Mickelle almost hoped Nedda Chase wouldn’t be home, but she was. The old woman had changed from the dressing gown to a pair of stretch jeans and an oversized green sweater. Her cheeks and the skin beneath her eyes still drooped like a hound’s but the effect was alleviated by a smile. “Did you do good?” she asked Jennie Anne.
The girl nodded.
“She even helped my fourth grade son with his math.” Mickelle saw that Jennie Anne’s hair was still damp, and hurried to add, “The girls and I practiced ABCs and spelling with shaving cream on the tile in the bathroom. I let them wear old clothes—and they got a little wet and covered in the shaving cream. The girls washed their hair so they could get it all out. I hope you don’t mind.”
“That’s okay.” Nedda looked Jennie Anne over. “Saves me the trouble.”
Yeah, I’ll bet.
“Well, thanks again. Jennie Anne was a big help.” Mickelle wished she could go in to make sure Jennie Anne was all right, that someone would read her a story and tuck her into bed. It was one of the hardest things she had ever done to walk back down the overgrown sidewalk alone, leaving Jennie Anne behind.
“Homely little girl, isn’t she?” Colton said pleasantly, when she was once more in the car. “Splotchy freckles, straight hair, brown eyes, thin.”
Mickelle had once thought so too, but she had seen those eyes bursting with intelligence and curiosity, and in those moments Jennie Anne had been the epitome of a cute, bright little girl. “Did you see the bruise on her cheek?” she asked a bit tersely.
“I didn’t notice.”
Mickelle explained how she’d met Jennie Anne and her suspicions about her treatment.
“So what now?”
“I don’t know, but I’m not going to let her fall through the cracks. I don’t know if her aunt is abusing her—yet.”
“No, I meant, where are we going next? Your sister’s, right? How do I get there?” He smiled, and for the first time the dimple in his left cheek reminded Mickelle of a crater similar to those she had seen in pictures of the moon. “I mean, I’m glad you’re not giving up on the girl, but you sure get involved, don’t you? You don’t worry much about yourself. Maybe it’s time you did.” He paused before adding pointedly, “Or let someone else. I’m sure that little girl is just fine.”
Mickelle stared at him, feeling as though he spoke a foreign language. “I guess I’m used to looking out for children,” she answered slowly. “I like children—I care for children. Even those who aren’t mine.”
“I know, and that’s why you’re such a great mother.”
His words didn’t placate her. Had he been alone so long that he’d forgotten what it meant to live in a family? Or even the human race? She scowled, but Colton was listening to Jeremy and didn’t question her expression.
“ . . . to my aunt’s. Go back down that way.”
Colton glanced at Mickelle for verification. “Yes, let’s take him there. I’ll have to go in and talk to Bryan for a minute.”
“Let me talk to him, please?” Colton said. “I’ve been thinking about it and maybe if I tell him a few things about my own life, it might help. I lost my own father at a young age you know, and my mother remarried.”
Mickelle hadn’t known that. In fact, he’d told her that both his parents were still living. Of course, he could have been referring to his stepfather.
“All right,” she agreed finally. Whatever Colton said to him, it certainly couldn’t hurt.
Brionney lived in a new two-story house, with vaulted ceilings and gabled windows. The outside was rock and stucco, and basically maintenance-free when compared to the boards on Mickelle’s house that required painting every few years. Brionney’s front lawn and cement-lined flower beds were coming along nicely, due mostly to Damon’s loan of Old Bobby, his full-time groundskeeper.
“Nice place.” Colton’s eyes roamed over the house and yard appreciatively. “I’d like to buy something like this soon.”
Mickelle didn’t comment, too anxious to see her son. Should she yell at him? How else could she impress upon him the seriousness of what he had done?
“He’s down in the family room playing Nintendo with Savannah,” Brionney said when she opened the door. “But he’s acting funny.”
“May I go down?” Colton asked, giving Brionney his best smile.
“Sure, go ahead.” She turned to her six-year-old. “Camille, show him the way, okay?”
