Midnight Confessions

by Karen Leabo

  She nodded. “Uh-huh.” Her eyelids were drooping, but she managed a few more seconds of wakefulness. “What’s Mr. ’Dresi doing here?”

  “He came in out of the rain,” Jenn answered. But the little girl was already nodding off. Jenn pulled Cathy into her lap and tucked the blanket around her. “I’ll just sleep back here,” she said to Joe. “I want to be here if she wakes up again.”

  “Does she often have nightmares?”

  “She used to all the time, after we first left Rhymer. But they’ve become less frequent.”

  “Are the dreams what led you to believe Dennis was abusing her?”

  “He wasn’t,” Jenn said emphatically. “But he would have. He was thinking about it, just waiting for the right time. He was courting her with candy and dolls and trips to the zoo. And he was planning to take her on a camping trip, just the two of them. When I heard about that, I didn’t waste any more time. I got her away from him.”

  She glared at Joe. “You don’t believe me.”

  “I think Dennis is an adoring grandfather, and you’re reading too much into his gestures.”

  “Then why is Cathy afraid of him?” she asked.

  “Because older men are just scary sometimes to little kids. They’re big, and they smell funny and talk funny. Hell, I was a little bit afraid of my own grandfather.”

  “Did you have nightmares about him?”

  “Well, no.”

  Jenn said nothing else on the subject, as if she’d made her point.

  Joe decided to let it rest, for now. He reached up and flipped off the dome light, then listened to the gentle patter of rain on the roof and the subtle sounds of Jenn settling in. Soon he could discern her soft, regular breathing. He wished he could fall back to sleep, too. But the echo of Cathy’s terrified screams washed through his memory again and again.

  Chapter 9

  Joe left at dawn under an overcast sky with a sandwich in his jacket pocket and a canteen of water fastened to his belt. Jenn watched him retreat down the road they’d traveled yesterday. He was walking at a fast clip, and she realized that he’d been right. She and Cathy would have just slowed him down.

  But that didn’t stop her from wishing he hadn’t left them alone. She’d gotten so used to having him around that she was suddenly bereft without him. Stupid, stupid, she scolded herself. The man had been holding her prisoner. He’d handcuffed her to a bed.

  She still missed him.

  Jenn figured it would take Joe all day to hike to a phone, find a tow truck, and return. She and Cathy had a lot of time to kill. They ate some Fruit Roll-Ups for breakfast, then went for a short walk, always keeping the car within sight. Jenn wasn’t about to risk getting lost in the woods again.

  Around noon, Jenn managed to restart the fire, and they roasted more hot dogs, though neither of them was really very hungry. It was just something to do.

  “How come we don’t escape?” Cathy asked.

  Jenn sighed. She was completely out of escape plans, and she was tired of thinking and conniving and worrying. When she finally answered, she spoke the God’s honest truth. “I’m hoping we won’t have to escape anymore. Mr. Andresi likes us. I think he wants to help us. I think he might even let us go.”

  “He said he was gonna put you in jail,” Cathy said throughtfully, “but I don’t think he’s as mean as he pretends.” It was obvious that Cathy didn’t believe Joe would hurt them any more than Jenn did.

  Jenn sure as hell hoped they were right. Because she was going to play her trump card. She was going to tell him about her childhood experiences with Dennis Palmer. She would tell him everything, every gruesome detail, every humiliating incident she could dredge up. She would talk and talk until he had no choice but to believe her.

  Then she would throw herself at his mercy and pray that he had enough brains, enough pull, enough clout, to beat Dennis Palmer.

  As the afternoon wore on, the cloud cover burned off and the sun shone brightly, warming the autumn landscape. Jenn, who’d been longing for a hot shower, decided that wading in the creek would at least be refreshing. She and Cathy took off their shoes, rolled up their jeans, and made a game of washing up with water from the icy stream. They scrubbed their faces and necks, and Jenn unfastened the top two buttons of her cotton blouse and splashed a bit of water onto her chest. Although chilly, she wasn’t as uncomfortable as she’d feared she would be, and Cathy seemed immune to the cold.

