"I told you I wasn't hungry."
"That must explain why you look like a skeleton. You're anorexic, aren't you?"
"Poor people don't get anorexia." She pushed a second French fry in her mouth. It was so good she wanted to stuff the entire package in. At the same time, she felt guilty for robbing Edward of even part of a treat he'd enjoy so much.
"Kristy says you hardly eat anything."
It bothered her to discover that Kristy was reporting to Gabe behind her back. "She should mind her own business."
"So why don't you eat?"
"You're right. I'm anorexic. Now let's drop the subject, okay?"
"Poor people don't get anorexia."
She ignored him and savored another French fry.
"Try some of that hamburger."
"I'm vegetarian."
"You've been eating meat at Kristy's."
"What are you, the food police?"
"I don't get it. Unless…" He studied her with shrewd eyes. "That first day when you fainted, I gave you a cupcake, and you tried to pass it off to your kid."
She stiffened.
"That's what's going on, isn't it? You're giving your food to your kid."
"His name is Edward, and this heads the list of things that aren't any of your business."
He stared at her and shook his head. "You're acting crazy. You know that, don't you? Your boy's getting plenty to eat. You're the one who's starving to death."
"I'm not talking about this."
"Damn, Rachel. You're nutty as a fruitcake."
"I am not!"
"Then explain it to me."
"I don't have to explain anything. Besides, look who's talking. In case you haven't noticed, you crossed through that padded cell between normal and psychotic a good hundred miles back."
"That must be why we get along so well."
He spoke so pleasantly she nearly smiled. He took a sip of his Dr Pepper. She gazed beyond the far edge of the screen toward Heartache Mountain and remembered how much she'd loved these mountains when Dwayne had first brought her here. It used to be, when she'd gazed at the green vista out her bedroom window, she felt as if she were touching the face of God.
She looked over at Gabe and, for the briefest moment, she saw another human being instead of an enemy. She saw someone as lost as she and just as determined not to show it.
He rested the back of his head against the jungle-gym bar and gazed over at her. "Your boy… He's been eating a good dinner every night, hasn't he?"
Her feeling of kinship vanished. "Are we back to this again?"
"Just answer the question. Has he been eating a decent dinner?"
She nodded begrudgingly.
"Breakfast, too?" he asked.
"I guess."
"They have snacks at the day-care center and a big lunch. I'll bet either you or Kristy gives him another snack when he gets home."
But what about next month? she thought. Next year?
A chill passed through her. She was being pushed toward something dangerous.
"Rachel," he said quietly, "this business of starving yourself has to stop."
"You don't know what you're talking about!"
"Then explain it to me."
If he'd spoken harshly, everything would have been all right, but she had few defenses against that quiet, measured tone. She mustered the ones she could gather and went on the attack.
"I'm responsible for him, Bonner. Me! There's no one else. I'm the one who's responsible for his food, his clothes, the shots he gets at the doctor's office, everything!"
"Then maybe you should take better care of yourself."
Her eyes stung. "Don't you tell me what to do."
"The inmates at the asylum need to stick together."
His words, coupled with the clear understanding she saw in his eyes, took her breath away. She wanted to go after him again, but couldn't frame her thoughts. He was exposing something she should have examined long ago, but hadn't been able to face.
"I don't want to talk about this."
"Good. Eat instead."
Her fingers convulsed around the paper sack in her lap, and she made herself face the truth she didn't want to acknowledge.
No matter how much she deprived herself, she couldn't guarantee that Edward would be safe.
She experienced a surge of helplessness so powerful it nearly crushed her. She wanted to stockpile everything for him, not just food, but security and self-confidence, a healthy body, a decent education, a house to live in. And no amount of self-deprivation would do any of that. She could starve herself until she was a skeleton, but that still wouldn't guarantee that Edward's belly would stay full.
To her dismay, her eyes clouded, and then a tear slipped over her bottom lid and rolled down her cheek. She couldn't bear having Bonner see her cry, and she regarded him fiercely. "Don't you dare say a word!"
