by Dana Mentink
Derick’s face flushed. “I’m still in shock that you thought I could hurt Barbara,” he said with a tremble in his voice.
Sage felt her own cheeks suffuse with blood. “I’m sorry. I think...” she began, then cleared her throat. “I wanted to invent a purpose for myself, and it all seemed to fit together. All I can do is apologize again and ask your forgiveness.”
He nodded slowly. “Maybe that’s why I’m an actor. I guess it allows me to reinvent who I am, too, into someone stronger and braver and more interesting than the person I actually am.”
She saw misery in his eyes as Rosalind put a hand on his shoulder. “You’re a good man, Derick,” Rosalind said. “That’s what gets you into trouble. Women mistake kindness for something else.”
“Not Barbara,” Derick said softly. “She knows me for exactly who I am and she loves me anyway.” He smiled. “Most of the time, anyway. When she comes home, I’m going to straighten everything out and ask her to forgive me.”
“For what?” Sage said before she could stop herself.
Rosalind cut him off. “For all the dumb things he’s done and said.” She looked closely at Sage. “I’m sure we’ve all got a list of those. I know I do.”
Sage nodded and excused herself, but before she left she could not resist one more question. “You said Antonia was in trouble with the law. What sort of trouble?”
Both Rosalind and Derick looked uncomfortable. “It doesn’t seem right to spread it around, but I suppose you should know since you’re rooming with her. Her sister is in jail for attempted murder of her husband. Antonia was suspected of helping her, but the police couldn’t prove anything.”
Sage gaped. “And you hired her anyway?”
Rosalind shot a sideways glance at Derick, who looked at his shoes. “She seemed very earnest when we brought it up, and she had a convincing story. She’s also an incredibly talented muralist, so Barbara lobbied hard to have her hired and, well, at the end of the day, the Imperial is Barbara’s project.” Rosalind sighed. “She started to fawn after Derick, make excuses to be close to him, laugh at all his jokes and flatter him. Starstruck, like most people who have seen his work.”
“They don’t care about my work,” Derick said with an unusual note of bitterness. “I’m famous and they cling to that. Doesn’t matter who I am or how good an actor. You’re right, Rosalind. They want me because they can grab some of that fame. In another ten years when all the parts dry up, I won’t be able to pay them to drink coffee with me.”
In the poor light, Derick looked old and disheveled, a tired middle-aged man with dirty clothes and harsh creases slashed across his forehead. Sage wanted to say something then, to comfort him somehow, but she had no idea how to do it. Age was stripping him of his identity, and the war had done that same thing to her.
She closed the door behind her and made her way to the far end of the hallway, to an exit that opened onto a charming courtyard. Under the eaves was a set of chairs, tumbled over from the earthquake, amidst some sturdy potted azaleas that had defied the shaking and stayed upright. It smelled of rain, and the fading daylight showed moss tucked between the stones of a planter that ran the perimeter of the little sanctuary. Heaving one of the chairs back up onto its legs, she sat, eyes closed, and listened to the rain as it pattered down around her.
Wash me clean. An impulse beat strong and silent within her. With the sound of the water ringing in her ears, she found herself on her feet again and stepping out into the storm. Cold droplets cascaded down on her upturned face, running over her neck and arms. Wash away the past, she begged, the thought springing from somewhere deep inside. Cleanse away the grief and guilt and anger and pain and help me find out who I am again.
Was she talking to God? Did she really have the right?
One of her senses, which somehow still functioned against the wild wanderings of her mind, told her she was not alone. She knew she would open her eyes and find the one person who could possibly understand, the only man who knew her at her worst.
Rain blurred her vision. Blinking, she found it was not Trey who had joined her, but Dallas.
THIRTEEN
Dallas leaned against the doorway to the porch. “Sorry,” he said. “I’ll beat it.”
Sage stepped back under the eaves and wiped the rain from her face. “No, it’s okay. I was just...”