  Shivering but cleaner, they emerged from the stream, then found a place where they could lie in the sun and warm themselves. Jenn spread a blanket on the ground and flopped down. They’d long since stopped fretting about bears and wolves, since they’d seen no sign of any wild critters, except for one shy deer that bounded away the moment it caught their scent.

  “Mama, I’m getting cold,” Cathy complained.

  “You have a clean sweatshirt in the car.” Jenn felt drowsy and comfortable. She didn’t want to move. “Can you find it and put it on by yourself like a big girl?”

  “’Course I can,” Cathy replied indignantly.

  “I thought so.”

  Jenn didn’t mean to fall asleep. But the sun and the soft breeze, plus the fact that she hadn’t slept well the night before, conspired against her. Cathy sat beside her on the blanket and worked on a coloring book. Jenn, feeling oddly safe, allowed her eyes to drift closed. Soon she was dozing like a contented cat.

  When next she was aware, Cathy was shaking her. “Mama, he’s back.”

  “Hmm? What?” She opened her eyes and saw Joe’s face, upside down, staring at her. His expression was soft, contemplative, but beyond that she couldn’t read his mood.

  “Sleeping Beauty,” he murmured. “Had a tough day?”

  She sat up quickly, becoming light-headed. She realized too late that her blouse was gaping open where she’d left the buttons undone. A cool breeze blew across the damp fabric, and her nipples hardened. She knew without looking down that he could see them, that he was gauging her every physical reaction more quickly than she could.

  “What did you do, go swimming?” he asked, disbelieving.

  “We took a bath,” she corrected him. Now her face was heating up. Cathy giggled for some unfathomable reason.

  Joe’s smile wasn’t altogether innocent. He said nothing for several long seconds as he made a leisurely visual perusal of Jenn from her tousled hair to her bare feet. She tucked her feet under her, as if that would protect her from his potent gaze.

  Abruptly his smile vanished. “The tow truck’s here,” he said. “I’ll keep the driver busy for a minute while you, um...” His voice trailed off. He brusquely turned his back.

  Jenn quickly buttoned her blouse, rolled down the legs of her jeans, and pulled on her shoes. There was nothing she could do about her hair right now. By the time she’d folded the blanket, the driver had turned his truck around and he was ready to hook up the car. Jenn collected the few belongings that were lying around. Joe drowned the fire. Then all of them piled into the tow truck’s front seat and they were on their way.

  Cathy sat on Jenn’s lap in the middle of the bench seat between the two men. Never missing an opportunity, she inundated the poor driver with questions about his truck, his job, his family. Jenn was beginning to suspect that her daughter would grow up to be a reporter.

  “Did you find a shop that would do the repairs?” Jenn asked Joe, her mind returning to more practical considerations.

  “Yeah. In White Rock. I located a mechanic who even has the parts, so it shouldn’t take long. We can be back on the road by tomorrow morning.” He didn’t sound particularly pleased about that.

  Jenn simply nodded. She was relieved to be heading back to civilization, but the thought of continuing their journey toward Rhymer depressed her. She was also antsy at the prospect of carrying through with her decision to tell Joe everything. She knew she had to do it, but the whole idea of opening herself up so completely made her want to dive out the truck window and keep on runnin
g.

  Joe leaned back against the headrest and closed his eyes, trying not to think about the sweet-smelling package of femininity sitting next to him. He’d just about dropped his teeth when he’d found her lying in the sun, her breasts nearly coming out of her shirt. She’d reminded him of some mythological wood nymph, as wild and free as a doe, her skin lightly kissed by the sun, her eyes closed and relaxed. She’d even been smiling, an expression he’d seen far too seldom on her face.

  Hell, he was almost too tired to fight his desire, even though he knew he had to. He figured he’d hiked close to twenty miles today, in cowboy boots, no less. His legs ached, he had blisters on top of blisters, and he desperately needed a shower. He rubbed his hand over his beard stubble, thinking he must look like some kind of derelict.

  What a day. What a week. This was the craziest job he’d ever undertaken, and yet, against all logic, he was loath to see it end. In fact, he would have enjoyed wasting more time camping in the woods, instead of facing the tough decisions ahead of him.

  White Rock was a sleepy lumber town that had seen better days. Al, the truck driver, informed them that since the mill had all but shut down, people had left in droves to find work elsewhere. Buildings in the small downtown were boarded up, the streets full of potholes.

