Dead Silence

by Brenda Novak

  But she was eager to see the boys one more time, to have the chance to say goodbye.

  Hurrying through the living room, she threw open the door—and her smile froze on her face. The boys weren’t alone. Camille Archer stood on the porch with them.

  “There you are!” Teddy threw his arms around her waist.

  Grace wasn’t sure how to respond to his enthusiasm. She rubbed his back but felt acutely self-conscious beneath the hawklike gaze of Kennedy’s mother.

  “Hello,” she said to Teddy and Heath before meeting Camille’s pointed stare. “What can I do for you?”

  Camille didn’t answer right away. She was too busy scrutinizing every detail of Grace’s appearance. Grace might’ve said something about how rude it was to stare, but there were the boys to consider. She didn’t want to end up in a yelling match with their grandmother.

  In the awkward silence, Heath inched close enough to get his own hug. Grace patted his back but didn’t squeeze him as tightly as she ordinarily would have. She wanted to downplay these gestures of affection as much as possible, because she could tell that Camille was taking careful note.

  When Camille finally spoke, she didn’t bother with a greeting. “I hear you’re moving.”

  Grace glanced over her shoulder at the boxes strewn about. “Yes. I have to return to Jackson.”

  “No!” Teddy cried.

  Heath’s shoulders drooped. “So soon?”

  “Why now?” Camille asked. “Why are you doing it so suddenly?”

  Grace didn’t blink. “Because I need to go.”

  “Is it because you run at the first sign of a fight?”

  Grace scowled. “Living here has always been a fight,” she said. “I wouldn’t have come back if I was afraid of the people here. I’m leaving for other reasons.”

  “Which are…“

  “Frankly, none of your business.”

  Camille obviously didn’t like her answer. Pressing her lips into a tight, colorless line, she folded her arms.

  Meanwhile, Grace checked the street to see who might be watching them, and noticed Camille’s cream-colored Cadillac sitting right out front. “You might want to move your car,” she said.

  Camille tilted her head at a jaunty angle. “Something wrong with the way I parked?”

  Grace raised her eyebrows. “It’s a very distinctive vehicle and, unless your goal is to antagonize the Vincellis, I suggest—”

  “I don’t give a damn about the Vincellis,” Camille interrupted, waving an imperious hand.

  That explained it. The Archers and the Vincellis were squaring off, starting a feud. But Grace didn’t want Camille’s pride to put Kennedy at even more risk. “I think we’d better go inside.”

  Camille might have argued, but Grace didn’t give her the chance. She turned and walked in so that Camille, if she still wanted to talk, had to follow.

  Kennedy’s mother took her sweet time, but eventually stepped across the threshold and allowed Grace to close the door.

  “So why are you here?” Grace asked, hoping to get to the reason for Camille’s visit as soon as possible. Kennedy’s mother couldn’t have come to ask her to leave; Grace was already doing that. “It won’t take me more than a day to get out of town,” she explained, just in case.

  “I want to know if you’re leaving because of my son.”

  “Of course not,” Grace said. “They need me in Jackson.”

  “Who needs you?”

  “A…friend. And they could always use me at work.”

  “I see. Well, that creates a small problem.”

  Creates a problem? Certainly not for the Archers. “What problem is that?” Grace asked.

  “Now that Raelynn is gone, and Kennedy’s so busy at the bank, we need help with Heath and Teddy this summer.”

  “We need you,” Teddy echoed.

  Grace didn’t acknowledge his remark. She was too shocked by what she’d just heard. “You want me to help with the boys on a regular basis?”

  “I can hire someone if you’d rather not,” Camille said.

  Kennedy’s mother had never spoken two words to Grace before. If they happened to meet, Camille walked right by. “Then hire someone,” she said. “I can’t do it. Surely you know what the Vincellis will make of that.”

  “Of course I know.”

  “Is that why you’re here? To show them you can do whatever you want?”

  “I’m here because my son asked me to come.”