He held up his hands in mock surrender and took a swig of Dr Pepper.
A long shudder passed through her. Bonner was right. Holding herself together these last few months had made her crazy as a loon. And only someone equally crazy could have seen the truth.
She looked her own insanity squarely in the eye. Edward had no one in the world but her, and she wasn't taking care of herself. By starving her body, she was making their already precarious existence that much more fragile.
She dashed at her eyes and grabbed the hamburger from the sack. "You're a son of a bitch!"
He slouched against the jungle-gym post and tilted the brim of his navy Chicago Stars cap over his eyes as if he were settling in for a nice long nap.
She stuffed the burger into her mouth, swallowing it along with her tears. "I don't know how you have the nerve to call me crazy." She stuffed in another bite, and the taste was so delicious she shivered. "What kind of moron opens a drive-in? In case you haven't noticed, Bonner, drive-ins have been dead for about thirty years. You'll be bankrupt by the end of the summer."
His lips barely moved beneath the brim of his cap. "Ask me if I care."
"I rest my case. You're a dozen times crazier than me."
"Keep eating."
She swiped at her damp eyes with the back of her hand, then took another bite. It was the most delicious hamburger she'd ever tasted. Globs of cheese stuck to the roof of her mouth, and the pickle made her saliva buds spurt. She spoke around a huge bite. "Why are you doing it?"
"Couldn't think of anything else to occupy my time."
She sucked a dab of ketchup from her finger. "Before you lost your mind, how did you make a living?"
"I was a hit man for the Mafia. Are you done crying yet?"
"I wasn't crying! And I wish you were a hit man because, if I had the money, I'd hire you right this minute to knock yourself off."
He tilted up the brim of his cap and regarded her levelly. "You just keep all that good, honest hatred coming at me, and we'll get along fine."
She ignored him and began eating the fries three at a time.
"So how'd you fall in with G. Dwayne?"
The question came out of nowhere—probably a diversion—but since he hadn't given her any real information about himself, she wasn't giving any in return. "I met him at a strip club where I was an exotic dancer."
"I've seen your body, Rachel, and unless you had a lot more flesh on your bones then, you couldn't buy chewing gum with what you'd earn as a stripper."
She tried to be offended, but she didn't have enough vanity left. "They don't like to be called strippers. I know because one of them lived across the hall from me a few years ago. She used to go to a tanning salon every day before she performed."
"You don't say."
"I'll bet you think exotic dancers tan in the nude, but they don't. They wear little, thongs so they get really sharp white tan lines. She said it makes what they show off seem more forbidden."
"Tell me that's not admiration I hear in your voice."
"She made a good living, Bonner."
He snort
ed.
As her stomach began to fill, curiosity overcame her. "What did you used to do? Truth."
He shrugged. "It's no big secret. I was a vet."
"A veterinarian?"
"That's what I said, isn't it?" The belligerence was back.
She realized she was curious about him. Kristy had lived in Salvation all her life, and she must know some of Gabe's secrets. Rachel decided to ask her.
"You don't seem like the type a televangelist would fall for." He conducted his own bit of probing. "I'd have figured G. Dwayne would pick one of those pious church ladies."
"I was the most pious of them all." She didn't let a trace of her bitterness show. "I met Dwayne when I was a volunteer at his crusade in Indianapolis. He swept me off my feet. Believe it or not, I used to be a romantic."
"He was quite a bit older than you, wasn't he?"
"Eighteen years. The perfect father figure for an orphan."
He regarded her quizzically.
"I was raised by my grandmother on a farm in central Indiana. She was very devout. Her little rural church congregation had become her family, and they became mine, too. The religion was strict, but, unlike Dwayne's, it was honest."
"What happened to your parents?"
"My mother was a hippie; she didn't know who my father was."
"A hippie?"
"I was born on a commune in Oregon."
