Here to Stay

by Catherine Anderson

  “No. When the first brick is knocked loose, I want to be there.” Mandy couldn’t articulate her feelings. She just knew she needed to be on-site the entire while. “What time will you pick me up?”

  “You okay with seven thirty? Most of the neighbors will be up and about by eight. The noise shouldn’t bother them too much then, and I’d like to get a fairly early start.”

  Mandy tightened her hold on the phone. “I’ll be ready.”

  Silence. She could hear only his breathing. As irrational as it was, she wished he were there beside her, that she could reach out and grab hold of his hand.

  “You okay?” he asked softly.

  “Come on, Zach, what do you think? I’ve never been less okay in my life. I think she could be under that slab, and I can’t help but ask myself why it never once occurred to me. I just never dreamed that he’d do something so horrible, I guess.”

  “You were a child, Mandy. Give yourself a break.”

  She closed her eyes. “I need to go. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Wait! Don’t hang up. You sound pretty rocky. If you need me tonight, just call, all right? I can be there in thirty minutes, twenty-five if I push it.”

  Mandy was tempted to tell him she needed him right now. Instead, she said, “I’ve got your numbers programmed in. Thanks for offering.”

  They said good-bye. After Zach hung up, Mandy stood with the phone still pressed to her ear, reluctant to break the connection at her end. What was happening to her? She was twenty-eight and had been on her own for more than a decade. In all that time, she’d never needed anyone, and now, suddenly, she had an almost desperate yearning for Zach. She wanted to feel the warmth of his hand, hear the rumble of his voice, and have his strong arms around her.

  “Mandy?” Luke said. “Talk to me. Don’t hold it all in.”

  Mandy returned the phone to its recharging base. “I’m wondering if this is how Alice felt after going down the rabbit hole. Nothing seems real.”

  The next morning, Zach dropped Rosebud off at precisely seven thirty. He and Mandy arrived at Montrose Place well before eight. She hadn’t stepped foot on the property in eleven years, and a shiver of dread moved through her when Zach parked at the curb. She forced herself to look at the house. She’d left it behind so long ago. Now she had cause to wonder if her mother hadn’t remained there all this time.

  “No hurry,” Zach said. “I know this has to be a hard moment for you.”

  Mandy had always prided herself on burying her emotions deep and showing a brave face to the world, but ever since Zach had dropped that bomb on her yesterday, maintaining control was more difficult. It felt as if spiders were skittering under her skin.

  “I’m fine,” she told him, but as hard as she tried to keep her voice steady, it wobbled treacherously. “It’s only boards and plaster, a place where I grew up. I’ve moved on.”

  “Do we ever really move on, Mandy?”

  At the question, she turned to look at him. His burnished face was solemn and cast into shadow by his hat, but she could still see the ache of sympathy in his dark eyes. She wanted so badly to grab hold of his hand, to cling to him like a frightened child. Madness. She was a full-grown woman.

  He reached out to trail a work-hardened fingertip along her cheekbone. “I don’t think we can ever move on until we lay the past to rest.”

  She ached to turn her cheek into his palm, but something within her, stupid pride or possibly fear of loving him, made her draw away. “I’m ready,” she said. “We can’t accomplish anything here in the car, and there’s a lot of work to do.”

  She opened her door and forced herself to climb out onto the untended grass median between the street and the now-cracked sidewalk. Staring at the double front doors of the house, she tried to remember a single time during her childhood when she’d felt truly happy to come home from school. Even before her mother left, she’d always stopped at the steps, dreading what the night would bring.

  The sound of Zach’s door closing made her jerk. He came to stand beside her. “Would you like to go inside?”

  That was the last thing she wanted to do. “Yes, I think I should.”

  He shut her door and placed a supporting hand on her arm. The warmth of his touch seeped through the sleeve of her sweatshirt. “All right, let’s take a quick tour.”

  Mandy forced herself to keep pace with him as they traversed the walkway to the porch. When he slid the key into the lock, her heart began to slog in her chest like a rubber ball bouncing over tacky flypaper. She felt as if she might vomit.

  As the door swung inward, Zach locked a hard arm around her shoulders. “You don’t have to do this.”

