by Nancy Gideon
Her nightmare.
She was free.
And as quickly as that unbidden thought shot through her, her mind crushed it in proper horror. This was her work, her life. Ruined. How was she going to pay her bills? What was she going to do? How could she let tradition crumple and get swept away like discarded ash?
"Rebuild," she said mechanically. "I'll start cleaning up, then as soon as the insurance settles, I'll start—"
"But Aunt B, why don't you do something for yourself, first?"
She blinked at the teenager as if Faith suggested she campaign for presidency. "But I have work—"
"You always have work." The girl's fright betrayed itself in her frayed tone. Mortality wasn't something a sixteen-year-old dwelt upon. Once faced, it had a rattling effect on everything. Loss was something still fresh in Faith's memory, making time with her aunt all the more precious. "That's always your excuse, for not traveling, for not visiting us, for not joining us on vacation, for hiding in this crappy little store and turning into Grandma Joan."
Stunned by the unexpected attack, Bess lost all color. She couldn't think of how to respond.
Faith covered her mouth with her hands, aghast at having let her feelings escape, then, suddenly, not willing to hide them anymore. She took a deep breath and took a determined stand.
"All the time I was growing up, I listened to my mom talking about how creative you were, how good with people, how generous and warm you were. I never saw any of that. All I got were gifts in the mail, pieces of you that didn't cost anything to send." Tears liquefied her agitated stare. "Okay, so you were busy taking care of Grandma while she was alive, but what about after?"
"The store—"
"Was hers. It's not a part of you, Aunt Bess. Don't you think I could see how much you hated it? Mr. Doolin offered to buy it before. Sell it. Sell it now and do something you want to do. Something exciting, something daring."
"That's your mother, Faith, not me."
"Why not you? Because she told you that you couldn't be, that you had to stay and be her sensible daughter, to make all the sacrifices? For what? What kind of hold does that woman have over you that you still think you owe her? You've got a chance at a whole new life. I'm just a kid, but I've seen the way you and Z—Mr. Crandall are when you're together. But how long do you think he's gonna hang around while you board yourself up in this place, acting like the Virgin Mary moral center for the town of Sweetheart?"
Outrage shattered Bess's shock. "Faith Marie, how dare you speak that way to me! You have no idea what sacrifices I've made and why. You horrid, ungrateful child! After all I've done for you—"
With a sob, Faith fled from the store.
But it wasn't the girl's abrupt departure that stunned Bess into silence. It was what had poured out of her: those awful, nasty condemnations.
Shaking uncontrollably, Bess dropped to her knees amid the ash and devastation. Whitened knuckles pressed to her lips as she rocked herself in short, anguished thrusts. It wasn't true. Faith wasn't right. She shook her head, denying it to the only one she couldn't convince. Denying it to herself.
"Bess?" A broad hand eased along the jerk and tremble of her shoulders. "Bess, what's wrong? I just saw Faith run out of—"
She turned and the impact of the blind desolation in her eyes knocked the wind from him. He dropped down beside her, opening his arms just as she threw herself against him.
"Oh, Zach…"
Such wounded agony in her voice, so much desperation in the way she hugged to him. He stroked her hair, his mind spinning wildly. Good God, what had happened to rip her soul apart?
"Talk to me, baby. Bess, talk to me." Her ragged breathing shook him more than anything he could remember. Helplessness twisted inside him, the same way it had when he'd listened to his mother crying when he was a boy. Such crushing helplessness in knowing there was nothing he could do to make her stop.
"Tell me what's wrong," he coaxed, squeezing her so tight he feared he'd break her in half. "I can't help you unless you tell me—"
"I'm not my mother."
The raw wail startled him. Her mother? What—?
"I'm not my mother, Zach. I'm not."
He kissed her temple, murmuring, "Of course you're not, baby. You're nothing like her. Where would you get that idea? From Faith? Did Faith say something to get you all upset?"
