else did.”
“Did you ever tell him the truth about Caroline and the accident? About who you really were and what you’d done?”
“No. When it all started, I never wanted to be Carly Nolan again. My own life hadn’t been worth finishing. I tried to be like her. I wanted to be her. Caroline was as wild as she was beautiful. When she walked into a room, everyone turned to look at her. To think that she was gone . . . well, it was too much. Maybe, maybe somehow she’d live on, if I took her name.
“She already had her Social Security card and she’d gotten a driver’s license after one of her boyfriends taught her to drive. She’d been working at Lotta Burger close to Dennie and Nola’s after school and on weekends. I figured I could get a job right away if I just pretended to be her.”
Jake began to pace, unwilling, unable to remain still any longer. Carly crossed her arms protectively, watching him almost warily whenever he moved close.
He paused a few feet away, stared down at her, wishing he hadn’t heard any of it. Not wanting to know she’d been through so much in such a short life. Amazed at how she must have had to work to become the woman she was now. She’d done it all on her own.
“So, by simply becoming yourself again when you left Borrego Springs, you were able to start over with a clean slate.” He shook his head. “It was ingenious, really. No one ever put two and two together.”
“You did. You found me.”
“Only because my partner, Kat, was reading a travel article about Geoff Wilson’s gallery and saw the painting that reminded her of one I have in my office. One that I bought from Wilt Walton.”
“What?”
“Right after Rick died, I went out to Borrego to find you. The Saunders’ story had run in all the local papers, claimed they were despondent, not only over the loss of their son, but their grandson. They accused you of being on drugs. You had disappeared with the baby. They feared for his life.”
“I’ve never had anything harder than pot and not even that after Caroline died. I’d never, ever let anything happen to Chris, and you know it.”
“I do now. Back then, I worked for the investigative firm they’d hired. I’d gone out to see if Wilt could or would tell me where you’d gone. He wouldn’t talk about you much at all, but he did show me your paintings. He was pretty proud of them. I badgered him into selling me one.”
“Which . . . which one?”
“Sunset over the desert, the ghost of a lone Spanish conquistador staring toward a mirage oasis. A Native American is crouched not far away, watching him from the rocks.”
She nodded. “I remember. I remember them all. It was like leaving a part of myself behind when I left my paintings.”
“When Kat showed me the article, I followed a long shot and drove up to The Cove Gallery. The rest you know.”
Drained and exhausted, she felt like someone three times her age.
“Wilt has no idea where I am. He never knew my real name, either.”
She ran her fingers through her hair, sweeping it back out of her eyes. He knew what her hand felt like moving against his skin now. Knew the taste of her lips, her scent.
Just as he knew she was hurting and that he was responsible.
“Why did you really run, Carly?”
Tensing, she shoved away from the counter. “I told you. I didn’t want to sell my baby to the Saunders. I knew that no matter what I said or did, I couldn’t fight them, and they would eventually get custody of Christopher. I knew that if they found out about my past, if they found out what happened to Caroline, that they’d learn about the accident and how I had assumed her identity—and that’s against the law. Even if I hadn’t done anything illegal, I was barely twenty. I didn’t have the money to fight them. I was still in shock over Rick’s death and terr
ified of losing Christopher.”
“No court in the state would take Christopher away from his natural mother unless she were on drugs and totally indigent.”
“How was I supposed to know that? Besides, how can you be sure? The Saunders have money and power. Judges can be influenced, can’t they?”
“Carly, let me help you straighten this mess out. Trust me.”
“Trust you? I did trust you. For the first time in years I trusted someone completely. I let you walk into our lives, into our home, our hearts. Dear God, Jake, I trusted you enough to let you get close to my son. I slept with you last night. Look where trusting you got me.”
“I came over here this morning to tell you the truth.”
A small, brittle laugh escaped her. “Now I’ll never know that for certain, will I?”
“You have to believe me.”
“Why should I, Jake? After what you’ve done, why should I believe anything you say?”
“Because.” He shoved his hand through his hair. Shook his head, hoping he wasn’t making the most fatal mistake of all. “Because I’m in love with you.”
Not now. Not like this.
Carly fought her tears. She’d waited so long to let love into her life that to have it come like this, clouded by doubt and betrayal, was unbearable.
“I know what you must be thinking . . .”
Jake’s voice moved over her, through her. She knew that as long as she lived, she would never forget the way it made her feel all mellow and warm, even now. She wanted to believe so very badly.
“. . . I don’t fall in love lightly, Carly.”
“And you think I do? Until last night, I hadn’t been with anyone since Rick.”
“I know that. I know what it meant for you to come to me. You gave me a very precious gift last night. This morning I realized that I would have never touched you unless I loved you. When you showed up ready to lay your heart on the line, I couldn’t ruin that moment for either of us by telling you the truth last night.”
“So you made love to me anyway, knowing everything I believed about you was a lie.”
“Only because I was afraid you’d walk out the door and I’d never see you again.” He stepped closer, so close she could feel the warmth radiating from him. She wanted him to touch her, hated herself for needing him at all after what he’d done.
“What makes you think that’s not going to happen now?”
“You don’t give yourself easily.” He held her gaze. She hadn’t the will or the desire to look away. “Or your heart.”
“Oh, Jake.”
He reached for her, closed his hands around her upper arms. She didn’t have the will to move. Not now. In so many ways the burden of a lifetime of secrets had been lifted now that she’d told him everything. Someone else knew. He knew all about Caroline, her death, the truth of her own identity. All of it was out. Though she felt as bleak as before, there was still a sense of release, if not freedom.
“Please, for God’s sake, Carly, let me help you.”
After all this time, all these years of looking over her shoulder, of running from the Saunders and carrying the burden of fear of losing Christopher, after all her years of loneliness, she was too afraid to hope that Jake might actually be able to help.