"You're kidding."
"I stayed with her for the first couple of years, but she was into drugs, and when I was three, she OD'd. Luckily for me, I was sent to my grandmother's." She smiled. "Gram was a simple lady. She believed in God, the United States of America, apple pie made from scratch, and G. Dwayne Snopes. She was so happy when I married him."
"She obviously didn't know him well."
"She thought he was a great man of God. Luckily, she died before she found out the truth." With the food gone and her stomach so full it ached, she turned to the shake, picking up a thick chocolate curl on the end of her straw and raising it to her mouth. So far, she'd offered all the information and received nothing in return. "Tell me. How does it feel to be the black sheep of your family?"
"What makes you think I'm the black sheep?" He actually sounded annoyed.
"Your parents are leaders of the community, your younger brother is Mr. Perfect, and your older brother's a multimillionaire jock. You, on the other hand, are a surly, bad-tempered, impoverished misfit who owns a broken-down drive-in and antagonizes small children."
"Who told you I was impoverished?"
She found it interesting this was the only part of her description of him he seemed inclined to challenge. "This place. Your mode of transportation. Those slave wages you're paying me. Maybe I'm missing something but I don't see any signs of big money around here."
"I pay you slave wages so you'll quit, Rachel, not because I can't afford more."
"Oh."
"And I like my pickup."
"So you're not poor?"
For a moment she didn't think he'd answer. Finally, he said, "I'm not poor."
"Exactly how not-poor are you?"
"Didn't your grandmother teach you it was rude to ask people questions like that?"
"You're not people, Bonner. I'm not even sure you're human."
"I've got better things to do than sit here and let you insult me." He snatched his empty Dr Pepper can from the sandy soil where he'd propped it and stood up. "Get to work."
As she watched him stalk away, she considered the possibility that she'd offended him. He definitely looked offended. With a satisfied smile, she returned to her chocolate shake.
Ethan stepped out of his office and followed the direction of childish squeals to the playground at the rear of the church where the children were waiting for their parents to pick them up. He told himself this was a good way to connect with the members of the community who weren't part of his congregation, but the truth was, he wanted to see Laura Delapino.
As he walked onto the playground, the Briggs twins abandoned their riding toys to run to his side.
"Guess what? Tyler Baxter barfed on the floor, and it got all over."
"Cool," Ethan replied.
"I almost barfed, too," Chelsey Briggs confessed, "but Mrs. Wells let me pass out straws."
Ethan laughed at the image that non sequitur conjured up. He loved kids, and for years he'd been looking forward to having a few of his own. Gabe's son, Jamie, had been the apple of his eye. Even after two years, it was hard for him to handle what had happened to his nephew and to Cherry, his sweet-tempered sister-in-law.
He'd almost left the ministry after their senseless deaths, but he'd gotten off easier than the rest of his family. The tragedy had pushed his parents into a midlife crisis that had nearly led to divorce, and Cal had shut out everything from his life except winning football games.
Luckily, after a brief separation, his parents' marriage had undergone a transformation that had left Jim and Lynn Bonner acting like lovebirds, as well as changing their lives. Right now the two of them were in South America, where his father was serving as a medical missionary while his mother set up a co-op to market the work of local artisans.
As for Cal, a genius physicist named Dr. Jane Darlington had come into his life, and now the family had another baby, eight-month-old Rosie, an impish blue-eyed darling who held all of them in the palm of her tiny little hand.
None of them, however, had gone through as tough a time as Gabe. Sometimes it was hard for Ethan to remember the gentle healer his brother had been. Throughout Ethan's childhood, there had always been an injured animal somewhere in the house: a bird with a broken wing in the kitchen, a stray dog to be nursed back to health in the garage, a baby skunk too young to survive on its own hidden away in Gabe's bedroom closet.
All his life, Gabe had wanted to be a vet, but he'd never planned on becoming a multimillionaire. His sudden wealth had amused everyone in the family, since Gabe was notoriously indifferent about money. It had happened accidentally.