  “Yes. According to Luke, we have to face our demons. This house is one of mine.”

  She was relieved when Zach kept his arm around her as they stepped into the foyer. “Don’t close the door,” she whispered. As irrational as it was, she needed it left open for escape. “It’s musty,” she said, grabbing at the first excuse she could think of.

  He moved his hand over her arm, stroking and squeezing, as he guided her through the archway to their right into the living room. It stood empty. She’d remembered it all these years as it had once been, perfectly appointed with expensive furniture and Oriental rugs on the gleaming hardwood floors. Now the floors bore scuff marks, and stains on one wall showed evidence of past leakage from the bathroom above. For some reason, seeing it this way, abandoned and in disrepair, released the vise that had been squeezing her stomach. She dragged in a bracing breath.

  “It’s so different. The same, but not the same.”

  “A lot of people have probably lived here since your father sold the place.”

  All Mandy picked up on were her memories, few of them pleasant. On the lower level, they went from room to room and then made their way upstairs. Zach never withdrew his arm from around her until they came upon the closet where she’d once hidden with Luke. She pulled away from him then, drawn toward the dark shadows within, memories ricocheting inside her mind like pebbles shot from a scattergun.

  She placed a hand on the doorframe and leaned around to look inside. “Oh, God,” she whispered. “Being here brings it back as if it all happened only yesterday.”

  “It didn’t, though. It happened a long time ago, and your father will never harm anyone again.”

  At the certainty in his voice, Mandy turned to look at him. “If he gets out of prison, he will. I don’t think he’s capable of restraining himself.”

  “He won’t get out of prison,” Zach replied. “If we find what I think we will under that cement slab, he’ll be locked up until his dying day, or he’ll have an up-close-and-personal experience with a lethal-injection needle.”

  Mandy was starting to feel better. Less shaken, stronger. It was as if Zach radiated some kind of energy that soothed all her raw nerve endings. “A lethal injection would be too easy. I’d rather see him stay in prison. Let him think about it for the rest of his life.”

  Zach grinned, but the gesture didn’t warm his eyes. “There you go. I don’t believe in capital punishment, but for him, I could make an exception. Either way, he’ll pay.”

  Mandy was ready to go outside. Back downstairs, she paused by the kitchen range, remembering that afternoon when the jar exploded. Thanks to Zach, Luke had absolved her, and because he had, she’d finally been able to forgive herself.

  Once out in the backyard, Mandy went to stand at the edge of the patio. She couldn’t bring herself to walk on its surface. At the moment, she couldn’t remember why it was supposedly a bad thing to step on someone’s grave. She knew only that she didn’t want to commit the offense. Zach left to go get the cooler out of the car. He’d brought bagels, cream cheese, and orange juice for breakfast; sandwiches, chips, and soft drinks for lunch. While he was gone, she closed her eyes and cleared her mind, trying to sense her mother’s presence. Nothing. Surely she would feel something.

  Turning, she wandered around the ya
rd and came upon the garden area, which had been turned into lawn. Even so, this section of the yard calmed her. As hard as she’d worked there every year, tending the plants, she’d found a measure of peace as well.

  Zach returned, plopped the cooler on the overgrown grass, and grabbed a pick from the wheelbarrow. “May as well get started.” He doffed his hat and arched a brow at her. “You want to take the first swing?”

  Mandy did and reached for the pick handle. He held up a finger to forestall her and tugged a pair of gloves from where they’d been tucked over his belt. “Sam’s. I figured you might want to help. The leather will protect your hands.”

  Mandy slipped them on. They fit her perfectly. “Thanks, Zach. I do want to help.” She took the pick and forced herself to step onto the concrete slab. “Where do I start?”

  “Wherever the hell you want.”

  Mandy had always detested that damned barbecue. Stepping over to the massive structure, she turned sideways to the pit, braced her feet wide apart, and swung with all her strength. The pick bounced back and almost nailed her on the head.

  “Whoa!” Zach wrested the tool from her hands. “Let me get it started for you.” When he swung, the pick wedged deep into the mortar, and the top brick broke loose. Smiling grimly, he returned the tool to her. “There. Now you can finish it off.”

