by Skye Taylor
She started to pull into CJ’s auto garage but changed her mind. No need to stir up trouble for her brothers if they didn’t already know about Remy. She had to get a grip on herself.
Meg bit her lip. If only she’d told Ben about Remy a long time ago, she could have gone to him to talk it out and get past it. Seeing Remy like that had rattled her more than she liked to admit.
I can deal with this. Put it into perspective, for Pete’s sake. He can’t hurt me; just bury it and forget about him. Don’t burden Ben with this now after all these years.
Chapter 9
MEG DROVE ON past her brother’s garage, still arguing with herself. She had plenty of new nightmares she wasn’t sharing with Ben. He’d only feel even more hurt if she dragged out a bunch of old ones she’d never told him.
Ben was her hero, and he’d understand. But he would be sad that she hadn’t trusted him enough to be honest about why intimacy had scared her when they’d first started dating. Just as she knew he was upset now because she couldn’t find a way to share her wartime nightmares with him.
As she approached the junction of the road to the beach and home, the shiny silver New York transplant that was Joel’s Diner caught her attention. The parking lot was nearly empty, typical for middle of the morning, middle of the week. Maybe another cup of coffee and a slice of peach pie would help to put the unnerving memories of Remy McAllister into perspective and out of her mind.
The bell over the door jingled as she entered, and Margie Barnes pushed through the swinging doors from the kitchen.
“Welcome back.” Margie hurried around the counter to envelop Meg in a warm hug. When they parted, Meg slid into the nearest booth, and Margie plunked herself down on the other side of the table. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to your big party, but I was down for the count. I had two wisdom teeth pulled, and whatever they gave me made me dizzier than a carousel. And sick. So how ya doing?”
“I’m okay.” Meg’s stock answer. “But I’ve missed Joel’s peach pie.” Joel’s Diner looked like it was plucked off the streets of Long Island, New York, but the menu was all North Carolina—including grits, hot dogs with everything but grits, and peach pie.
Margie scrambled to her feet. “Coming right up. You want coffee with that?”
“Black,” Meg replied to Margie’s retreating back.
Margie was already hustling around the end of the counter toward the pie rack. “You home for good now?” she called across the counter as she slid a slice of the sweet, juicy pie onto a plate.
“I better be,” Meg answered. “I’m trying to decide—”
“Hang onto that thought,” Margie interrupted. “I gotta get some clean mugs from the kitchen.”
Margie returned to the table a few minutes later, balancing a tray that held two slices of pie and two steaming mugs of coffee. “I’m taking my break so we can do some catching up. You were saying you had a decision to make?”
Meg took a bite of her pie and then set the fork down. “I’m trying to decide what to do next. My hitch is up in a couple months, so I can get out if I want. But then what? I always planned to be a cop. But eight years as an MP, and I’m done with that.”
Margie eyed her with a frown. “I never really got why you were so intent on being a cop in the first place. Besides, signing up for a stint in the Marines seemed like a big price to pay just to get an education in criminal science. Especially when you don’t need a degree to get into the police academy.”
Meg looked at her friend and realized how much of her past she’d kept buried, even from her best friend. And Ben. She glanced away toward the kitchen where Joel and his assistant were prepping for the lunch crowd, then back to Margie.
“Back when I was really little—maybe three or four—Mom hooked up with a police officer from Wilmington. He was younger than she was, but he was really sweet. Probably the nicest man she’d ever had in her life except maybe CJ and Stu’s dad. I never knew . . . “Meg stopped. She’d never told anyone but Ben about not knowing who her own father was, either. But she guessed most of the town probably knew anyway. “I never knew who my daddy was. CJ didn’t know either. I guess—well that’s no never mind.
“When Bobby Daniels moved in, he became the daddy I never had. I loved him, and I followed him everywhere whenever he let me. He called me his little partner and took me down to the station sometimes. He took me to the Sweetheart Dance when I was in first grade, and I loved that he wore his uniform and looked so important. It made me feel important. I guess that’s when I decided I was going to be a police officer, just like him.”
“Bobby Daniels?” Margie frowned. “Do I know this guy?”
Meg shook her head. “Not likely. He moved away a long time ago. He loved my mom, but they argued a lot. He didn’t like her drinking, and she didn’t like him being a cop. Eventually they broke up, and he left.”
“And you never heard from him again?” Margie’s pie was gone and her coffee mug empty, while Meg’s was barely touched. Margie prided herself on knowing everyone in town and everything about them. Digging all this new information out of someone she thought she knew obviously had her undivided attention.
“Not long after he left Mom, Bobby gave up the police force and joined the Marines. He’s been all over the world, but he still sends me cards, and he never misses my birthday. I’ve only ever seen him a couple times since he left, though. He showed up when I graduated from college, and he came back for my wedding. He’s why I figured joining the Marines to get an education was a good idea.”
“Too bad he and your mom couldn’t make it work.” Margie made a face. “I probably shouldn’t be saying this, but that new guy she’s taken up with is a piece of work.”
“He’s not so new, either. We’ve got a history, too,” Meg blurted out before she thought about what she was revealing.