The women watched the pair disappear into the kitchen. Mickelle expected Jeremy to follow, but he gasped, “Oh, no, Mom! I forgot my Game Boy in Colton’s car. I can’t leave it there!”
“Well, go get it. I don’t think he locked the door.”
Jeremy was out the door in a flash. Mickelle turned back to her sister, shaking her head. “I didn’t want him to bring it, but he said he had to show Savannah something.”
Brionney laughed. “At least he’s growing out of that Pokémon stage. I was getting to hate those little creatures.” She gave a surreptitious glance around her, but only the twins were in sight. “So what are you doing with Mr. Gorgeous? Are you ditching your church meeting young lady and going out?”
Mickelle’s cheeks flamed. “No, I—”
“I’m kidding.” Brionney tossed her blond head more exuberantly than normal, and the short, feathered locks rippled around her face becomingly. “I think it’s good you’re going out. Except you’re going out with the wrong man.”
“I’m still going to the church tonight. He just happened along when I was about to take Jennie Anne home and then—”
“Jennie Anne?”
“Yes—oh, you don’t know about her.” She launched into an abbreviated explanation, which nevertheless had Brionney wanting to adopt Jennie Anne herself. How different from Colton’s reaction!
“Colton happened to come by right at that time and here we are. I think he has some news for me, or something—probably about the insurance money. We haven’t gotten to it yet—not that it matters since I’ve decided not to go through his friend anyway. So here I am trying to rush everything. Brenda is picking me up on her way to the church tonight, though I should have just gone on my own; she’s always late.”
“Well, if it’s that long-winded lady who’s teaching, you might be glad for that.” Brionney laughed again. She lowered her eyes playfully at Mickelle’s reproving glance. “Yeah, yeah, I know. You always find something important in the talks. You’re who I want to be when I grow up.” She ran her hands through her hair, fluffing it, batting her blue eyes.
“Right,” Mickelle said dryly. “And what’s with your hair today? You keep tossing it around and . . . Oh, yeah, you got a haircut this afternoon.”
“Actually, yes. How kind of you to notice.” Brionney flipped her hair again. “And I got a little lighter color woven into it at the same time.”
“But you’ve always been so blond.”
“I’ve noticed some darkening since I had the twins, and I thought, why not?”
“Looks really cute. I’m sorry I didn’t notice before.”
“Don’t worry about it; Jesse hardly ever does. He says that’s because he loves me so much no matter how I look, and so I let him off the hook—if he’ll do the dishes.”
They laughed again, and Mickelle mused aloud, “I wonder if Damon would notice if I did that to mine.”
“Damon and not Mr. Gorgeous? Hmm. That’s odd.”
“Oh . . .” Mickelle glared at her sister in mock frustration. Why couldn’t anyone seem to call Colton by his right name? Mr. Gorgeous . . . Mr. Cover Boy. . . really!
Jeremy came into the house, and Mickelle was relieved to end her conversation with Brionney. Or was until she saw the troubled expression on his face. “Mom, I think you should see this.” He handed her a small black notebook.
“What is it?”
“I found it under Colton’s seat. I wasn’t snooping, honest, I was just looking for my Game Boy so I could show Savannah my new Tarzan game on it, but it
was on the floor, and I saw this book. I . . .” His thin face flushed, but his eyes remained on hers. “I opened it. It has all sorts of stuff about us in it.”
A chill shuddered up Mickelle’s back. “Thank you, Jeremy,” she said. “I’ll take care of it. You go on and find Savannah.”
“She’s downstairs,” Brionney called as he disappeared into the kitchen.
For a moment neither woman spoke, as they stood uncertainly in the entryway. Then finally Brionney said, “What do you think?”
Mickelle sighed. “I probably should give it back to him.”
“But you’re not going to, right?”
“No.” Mickelle opened the book. It was probably harmless, but she didn’t exactly trust Colton—didn’t trust any man. She knew that was Riley’s legacy, but at the moment it was necessary for her survival.
