by Nancy Gideon
His silhouette filled the door frame, brutally big and oozing inevitable violence. How had she truly believed she could escape him? Evil had a way of latching on and never letting go. This time, he was going to kill her, then the children, just like he'd always threatened. She tried to cry out in alarm, to pull herself up and out of harm's way but her worn-out body wouldn't respond. So she lay there, weeping silent tears, waiting for the worst to come, for the only release she could ever find from a beast like Sam Crandall.
"Mom, are you awake?"
Her breath expelled shakily. "Zach?" It took a moment for her thoughts to adjust. Her hands swiped the tears away. "Come in, honey. Turn on the light."
He crossed the room, his size, his features so chillingly familiar, but the moment the room flooded with mellow reality, Mary saw the differences. Her son was not the monster her husband had been. She'd saved him from that.
"How are you feeling, Mom? Did you get some rest?"
He hung back, expressing the words of concern with an odd aloofness. All she wanted to do was hold him tight, but Zach wasn't like her other children. He'd always been cautious when it came to his emotions, guarding them zealously as the only things of worth truly in his control. He'd let them slip once in a while with Melody and, she suspected, at one time with Elizabeth Carrey, but never with her, figuring she had enough worries on her mind already.
"I feel better now," was all she said.
"Can I get you anything?"
"You can talk with me for a while."
He hesitated. "I don't want to wear you out."
"You won't."
He began to pace the room, strong steps, caged energy, but unlike his father's it was under tight control, even when he was anxious about something, like now. She didn't ask. She knew she'd have to wait until he was ready to talk about it.
"State Police," she mused with a smile. That brought him to a halt at the foot of her bed. "I'm so proud of you, baby. I knew you'd make good if you had the chance."
For a moment he didn't move, then by tiny increments as she watched, the wall of his reserve begin to crumble. It began with his jerky swallowing, followed by a thinning about his mouth. Finally, the cutting blue of his eyes grew wavery. When he spoke, his voice was a low rasp.
"You gave me that chance, Mom. If I'd have guessed what it would cost you—" He broke off, turning away.
"Zach," she called softly. "I would have paid any price."
He shook his dark head as it hung low in inexpressible grief. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
"It was bound to happen, baby. We all knew that. The law wouldn't do anything. He would have killed one of you or me. No one could have stopped him."
"I should have. Long before then. I should have done something. I never should have let him hurt you the way he did. I was afraid of him." His shoulders slumped at that admission, shoulders that had never bent under years of punishment, broken only by his failing to protect those he loved.
"We were all afraid of him, Zach. He was a dangerous man. You did the right thing. I never blamed you. Not ever."
He shook his head again, still not looking at her. "It was my fault. My fault. I never should have hit him. But when he knocked you down and you didn't get back up, I just went crazy. Nothing ever felt so good as burying my fist in his face."
Mary winced at the harsh slash of his tone but she understood the hate, the anger. And she understood the fear, too, when he continued in a quieter voice.
"I should have stayed to make sure you were all right. I shouldn't have run and left it to you. But if I'd have stayed, I would have become him, right then, that night. I knew it and that scared me more than he did. I had to go. I know you can't forgive me for that, and I don't expect you to. I haven't thought of anything else all these years. I couldn't face you in that place. It should have been me. It should have been me."
"No, baby. Never. Zach. Zach, come here."
He turned slowly, head still down so she couldn't see his features. He came to take up the hand of absolution she offered, clutching it with a tender desperation as he went down on his knees at her bedside. She drew his bowed head up against her, stroking his hair the way she had when he was young, before he'd learned to handle his own hurts with such fierce independence.
"I love you, Zach. I love all you children. I would have made any sacrifice for you. Don't you dare think you owe me anything. All those years I watched him mistreat you and did nothing. I never filed a complaint. I never tried to leave him. It was my fault, baby. I would have done anything to make up for not keeping you safe. Anything. I know you had to get away. I'm glad you did. Look what you've made of yourself." She hugged him in tighter as her frail voice toughened with pride.
"You did what you had to do, Zach. It was bound to happen sooner or later. I'm just so thankful it was him and not you. That's what I thought of all these years. Thank God it was him, not you. He was a man who needed killing. If you hadn't done it, I'm afraid to think what might have happened to the rest of us."
Time stopped for Zach Crandall.
"What?"
"Don't ever say you're sorry, baby. I just did what I had to do, too."
He raised his head, his shiny eyes blank with shock. "What do you mean if I hadn't done it? Mom—Mom, I didn't kill him."
She smiled faintly, brushing his wet cheek with unsteady fingertips. "I never let them say you did. I couldn't bear the thought of you going to jail for saving our lives. It was the only thing I could do to make up for not stopping him before. It was the only way I could let you know how sorry I was for failing you, the only way I could stop him from ruining the rest of your life. And I was right, Zach. A lawman." Her eyes grew teary. "Look what you've made from all my mistakes."
A cold, fearful realization began to spread through Zach's belly as he told her again, more forcefully, "Mom, I didn't kill him. I—I thought you did."
* * *
Bess was finishing up the supper dishes while Faith stacked them away when the girl went still, plate dangling from one hand as she stared out the window.
