For Joy's Sake

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  It was the reason she’d given her brother and his wife for skipping out on the high-dollar evening they’d been planning for several months. They hadn’t been happy with her proposed absence, hadn’t thought it necessary, but they’d accepted her choice. Because her reasoning was valid.

  “But why are you here?” Lila asked.

  Julie frowned. It wasn’t unusual for her to be at The Lemonade Stand. In a volunteer capacity with the children, but also hanging out with the women. “I don’t understand.”

  “It’s Friday night. You’re twenty-eight years old. Independently wealthy and lovely. You could be doing any number of things for fun and relaxation. Okay, so you wanted to be away from your home for the night. You could’ve booked yourself into a resort spa. Gone to the theater. You could have been on a date.”

  Julie didn’t respond to Lila. She couldn’t.

  Inside her, everything was tense. Poised for escape.

  “We need you here, Julie. You know that. And we all want you here. You bring a nurturing and understanding and compassion that’s special and very, very precious to these women. And to the staff.”

  Julie raised her eyes to Lila’s. And was scared by the concerned crease in the other woman’s brow.

  “But we aren’t being a friend back to you,” Lila went on, “we aren’t good for you if you’re using us as a hideout.”

  Ironic, considering that the Stand existed so women had a place to hide and be safe while they healed.

  “If you need to be here, you are welcome. Always. I don’t ever want you to need to come to us and then change your mind. Or your course of action. But if you need to be here, then we need to be doing something to help you.”

  The band around Julie’s chest relaxed a little.

  “It helps me just to be here,” she assured the other woman.

  Lila waited until their eyes met again. “Those women you were with tonight... Do you think any one of them would choose to be here? If they had a place to go, where they’d be safe and could live a healthy life?”

  Thinking of the five women she’d had dinner with in the cafeteria and then wandered to the lounge with—women who all had rooms in cabins on the premises—Julie shook her head.

  All of them mourned for the lives they’d lost. For the dreams they’d lost. For the sense of security that had been taken from them. They yearned for real homes. Yearned to be in control of their lives again. And they lived in fear, too.

  Julie wasn’t afraid of being attacked again. She had a lovely home that she cherished, a bed of her own that she’d be returning to that night.

  “As a staff member, volunteer or not, you are one of us, Julie. And you will be for as long as you choose to share yourself with us. And also as a friend. You’re both things to us.”

  Okay, good. No problems. She wanted to breathe easier.

  But didn’t.

  “I’ve come to suspect that you’re here for a third purpose, too.”

  No. No, she wasn’t.

  “You’re aware that most state facilities have time limits on the number of weeks a woman can remain in a shelter like ours, right?”

  She knew. The Lemonade Stand, as a private facility, didn’t have to adhere to those mandates. They had their own mandates, loosely based on state laws, but they didn’t send away women who were doing everything required of them, who were participating fully in their own recovery, who were making progress but just weren’t ready to leave yet.

  “Do you know why the state sets those time limits?”

  “Because of the money.” Obviously. “And we mostly adhere to them because we don’t want our residents to start feeling powerless, to lose their sense of self-reliance by relying on us too much.”

  “And because if they depend on the Stand to fill an emotional void, a void left by abuse, then they lose their ability to fill that void themselves.”

  “You’re telling me not to get too attached to the residents. Not to become personal friends with them because they’re going to move on.” She was well aware of that. And didn’t let herself get too close—even while they were intimately in each other’s personal space as they opened up and shared their most vulnerable secrets.

  “I’m telling you that I’m worried you’re using us to fill a void in your life.”

  The words had come, in spite of Julie’s attempts to forestall them.

  This was what she’d been afraid to hear.

  CHAPTER TWO

  JULIE STOOD UP in Lila’s parlor, wishing she could escape into any of the antique paintings on the walls depicting faraway places. The way she escaped into her own paintings in her home studio. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come here tonight...” As she heard her own words, she heard Lila’s earlier ones, too, about not ever wanting Julie to feel that she shouldn’t come to The Lemonade Stand.

  Lila wasn’t telling her to leave. But Julie would rather leave than hear what Lila was telling her.

  “You can go if you’d like, of course,” Lila said, her voice as calm as always. Her teacup sat untouched on the table between them as she watched Julie. “But I hope you’ll stay, continue our conversation.”

  In other words, Lila thought she needed help.

  That was what this meeting was about.

  Julie was already in regular counseling, with Bloom Larson in town. Chantel had introduced them the previous year when she’d spent time keeping the psychiatrist safe from a threat to her life.

  Julie was doing what Bloom called her “personal work”—challenging herself to face the situations that frightened her, dare to live life fully, not to let the bastard who’d stolen her youth have the rest of her life, too. So she had more work to do, and Lila knew full well that these things took time. Maybe even a lifetime.

  She met Lila’s gaze again. Then focused briefly on the rose-colored silk fabric of her chair. Confusion had her sinking back into the seat she’d so abruptly vacated.

