by Anna Adams
“And you maintain you don’t know if they were the boys who tried to break into the school?”
She shrugged. “I just don’t know.”
He flipped his notebook shut. “Okay. You should go home.” He glanced at Josh. “You both know that Mitch and Luke are angry with Lydia. Lie low till we find him—and his gun. I think I’ll send a patrol car by tonight.”
“Thanks,” Josh said.
Then he called his parents, also lost in the crowd, and filled them in. Knowing he was overreacting, he tried to protect Lydia with his body as he walked her to their SUV and headed to the home that had never meant safety to him before. A patrol car passed as he turned into the driveway.
He headed slowly toward the house, searching the headland and the yard for any sign of an angry kid. It was like looking for himself, only he’d hidden out there to escape his parents.
“It looks all right. Let’s go.”
Lydia clung to his hand. He hurried her, but tried not to run. “You’re more worried than I am,” she said.
“Because I’ve seen the worst people can do.” He closed his mouth, swearing silently. How much worse did Lydia ever need to see? “Sorry,” he said.
“Don’t. I’m learning to abide. I miss him, and I wonder who he would have been, what he would have looked like. Maybe he’ll always be an ache in my heart.”
“And mine.”
“I don’t forget that.”
“You’ve both made me too aware,” Josh said, slightly vexed.
Smiling faintly as if she wasn’t quite on his plane, she turned toward the stairs. “I’m tired, think I’ll brush my teeth.”
He watched her go up, wishing he hadn’t reminded her tonight. Sometimes he suspected she went to bed first to avoid him.
Two steps forward—twenty back. Work at marriage? It was a frustrating, full-time job.
But he was tired of failing.
JOSH WAS WAITING in their room when she entered after her shower. “I thought you were only brushing your teeth,” he said.
“Busy day. And we worked a lot.” He seemed remote, sprawled in his old desk chair, his feet in front of him, his expression brooding and impossible to read. “Brush yours, too,” she said.
He frowned in a wordless question.
She laughed and nearly choked, her throat was so dry. Fear did that to a woman, and she was afraid of the chance she was about to take. “I want you to stay with me, and I didn’t know how to ask. I thought tooth brushing would be a subtle hint.”
He remained motionless. “I don’t understand you.”
“Because, just like you, I tend to put my pride first, and I don’t want to be the one who cares more.”
“You don’t,” he said.
“Care more?” she asked. He nodded. “Every night, we share this bed. You put your arm around me. You kiss me good night, but we haven’t talked about where we’re going. We’re waiting again for the decision to make itself.”
“As long as we go together, it doesn’t matter,” he said. Then he stood. “That’s not true, is it? Every time we’ve discussed a new town, one of us finds a reason not to move there.” He grabbed a pair of boxers and a clean towel. “Don’t go to sleep,” he said at the door.
Again, heat flooded her cheeks. “Hurry. Your mother and father will want to talk about Mitch, and we can’t do anything about it tonight.”
The water barely came on before it went off again. Lydia dropped her robe on the desk chair and climbed into bed, yanking her short gown down her thighs.
She didn’t even pretend to read.
Josh came back, wearing only boxers and damp hair. He shut their door and turned off the light and then crossed to open the blinds on the window. Lightning flickered through the room.
“What are you thinking, Lydia? It hasn’t been six weeks.”
Lydia was glad he couldn’t see her blushing even harder. “I just want to lie in your arms, the way I used to.”
He pressed a kiss to her hair. She moved and caught his mouth. She welcomed his touch, sighed when he cupped her breast. But he stilled his restless, teasing hand and then spoke against her forehead. “Have mercy.”
“I want you, too.” She ached for him, longed to feel him inside her, breathing only in tandem, as the one being they had promised to become so long ago. She slid her own hand down his flat belly, loving his silky hair against her fingers.
“You’re killing me.”