His brother was insatiably curious, and he'd always liked to tinker. Several years after he'd opened his practice in rural Georgia, he'd developed a specialized orthopedic splint to use on one of the championship thoroughbreds he was treating for a local breeder. The splint had worked so well that it had quickly been adopted by the wealthy horse-racing community, and Gabe was making a fortune from the patent.
He had always been the most complex of the three brothers. While Cal was aggressive and confrontational, quick to anger and equally quick to forgive, Gabe kept his feelings to himself. Still, he'd been the first person Ethan had run to when he'd gotten into scrapes as a child. His quiet voice and slow, lazy movements could calm a troubled boy just as well as they soothed a frightened animal. But how his gentle, pensive brother had turned into a bitter, cynical man.
Ethan was distracted from his reverie by the arrival of Laura Delapino, the town's newest divorcee. She'd tossed a gauzy lime-green blouse over a black halter top, which she wore with a pair of tight white shorts. Her long fingernails were polished the same deep shade of red as the toenails visible through the straps of her silver sandals. Her breasts were lush, her legs long, her hair big and blond. She exuded sex, and he wanted some of it.
Men of God who secretly lust after trashy women! Live today on Oprah!
He groaned inwardly. He wasn't in the mood for this.
But it was no use. The Wise God knew a ratings hit when she saw one.
Tell us, Reverend Bonner—we're all friends here—why is it you're never interested in any of the nice women who live in this town?
Nice women bore me to tears.
They're supposed to bore you. You're a minister, remember? Why is it only our more flamboyant sisters who catch your eye?
Laura Delapino bent over to talk to her little girl, and he could see the outline of a pair of very lacy bikini underpants beneath those tight white shorts. A shaft of heat shot straight to his groin.
I'm talking to you, Mis
ter, Oprah said.
Go away, he replied, which only made her mad.
Don't you start with Me! Next thing you'll be whining about how you're not cut out for the job and how the ministry is ruining your life.
He wanted Eastwood back.
Pay attention to Me, Ethan Bonner. It's time you found yourself a nice, decent woman and settled down.
Could you please shut up for a minute so I can enjoy the view? Laura's breasts strained against the cups of her halter top as she leaned forward to regard her daughter's artwork. Damn it! He wasn't meant to be celibate.
He remembered those wild years in his early twenties before he'd gotten the call. The beautiful, busty women; the nights of hot free sex—doing it every way he could think of. Oh, God…
Yes? Oprah replied.
He gave up. How could he enjoy Laura's body with the Greatest Talk-Show Host of them all listening in? As he turned away, he found himself wishing he could counsel teenagers to celibacy and preach on the sacredness of marriage-vows without actually living those beliefs himself, but he wasn't made up that way.
He greeted Tracy Longben and Sarah Curtis, both of whom he'd grown up with, then he commiserated with Austin Longben over his broken wrist and admired Taylor Curtis's pink sneakers. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Edward Snopes standing off by himself.
Stone, he reminded himself, not Snopes. The boy's last name had been legally changed. Too bad Rachel hadn't done something about that first name. Why didn't she call him Eddie or Ted?
His conscience pinched him. The boy had been at the child-care center for three days, and Ethan hadn't once sought him out. It wasn't Edward's fault that he had dishonest parents, and Ethan had no excuse for ignoring him except misplaced anger.
He remembered the phone call he'd received from Carol Dennis the day before. His anger, was nothing compared to hers. She was furious that he'd let Rachel stay in Annie's cottage, and he'd been too protective of Gabe to tell her it had been his brother's decision.
He'd tried to reason with her, gently reminding her they needed to be careful about passing judgment, even though he'd passed it long ago, but she wouldn't listen.
He didn't like crossing Carol. Although her brand of religion was more restrictive than his, she was a woman of deep faith, and she'd done the town a lot of good.
Dream a Little Dream Page 8
