Trial by Fire

by Nancy Taylor Rosenberg

  At that moment Stella wanted Sam more than she had ever wanted anything in her life. With one hand she reached down into the water and found his erection. Closing her fingers on it, she guided him effortlessly inside her body, opening her eyes so she could look at his face. His eyes were closed now, his nostrils flared with passion. He was so beautiful, she thought. She drank in the strands of thick, wet hair on his forehead, his moist skin, his gradually sloping nose, his strong chin. She’d never noticed how long his eyelashes were, but now she could see them fluttering against his cheeks, and with the tip of her finger, she reached out to touch them, caress his eyelids, trace his lips like a person examining a priceless sculpture.

  Sam reached out and pulled her back down to his body. “I love you,” he said. “I thought I’d never feel this way again.” He wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly, refusing to release her when she tried to continue their lovemaking.

  Stella buried her head in the crook of his neck. Their feelings for each other overshadowed their sexual desires, taking the moment to another level of intensity and meaning. For a long time they were both silent, curled in each other’s arms in the now tepid water.

  For the first time Stella knew that what she felt was genuine. Unlike her teenage fling with Tom Randall, this was not girlhood infatuation or youthful exploration. Unlike her marriage to Brad, her feelings didn’t spring from gratitude or respect for a man who had helped her after a devastating tragedy.

  “I do love you,” she said.

  Sam smiled, trapping her nose with his fingers. “Don’t worry,” he said, “I’ve already figured that out.”

  By nine o’clock, Stella and Sam had moved their lovemaking to the bedroom, continuing what they had begun in the Jacuzzi. Stella had never been so free and uninhabited, never felt such overwhelming pleasure. Pushing Sam over onto his back, she started at his feet and crawled up his body inch by inch, ultimately straddling him. She rode him with her head tossed back, her mouth open and panting. Her hair tickled her upper shoulders and neck, and she felt completely at ease with her body, giving no thought whatsoever to her unsightly scars.

  Women were peculiar creatures, she thought. A man could be the greatest lover in the world and still not be able to satisfy his partner. To let go, a woman had to feel trust and total acceptance. It was similar to falling off a cliff and knowing that someone was there to catch you. In that moment of release, a woman moved outside herself, gave herself completely and freely. Stella knew she could make love to dozens of men, but the one she allowed to satisfy her would be the one who owned her.

  “Oh, God,” Stella cried, her muscles stiffening as she reached a powerful orgasm, so intense that she collapsed limp and wasted onto Sam’s sweaty chest. It was as if she had somehow reached inside and pulled out all the pain, all the sorrow, all the bitterness. She felt empty and filled at the same time.

  What she felt, she decided, was normal. For the first time since the fire, Stella didn’t see herself as deformed or ugly. She felt whole, beautiful, complete.

  Once Stella had rolled over onto her back, Sam spread her legs, lifting them and draping them over his shoulders. When he began to move inside her, she felt the full force of his desire. Some time later, his face twisted in a grimace as he exploded inside her.

  Finally it was over. Without speaking, they remained in each other’s arms, the room dark and still, nothing but the shadows surrounding them.

  chapter

  NINETEEN

  “Wake up,” Stella whispered. “It’s after eleven, and Adam will be here soon. I have to go.”

  “Why don’t you stay?” Sam said, nuzzling his face in her hair.

  “I have some things to do,” she told him, flipping on the bedside light. “Besides, I don’t want Adam to know we’re sleeping together.”

  Sam sat up in the bed, watching as Stella crossed the floor to the bathroom. “What do you have to do this time of night?”

  Stella was putting on her clothes when Sam appeared in the bathroom doorway. “I want to go back to Mario’s and finish going through the paperwork from the Happy Day-cave-in,” she told him. “I have to get to the bottom of this before I go back to Dallas.”

  “You’re overdoing it, Stel,” he cautioned, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around his lower body. “Let the police handle it now. If something’s going on, why put yourself in the eye of the hurricane? Haven’t you had enough problems?”