  “You don’t really want to leave, do you?” Heath asked. He and Teddy were gazing earnestly up at her, hanging on every word.

  “It’s not that I want to go,” she explained. “It’s just that…I’m busy. That’s all.”

  “But what about our Fixin’s stand?” Heath asked.

  “And the garden?” Teddy added.

  Their distress brought a lump to Grace’s throat, but she wasn’t about to reveal that to Camille. Squaring her shoulders, she said, “I’m sorry. My situation has changed. But you’ll still have your father and grandmother and—”

  Camille made a noise that caused Grace to glance up. “If you leave, you’ll give the Vincellis what they want.”

  “Exactly,” she said, even though there was much more to her leaving than Camille could guess. “And maybe they’ll let things return to status quo.”

  “That won’t help you.”

  When Grace said nothing, something flickered in Camille’s eyes that Grace had never seen there before. It was almost as if she’d caught a glimpse of the woman behind the austere mask Kennedy’s mother showed the world. “But you’re not doing it for you, are you?” she said.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You’re in love with my son.”

  “No,” Grace said. “We’re complete opposites. We have nothing in common. You of all people know that. Anyway, I’m leaving. Nothing else matters.”

  “I’ll be honest,” Camille said. “I wouldn’t be happy to see the two of you together, but—”

  “Grandma!” Teddy complained.

  “But what?” Grace said.

  “You’ve rented a home for the summer. You should feel free to finish out your lease without worrying about how it affects us.”

  “Don’t listen to Grandma,” Heath said. “We want you to stay.”

  Teddy grabbed Grace’s hand. “Please? You said you’d be here all summer, remember?”

  Grace kept her focus on Camille. “If I stay, will you tell your son to keep his distance?” she asked.

  “I’ll tell him,” Camille replied. “But he’ll do exactly as he pleases. You should know that by now.”

  “And the Vincellis?”

  “I don’t need you to do me any favors where they’re concerned,” Camille said. “I can take care of my own.”

  The steel in her voice almost made Grace sorry for the Vincellis. They’d certainly taken on a formidable opponent. “Fine,” she said.

  “So you’ll stay?” Heath cried.

  “I’ll stay,” Grace agreed.

  “Hooray!” Teddy whooped and hugged her again, and Camille nodded toward him and his brother.

  “Does that mean you’ll watch the boys this afternoon?”

  Grace put a hand on each child’s head. “Of course.”

  “Then I’ll pick them up in a few hours.” Kennedy’s mother turned toward the door. Grace opened it for her, but she turned back before stepping outside. “Thank you for what you sent home with Kennedy last night. It brought back fond memories of Evonne,” she said. She’d spoken stiffly, as though it had taken some effort, but Grace couldn’t help feeling gratified. It was the first time Camille had treated her like an equal.

  Kennedy’s mother called while he was in the middle of reading through the latest shareholders’ report, and worrying about what would happen to the bank the moment news of his father’s illness went public.

  His secretary and two tellers were in the conference room with him, collating a mail
er that included the report. But when he heard Camille’s voice, he told his mother to hang on a minute and walked into his office.

  “What did she say?” he asked. Part of him wanted to hear that Camille had convinced Grace to remain in Stillwater. The other part recognized that he and his family would be better off if she moved. Without her in town, the Vincellis might relax and begin to forget again. God forbid they should keep pressing for answers. If that Bible ever came to light, along with his part in hiding it…

  “The boys are with her now. I’m off to take your father to the doctor.”

  “So she’s staying.”

  “I think so. For the summer, anyway.”

  Relief surged through him, despite his concerns. “That’s good,” he said, and hoped it was. “She shouldn’t let the Vincellis run her out of town.”

  “I don’t think they were running her out of town.”

  “She was leaving because of the trouble they’re causing.”

  “She was leaving to protect you,” Camille said.