Bess's sobs continued, silent, disconsolate, racking her slender body with a pain so deep, he couldn't reach the source to provide comfort. He rocked her, his expression firming into angular planes chiseled from stone.
Damn Joan Carrey.
He'd have a talk with Faith. He'd find a way to explain a creature like her grandmother, a woman so selfish, so proud, she would destroy her own flesh and blood rather than let them go.
"Let's get you out of here, Bess. I was just going for some lunch. Come with me. And don't come back in here for a while. Let the dust settle."
She didn't move for a long moment, pressing into his strength, his heat, as if it could provide an escape from the pain. Vaguely aware she wouldn't find it … because he was part of it.
She'd knelt on this same floor, some seventeen years earlier, weeping with heartbreak while her mother cast a fierce shadow over her as merciless words filleted her will and whittled away her choice.
With him? With a boy like that? Are you insane? What were you thinking, girl? A boy like that isn't going to stay around for the hard times. He'll up and have you flat with all the problems, all the grief. Didn't you learn anything from all I've told you? He's a loser, bad luck, a bad choice. Tell him and he'll tear out your heart. Quit that blubbering and take your medicine. Now I've got to take care of the mess you've made, you silly, ungrateful child. I'll take care of things and you'll never see him again, do you understand? Never again!
"Zach."
"Right here, baby."
She buried her face against his warm throat, feeling him swallow, riding the firm, rich pulse of life he'd brought into her own.
"I loved you, Zach. You have to believe that. You have to."
He was silent for a few beats, then said softly, "I do, Bess. I do believe you."
"I'm sorry."
Her voice wobbled under the weight of remorse. Zach held her, kissed her hair, and he wondered what the hell she was apologizing for. For being young and afraid? For letting him go? For allowing him back into her life? Or for pushing him out of it again?
Dazed and drained, Bess sagged upon his broad shoulder. Listlessly she let her tears fall, realizing it was too late to change anything with tears or with apologies.
You're a wicked child, Elizabeth. Just like your sister. How could you hurt me so, after all I've done for you? How can I ever hold my head up in this town again? They'll all see you for the wanton creature you are, and they'll turn you out, just like they did him. Bad follows worse, I always said, but you wouldn't listen. And now, it's too late. It's too late to change what you've done.
Bess closed her eyes, becoming that guilt-ridden teenager again. Remembering every ripple of shame and regret that battered her disobedient heart. Remembering how she'd lain on this very floor, the world becoming brilliant prisms as sunlight caught the grandfather clock's crystal pendulum weight, sending strobes of hellfire to flash and dazzle before her eyes.
Her eyes opened. Her grief fell away before a startling awareness. Still clinging to Zach, she lifted her head, looking slowly, slowly behind her to the space beside the front door. Where for as long as she could remember while growing up, her great-grandfather's clock had struck out the hour with gloomy precision.
The case still stood, but the mechanism was silent. Silent for these past seventeen years. Because the clock had broken. The beautiful weight that kept the gears whirring was gone. That beautiful bit of leaded glass that so fascinated her as a child.
That piece of heavy crystal shaped like an inverted pyramid.
* * *
Chapter 16
« ^ »
"Feeling better?"
Stretched out on her sofa, concealed by the protective darkness of the cold cloth covering her eyes, all Bess had to do was nod.
Zach had taken her straight home and insisted she lie down. Then he'd fussed over her with tender solicitousness until she was ready to wail for him to leave her alone. She didn't want companionship. She wanted solitude. She wanted some way to explain away what she'd discovered in the bookstore. And the last person she wanted near her while she digested all the possible ramifications was Zach. Hysteria quivered beneath her surface calm, seeking an untimely escape.
"You stay down and quiet for the rest of the day, you hear? Do you want me to call Doc Meirs? Maybe he missed something. Maybe you're concussed—"
"I'm tired, Zach. That's all. Just tired."