  “The police, huh?” she smirked, not having told him about the incident in the cemetery. “The police have been my problem all along.”

  Sam was concerned. Stella had a sense of urgency about her, as if she were rushing to catch a last-minute flight. “Maybe I should drive you?” he said. “If we hurry, I should be able to get back before midnight. Besides, my sister-in-law won’t just drop Adam off at the curb. If I’m a few minutes late, they’ll wait in the lobby.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Stella said, sitting down on the toilet seat as she pulled on her panty hose. “Adam will be here any minute,” she said, standing and pulling on her slacks. “I’ll be fine, Sam. I’m going straight to Mario’s apartment.”

  Once Stella stepped into her shoes, Sam walked her to the door. “The game starts at one o’clock. Wait,” he said, disappearing into the bedroom. When he returned, he handed Stella a small brown envelope. “I bought an extra ticket for your brother. I thought he might want to go to the game with us. Should I pick you both up at his apartment?”

  “Mario’s apartment is near the Astrodome,” Stella said, placing the tickets in her purse. “I’ll meet you in front of the stadium around noon, near the ticket booth. I’m not sure if Mario will come, Sam, but it was nice of you to think of him.” She leaned over and kissed him. “When I get back to Dallas, everything will be great.”

  “You sure?” he said, yawning.

  “Tonight was wonderful,” Stella said, giving him another peck on the cheek before she darted out the door.

  Stella jogged to her car in the parking lot, her mind racing like a jet engine. While Sam had been sleeping, she had remained awake in the dark room, events long buried in her subconscious suddenly appearing in her mind. She recalled awakening in the middle of the night only a few days before the fire, worrying how she could ever tell her parents she was pregnant. Seeing her rental car and climbing inside, she closed her eyes and tried to bring forth the same memory, hoping that now she was alone, she could remember the incident in greater detail. For several minutes, her mind lacked focus, but she slowed her breathing and it all came clear.

  The narrow, dark hall stretched out in front of her. Stella’s bare feet were soundless on the cold wood floor as she made her way to the kitchen. A cup of hot milk might help her to fall asleep. When she saw the light burning at the end of the corridor, she wondered if she had been the last one in the kitchen. Money was tight, and her father had a fit when they left the lights on.

  “Are you okay, Dad?” she said, seeing her father passed out at the kitchen table, a half-empty bottle of bourbon in front of him.

  “Oh,” he mumbled, raising his head, “is it morning?”

  “No,” Stella said. “It’s only three o’clock. Haven’t you been to bed yet?” Her father reached for the bottle to refill his empty glass, but Stella seized it and held it in the air. “Please, Dad, don’t drink any more of this stuff. Why are you doing this? I’ve never seen you drink anything but beer.”

  “You don’t understand,” her father said, his eyes bloodshot and his speech slurred. He reached for her arm and pulled her closer, his voice a tense whisper. “People may say things, baby. You must not believe them.”

  “What do you mean?” Stella asked. The way he was talking frightened her. Her father had always been a tower of strength. She had never seen him this way.

  Bracing himself with his hands, her father struggled to his feet, then threw his arms around his daughter. His breath reeked of bourbon, and Stella recoiled. It wasn’t just his breath,
though. The smell seemed to be seeping from his pores. A second later, she felt her father trembling and realized that he was sobbing. “I tried to be a good father,” he cried. “I only wanted the best for my family. I would never do anything to hurt anyone. Never in my life would I harm a child.”

  “It’s okay, Dad,” Stella said, her own eyes misting over. She led him to the foot of the stairs, allowing him to lean on her to maintain his balance. “Get some sleep,” she told him. “You’ve had too much to drink. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

  Stella was so entrenched in her memories that she missed the on-ramp to the freeway. Gunning the Ford’s engine, she made a fast U-turn and sped off in the opposite direction, leaving a streak of rubber on the asphalt. She had to find the name of the contractor who had poured the Happy Day foundation. If necessary, she would stay up all night, go through every scrap of paper relating to the lawsuit.