"Aunt B, there's someone in the backyard." Bess leaned across the sink, squinting out into the deeper darkness, her first thoughts ones of mild alarm. "Probably kids cutting through," she murmured to reassure them both. But after a moment, when her eyes adjusted, she could make out a single figure far in the back, where an old swing set stood. She wrung out her dishcloth and laid it out to dry across the sink divider.
"I'll be back in a minute."
The quiet tone alerted Faith. "Who is it?" When she got no answer, she jumped to her own conclusions. "Will you be back in time for Mom's call?"
"If I'm not, tell her hello for me."
She walked up the slight slope of the yard as if in a remembered dream. Each step felt as familiar as the emotions crowding up inside. The swing set was a remnant left over from a time when she'd baby-sat for the neighbor's early-elementary-aged twins. Its legs were sunk in cement so it had remained long after the little girls grew up to have kids of their own. The silent figure rocking slowly to-and-fro on the low board seat, wailing creaks and groans from old hooks and chains was a ghost from the past, as well.
She didn't ask him why he was there. It had been their rendezvous spot in the late evenings after her mother had retired for the night in her front bedroom. He would be there, rocking, waiting for her, when his mood was dark and troubled.
The way it was now.
"Zach, what's wrong? Is it your mother?"
He didn't look up right away, giving Bess time to crouch down beside him as his long outflung legs flexed to move the ancient swing. She heard the hoarse draw of his breath and the hard swallow that came next.
"I shouldn't be here," he mumbled thickly. "I just didn't know where else to go."
"It's all right."
She followed that soothing sentiment with an easy embrace, one arm sliding across his broad back and the other about his middle. He doubled over, head hanging between his knees, fi
ngers lacing at the back of his neck. And he leaned into her, not much, but enough so she knew the support was needed.
"It's all right, Zach," she told him, holding him the way she had when he was a frustrated, frightened teen. "It's all right." She began to rock with the gentle movement of the swing. "You can always talk to me. You know you can." Caught up in the moment, in the memories, she curved her body over his, forming a protective shelter he'd seek from no one else. With her cheek pressed to the top of his dark head, she asked, "What's wrong? Tell me."
A slight negating shake. "Not yet."
She understood, holding him, giving him the time he needed to force the right words to the surface, humbled by his trust, by his need for her just as she'd been all those years ago. A man like Zach Crandall didn't break easy, but when that hard exterior began to crack, it sheered apart like a rending fault line, with violence and force, in an awesome release. Bess waited, willing to absorb the tremendous snap and the shaky aftershocks that would follow.
"Let go," she coaxed, and the first fierce wave shook through him. He lifted his head so she could kiss his brow, his cheek, tasting the salty dampness as he angled for her lips. Mouths moved together, hurried, healing, quieting the pain with passion, as Bess heard the faint ringing of the phone within the house that meant Faith was out of sight … out of mind.
She wasn't sure who moved first or it if was a joint decision that took them from swing set to cool grass. She was too busy kissing him to care. She welcomed the weight of him leveling out over her, pressing her into the warm earth as he pressed into her warm peaks and valleys. An avalanche of sensation swept over them, pushing them along the path with an unstoppable urgency. Bess's fingers raked through the short bristle of black hair as Zach's palms rubbed over the jut of her hipbones in restless, seeking circles. His tongue plunged deep as he rocked into her, his jeans barely able to contain him. His mouth slid slightly, just enough for him to ask, "Are you sure it's me you want?" in a voice too rough to be recognizable.
Her hands went down to push into the back pockets of his jeans, kneading hard muscle, encouraging a more aggressive movement while she whispered, "I've been waiting seventeen years."
He went still over her, breathing hard, his cheek pressed tight to hers. Strung taut, muscles bunched, he didn't move as a fierce battle of will against want shook through him.
"I can't do this." His words dredged up raw and harsh.
Bess clutched at him, her senses spinning, her breathing thin, her chest aching, as expectation trembled, then slowly receded. She understood. He wasn't here for sex, though they could have easily tumbled into it. Her restlessness eased as she contented herself with the feel of him, heavy and hot above her. He'd come to her to find comfort, not release. It wasn't the time to confuse the two. She touched his hair, stroking, calming until his tension waned.
"I need a friend right now, Bess. Not a lover."
"I know. It's all right." She kissed his temple to prove that it was, while packing the rebellious passion he'd ignited back where it had lain dormant for so long.
He stirred at last, his cheek brushing against hers as he lifted up, gathering his elbows and knees beneath him. She mourned the loss of his covering, lying still with eyes closed. He was silent for so long, she feared he meant to stand and leave without regret or remorse, without saying anything of what had brought him to her. But then she heard his heavy exhalation as he stretched out on the lawn beside her and began to talk, telling her in toneless brevity of the exchange he'd had with his mother.
"She walked in that night on an argument between me and my father. I told him that I was going to enlist after graduation and get as far away from him as I could. He laughed at me, Bess. He was drunk, mean drunk, had been all day. He said if I wasn't planning to hang around to pay him back for the wonderful upbringing he'd given me, he wasn't going to support my dead ass another day. That's when Mom came in, saying I was going to finish school, that I was going to amount to something, that she wasn't going to let him throw me out. He hit her, hard."