He cocked his head. “You don’t have to explain it to me.”
She gestured for him to join her and he straightened a fallen chair and sat down. They were quiet for a long time, staring into the silvered rain.
“You can almost forget about it all, sitting here,” Dallas said, taking off his baseball cap and setting it on the arm of the chair.
The quake? Or the past? She wasn’t sure to which he referred. His shoulder-length hair shadowed his face, and she saw a scar snaking from under his shirt and across his collarbone. “You aren’t what I expected.”
“I’m not what anyone expected, but what in particular do you find surprising?”
“That you’re Trey’s brother and he’s such a...”
“Captain America type?”
She smiled. “I guess.”
Dallas raked the hair off his face and laughed. “So you two haven’t talked much about his earlier years.”
Had they? In those rare quiet moments in Afghanistan, he’d wanted to know about Sage, her family, her training, her interests, but she now realized he’d managed to deflect all of her probing questions. Curiosity burned inside, a long-forgotten sensation. She tried to think of a polite way to pry but gave up. “What happened?” she said simply.
He turned enigmatic black eyes on her. “His story to tell.”
“You brought it up.”
His grin was wolfish. “True. Bolsters my bad-boy persona, doesn’t it?”
She didn’t take the bait. “So what happened?”
“Like I said, that’s his story, but I can tell you mine, the short version, anyway.”
She curled her legs under her on the chair, heedless of the wet fabric of her jeans sticking to her calves. “Tell away.”
“You sure I’m not interrupting your rain dance?”
“Stop stalling and spill it.”
He laughed again. “I can see why Trey likes you.”
Tolerated was more apropos than liked. Though her cheeks warmed, she didn’t allow herself a smile.
Dallas gazed again at the falling rain. “I’m four years younger than Trey and I wanted to be like him every single day of my life. Baseball, bike riding, rock climbing, whatever it was, I tried to do it just like Trey did.”
“Hero worship?”
“Brother worship of the highest order. My mom raised us by herself after my dad died when I was eleven. She loved it that we were always together. ‘Take care of each other,’ she told us every day as we left for school.” His eyes roved the courtyard. “After Dad died, things changed. I was angry that he went that way. He was a truck driver and he fell asleep at the wheel. It was mundane, a prosaic way to die for a retired marine. Dad was invincible and I couldn’t understand it.”
Sage thought about her own father, how he always smelled of coffee beans, an occupational hazard of owning a little coffee shop with her mother. He’d tried to talk to her, to help shoulder the burden she’d come home with. They all had—her mother, her sister, Erika—but she’d shut them all out, made more and more excuses to be farther and farther away from the people that loved her. Water splashed over the eaves and puddled on the cracked cement. The corners of his mouth tightened. “I started to slide. Looking to be the tough guy, prove myself with the wrong crowd. I was under the spell of a bad influence, flirting with the gang thing. My mom got scared and sent me away to live with my cousin, but it followed me.” He tapped his bad leg. “I paid the price for that. Nearly die
d, and ruined my chance to be a marine like my dad.”
Sage wanted to say something comforting, but she did not think he would welcome the sentiment.
“Healed up and straightened out, finally, but Trey still feels guilty.”
“Because he didn’t steer you away from the bad influences?”
Dallas stared at the trickling water, the growing darkness hiding his expression. “Getting late.”
“Is that the end of the story?”
He got to his feet stiffly and stretched his arms over his head. “Enough strolling down that lane of bad memories for now. I’ll tell Trey you’re out here. He’s helping Emiliano cover some broken windows because he doesn’t know how to wind down. He’ll probably start remodeling the place if Emiliano lets him. Catch you later.”
“Why does Trey feel guilty about your choices?”
Dallas gave her something halfway between a frown and a smile. “Like I told you, his story to tell.”
He tossed the words over his shoulder, forgetting to take his baseball cap as he left.