  Mandy did so, and the release of anger that had festered for so long within her felt magnificent. The brick fell to the cement at her feet. She bent to pick it up.

  “Thank you,” she said. “I don’t have the strength to knock all of them loose, but it was important to me to take out the first one.”

  Zach nodded and accepted the pick. “If you really want to help, you can put the bricks in the wheelbarrow. We’ll start a pile somewhere away from the demolition area.”

  Mandy set herself to that task while he concentrated on breaking the bricks apart. Maybe she needed a distraction, but she found herself watching the play of muscle under his shirt and jeans as he worked. He moved with precise, masculine power that was oddly graceful, making the job look easy. She’d felt the jolt upon impact clear up her arms, so she knew better. He was hitting that structure with incredible force.

  By noon, the barbecue was flattened, Mandy’s back had started to ache from all the lifting, and she was more than ready to break for lunch. They sat on the back porch off the laundry room to eat. Mandy had no appetite, but the orange soda tasted wonderful.

  “You need to get something down besides that,” Zach told her. “That’s hard work you’re doing, and the day is only half-over.”

  She stared at the cement slab. “I’m just not hungry.”

  “Could you eat if we went to a restaurant?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  He tossed his sandwich back in the cooler. “Let’s go and find out.”

  The remainder of that day and the one that followed were among the most difficult of Mandy’s life and passed in a blur. Being at her childhood home brought back so many memories. It was like slipping into the dark, shadowy horror of a nightmare.

  Late the second day, Zach finished breaking apart the cement slab with the jackhammer. He helped her load the remaining chunks of concrete into the wheelbarrow and then wheeled it over to the dump pile, which had grown massive. Minutes later, when he grabbed the shovel that had been lying unused in the grass, he settled a questioning gaze on her.

  “Sweetheart, it might be better if you wait in the car while I do this part.”

  Probably so, but when she looked at the damp, disturbed dirt, littered now with bits of broken concrete, she couldn’t leave. If her mom was buried there, it seemed only right that one of her children should be present when her remains were exhumed. “I’m good,” she said. “Just do it, Zach.”

  As he began digging, Mandy flinched every time the shovel blade rasped in the soil. When thirty minutes had passed, she started to relax, believing Zach might find nothing, and the coward in her sincerely hoped he didn’t.

  “Damn.” He paused to wipe sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his shirt. “Maybe I was smoking crack. I’m not finding anything.” Bareheaded, his hair glistening in the fading sunlight, he gave her a hangdog look. “I’m sorry, Mandy. I’ve put you through sheer hell, and it may have been for nothing.”

  “That’s okay,” she said as he resumed digging. “I’m relieved, actually. Maybe Dad didn’t lie, and she just left us. Or maybe he buried her somewhere else. I—”

  Zach’s shovel blade struck something hard. He went still and then crouched to brush away the soil. When he’d cleared a foot-wide area and could see the surface of what he’d found, he said, “It looks like an old suitcase.”

  Mandy’s legs went watery. She could remember standing in front of her mom’s empty closet that long-ago morning. She clamped her arms around her ribs, watching as Zach straightened and began taking shallow bites with the shovel. When he had completely unearthed the suitcase, she squeezed her eyes closed, knowing what he would find next. The realization nearly took her to her knees.

  The remainder of the excavation seemed to take forever. Zach lifted away only bits of dirt at a time. Mandy knew why he exercised such caution. He didn’t want to disturb any evidence. Suddenly he stopped and stepped back, wiping his mouth with his shirtsleeve.

  His voice shook. “Sweetheart, I think you should go sit on the front porch.”

  Mandy felt as if her feet had been glued to the ground. “Why?” she asked.

  A muscle ticked in his lean cheek. “There’s a faint odor coming up through the soil. I think I’ve found her.”

  Her stomach lurched.

  “Please,” he said. “There’s no need for you to see this.”

  Mandy couldn’t move. “I want to be here. I owe her that.”