Her brittle reply shut him up tight for so long she had to sneak a look. He'd angled her mother's favorite chair so his knees butted up against the couch cushions. His expression was drawn, not with annoyance but with worry. She touched the back of his hand, and his fingers snapped hers up for a possessive clutch.
"Are you sure that's all it is, baby? You should have seen yourself. You scared the hell out of me." He chafed her hand between both of his, the gesture anxious and distracting. His stare was too direct, too attentive. Bess let the cloth cover her eyes again, afraid he'd see the frenzied thoughts swirling behind them.
"I'm sorry, Zach. I didn't mean to. I guess it all caught up with me at once. I folded."
He continued to knead and manipulate her hand within his. "Kids say things without meaning them, Bess. You know that. Faith would never do anything to hurt you."
Bess didn't answer.
Zach's uneasiness grew tenfold.
"Are you sure I can't call somebody to come over and sit with you?"
"Really, I just need some rest, some time to think about what I'm going to do next."
Zach frowned. What was he missing here? Something major he couldn't afford to let slip by. Something big was behind Bess's panic, but he couldn't figure out what it might be. And she wasn't talking. That made him nervous as hell.
"I gotta get back to work, baby. I don't like leaving you—"
She pushed aside the cloth to smile with what could have been a gentle sincerity. But he didn't think it was.
"Don't be silly, Zach. I'm fine. Go to work."
He gave up with a sigh. "All right. Call if you need me. Leave a message. I'll be in and out all afternoon. And I'll stop over after work. If that's all right with you?"
"It's fine with me."
He bent to kiss her lightly, unprepared for the anxious way her arms encircled his neck to hold him in place for a long minute. Again, panic skittered across his intuitive senses, bringing a chill of foreboding.
What wasn't she telling him?
When he straightened, a suspicious shimmer glassed over her gaze before she averted her head, but he let it go, just as he had to let her go for the moment. He had other answers to pursue, then he'd be back to find out what Bess Carrey was keeping from him.
* * *
The first part of the morning had dragged for Zach, offering more pieces to the puzzle but no solid edges to frame them into a recognizable picture. Before the computer age, records were haphazardly filed, poorly typed or handwritten in illegible scrawls. He balanced the slow steady pace of his own work with careful study of his mother's trial transcript. It took all his discipline to keep himself removed from the emotional testimonies that sucked him back toward childhood.
Sam Crandall had been a monster and deserved to be dead. But Zach refused to let the man's memory bring harm to anyone else. He hadn't been able to stop the spread of his father's dark influence when he'd been alive, but by God he'd stop it now. He'd see all the ugliness got stuffed back into the grave with his twisted soul.
And now this new worry over Bess.
Tension pounded at the base of his skull since leaving her. The hard smack of his heels on the cement walk wasn't helping. He'd wanted answers. He needed a solution. He had to shake off the clutching stigma of the past. Dammit, why couldn't the bastard just die? Why couldn't he lie in his grave and rot and let everyone else get on to patching up the lives he'd shattered? Zach wouldn't—couldn't—believe the damage was irreparable. That would be too unfair. And he'd had all the injustice he could stand for one lifetime.
He turned up the walk to his house, hoping to have a few minutes alone with his mother before going back to the post, and pulled back in surprise at the sight of a small figure huddled on the steps. He approached with care, unsure of how to handle a fragile teenage heart. His average was pretty lousy to date.
"Hey."
Faith lifted her head from the pillow of her knees. Red-rimmed eyes blinked up at him as she pushed hair, spiky from the heat and tears, out of her face. Her smile wobbled pitifully.
"Hi, Mist—Zach."
He swung down to sit on the step beside her at a companionable distance. Resting his elbows on his knees, he looked down the sunny residential street, purposefully allowing the girl time to pull her thoughts together.
"I screwed up big-time," she said miserably.
He gave a wry chuckle. "Join the club." He tented his hands, studying the triangle they made, thinking tangentially of the object that had killed his father. "Want to talk about it?" Obviously she did, or she wouldn't be weeping on his front steps, but it took her a little more time to get over her awkward pride and humiliation. He gave it to her.