“How?” she whispered.
She watched him slightly relax. He ran his hands up and down her arms, gently held her wrists.
“Let me talk to Anna Saunders. I was Rick’s friend. Hopefully she’ll hear me out. I’ll tell her what a wonderful mother you are. I’m not saying I can change her mind, but it’s the only way this might be settled amicably. Would you consent to meeting her? Would you let her meet Chris?”
The idea of coming face-to-face with the woman who had wanted her son desperately enough to buy him scared her to death.
“I’m afraid to take that chance.”
“What if I were by your side?”
“You can’t make me any guarantees, Jake.” She wished he would say that he could, that his word would be enough to stop Anna Saunders from fighting for Christopher.
“Life doesn’t come with guarantees, but I can tell you this, Anna has no grounds whatsoever to prove that you’re an unfit mother.”
An infinitesimal glimmer of hope sparked inside her. She had changed her life. She’d turned off the reckless path of self-destruction she’d been on as a teen. She’d done her best to give Christopher all the love and devotion she had. She’d made a home out of nothing. That had to count for something, didn’t it? Surely that had to be enough.
Her initial anger had cooled to a low simmer. She longed to believe Jake was telling the truth as much as she wished she could believe he loved her. If he could help her now, she’d be a fool to turn him away.
Besides, it would be idiotic to pretend that she didn’t love him. The terrible-wonderful feeling she carried in her heart had to be love, it had to be the reason that the thought of running away and never seeing him again hurt more than the fear of staying.
She stepped back and he let go of her. Walking over to the front door, she opened it and held on, grounding herself with the solid feel of wood, as if it were a lifeline. She wanted things to be different—more than anything she’d ever wanted in her life. She wanted to let Jake take her in his arms and make the hurt go away, but it was too late for that.
Any minute now Chris and Matt would come running back into the room, and Christopher would beg Jake to stay.
“Please, Jake,” she whispered. “If you care at all, please go. I need time. I . . . things have changed. Don’t make this any harder than it already is.”
She expected an argument, but none came. He ran his hands through his hair, shoved them into his pockets.
“I have to leave for Long Beach as soon as I can get things straightened up at the house. My grandfather died last night.”
“I’m sorry.” There was nothing more she could say to him right now. She was so numb, words of consolation wouldn’t come.
He took her hand again. She stared down at his fingers as they enfolded hers. Still numb, the hands might have belonged to two other people, not them. To lovers. What were they now, she wondered. What were they now that the truth was out in the open?
“I’ve got to meet with his lawyers and make arrangements for his memorial. You have my cell number. If you need anything at all, call me. While I’m in Long Beach, I’m going to see Anna Saunders . . .”
With her free hand, she grabbed the neckline of her blouse. Her heart began to pound beneath her fist. “Are you going to tell her you’ve found us?”
“Nothing she’s said ever led me to believe she wanted to take Christopher from you, but I also know you’re not lying. Once I get through my grandfather’s memorial, I’ll meet with Anna. She’ll never learn where you are from me.”
“How can I believe you?”
“Trust me, Carly. All I’ve ever wanted to do is help you and Chris. I’ll call you as soon as I know something.” His hand tightened on hers.
“Jake . . .”
“This isn’t over between us by a long shot. You’re not the only one hurting here. I put my own heart on the line, too, Carly, and I’m not letting you out of my life that easily. I’m expecting . . . no, I’m trusting you to be here when I get back, so trust me. Let me try to help you.”
29
CHRIS KNEW SOMETHING REALLY WEIRD WAS GOING ON.
Maybe Mom thought just because he was a little kid that he wouldn’t notice, but he did. She’d been acting grumpy since Jake came by. Grumpy and sad at the same time.
Another weird thing was that Jake had left without telling him good-bye, and then Mom made plain old sandwiches for him and Matt, tuna with mayonnaise, and he couldn’t even talk her into cutting them into stars.
After lunch, she said that he and Matt could watch cartoons until Matt’s dad came to pick him up, which was really strange, because she never let him watch longer than half an hour at a time. While they flopped on the
living room floor in front of the television, Mom went into her studio and sat there staring out the window instead of painting.
By the time Matt’s dad picked Matt up, Chris was not just worried, he was getting scared.
“Hey, Mom, let’s take a walk down to the beach and look for shells.” Their beach wasn’t very big, but there were always birds to chase and shells and sand dollars that washed up. And there were lots of nature trails that wound up the face of the bluff, too.
“Not today, Chris.”
“Why?”
“Because I said no.”
“But why?”
Mom let out a big sigh. “I don’t feel like it, honey.”
“When I feel bad, you always tell me it would do me good to get out and get some fresh air. Maybe it will do you good.”
“I don’t think so. Not today.”
He watched Mom’s shoulders sag the way they did when she was sad. They’d been drooping since Jake left. Seeing her like this made his stomach hurt.
“I don’t feel so good, either,” he said softly.
Suddenly she looked over at him as if she were finally paying attention. “You just said you wanted to go for a walk.”
“My tummy hurts.”
“Where?”
He pointed to his belly button.
She left the kitchen and came over to where he was sitting on the couch, sat down next to him, and put her arm around his shoulders.
He wanted to ask her what was wrong, but things were all jumbled up inside him, and he didn’t really want to know if it was something really bad.
When Mom tightened her arm around him, he let her hug him. Even though he was afraid he’d start crying like a baby, he still wanted her to hold him. He buried his face against her and smelled her good Mom smell.
She pulled back and brushed his hair off his forehead.
“What’s really wrong, honey?”
“I heard you talking to Jake before. You both sounded mad, and now you’re acting sad. What’s wrong? Did somebody do something bad?”
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