His mother told him what little she could remember. That, from her dazed position on the floor, Mary had heard father and son exchange blows, their fight growing more violent, moving outside into the garage while she dragged herself upstairs, falling unconscious upon the bed. When she'd come to, hours later, the house was silent, the younger kids having gone to a double feature before the commotion and Zach, just plain gone. And on the floor in the kitchen, she found her husband, the back of his head caved in from the force of some tremendous blow.
"She called the police, and when Baines showed up, she told him that Dad started in beating her and she'd killed him for it. She confessed because she thought I'd done it and run away. That's what they all thought—my mom, my sister, brothers, the whole damn town. They all thought I ran and left her to take the blame.
"I didn't even know he was dead until months later. I read about it in the paper. By then she'd already been sentenced, I figured he came back after I'd gone and they'd gotten into it again, since I wasn't there for him to take it out on. It never once occurred to me to think she didn't do it. She had every right to. Every right."
His voice trailed off, and for a long time he just stared up at the stars.
Bess studied his strong profile, her own emotions tangled up in his anguish, in her own guilt. On that night, like this one, he'd come to her, bruised, overwrought, on the edge, unwilling to talk about what was eating him alive. Only, they'd made love on that night, fiercely, frantically, and he'd fallen asleep afterward. Sleeping for hours like the dead, until the time pinpointed as the approximate moment of Sam Crandall's demise was long past. She'd watched him then, too, loving him, afraid of him and for him, for the violence he couldn't escape, for the secret she couldn't share. Torn apart by the decision she had to make.
When he'd awakened, unaware of how much time had passed, that's when he'd told her he was leaving Sweetheart with just what he was carrying … and her, if she'd go with him.
She'd never told another soul that they'd spent the long hours of that evening together. No one except her mother.
Zach turned toward her, his eyes quicksilver in the moonlight. "Did you believe it, Bess? Did you think I killed him?"
"No," she told him honestly, then writhed inwardly at his relief.
He reached out, curling one arm about her shoulders to draw her up against him where she nestled in, as if she belonged. Where she'd always wanted to belong. "You always believed in me when nobody else would. I don't know why."
She could have said it was because she loved him, but that wouldn't have been answer enough. It was more than that. More than she realized until she saw him wearing the State Police uniform. His success had been hers, as personally as if she'd won it herself. By playing a small part in pushing him ahead, to achieve, excel, to move on, she'd allowed herself a taste of what it might be like to escape and fly.
She'd made her choice seventeen years ago, and the reasons still bound her to them.
"Why didn't you get hold of your family, Zach? You could have found all this out years ago."
He sighed, the strength drained from him, his mood quiet, self-contained. "I couldn't, Bess. I was afraid if I did, I'd get pulled back here out of guilt or responsibility. I wasn't ready to come home. I couldn't look back. There was too much here that still had a hold of me." He didn't say she was one of those things. He didn't have to as his lips moved lightly across the silken tousle of her hair. "I kept track of Mom through Pat. He was the one who told me about her first heart attack. I'd been thinking about leaving the service. I got what I'd wanted from it. Anyway, after talking to Pat McEnroy, I took a post with the state up in Des Moines, and we timed it so his retirement could coincide with my transfer and Mom's release."
"So you planned everything." Her tone was soft, admiring, yet still a trace anxious.
He had planned it all. Methodically. Painstakingly. How he would use his authority to impress and influen
ce the opinions of Sweetheart, how he would use their approval as a steppingstone to Bess's heart. By smoothing all the obstacles in advance, he'd leave her with no objection to his suit. He'd considered every angle, every detail. Almost everything, he admitted to himself as he cuddled Bess close. Everything except how she would still rock his senses like the kick of a mule and get him thinking with his heart instead of his head.
Everything except the misunderstanding that had sent his mother to jail and left him in exile from those he loved.
Everything except how to deal with both those things.
Then through the calm of his spirit slithered a thought as dark and unwelcome as a serpent in the proverbial garden. If neither he nor his mother was guilty of his father's murder, someone else in Sweetheart was.
As Bess nestled against him, trusting him with a humbling innocence not to hurt her, he gathered the detachment of mind and body it would take to deliberately push her away. Because he cared too much to put her at risk once he went after the real killer. The killer who had most likely tried to run them off the road once already.
Anyone near him was going to be in terrible danger.
"You've been a great friend, Bess. Thanks."
He shrugged her off his shoulder and sat up.
"I gotta go." He could feel her confusion, even though he lacked the courage to watch it cloud her expression.
"Are you all right?" Her tentative concern held the blunt impact of a fist to the solar plexus. Affixing a thin smile, he glanced down at her.
"Yeah. I knew I could count on you to listen. Thanks, Bess. I feel better now."
She blinked, shinned by his dismissal. He could see her uncertainty, the way she weighed their earlier desire against his casual classification of what they were to each other. She recognized the inconsistency, but thankfully hadn't the experience or confidence in matters of the heart to call him on his lie. Thankfully for him, devastating for her, who'd looked to him for so much more.