  “Have you told Dr. Larson about all the time you spend here when you aren’t working or socializing with staff?”

  Julie shook her head.

  “Needing to be in the company of others who are going through some of the same struggles you face, who’ve been indelibly hurt by those they trusted, is normal,” Lila said.

  Julie felt better for a moment.

  Was something wrong? Or not?

  “But I think that, for the most part, you’re beyond that stage,” the director continued. “You’re more like a mentor to these women than you are one of them.”

  Right. That was how she’d seen it, too. So...everything was fine?

  “Which leads me to suspect, as I mentioned a few minutes ago, that you sometimes come here for another purpose.”

  Recognizing the defensiveness that suddenly flared within her, Julie slowed her thoughts. “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “Personal intimacy.” Lila said the words softly, almost as though she could diminish their impact. “You’re close to your brother and Chantel, as you should be. They’re your only family, and the three of you are good together...”

  Julie nodded. They had to work at it, she and Colin mostly, but they were good together. She with her own wing in the house, he and Chantel with theirs. They all met for breakfast, which Julie prepared every morning. Otherwise they might not see each other for days.

  “But besides them, you have...”

  A small circle, Julie finished silently when Lila’s voice dropped off. She had acquaintances. What seemed like millions of them. And, yes, those few friends.

  “There are a couple of women I consider close,” she said. Her best friend from high school, for one. Jaime, an artist, lived in New York now, but they were still in touch.

  “I hope you consider all of us here your friends,” Lila said, fi
nally picking up her cup of tea and sipping. “But I’m not just talking about friends. Look at Sara and Lynn—” full-time counselor and resident nurse at the Stand “—they’re both committed to this place and have personal lives, too. They have spouses and children.”

  “You don’t.” Even as she let the words loose, Julie knew they came from her defensiveness. Not the right reason at all.

  “I’m fifty-three years old,” Lila said, appearing completely unflappable. “Past my childbearing years.”

  “I’m not opposed to having a future,” Julie said slowly, trying her best not to be defensive. Lila wasn’t completely wrong to have concerns. Julie’d had similar conversations with Dr. Larson.

  “But you haven’t been on a single date since high school.”

  “That’s right.” Not that she hadn’t been asked—and fairly often, too. Until just over a year ago, she hadn’t set foot out of her house for any kind of social function. And not for a business one, either, if it was at night. Except on rare occasions when she’d gone somewhere with Colin—having vetted the guest list to know who would not be present.

  “From what I understand, you haven’t been out with girlfriends, either. Other than for lunch.”

  “No. But only because, as you said, they all have lives, families...” Which had come about during the years Julie had been holed up in her suite in the Fairbanks mansion.

  Lila nodded. “So what do you say to a girls’ night out? You and Sara and Lynn and I? We can go wherever you’d like, do whatever you want, the only caveat being that we don’t discuss The Lemonade Stand, our residents or our work for the entire evening.”

  What? Lila was asking her to do something socially? Not trying to gently tell her she was nuttier than she’d realized? She hadn’t seen that coming.

  “I’ve already spoken to them. They’re both in.”

  Julie was confused again. Lila wasn’t reprimanding her? “But...why?”

  “You’re a strong, talented, giving woman, Julie. We all like you and enjoy your sense of humor. We thought it would be fun.”

  A mental flash of her studio called to her. She needed her easel. Needed a pencil and paper—time to create the simple stories that always helped her see more clearly.

  “Why?” she asked again. Was Colin behind this? He’d promised her he’d back off, that he’d let her take charge of her own healing.

  “Because we want to show you that you aren’t alone.”

  The threat of tears nearly strangled her. Lila was wrong. In the end, everyone was alone. Alone in your mind. In your secret places. Alone in a pain only you could feel. In a fear only you could fight.

  No one else could know what it felt like to live with your own inability to trust.

  Lila’s hand on Julie’s knee brought her gaze back to the older woman. “You’re interesting, Julie,” Lila said. “You’ve got such a unique perspective. Don’t forget I’ve read your stories...”

  She blinked. Only Colin, Chantel and a few other people knew that she was the author of the newly published and already bestselling children’s book series, Being Amy. Lila was one of the few. Julie had told the director and Sara about the books when she’d offered to do some storytelling sessions the year before.

  “Don’t worry, no one else here knows,” Lila said, cluing Julie into the fact that she must be showing her horror at the thought of becoming a public figure of any kind. “I gave you my word.”

  She nodded. At Chantel’s urging, because her sister-in-law believed that Julie’s books could help children understand the challenges they faced, she’d agreed to have her work looked at. Chantel had an aunt by marriage whose family owned a small nonfiction publishing house—and who had long-term acquaintances with fiction publishing professionals. Within six weeks of sending the original file, Julie had a contract.

  “So what do you say? Will you join us for dinner?”

  The mere idea of venturing out far enough to go out for no purpose other than to socialize gave her a panic attack...and yet...she’d loved being part of a tribe...