  But there was a mechanic’s shop, and the mechanic did happen to have a radiator that would fit a ’76 Monte Carlo, so Joe couldn’t fault the town completely. It also had a damn good diner, he discovered as soon as he’d assured himself that his car was in capable hands. The Cherry Blossom Cafe featured down-home cooking and lots of it. Joe filled up on meat loaf and mashed potatoes while the ladies shared a country-fried steak dinner.

  Now, if the town had a decent motel, he’d declare it the garden spot of Montana.

  Unfortunately, Joe’s luck stretched only so far. “The motel closed up two years ago,” the cashier told him as she rang up their bill. “But Eleanor Haskins takes in boarders, sometimes. You might try her.” The woman gave him the phone number and pointed him toward the pay phone.

  Miss Eleanor Haskins sounded as if she couldn’t be a day less than eighty years old. In her quavering voice she said she’d be happy to rent a room to them, and she even had a roll-away bed for the little one. Her home was just a block off Main Street, behind the post office, she told him. They could walk.

  The thought of walking, even a couple of blocks, didn’t cheer Joe, but what choice did he have? He hoisted a drowsy Cathy onto his back, while Jenn shouldered Joe’s small duffel and the shopping bag she’d brought with the few things they’d need for the night. The trio set out into the fading twilight.

  “Why’d you only ask for one room?” Jenn inquired casually as they walked.

  “Do you even have to ask? There’s no way I can lock you in or handcuff you when I’m in someone’s private home, and I couldn’t possibly explain the true situation to that woman, anyway.”

  “I guess she probably wouldn’t want to harbor a criminal under her roof,” Jenn agreed. “Anyway, we’ve already spent two nights together. There’s not much propriety left between us.”

  “Oh, I expect there’s still a little bit,” he said, wishing desperately that there wasn’t. A less ethical man might have had her by now. A less decent man might have bargained her freedom for sex, or simply taken what he wanted. He knew men like that.

  But he wasn’t one of them. Even though he was pretty sure Jenn would be receptive to the idea, because she would do almost anything to gain her freedom, the temptation was one he kept firmly out of reach.

  But he thought about it. A lot.

  Eleanor Haskins lived in a small, two-story frame house. It was hard to tell in the dark, but Joe thought it was painted pink.

  The lady herself met them at the door, and Joe revised his earlier guess about her age. She was closer to ninety than eighty. Her hair was snow white, curled into a tight bun at the back of her head like the quintessential grandmother. She wore a ruffled apron over a faded housedress, which bore more wrinkles than the old lady’s face. But her blue eyes were sharp.

  “Come in, come in,” she said, all smiles. “Everything’s ready. Your room is upstairs. Did you have any trouble finding me?”

  “No, ma’am,” Joe said.

  “Mama, look at all the kitties,” Cathy said, perking up as Joe set her down. Sure enough, the room was covered with cats of every shape and description. There had to be at least half a dozen of the furry beasts.

  “Oh, dear,” Jenn said. “I’m allergic to cats.”

  “I don’t let them in the bedrooms,” Miss Haskins said.

  “You should be all right.”

  “I hope so,” Jenn murmured. She twitched her nose, as if it already tickled.

  With surprising spryness, Miss Haskins led them up a narrow staircase, down a hall, and through an open doorway. “This is it.”

  “Oh, it’s charming,” Jenn said. “Except...”

  Joe immediately saw what the problem was. A fat gray Persian was curled up in the center of the iron bed.

  “Oh, Fluff, what are you doing in here?” Mrs. Haskins scolded. She waved her apron at the cat. It raised its regal head, got up, stretched, and made a leisurely leap from the bed, obviously not at all intimidated by its mistress. She shooed it out the door. “Sorry.” With practiced efficiency she snatched the patchwork quilt from the bed. “I’ll get you a clean one. Bathroom’s across the hall. When you get settled in, come down to the kitchen and get a cup of raspberry tea. It’ll help you sleep.”

  Visions of Arsenic and Old Lace came to Joe’s mind. “Thank you,” he said. She bustled away:

  The room was small but cozy, with faded rosebud wallpaper and rag rugs. Cathy climbed up onto the bed and bounced on her fanny a couple of times, testing.