  When she had returned to the kitchen for her cup of milk, she had found the newspaper next to her father’s half-empty bottle of bourbon. The entire front page had been dedicated to the Happy Day disaster. She remembered the pictures of injured children, the gaping hole in the center of the room, the scattered and crushed toys. But it was the words her father had spoken that night that made the fine hairs on Stella’s arms stand straight up. Like everything else that had occurred right before the fire, the incident in the kitchen had simply vanished from her memory.

  Hearing a strange bleeping sound, Stella glanced in her rearview mirror. When she saw the police car behind her, she realized the officer had given her a quick blast from his siren to get her to stop. “Shit,” she said, taking her foot off the gas pedal. She prayed the officer was with the highway patrol, and not with the Houston police. Recognizing the markings on the car, though, she knew she had not been so lucky. She let the car come to a rolling stop, and then sucked in a deep breath.

  “Don’t panic,” she muttered, watching as the officer exited his police unit and approached her car. Her fingers locked on the steering column.

  “Can I see your driver’s license and registration, please?” the officer said;, training his flashlight on Stella’s face.

  “Certainly,” she said, blinking in the bright light. All she could see was the top of the officer’s head as the flashlight was positioned in front of his face. Reaching inside her purse, she pulled out what she thought was her driver’s license and passed it to him through the window. “It’s a rental car,” she said, reaching for the glove box and then dropping her hands back to her lap. Never reach for the glove box with a cop, she reminded herself. He might think she was reaching for a gun. “I’ll have to find the registration, Officer. I’m not sure where it is.”

  “This isn’t your driver’s license,” the officer said, handing Stella back the tickets Sam had given her. “Going to an Astros game, huh?” The beam of light struck Stella’s face again. “How many drinks have you had this evening?”

  “Oh,” Stella said, finally retrieving her license from the bottom of her purse. “I guess I should carry a wallet. Officer.” How many glasses of champagne had she consumed? Was it enough to classify her as legally intoxicated?

  “Can you answer the question, ma’am?” the officer said, his voice loud and stern. “How many drinks have you had?”

  “One glass of champagne,” Stella lied.

  “I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to give you a field sobriety test,” the officer said. “I stopped you because you made an illegal U-turn, but I also observed you driving erratically. You were weaving across the yellow line back there.”

  The officer walked back to his unit, either to run a check for outstanding warrants or to call a backup unit now that he thought he might make an arrest. Stella prayed the officer was a rookie, hired after her uncle had already retired. She watched out her rearview mirror, afraid she was going to end up in jail. Several hours had passed since she had consumed the champagne. Even though she didn’t feel intoxicated, she was terribly nervous. Could she walk a straight line? She closed her eyes and tried to touch her nose, her fingertips connecting with her eyelid instead. “Damn,” she said, slapping the steering wheel. How could she get herself arrested for drunk driving? And now, of all times, when she was finally on the verge of uncovering the truth.

  When the officer passed through the light, Stella finally got a good look at his face. “It can’t be,” she said, craning her neck around to get a better look. The officer was standing next to his car, his portable radio in his hand, shining the flashlight on Stella’s driver’s license. He jerked his head up, looking straight at her.

  Danny!

  Stella was thunderstruck. It couldn’t be Danny. Her uncle’s foster son was a Houston police officer! Stella began to shake. Perspiration poured out of her pores, instantly soaking her jacket. Black spots danced in front of her eyes, and she thought she might faint. She’d had no idea that Danny was still in Houston, let alone on the police force.

  Just then the headlights went black.

  What was he doing? Stella looked out the window, thankful for the streetlights. Checking the rearview mirror again, she saw a dark shadow in the front seat of the police unit. Was he calling Sergeant McDonald, telling him to organize a lynch squad? She strained her eyes trying to see inside the police car, wondering if another officer might be in the car as well.