* * *
Trey finished taping the last window, surveying his work with satisfaction. Something smelled like food and his stomach sent up a growl. He followed his nose to the kitchen and found Sage standing over a one-burner camp stove, stirring a pot of soup. She pointed with the spoon at the hat on the table. “Dallas left his hat on the porch.”
Shirlene was with her, slapping together cheese sandwiches. She gave him a friendly salute with a mustard-covered knife.
“Hello, soldier. I heard your platoon rescued the painter gal.”
“Yes, ma’am. It was a cooperative effort.”
Jerry appeared and immediately handed a trembling Wally into Trey’s arms.
“He’s driving me crazy, whining, yelping, clawing up my doormat and he even chewed a hole in one of my cupboards. We decided he must miss you so we brought him over. I’m done being Grandpa Jerry. There’s a good reason why I never had kids.”
Trey laughed, stroking Wally’s head. “Troublemaker,” he said to the dog, who rewarded him with a lick under the chin. “That soup smells good.”
“This from a guy used to eating MREs.” Sage smiled but followed up with a look he could not figure out. He wondered how she was feeling about the fact that Barbara was accounted for and the trauma was over. He knew how he felt now that there were no more windows to board up.
Derick and Rosalind were cleaning the debris from a table in the lobby and putting out paper napkins. “Rubio said the road will be clear enough to start letting people out in the morning,” Derick called. “Back to civilization.”
Trey wondered why he did not share the relief he heard in Derick’s tone. Sage didn’t meet his gaze but continued to stir as if she was keeping the planets in orbit with each careful rotation of the spoon.
“Where is your brother?” Rosalind asked.
“Gone exploring again.” Trey caught the multiple sets of raised eyebrows. “I think he’s going to make a return trip via the storm drains after he satisfies himself that there is nothing more for him to do.”
“He didn’t want to stick around for sandwiches?” Emiliano said.
“He doesn’t stay in any one place for too long.”
Sage finished her meticulous stirring and spooned up soup into paper bowls while Shirlene carried a plateful of cheese sandwiches to the table. There was not enough room for everyone to sit, so the men stood and juggled their bowls and sandwiches while Sage, Rosalind and Shirlene squeezed into the chairs, leaving one empty for Antonia.
“Antonia was asleep, so I’ll save her a sandwich,” Sage said. Again he thought he caught a questioning look from her when she spoke to him, but he couldn’t figure out what she wanted to know. He gave Wally a quarter of his sandwich.
“I guess we’ll bunk here for the night, if that’s okay with you,” he said to Emiliano.
“Sure,” he said. “And you two can sleep on the sofas if you need a place,” Emiliano said to Shirlene and Jerry.
“No, thanks,” Jerry said, wiping soup from his mustache. “We just came to offload the dog and see if you had anything better to eat than bread and jam. We’ve got to keep watch at our stores.”
Following dinner, Jerry and Shirlene left and the hotel grew dark with only small pools of light from the lanterns.
Trey’s muscles began to feel heavy as fatigue finally set in. He wanted to talk to Sage, to get her alone and see how she was dealing with things, but she stuck close to Rosalind and Emiliano. Staying busy? Avoiding him until they parted ways for good this time? An ache settled behind his ribs and stuck there until he finally made his way to the bathroom and washed up as best he could, offering Wally a drink of water from a paper cup. Back in his empty room, he lay down on the bed. Wally leaped up easily and curled himself next to Trey, who stroked the little dog.
“Miss your owner?” He worried that Fred might have been trapped somewhere as he left the theater, maybe injured in a crash. Or worse. After Sage left, if there were no police officers around to help, he would try to find Fred’s new apartment and if that failed, he’d search for Fred street by street until he found him.