She laughed, finding pleasure in his hoarseness. “I’m the one who can’t…” She kissed his chest, following the rise and fall of his uneven breathing. “For you, I could—”
“I don’t want that.” He turned down her unspoken offer. He laughed. “Well—I want it, but when we both can is time enough.”
Safe in the tight-buttoned house on the edge of the sea, Lydia longed to admit she loved him and always would, no matter what job he took, or where he needed her to go.
Her own insecurity demanded too much. His actions, choosing her, holding her, needing her in all the ways a husband could, had chased danger from her mind. It was enough to sleep on.
“Put your arms around me,” Josh said, “but try not to rub—anywhere.”
Laughing, she wrapped herself around him. Gingerly.
STORMS HUNG over them for the following week. The weather was too dangerous for fishing and not fit for painting the barn. With no word on either of the Dawson twins, Evelyn put them all to work in the shop.
On Friday, she delegated cookie wrapping to Lydia, ingredient measuring to Bart and cleaning out the walk-in freezer to Josh. Lydia bristled at having such a small task.
“You have to be precise though,” Evelyn said. “Or they’ll come undone and dry out. We don’t want that.”
Rankled, Lydia took a refilled coffee mug, printed with Grandma Trudy’s label to the freezer for Josh.
“Thanks.” He gripped it in his gloved hands. “I’m freezing.”
“We should have taken all this stuff home,” Lydia said. Evelyn had already started filling the freezer so he couldn’t unplug it to clean.
“Now you think of it.” He grinned. “How’s Dad?”
“Swearing at flour, last time I saw him.”
The door, which Lydia had left cracked, opened all the way. Evelyn leaned in. “Josh, Geraldine’s here. She’d like to talk to you.”
“Is she all right?” He went, shucking off clothing.
“Upset.” Evelyn leaned closer. “But I didn’t see bruises.”
Lydia took Josh’s coat and scarf and gloves. In the café, he met Geraldine with an outstretched hand. She didn’t bother to shake it, falling into his arms instead. If the woman hadn’t been on the verge of crying, Lydia might have laughed at her husband’s look of bewilderment.
“Mitch?” he asked, his expression already distracted as he began to formulate the boy’s next step.
“No. It’s Luke. He came back last night, but he didn’t tell me he had a court date today for the DUI. He took the letter out of the mail and hid it. Only he wasn’t drinking or driving. It was Mitch, and he forced Luke to hand over his ID. Please come help him, Josh.”
“I’m not licensed to practice in Maine.”
“Tell him what to do then.”
“He should ask for a continuance.”
“Why? He did nothing except give in to his brother. Please, Josh.”
He turned to Lydia, who hated the idea of him in court, but realized her reaction was visceral and had nothing to do with reality. “You should go,” she said.
“Where’s Mitch?”
“He came home this morning. I guess he couldn’t last without his brother, no matter how tough he claims to be. I asked him about the bullets. He said he found them, but he has no gun.”
“He’s lying to you. Take him to Simon Chambers and make him give it up. What time is Luke due in court?”
“Two o’clock.”
“I’ll pick him up.” He took his things from Lydia. “You don’t need t
o stay here any longer. Come home with me.”
“I’m fine.”
He tugged her closer, as if he could hide what he was saying from his mother and father. “I don’t want to leave you here. I’m not being rational, but come home. Please.”
“All right.” She felt too much empathy for Geraldine to delay Josh with an argument. “Let me get my coat. I’ll start dinner, Evelyn.”
“Thanks, honey. Although we may not stay much longer ourselves.” This, she said to Josh, probably to reassure him that Lydia wouldn’t be home alone long. “I can’t take your father’s grousing, and goodness knows how his bad attitude will affect my cooking.”
Josh drove fast and silently, his mind no doubt on Luke Dawson’s problems. At the house, he hustled her inside again. Lydia let him get away with over-protecting her because his mind was elsewhere.
“Why are you so intent on Mitch going to the police?” she asked.