Margie’s eyebrows flew into her black fringe of bangs, and her blue eyes widened. “You’re kidding. Right?”
“I wish.” She should just shut up right now. But she wanted to talk about it and get past it. Margie wasn’t a gossip, and she did care.
“You know you can trust me.” Margie tapped Meg’s knuckles. “Right?”
“Yeah, I know.” Meg sighed. “McAllister was boyfriend number who-knows-what. He dropped into our lives when I was ten. Stayed a couple years and got run off when he got a little too friendly with me.”
Now Margie’s jaw dropped, and her eyes, which had been round before, grew even rounder. “He what?” She leaned across the table and grabbed both of Meg’s hands. “He didn’t—I mean, he didn’t—who ran him off?”
“CJ.”
“I can’t believe you never told me.”
“I never told anyone.” Meg couldn’t believe she was telling anyone now, but once the catharsis began, she couldn’t seem to stop. “I felt like it was my fault, and I was ashamed.”
“How could it possibly be your fault? How old did you say you were? Like twelve or something? That’s sick!”
“Yeah! I know that now. But at the time I thought I was to blame. Like I asked for it or something. I was still pining after what I’d had with Bobby when Remy McAllister took up with my mother. He was tall and handsome, and I was as fascinated with him as Mom was. He taught me how to shoot my first gun. Even Bobby hadn’t taken me to the gun range.
“When I hit puberty and McAllister didn’t bother to hide the fact that he enjoyed ogling me, I was flattered. At first.” Meg felt the flush rushing into her face, but the embarrassment fled at the look of sympathy on Margie’s face.
She’d been a kid. What did she know about what was appropriate and what wasn’t, back then?
“And then what? You aren’t going to stop there and just leave me hanging, are you? What happened? And how did CJ come to be running the bas—the guy off?”
“I grew
up,” Meg stated flatly. Boy, had she grown up. Her mother might not have noticed that Remy had begun to show an unhealthy interest in her daughter, but Meg had. As the months passed, and McAllister’s interest became more intense, her uneasiness had grown along with her sense of guilt.
“It was just little things at first. Things I didn’t like, but didn’t know how to tell my mother about. I felt like I’d asked for it somehow. One time I found him sitting on my bed when I came back from the shower with nothing on but a towel. And I thought maybe I should have known better than to walk around the house almost naked. He didn’t touch me, but I could see that he was aroused, and I just knew I’d done something to make that happen. He left when I asked without doing anything, but after that I was afraid of him. I took to hanging out at CJ’s auto shop after school so I wouldn’t have to be alone in the house with him again.”
Disgust clouded Margie’s expression. “Did he ever touch you?”
“Yeah. That’s when it all blew up, and CJ told him to leave. He didn’t rape me, if that’s what you’re thinking. He just groped me. I was washing dishes, and he came up behind me. I panicked when he shoved his hands up under my sweatshirt and squeezed my breasts. He had me pinned against the sink, and he was twice my size. But then he started rubbing himself against my backside, and I started screaming at him to get away from me.
“CJ charged into the kitchen and was ready to call the cops. But McAllister threatened to report my mother’s drinking problem to the authorities and made us believe he could get me taken away and put into the foster system. If I hadn’t been so frightened, it might have seemed funny. CJ looked like a bantam rooster standing up to the biggest cock in the yard. But then Stu appeared, and it was two against one. CJ told McAllister to disappear. Permanently.”
“And he went? Just like that?”
“He went,” Meg confirmed. But not without leaving emotional scars that followed Meg into adulthood. Into her relationship with Ben.
“Does Ben know?”
Meg shook her head. Her guilt over what she’d thought was her fault in attracting McAllister’s unwanted interest had been her secret. Until now.
She’d grown up eventually. Ben had patiently taught her the joy of intimacy when it was with someone you loved, and in the end, McAllister’s behavior hadn’t ruined her or the life she now had with Ben.
“I didn’t want Ben to know. I was still ashamed about the whole thing.”
Margie reached across the table and covered Meg’s hands with her own. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that. It would have scarred me for life, I think. Have you seen McAllister yet? Oh, of course you have. Otherwise how would you have known who I was talking about? So what are you going to do about him shacking up at your mom’s again?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing? Are you kidding me? The man should be in jail.”
“But he makes Mom happy. And not much else does except booze.”
“I wouldn’t want to be in the same room with him, no matter how happy he made my mom,” Margie declared with a ferocious scowl. “You are more charitable than I would be.”
“Not really. It’s just something I’d rather forget. I wonder what Stu and CJ are thinking, but I’m afraid to ask. I don’t want to stir up a hornets’ nest and have them get in trouble.”
“I guess you’re right. Statute of limitations has run out, and decking the guy would just get them tossed in jail. But it would still gall me to have the creep living right under my nose, knowing what he did to you and got away with.”
“I can’t say I like it very much either. I couldn’t wait to get out of my mother’s trailer. But he can’t hurt me anymore, so I’m determined not to let it bother me. I can’t tell you how good it feels to be able to tell someone, though. Thanks for listening.”