Her name was at the top of the first page, along with her birth date. The boys’ names were next, with birthdays also noted, and a short description of each child: Bryan—husky, blond hair, brown eyes, frowns a lot, good at soccer, okay at basketball; Jeremy—skinny, blond hair, blue eyes, always smiling, clumsy at most sports, okay at basketball, likes to read.
Brionney stared over her shoulder at the words. “Could be quite innocent. He doesn’t want to forget anything about you guys. Kinda sweet, actually.”
“Maybe.” Mickelle had an odd feeling about the whole thing.
The next page held a list of Mickelle’s favorite things—gardening, reading, playing soccer with the boys, taking walks with the dog, tending her rose bushes, collecting wood and ceramic roses. The list held even a few of her dreams—going back to college, getting new cupboards, having another child . . .
Where did he learn all this? Mickelle felt strangely as though he had pried into her life, although as she thought about it, she realized that she had told him all of these things herself. Was he only being sure that he didn’t forget her needs and desires? Or was this something else?
Steps coming from the kitchen made her shut the little notebook. Fearing that it would make an odd bulge in the pocket of her jeans, she slipped it under her blue turtleneck, wishing she had thought to put on a sweater or coat. She folded an arm over the notebook and glanced up as Colton entered the room, with Bryan in tow.
Colton’s smile was dazzling. “I think Bryan has something to say to you.” He turned his smile on Brionney. “That is an amazing quilt you have hanging in the kitchen. Did you make it?”
Taking the hint, Brionney followed him into the kitchen saying, “Actually, a friend of mine made that for me when my twins were born. I’ve taken really good care of it because . . .”
The voices faded and Mickelle and Bryan stared at each other, Mickelle still holding the notebook under her shirt with her arm, and Bryan with his hands in the pockets of his jeans. In his face and stance Mickelle saw no signs of the anger and belligerence she’d seen earlier. Despite her suspicions of Colton in regards to the notebook, she was impressed. “I was worried,” she said, seeing that he was having trouble knowing how to begin.
Bryan hung his head. “I’m sorry. I was mad.” He glanced up at her. “But I’m not anymore. I won’t do it again. I’m really sorry.” He paused and gripped something unseen in his pocket.
“The door in your room . . .”
His face flushed. “It was last week. I’ll ask Grandpa to help me fix it. Or I’ll earn the money somehow. I didn’t mean to. I was just mad.” He sneaked a peek at her face. “I’m sorry,” he repeated.
“I accept your apology, and the offer to fix the door. Thank you.” Mickelle’s voice was only a whisper as she struggled to swallow the sudden lump in her throat. She held out her arms and hugged him; he clung to her like a small boy. “I love you, Bryan. So very much. I know life sometimes is hard, but we will always make it if we do it together.”
He nodded and drew away, a serious expression on his face.
“I’m going to church now, but I’ll be back in a few hours. Enjoy yourself.”
“I will.” Bryan smiled sheepishly and walked with an air of nonchalance into the kitchen, as though glad to have everything in the open.
Colton and Brionney returned from the other room. “I’m sorry to run, Brionney,” Mickelle told her sister, “but Brenda will be picking me up in a few minutes.”
Brionney opened the front door. “Hey, don’t worry about it. I understand. Have a fun time at your meeting. Nice to see you again, Colton.”
Mickelle didn’t remember the black notebook until Colton pulled up to her house. With a sinking feeling, she casually checked her shirt and the area around the passenger seat. She found nothing but the house keys she had left in the drink holder between their bucket seats.
“Lose something?” Colton asked.
“Uh, no. I guess I didn’t bring my purse.”
“Nope.”
Had she dropped the notebook at Brionney’s? The last time she remembered having it was just before she hugged Bryan.
With both arms.
An imaginary vision of the black notebook on Brionney’s tiled entryway made Mickelle anxious. She’d wanted to see what else had been inside. Maybe she and Brenda could stop by Brionney’s on the way to their meeting and retrieve the notebook. She’d call Brionney now and have her put it in a safe place for them.