“He’s out of control, and Geraldine won’t take care of the problem. If he doesn’t have a parent figure, the police will have to step in, but fooling around with a gun is too serious for an eighteen-year-old boy.”
“Man, technically.”
“I know.” He locked the door. “All the more reason to handle it.” He pulled his sweater over his head. “I have to hurry.”
Lydia wandered, at loose ends. She took the sketchpad out of the dresser where she’d stowed it. But she opened it and sat, staring at the drawings. She could only imagine the house on the headland. It wouldn’t come when she tried to reconcile herself to the idea of building it in another place.
“Working again?”
“You are fast.” He’d changed into a charcoal suit that made him formal, less approachable. “Good thing you brought that.”
“Habit,” he said. “Are you going to be all right?”
“Sure. Josh?”
He looked back.
“We’ve wasted time these past few days. We need to talk tonight about where we’re going to live.”
“I’m for that.”
She grinned. “Good. Let’s decide on our own future after you sort out Luke’s.”
She watched him drive away. He waved, but he was already in court. For the first time in as long as she could remember, she didn’t mind. Their marriage came first. The rest, they’d figure out.
She stared at the sketches for a while longer and then got up to make coffee. While it percolated, she opened the cupboard that hid Evelyn’s small TV. As Lydia switched it on, she happened to see Mitch Dawson prowling near the barn.
She reached for the phone.
His right hand was rammed in his coat pocket. He stared at the house. She ducked away from the window. When she rose again, he was on the headland.
She put the phone back, alarms ringing like Christmas bells in her head. He dropped beneath a spiny, leafless maple and slumped to one side, desolation seeping from every pore.
She should call the police. A guy his age didn’t always use a gun on other people and his whole body reflected sadness.
“Damn.” She watched a few more seconds. He drew something from his right pocket and stared at it intently. Lydia grabbed her coat and eased out of the mudroom door. Hurrying, practically on her toes, she tried not to startle him, but she didn’t want to alert him early to her presence.
A few steps behind his back, she cleared her throat. He jumped, but the gun remained unfired. He turned, pointing it at her.
“What do you want?” she asked, trying to steel herself against trembling.
“Revenge. I came for your husband. He’s taking my brother to court. Why does he want us in jail?”
She wouldn’t look at the gun that shook in his hand. “He’s trying to help your brother out of the trouble you got him into.”
“You’re blaming me?” His voice rose. She pushed her fists into her pockets.
“Face facts, Mitch. You’re eighteen years old and you’re screwing up the rest of your life. You’re in a little trouble now, but if you use that gun, you’ll have no life. And why?”
“Because of your do-gooding husband. I know he hates his parents. He hates anyone who isn’t a goodie-goodie like him.” He stretched his face in a vicious parody of crying. “My baby sister died. My parents are drunks. Feel sorry for me—and oh, look, I’m a big hero.”
“No.” She almost reminded him it was her fault the police had looked at him and his brother.
“He told my grandmother about this. Was that helpful?” He held up the gun. He glanced at her and then returned his stare to the ocean. “I thought I could get here before he left.”
“You’d better be glad you didn’t.”
“Or?” He lifted the gun again, and his hand still shook as he pointed it at her chest.
She didn’t dare speak. He ran his tongue across his lips. He flexed his hand and then took a tight grip again.
Lydia flinched, preparing herself for pain. Nothing came. The gun kept shaking. Finally, Mitch swore at the top of his lungs and the gun dropped to his side.
Now was not the time to say she hadn’t believed he’d shoot her.
“So I can’t hurt you.” He turned the gun toward his belly and she rushed at him, holding off to keep from jostling him. “This might be a good idea,” he said.
“Mitch, don’t.” She had to speak through tears. “A kid like you throwing his life away. You know I just lost a little boy?”
“I’m not little, and I’m not your boy.” He rubbed the gun, almost lovingly. “I’m no one’s son, and I’m tired of trying to figure out why.”