  Kennedy wasn’t sure how to respond to that. He knew Grace was trying to manage her own life and not create problems for him or anyone else. But he suspected the motivation to flee wasn’t entirely unselfish. She was also trying to safeguard her emotions. Whatever was going on between them frightened her. In some ways, it frightened him, too. No other woman in town could tempt him to help cover up a murder; that was for sure. “I wasn’t very nice to her when we were younger,” he admitted, feeling bad about that all over again.

  “Nobody was,” his mother said. “I didn’t want you getting mixed up with her kind, and let you know it. I did what I thought was best at the time. And I won’t apologize for it,” she added defensively.

  Kennedy chuckled at this response. He hadn’t asked her to apologize. Obviously, she was wrestling with her own conscience. “You liked her, didn’t you.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “But you did. Like her, I mean.”

  “I’ll admit she’s probably a better person than I expected.”

  There was a grudging tone to Camille’s voice, but coming from his mother, it was still a huge admission.

  “She has a good heart,” he said.

  “She’s also very attractive.”

  “Really?” He smiled to himself as he remembered Grace naked in the window. “I hadn’t noticed.”

  “You’ve noticed, all right. That’s what has me worried.”

  Kennedy’s father said something in the background.

  “What did Dad say?” Kennedy asked.

  “That you’re thinking with another part of your anatomy and not your brain.”

  Kennedy scowled. “I haven’t slept with her, if that’s what he’s getting at.”

  Camille repeated what Kennedy had said, which elicited a bark of laughter. “Maybe not yet,” Otis muttered, sounding much closer to the phone.

  “I heard that,” Kennedy said wryly.

  His mother laughed. “Apparently, your father’s a bit skeptical of your motives.”

  “Dad doesn’t need to worry about my motives. He needs to worry about getting well.”

  Camille immediately sobered. “He knows that, Kennedy.”

  “Tell him it’s okay with me,” Otis said. “You might not like it, Camille, but I don’t mind. If Grace Montgomery makes him happy, then I’m happy. He’s been a good boy his whole life, and I’m proud. Very—” his voice faltered “—proud.”

  Kennedy’s throat constricted. His father had always been a stern man, a disciplinarian. He didn’t share his emotions. Even now, he’d used Camille as a conduit. But what he said made a profound impact.

  “Did you hear him?” Camille asked softly.

  “I did,” Kennedy replied. “But I won’t accept goodbye, Mom. You tell him that, okay? I want him to see my boys grow up.”

  “He will.”

  “Tell him I love him, too,” Kennedy added.

  “It’s time to clean out the reverend’s office,” Grace said. Now that she’d decided to stay in Stillwater, she wanted to go ahead with her plans to put the past behind her.

  Clay pursed his lips but didn’t immediately respond, so she turned to look out his kitchen window. A rooster very similar to the one she remembered from her childhood strutted in the yard among the hens, pecking at the dark earth. The barn she hated lurked right behind, its door yawning open. She grimaced at the sight of it, and looked beyond, to the creek, which evoked far pleasanter memories. Each summer, Clay had inflated old tire tubes and they’d floated down to the pond.

  Too bad all the days of her childhood couldn’t have been as pleasant….

  Clenching her jaw, she tried to find some small corner of her soul where she could stow the bitterness. But she was running out of room.

  “I’m not sure we should change anything right now,” Clay said. “People around here are agitated enough, Grace. You know that.”

  “But I can’t wait any longer,” she told him. “I have to be able to effect a change here, to feel like I’m finally in charge. Otherwise, it’s as if he still has some hold over this house, the land, us.” She had to vanquish him.

  “What about Madeline?”

  Madeline was the reason they couldn’t burn everything that had belonged to Barker, as Grace wished. “You can call her after we’re done, tell her you boxed up his stuff and put it in storage. If she wants it, she can take it.”

  “I don’t think she’ll be happy about us doing something like that without including her. For all her talk about murder, deep down she still hopes he’s coming back.”

  “She knows the chances of that.”