  “Neat,” she said. “Mama, I want a bed like this.”

  “Maybe for your birthday,” Jenn said, stifling a yawn. She gave Joe a meaningful look, and he knew what she was thinking. There was a good chance she wouldn’t have Cathy anymore by the time her birthday rolled around.

  Joe felt another stab of guilt, a familiar sensation of late. He couldn’t imagine Jenn without Cathy, or vice versa. How could any judge, any court of law, fail to see that? If only they hadn’t fled. That would be a strike against Jenn during any custody hearing. That would lend credence to Dennis’s accusations of mental instability and her unfitness as a mother.

  Joe had talked to Dennis earlier that day, to let him know why they were delayed. For the first time, Joe had confronted Dennis about the wisdom of separating Jenn from her daughter.

  “I don’t intend to keep them separated,” the judge had huffed. “Jennifer can visit as often and as long as she wants. I simply want to remain the responsible party, Cathy’s legal guardian. Jennifer is not equipped, emotionally or financially, for that job.”

  When Joe had attempted to argue, Dennis had cut him off. “Just bring them back here,” he’d said sharply. “And get on with it. If you’re worried about Jennifer going to jail, don’t. I intend to drop my complaint against her as soon as they’re home safe.”

  Joe doubted that. The few times he’d talked to Dennis since apprehending his stepdaughter, the man had sounded triumphant, not relieved. Jenn had characterized him as a man who liked to win, and Joe could see that now. There was no genuine affection in the man’s voice. His concern sounded forced.

  Or was that wishful thinking? Joe wondered. Did he simply not want to face the fact that Jenn had problems, that she wasn’t a perfect mother? Was he letting his feelings for her cloud his judgment? He did feel something for her, and it was more than plain lust, more than a growing protectiveness, though he felt those things, too.

  “Earth to Joe,” Jenn said, and Cathy giggled.

  “What? Oh, sorry.” He’d zoned out there for a minute. “I need a shower in the worst way.” He hated to do it, but he dragged out the handcuffs. Jenn’s face fell. “Just while I’m in the shower. Five minutes, that’s all.
”

  “But—oh, never mind,” she said, defeated. “It would be silly for me to waste my breath, wouldn’t it?” She climbed up on the bed and meekly offered him her hand.

  “You got it.” He cuffed her to the painted iron bedstead, then hurried to make good on his promise of five minutes.

  While Joe was gone, Cathy got into her pajamas and wiggled under the covers. She’d brought a bedtime storybook with her. She turned the pages while Jenn read the familiar text.

  A knock sounded on the door. “Hello? Mrs. Andresi?” Miss Haskins’s thready voice rang out. “I’ve brought that clean quilt for you.”

  “Come on in,” Jenn said before she remembered she was handcuffed to the bed. She quickly threw a pillow up against the arm that was locked to the bedstead behind her back, blocking it from the elderly lady’s view.

  Miss Haskins stared at Jenn quizzically, laid the folded quilt at the foot of the bed, then stared again. “Is everything all right?”

  “Yes, fine,” Jenn replied, trying to appear normal with her arm wrenched behind her. “I don’t seem to be sneezing, at any rate.”

  “All right,” the woman said doubtfully. “The tea is ready any time you are.”

  “Thank you.”

  As Miss Haskins left the room, Jenn wondered why she hadn’t enlisted the old lady’s help in freeing herself from Joe’s custody. She could have hatched up a story. They could have put a chair under the bathroom doorknob and slowed Joe down enough that she could have at least figured out how to get loose and gotten a head start on him. She still had her four hundred dollars.

  What she didn’t have was the heart to cross him anymore. She was determined to give her new plan—total honesty —a try.

  He reappeared a few minutes later, bringing with him the smell of soap and tangy after-shave. He was dressed in fresh clothes, his hair damp, his face smooth. When he leaned close to unlock the handcuffs without comment, she drank in the clean, masculine smell of him and resisted the urge to touch him.

  Cathy had fallen asleep. Jenn took the book from her daughter’s limp hands and tucked her in, then kissed her forehead. Suddenly she was struck anew by Cathy’s fragility, her vulnerability. Jenn had to protect her. She simply had to.