  Minutes ticked off in slow motion. How much time elapsed, Stella didn’t know, but it seemed like an eternity. She hummed to herself, tapping her fingernails on the steering column. It’s going to be okay. Stay cool. She took several deep breaths, telling herself she could be mistaken and the officer was not who she thought he was. She tried to think of Sam and the wonderful evening they had shared. A sense of foreboding fell over her, however, and she found herself staring in the rearview mirror, too frightened to turn away.

  When she heard a voice outside her window, she jumped in her seat. “You have to move your car,” the officer said. “There’s too much traffic on this street to conduct a field sobriety test.”

  “Where do you want me to go?” Stella kept her eyes focused straight in front of her. If it was Danny, he had to know who she was. He had her damn license. She hadn’t seen Danny in sixteen years, not since he was a teenager. She snuck in several quick side glances, but all she could see was a shadowy face that looked exactly like the boy she remembered. She couldn’t go on without knowing. She opened her mouth to confront him when he began speaking.

  “Drive your car down there and park,” he said, pointing off in the distance. “I’ll follow you.”

  Stella recognized the voice inflections. It was Danny all right. The boy had been in numerous foster homes before moving in with her aunt and uncle, but he had spent four years with a couple from Russia which had left him with a slight Russian accent. Danny had been in constant trouble with the law, racking up juvenile offenses right and left, the majority of them involving acts of violence. How had he become a police officer? Her uncle, of course, she quickly reasoned. If Clem had managed to get hundreds of officers approved for disability, getting his foster son a job would have been easy.

  Stella looked toward the area Danny had indicated. It was pitch black, not a streetlight in sight. Her fear intensified. Why didn’t he say something? Why didn’t he scream at her, vent his rage over her uncle’s death? Why was he playing games with her, pretending he didn’t know who she was? When she turned back to the window, she saw Danny was already walking back to the police car.

  Stella cranked the ignition, and slowly pulled away from the curb, watching in her rearview mirror as the police car took up a position behind her. The location he had asked her to drive to appeared deserted and poorly lit. His story about the traffic didn’t make sense. Not one car had passed the whole time Stella had been waiting. Alarms sounded in her mind. Releasing the steering wheel, she wiped her sweaty palms on her slacks. She had to make a decision fast. If she hesitated, it would be too late. They were about to reach the ramp leadi
ng to the freeway.

  Stomping on the gas pedal, Stella floored the Ford and took off, squealing up the freeway ramp in a cloud of exhaust smoke. She heard the sirens engage on the police car, but she refused to look behind her. Instead, she watched the speedometer climb: seventy, eighty, ninety. “Come on,” Stella yelled, rocking back and forth in the seat as if she thought it would make the car go faster.

  Traveling now on the two-lane divided highway, Stella was darting in and out of traffic, desperately trying to control the speeding car and avoid a collision. Seeing a dirt pass-through to the opposite side of the freeway, she decided it was her only chance. As she made the turn, her car fishtailed and spun out of control. She steered into the skid, managing to correct it. Instead of continuing straight, though, Stella turned right and crossed diagonally to the shoulder on the opposite side, barely missing a speeding car that she had failed to see earlier.

  The police car was entering the dirt pass-through, but several cars were approaching, and Danny had to wait until they zipped past to enter the lanes of traffic.

  Stella panicked, seeing a second police car two car lengths behind Danny’s unit. The Fairlane wasn’t fast enough. She knew she could never outrun two police cars with high-performance engines. Slamming on the brakes, she left the engine running, grabbed her purse, and leaped out of the car before it came to a complete stop. Tossing the strap to her purse over her head, she ran toward the embankment. Inside her purse were the metal chips. No matter what happened, she couldn’t lose them.

  The embankment was a gradual slope, but it was thick with shrubs, weeds, and discarded rubbish. Stella tripped and fell into a patch of prickly branches. She managed to get back on her feet, but her jacket was torn and her arms were scraped and stinging. On the road above, she heard the sirens stop, and fell back to the ground, crawling the rest of the way on her hands and knees.