“Why your parents don’t seem to want you?”
“Forget about the ‘seem.’ It doesn’t hurt my feelings anymore.”
“Which is why you came to shoot my husband, but you’ve decided to kill yourself?”
“You’re not good at crisis counseling.”
“Throw that gun in the ocean.” She patted her pockets, “because I forgot my phone. I can’t call for help. And if you ever come near my husband again, you’ll need more than a gun to protect yourself from me.”
“Oh, tough chick.” He stood. “You know my grandmother called the police? They were coming when I ran out the back. They’ll be here soon enough because I told her I was going to take care of Josh Quincy.”
“Good. They can take you to get some help.”
“This is all the help I need.”
He couldn’t hide his bravado, or the “Why?” writ large on his face and the tears that pooled in his eyes. He was scared.
The waves, plunging at the cliff, silenced her few steps through the dry, brown grass. Salt slapped her in the face and the wind twisted her hair with gale force.
If only that kid was right and the police were on their way. “Why don’t you give me the gun?” she asked.
“Stay away.”
Movement, out on the road, caught her eye. Evelyn’s car, coming silently to a halt. Lydia nearly stopped breathing.
Desperately, she circled Mitch and he turned with her. Putting Josh’s parents behind him. She couldn’t wave them off without showing Mitch they were there.
“Give me the gun,” she said again. “You heard me tell the police I didn’t know if you were one of the kids at the school. I don’t want to get you in trouble.”
“I’m through with trouble. I just wish I could take Luke with me.”
Horror stopped her until she realized he was still talking. He must not be sure he wanted to die.
Behind him, Bart got out of the car. Lydia gritted her teeth.
“Please,” she finally managed to say.
“Come to the edge of the cliff with me.”
“No.” She’d all but yelled, realizing Bart had ducked onto a small ledge that ran along the edge of the cliff.
“Fine.” Mitch turned and headed toward the ocean. “Tell my grandma I didn’t know what else to do.”
“All this over a few pranks?”
“I know what’ll happen to me after this. I�
�ve threatened you with a gun. I broke into a store for bullets. You think people forget about that?”
“I think Josh could make people think twice about the pain you’re in.”
“I’m not in any freakin’ pain. I’m fed up with my gran and Luke and the cops and my mom, and I don’t know what to do anymore.”
He turned. At the same time, Bart sprang over the cliff. He ran straight into Mitch. Lydia hit the ground as they did.
No gunshot rang out, but male voices and heavy breathing accompanied a knot of older man and young, rolling toward danger on the edge of the cliff.
Suddenly, a siren pierced the air. It stopped Mitch for a moment. Lydia ran and kicked the gun out of his hand.
“Bitch,” he said.
“Are you all right?” Bart asked.
“Are you out of your mind? He could have killed you.”
“Or you.” Bart held on to the struggling boy, swearing and writhing beneath him. Lydia went over and sat on the kid’s feet. His fight began to fade once he couldn’t move.
“You don’t happen to have rope?” her father-in-law asked, gasping for air.
“What were you thinking, Bart?”
“That I wouldn’t let another daughter die.”
He brought Lydia almost back to her knees, which applied more pressure to Mitch, who called her a bitch again. She braced a hand on her thigh and leaned over to pat Bart’s back. “I am your daughter.”
The police veered onto the road where Bart had parked the car. They passed it and soon the men were running through the grass to drag Mitch off the ground.
“Ev called the cops on her cell phone,” Bart said, climbing to his feet as Evelyn threw herself at him, hitting him like a bag of wet sand. “The best invention since the wheel. I’m fine, Ev, just fine.”
Simon Chambers took over, barking demands. Within seconds, two of his men had cuffed Mitch.
Simon suddenly filled Lydia’s vision. “Mrs. Quincy, I see you’re all right.”
Maybe.
“You’re lucky,” he said. “You kept yourself under control, and your father-in-law saved your life.”