"I said some real bitchy things to Aunt Bess, and I wish I could take them back."
"Things you didn't mean?"
"No. I meant them, I just didn't want them to come out, you know, the way they did."
"The truth has a habit of doing that."
"I really care a lot about her, you know. My mom and dad, they are great parents and all, but they're always on the go, always hurrying to see some new sight or have some new adventure. Sometimes, they wouldn't have a lot of time for me and I'd call Aunt B. She didn't care what time it was or how long I talked, she'd listen. I didn't always take her advice, but it was always good. I really counted on her to be there for me. She made me feel like I was special, you know?"
"Yeah." Zach let his hands dangle loosely. "I know."
"Well, I think she was counting on me today, and I let her down. And I feel really crappy about it. She's pretty good at pretending things don't bother her but—"
"—they do," Zach supplied quietly. "I know, kiddo. And it's rough to see that. But you want to know something else about your aunt that makes her special?"
The girl tilted her head to gaze up at him. "What's that?"
"She never closes the door on someone she loves. Even if they've hurt her."
"Yeah?"
He looked at her and nodded soberly. "Yeah. But you won't know until you go talk to her. She should be hearing this, not me."
Faith's arm curled about his neck, hugging tight as her soft cheek pressed to his rough one. "You're an all right guy, Zach Crandall."
He sat still, unfamiliar with such unconditional affection. His bland tone masked his surprise. "Think so?"
"Know so." She jumped up, her animation recharging like a battery's. "Gotta go take care of some things. Later."
"Let me know how things turn out," he called after her energetic figure. He waved a hand when she bounced around, grinning back at him.
"I will. Thanks."
Feeling very old in the face of the girl's quicksilver nature, Zach pushed up to his feet, steeling himself for what he had to do.
His mother was sitting in the living room, watching early afternoon soaps. She beamed up at him. "Zach! What a nice surprise. I thought I heard you, and was that Faith? Why didn't she come in? Such a sweet girl, just like her mother."
Zach didn't comment. Instead, he came to sit on the braided rug next to her chair the way he always had as a boy. In a house full of kids, there was never enough furniture to go around. Zach took the floor without c
omplaint, and Mary remembered many a night when he'd fall asleep, his head heavy upon her lap. She continued to rock, waiting for him to speak.
"Mom?"
The somber syllable prepared her for what was coming. She tensed, subconsciously bracing for the memories.
"There're some things I've got to know. About Dad."
Mary took a shaky breath and touched a hand to his rigid shoulder. He started but didn't flinch away. "Let it go, Zach. Can't you let it go?"
He shook his head.
"Why? What good is it going to do, dragging everything out into the open again? It's tearing you apart. Your sister is having nightmares again. And I just don't want to remember anymore."
"I'm sorry, Mom, but I have to—"
"Why? Why do you have to find out anything? I don't care who killed him. I'm just glad he's dead. The crime's already been paid for."
He twisted, staring up at her through tormented eyes. "But not by the right person."
"I don't care anymore, baby. Leave it alone." She rubbed his taut cheek until he turned away with negating sharpness.
"I care. I care, Mom."
"What good will it do?"
"Everyone will know the truth. Isn't the truth important to anyone but me? This town spit on us for years. They let you go to prison for something none of them believe you did. Dammit, I want to know why! I want someone to take responsibility for those years you sat in jail!"
She stroked his crisp-cut hair with soothing repetitions. "It won't give me the years back."
"But it'll give us our pride back. Mom, don't you see? I want to be a part of this town, and I can't be as long as they all think I killed him."
"Zach, Elmer Grant stopped over this morning. He offered me a job doing payroll for the Super Value as soon as I feel up to it."
"So?"
"So, we talked about you and about how what you did for Bess is going a long way toward changing opinions. The tide's turning, baby. Go with it for once, instead of against it. Don't make things so hard for yourself … and for the rest of us."