Colton hurried around to open her car door, and together they walked up to the house. Mickelle paused on the porch. “Thanks for coming by. I appreciate what you did with Bryan. Whatever you said seemed to work.”
“You’re welcome.” His dimpled grin was back, and she was relieved to see it no longer resembled a crater, but was once again a very becoming feature on his handsome face.
“Goodbye then.” She put a hand on the knob.
“Oh, I almost forgot what it was I came to tell you.”
She paused, waiting, but didn’t invite him in.
“Do you mind if I get a drink of something while we talk? Brenda doesn’t seem to be here yet, and I might as well wait with you.”
She almost didn’t hear him. Her eyes had focused on the rose bush next to the porch, one that only this morning had held large, beautiful pink blossoms. They were missing now, every one of them. What had happened? Surely they hadn’t all dropped off at the same time. Leaning forward, she saw a mound of pink petals in the dirt next to the cement porch. That didn’t happen naturally, she thought. Someone did that. But who? Her mind said it was Bryan—who else would damage something so precious to her? No, she told herself. There must be some other explanation. Maybe Belle and Jeremy were making rose mud pies . . . or something.
“Mickelle?” Colton’s voice demanded attention.
“What?”
“I asked whether you minded if I get a drink of something while we talk. I might as well wait with you until Brenda gets here.”
There didn’t seem to be any way to refuse his request; she would have to call Brionney later. But what if she’d dropped the notebook on the cement outside? What if she . . .
“. . . and he also said he’d be glad to meet with you for a more detailed meeting and talk about your investments,” Colton was saying as she poured him a glass of cold orange juice from the refrigerator.
The words dragged Mickelle back into the conversation. “Look,” she said, settling on a stool on the opposite side of the counter where Riley had always sat. There wasn’t room for her legs under the counter on this side, but she preferred that to sitting so close to Colton. “I have decided not to use your friend. I know he works for a good company, but I want to do this myself. Check into things and all. I hope you understand.” What she didn’t say was that she’d decided to talk to Damon about her investment choices. He was obviously experienced . . . and she knew she could trust him.
Trust him? Where did that come from?
She couldn’t take time to decipher the thought because Colton stood up, face flushed with anger. “I wish you would have told me that earlier because I have an appointment set up
first thing in the morning.”
“I’m really sorry.”
He took a deep breath. “Well, the least you can do is go and see what he says. Can you do that much?”
Mickelle was reluctant. “Colton, I’m feeling a lot of pressure here. I appreciate all you’ve done for me, but this . . . I—” She broke off as he came around the counter, his face set in hard lines of determination. There was a predator glint to his eyes she’d never seen before.
Fear rippled up her spine.
Chapter Thirteen
Mickelle backed away from Colton as he approached, until she felt the edge of the sink counter jab into her back. Her hands came up between them. “Colton!” Her voice was sharp and warning. She pushed against his chest, but he grabbed her hands and held them in a grip like iron, forcing them slowly to her side.
“I think you should come with me tomorrow.” He spoke slowly, darkly.
Mickelle could see the clock above the table, and already it was ten after seven. Where was Brenda? Of course she was late; she was always late.
Mickelle forced herself to be calm as she had done so many times with Riley when he was angry. Yet even he had never hit her, never gripped her so cruelly. Had this been the real reason Colton’s wife had left him? Or was this what he had become after the devastating death of his twins?
Compassion filled her heart but did not completely overcome her outrage. “Colton,” she said, trying to strike the perfect balance between reason and righteous anger. “You’re hurting me.”
“I’m not trying to.” His perfect face moved closer, but she turned away. Releasing one hand, he brought his fingers up to her face, biting into her flesh as he forced her to look at him.
Mickelle was so afraid that she could hardly think. She knew he was going to kiss her, or worse, and there was nothing she could do to stop him.
Except pray.
Where are you, Brenda? Hurry! Please, dear Lord, send her quickly!
With her free hand, she pulled his fingers from her face. “I think you should leave. Now.”
Bridge to Forever Page 16