  “Knowing it and facing it are two different things.”

  “I need to do this, Clay,” she said simply.

  Clay stared down at his large hands, dirty because he’d just come from clearing the irrigation ditches. “Grace, I wish I could let you do what you want. I can’t tell you how much I regret…”

  “What?” she prompted.

  He didn’t continue. But Grace understood. He felt responsible for what had happened that terrible night when he was supposed to have stayed to watch out for her. She’d tried on various occasions to tell him that she’d been living in hell long before that. That under the circumstances, any other sixteen-year-old kid probably would’ve run off with his friends, just as Clay had. Why not? Barker wasn’t at home, not at first. Clay hadn’t even known what was at stake.

  But the consequences of her brother’s actions were so great, she couldn’t convince him.

  Maybe that was because, to a certain extent, she blamed him almost as much as he blamed himself. If only he had remained with her and Molly that night, as Irene had asked him to, maybe the reverend wouldn’t have been in that mood and had the opportunity to take things so far.

  Tasting bile at the back of her throat, Grace grabbed her purse. She did pretty well as long as she remained at Evonne’s, or in town. But being at the farm was too difficult.

  She turned to go but hesitated when she saw her brother’s head hanging down. She wanted to comfort him. Why should they both suffer? His age at the time, his innocence, had to count for something, didn’t it?

  Forcing herself to drop her purse, she reached deep, beyond her own pain, and knelt in front of him. “That wasn’t the first time, Clay,” she admitted when their eyes met. “What Barker did…” She struggled for breath because, even now, if felt as though her stepfather had his hand on her throat. “It got worse with each encounter. He—he would’ve killed me eventually. I honestly believe that. He couldn’t have kept what he was doing hidden for much longer. It was too…s-sick.”

  The sympathy and regret in her brother’s face expanded the ache in her chest. She wanted to let Clay’s love wash over her, heal her. Intellectually, she knew she wasn’t to blame for what Barker had done. But her emotions contradicted what her brain told her. She felt she must have done something to cause what had happened to her. After all, the reverend had
never hurt Molly or Madeline.

  “Why?” Clay’s voice was barely audible. “Why would anyone want to hurt you? You were always so sweet, so beautiful. You were only a child, for God’s sake!”

  “He hated me….” She struggled to drag the words out of the dark place inside her where the memories remained. “I think it was because he desired me, because he knew it made him the lowest of God’s creatures to crave what he did.” Sweat ran between her breasts and down her back, but she swallowed hard and forced herself to endure her body’s reaction. For Clay’s sake, she needed to talk about the abuse she’d suffered. “He blamed me for his…perversions.”

  “Why didn’t you tell anyone?” Clay asked. “Mom would’ve helped you. I would’ve helped you.”

  This was the question she dreaded most, because there was no easy answer. Clay, Irene and Molly didn’t understand what it was like to feel so powerless, so utterly defeated. “I couldn’t,” she said. “He…he threatened t-to use the knife the way he used so many other objects, to c-carve me up from the inside out.”

  “God, Grace.”

  A tear slipped down Clay’s cheek. Grace steeled herself against the sight of it. She was feeling far too vulnerable, couldn’t bear any more pain. But the torment in his expression meant she had to keep trying. Clay was big, strong, confident. He could fight almost any kind of foe with little fear of losing. He’d fought for her in the past. His problem was that he couldn’t beat this.

  Reaching up, she touched his cheek—and saw his jaw tense and his shoulders shake as he tried to contain his emotion.

  “It’s okay,” she whispered. “It’s okay.”

  He searched her face, and she managed to give him a watery smile. After eighteen years, she wanted to achieve forgiveness for them both. She knew it might take more time to forgive herself, but she could forgive Clay, couldn’t she?

  He must’ve recognized the difference in her because his arms went around her, gathering her to him as if she was still a little girl. “I’d give anything to go back,” he said, and she finally felt the barrier she’d built between them crack and begin to give way.