  But, in the past, when push had come to shove, when there’d been pressure put on their families by the police commissioner and his best friend, Smyth Sr.—a man who’d owned most of their investments—when they could’ve been ostracized from their privileged social group, her friends had all chosen to believe that a brutal date rape had been consensual sex.

  Not everyone was out for the money, Julie told herself.

  Her protective voice spoke up. But everyone looked out for self. In spite of others’ needs.

  Except at The Lemonade Stand, where Lila and Julie and Lynn spent most of their waking hours. She could trust them to be real friends.

  I will not let the bastard win...

  “When did you have in mind?” Every nerve trembled, but when Lila gave her a date and time, Julie agreed to the outing.

  And got out of The Lemonade Stand as quickly as she could.

  * * *

  LATE SATURDAY MORNING, Hunter Rafferty swung. Connected the iron with the ball and sent it sailing. It landed on the green, setting him up for a putt that would make him a shoe-in for the day’s grand prize. He didn’t even know what it was. Or care.

  Hunter didn’t really like golf. Never had. Even though he’d been playing since he was twelve. He was good at it.

  But then, he was good at pretty much everything he tried.

  Looking to the one person in his foursome who’d prompted his attendance at the day’s charity event, he asked, “What can you tell me about Julie Fairbanks?”

  Brett and his wife, Ella, had stopped in briefly at the wine tasting held at the Fairbanks mansion the night before. Their sixteen-month-old son had a cold, and Ella, a pediatric charge nurse, hadn’t wanted to be away from him. But Hunter had seen Brett speaking with Colin Fairbanks, Julie’s older brother.

  Brett Ackerman, founder of The Lemonade Stand, among other things, turned and looked at him. “About Julie Fairbanks? Depends on what you want to know.” He picked up his bag and, with Hunter right beside him, began the two-hundred-yard trek to his ball a little short of the green. If they hadn’t been friends for so long, Hunter might have taken offense. As it was, he knew Brett was just being...Brett. He’d actually managed to establish a nationally respected accreditation for charities. They’d invite him to sit on their boards; there, he’d oversee spending and activities to ensure a lack of fraudulent use of funds. All across the United States, charitable foundations were vying for the accreditation, waiting in line for Brett to have time to sit on their boards.

  The other two in their foursome at the semiannual businessmen’s tournament were several yards ahead of them.

  Depends on what you want to know. Brett would’ve made a great covert op. Getting information out of him was nearly impossible sometimes.

  If he knew what he wanted to know, he wouldn’t be asking.

  He didn’t want to limit what he might learn by narrowing his possibilities.

  “I found it odd that she wasn’t at the wine tasting last night,” he improvised. The event had been in her home. When Brett had issued the invitation to attend as a way to get to know some of Santa Raquel’s elite a bit better, Hunter had immediately accepted. Mostly because it would’ve given him a chance to see Julie outside their business relationship.

  Brett had originally introduced him to Julie when he’d heard about the gala fund-raiser for one of the kids’ charities she supported. As a result of that introduction, Julie had hired Hunter’s company—The Time of Your Life—to run her gala, and they’d been working closely together for months.

  He knew nothing more about her now than he had when they’d first met.

  Except that she was soft-spoken, often quiet, but when she had something to say he wanted to listen. She wasn’t pushy or aggressive, and yet
she always managed to make things happen. She dressed more conservatively than any other woman he’d ever wanted to date. She’d never once mentioned that she lived in a mansion or that her trust fund was worth more than he’d ever had in all his investments combined. Her long dark hair was always contained. She had a smile that could melt ice.

  And a scent that he dreamed about, waking up on more than one occasion expecting to smell it on the pillow beside him.

  Oh, yeah, he had it bad.

  But he wasn’t about to wallow in it.

  He was The Time of Your Life guy.

  And it was time for him to have a life.

  Or something like that.

  CHAPTER THREE

  WITH ONE MISSION in mind—getting Brett to give him some information before they left that day—Hunter took a couple of quiet steps in the pristine grass. Trying to come up with a plan.

  “She wasn’t at the wine tasting because she was busy elsewhere,” Brett said a good two minutes after either of them had spoken.

  Hunter had spent the evening looking for her when he should’ve been courting new clients and had left with his hopes dashed.

  “You know where she was?”

  “Yeah.”

  “But you aren’t saying.”

  Brett stopped then and turned toward him. “Are you asking?”

  He hadn’t said exactly what he wanted to know. Or why he was asking about Julie. A key miss on his part.

  Brett Ackerman was not a man to hack around with. He had made a mint from one thing most people had but so rarely relied on—integrity. A mint. By being a man the entire country could trust.

  Americans Against Prejudice was how Hunter had met him. Hunter’s business arranged charity fund-raising events. And Brett had just been starting to earn recognition in the field of charitable organizations. Hunter had withstood intense scrutiny from Brett on the first few occasions they’d met. He’d been completely open. With his books, his intentions, his plans. He’d been eager for Brett’s approval, truth be known.