  He sighed, tossed away the shovel, and crouched to brush away dirt with his gloved hands. Soon he unearthed something yellowish brown. It looked like a small piece of wood. Beside it lay a corroded ring. Mandy stared at it and then jerked as if someone had struck her. As encrusted as the piece of jewelry was, she recognized it. She’d saved her allowance to buy it for her mom’s birthday. Sharyn Pajeck had never taken it off. Mandy’s gaze went back to the small piece of wood. Only it wasn’t wood, she realized now.

  It was a finger bone.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Unprepared for Mandy’s reaction, Zach had to lunge after her, snatch her into his arms, and hold her back as she ran toward the grave. Never had he seen anyone so pale. Her face had gone as white as a motel room towel. Her eyes, wide and unfocused with what he recognized as shock, implored him to turn loose of her.

  “You can’t, honey. If you touch anything, you might destroy evidence. You don’t want your father to get away with this, do you?”

  Her response was a high-pitched wail. Her legs buckled, and she went limp in his embrace. Zach clutched her firmly against him to keep her from falling.

  “Mama!” The sobs that racked her slender body frightened Zach. They came from deep within her, sharp, tearing sounds born of grief and horror. “He k-killed her!” she cried. “That m-monster! He k-killed my m-mother!”

  In that moment, Zach wished his hunch had been wrong. He’d hoped that finding Sharyn Pajeck would be healing for Mandy. How could he have been so stupid? He should never have given her the option of being here while he dug up the rotting corpse of the person she’d loved most in the world.

  “She never stopped loving you and Luke,” Zach whispered when she quieted a little. “And she didn’t abandon you. Your father just lied about that to cover up what he’d done. She loved you, Mandy. With her dying breath, she loved you.”

  She went up on her tiptoes and hooked both arms around Zach’s neck. He tightened his embrace, trying to absorb the spasms that still racked her slight frame. Her fingers dug into the back of his neck so hard he was sure her nails drew blood. In a tortured voice, she asked, “Oh, God, w-why didn’t I go downstairs that night? I could have helped her,
Zach. Instead I hid in a closet.” She moaned and pounded a fist against his shoulder. He barely felt the blows, which were more a release of emotion than an attempt to inflict pain. “I hid in a closet!”

  Zach ran his hands over her trembling back, up and down, up and down, trying to soothe her with his touch because words so often failed him. He had to give it a shot, though. Mandy needed answers—not the ones she was inventing in her guilt-ridden mind, but rational ones that would ease her pain.

  “Sweetheart, it’s a miracle you didn’t go downstairs. He might have killed you, too. Why do you think your mother forbade you from being around him when he got like that? She knew what he was capable of.”

  “But ...” She sobbed, the sounds breaking Zach’s heart. “She needed me.”

  “She may have needed help,” Zach replied, groping frantically for the right words, “but she would never have wanted you to interfere, Mandy. She tried too hard to protect you and Luke. She knew why you didn’t come down. You did what she wanted.”

  It was a moment before she could reply. “B-but he was killing her!” It was a half scream, and he heard the hysteria rising again. Please, God, let me find the right words for once in my life, he begged silently.

  “That wasn’t your fault,” he told her firmly. “Your mother made her own choices, and your father made his. You and Luke had no say in any of it. We can only imagine what she went through or why she made the decisions she did. The only absolute is that she loved you and did the best she could at the time. She knew that what was happening wasn’t your fault.”

  Mandy pressed closer against him. With a jerk of her shoulders, she said, “Mama was such a sw-sweet person. She didn’t deserve to be tr-treated that way.”

  “No one does.” Zach realized he’d started swaying back and forth. As a youth, he’d held his sister, Sam, in his arms while she cried a few times, but never had she wept over something this horrible. Mandy’s anguish—oh, God, his chest hurt as if he’d swallowed a half dozen razor blades, and it was all he could do not to sob himself. She spoke of how sweet her mother had been? Mandy was the dear one, in Zach’s opinion, and he would have happily killed Tobin Pajeck for doing this to her. “I’m sorry your mom had to go through something so awful.” He searched for something more that he might say. “It wasn’t her fault, sweetheart, and it definitely wasn’t yours. Your father is the one responsible. Are you following what I’m saying?”