Stupid, Trey. Was he trying to stay wrapped in a mission? To avoid thinking about never being close to Sage Harrington again? His eyes closed but his mind would not shut off. He tried picturing the wooded acres of land high in the mountains, the place where he intended to build a cabin, board by board, nail by nail, with his own hands. Close to his mother, who refused to leave the little town where she’d raised them, near a seasonal creek where he might be able to entice his brother to come and fish, if Dallas could remain in one spot long enough. A short drive from town where he would set up a carpentry shop. The image had always soothed him, but for some reason it didn’t at that moment.
He rolled onto his side, which earned him a disgruntled sniff from Wally. A soft tap sounded at the door.
Sage stood in the doorway, small and waiflike in the soft glow of the lantern she held. She bit her lip. “Were you asleep?”
“No.” He fingered the door uncertainly. “Something wrong?”
She shook her head. “No, nothing. I couldn’t sleep. I was going to get a drink of water and I figured I’d ask if you wanted anything.”
He blinked and tried not to let his eyes round in surprise. “Sure.”
He followed her into the lobby, which was empty, and sat on the sofa in the darkness while she rummaged in the kitchen by lantern light, returning with two slices of pie and a bottle of water.
“I thought pie might go well with the water. Emiliano said we might as well eat it since it’s getting stale,” she said, handing him a fork.
He took an experimental taste. “Pumpkin. My mother makes the best pumpkin pie in the universe, but this is pretty good,” he said after another mouthful.
She nodded in agreement. “Not as good as candy, though?”
He laughed. “In an emergency, you’ve got to make do.”
Her giggle touched something inside him, and he desperately did not want to break the thread that bound them together in that moment.
“I talked to Dallas for a while before he left.”
He swallowed another bite of pie. “Uh-huh.”
“I didn’t know you had a rough childhood.”
He felt his breath come out in a long sigh. “I’m surprised he shared that.”
“He didn’t. Not much, anyway. It just made me realize that I never asked you about your life. I was too wrapped up in my own.”
“It’s not much of a story. I got involved with a gang. Tried to get out of it. Wound up ensnaring my brother in spite of the fact that Mom moved him.”
She gaped. “You were the bad influence on Dallas?”
Even after so many years, the pain coursed through
his gut. His mother had had to move Dallas away from his only brother and that shame would never leave him.
“What made you change for good?”
He put down the unfinished pie and cleared his throat. She was asking for the truth and he’d give it to her, though it felt like ripping off a bandage from a fresh wound. “I’d actually thought I’d gotten out, enlisted and was ready to leave for boot camp when Dallas got beat up by a rival gang so badly he nearly died. He lost part of his spleen and some vision in his left eye, messed up his knee. Ended his chances to be a marine.” He blew out a breath. “My choices killed his dreams, but fortunately God spared his life.”
Her eyes were huge in the lantern’s glow. “How did you ever forgive yourself?”
“I asked God to forgive me first.”
“And He did?”
“And He did. I’ve worked to make things right with my brother every day since. We’re better and I hope that someday we’ll be as close as we used to be.”
He thought he saw the sheen of moisture in her eyes. Slowly, he reached out a tentative hand and clasped her wrist, feeling the rapid beat of her pulse there. Unable to resist, he pressed his cheek to her palm and felt her soft skin caress him. “It’s not easy because I’ll always remember what I did and so will Dallas.”
“Oh, Trey.”
He did not want the pity he heard in her voice as he straightened. “It’s okay. Forgiveness isn’t forgetting, it’s just a step toward being the person God wants you to be.” Suddenly there was a catch in her breathing and her hand trembled under his. He understood why she was asking about his past.
“I can’t forget,” she whispered, tears spilling now.
He pulled her close and she snuggled into his embrace, thrilling every nerve in his body. “You won’t ever forget, but you can overcome because He gives you the tools and the strength.” He pressed his lips to her temple. “He’s already done the hard work and saved you, all you have to do is accept it.”
He felt his own heartbeat speeding up to match hers, as if their bodies were working together in that moment, entwined in a precious sort of synchronicity. She pressed her face to his chest.