Margie slid out of the booth and came around the table to plunk herself down next to Meg. She wrapped her arms about Meg and hugged her for a long time without words. Then she got to her feet and began gathering up the empty plates and coffee mugs. “Anytime.” Two men in jeans and hard hats came in and hiked themselves onto stools at the counter. “I gotta get back to work. But really. Any time you need to talk, you know where to find me.” She gave Meg one last hug and hurried off.
Meg grabbed her purse and got up to leave. The two men turned and saluted her. She forced a pleasant smile, wondering what made them think she deserved a salute. She didn’t know them, but maybe Ben did. It was a small town.
In the car, she mulled over all the stuff she’d told Margie. Suddenly her inability to tell Ben about John and what had almost happened in Iraq clicked into place. She’d flaunted her developing body around Remy McAllister because he’d liked what he was seeing, and she’d liked that he noticed. She hadn’t meant for it to be anything more, but when he tried to take that admiration to its logical conclusion she had to accept some of the blame.
Had she come on to John, too? Had she done things to make him think she was receptive to his advances in spite of her being married?
A woman in a man’s world had to be especially careful to keep to herself, and for the most part Meg had done just that. But after John had lost his dad, and she’d sat up keeping him company while he awaited arrangements for emergency leave and transport home, those barriers had been breached. She’d gotten into the habit of spending time alone with him in the command post and heading over to the chow hall with him. Her behavior had definitely set the stage for John to think she might be interested in more.
She could never tell Ben. Especially since she had enjoyed John’s company and attention. As innocent as it seemed at the time, she’d gone past the unspoken boundaries. And what had happened in the end was all her fault.
She dropped her head onto the steering wheel and tried to blot out the surge of memories. Running to John when the horror of Scout’s death had overwhelmed her. John’s arms around her, offering solace against the pain. His mouth on hers, warm, sweet, and exciting. That momentary escape from the reality of war and destruction. Ben would never understand.
“HANG IN THERE.” John’s big hands gripped her shoulders hard. His fingers dug in, bringing her back from the brink of shock. “You’ve been through worse. A lot worse. It wasn’t your fault, Marissa.”
“No-nobody calls me that,” she protested. It was her fault. She should have known. She should at least have had a gut instinct. She pressed her hands against his chest to stop their trembling. Fine way for a Marine to behave. Breaking down over a stupid dog. She sucked in a shaky breath and tried to get a grip on herself.
“Marissa fits you.” John’s voice was gentle and filled with compassion.
“I’m just Meg. I’ve always been Meg.” Meg sounded tougher. Less delicate. Better able to cope with harsh realities and the unthinkable. She had to pull herself together. This trembling, near-tears stuff had to stop. She tugged at the kerchief she wore around her neck to protect her face from sand on the road and began brushing debris off her uniform.
“Sorry,” she muttered, looking down, searching for her missing helmet.
“Don’t apologize,” John said gently. “That’s what friends are for.” He bent and reached behind her, then straightened and dropped her helmet back onto her head. He squared it away with both hands, then pressed one thumb beneath her chin and forced her face up toward his. The brim of his cap shaded most of his face, but didn’t hide the glint in his eyes or the beginnings of a smile lifting the corners of his sensitive mouth. “You were there for me when I needed a shoulder to lean on. It’s my turn.”
She stared back up into those shaded sea-green eyes, suddenly struck by the unusual color and the expression in them.
“Marissa?” His face was closer than it had been a moment before. The smile was gone. The glitter in those extraordinary eyes was gone, too. He was going to kiss her. She shouldn’t allow it
.
Her hands slipped up his chest to his shoulders. “John?” This was so wrong. She should get away. Run away. Run far and fast.
But she didn’t run anywhere. She just wanted to forget.
“I just wanted to forget, John. I didn’t mean—”
Meg woke, startled by the sound of her own voice. She was on her side. Ben curled behind her, his arm tucked across her belly holding her close against his body.
The dream faded quickly, but the fact it had been about John didn’t. What had she said? Had Ben heard her?
His breathing was steady and slow. He seemed to still be asleep.
Meg waited until she was sure, then lifted his arm and slid out of his possessive embrace. She grabbed her robe from the back of the bathroom door and slipped into the hall. The house was quiet. Moonlight filtered in the front windows, slanting in eerie patches across the living room, glinting off the glass fireplace door, creating long shadows. Then one of the shadows moved.
Meg froze. Heart pounding.
Scout lifted his head off his paws and looked up at her.
“Scout?”
The dog tipped his head. Meg started to reach out to him. Then she remembered.
Scout was gone. Scout was the reason John had been comforting her that day. Comfort that had led to something else. To John breaking all the rules. To her kissing him back with so much pent up passion it had shocked her. Shocked her back to reality.
Kip tipped his head and whined softly in his throat. Meg bolted from the room. Her heart tripped erratically as she turned the deadbolt and slipped out onto the porch. Tiptoeing as if fearing someone might hear, she made her way to the swing that hung in the corner. She curled up on the swing, unfolded the fleecy blanket draped over the back of the seat, and pulled it around herself.
