Her heart slammed against her chest. No man had ever been so rough with her. Anxiety and anger washed over her, threatening to drown her.
No! Don’t let him bully you, Em.
Straightening her spine as best she could, Emilie said in her calmest, most authoritative voice, “I did not lie to you.”
“You were the only one who knew about it, Emilie, the only one who saw me.” His voice was a ragged knife; his anger far beyond reason.
But she had to try. “I said nothing to Jonas about last Tuesday. And what would I have told him? That you were playing hooky. That you were sitting at his computer, punching in numbers that were meaningless to me.”
His hands, large like Jonas’, began exerting more pressure on her wrist, and even more on her throat. “Nice try, Doc. You’re too bright not to have figured it out. How else would Jonas know about my money transfer in time to mess it up?”
Her breathing felt pinched. “Nathan … please!” Her voice was high and faint. It was hard to get the words out. She could feel bruises already forming where his fingers manhandled her too-long, too-pale neck.
She had to push through the pain. Must, Em. Must! He had to understand. “I had … no idea.” He squeezed harder. “Please! I didn’t lie. I didn’t know.… about … the money.” She coughed, trying to clear her throat. “Don’t do this, Na—”
He cut her off with a curse. “You ruined everything!” He shook her, making her neck crack and ache with each jerking motion.
“I never … I never …” She was dizzy now. Light-headed. The atmosphere in the room was changing to a pale, starry blue. More than anything she wanted to lie down. Yes, there on the cool floor. As though from another room, she heard Nathan shouting things she didn’t understand. Ugly things, angry things.
That was when she realized, however dimly, that Nathan was in much more pain than she.
“Please … stop. Please …” It was the last thing she remembered saying before the back door flew open and crashed against the cabinets.
Jonas. Roaring like a lion.
“Get your hands off her, Nathan!”
The hands disappeared.
She dropped to her knees, bent over and gasping. Pulling in air like a lifeline, then falling back to a sitting position, her back propped against the refrigerator.
Time elongated. Seconds became minutes.
Jonas looked at her with love and fury in his eyes, concern on his features. Looked long enough to see that she was breathing steadily. Waited until she nodded and waved a dismissive hand that said, “Don’t worry, I’m okay,” before he turned and slammed Nathan against the counter.
His righteous anger charged the air. “How dare you touch her! How dare you hurt her like that!” Jonas was breathing like a locomotive, huffing in angry bursts. “Did you think you could get away with this? With … all of this?”
“She lied to me!” Nathan shouted, pointing an accusing finger at her.
Jonas’ voice dropped to a deadly pitch. “And you lied to me, brother.” He dragged in a ragged breath and pushed it back out, the sound echoing his anger and frustration. And disappointment.
“Nate, to think I trusted you.” He shook his head, not letting go, still holding Nathan against the counter. Though matched in height, Jonas was more solid. And sober. Emilie didn’t doubt his words—and tone of voice—alone would have pinned his brother to the wall. “I trusted you with everything I owned and everything that mattered to me.” He turned in Emilie’s direction, checking on her again, letting her know he loved her with his brief but potent gaze.
Emilie nodded to let him know she was fine.
She was nothing of the kind, but Jonas had enough trouble on his hands at the moment.
Jonas snapped his head back toward Nate, his voice heavy with regret. “I’m ashamed of you, brother, and ashamed of myself for trusting you.”
Nathan met his brother’s indictment without flinching. If there was remorse there, it didn’t show. The only emotion she sensed, rolling off Nathan like steam, was fear.
Jonas pressed for answers. “Why did you do it, Nate? Why did you mess with the books? And why did I come here tonight and find you …?” Jonas pounded his fists on his brother’s shoulders, not hard enough to hurt him, but hard enough.
Nathan dropped his head and shook it. It didn’t look like remorse from where she was sitting. It looked like cowardice.
Jonas wasn’t buying it. “I asked you a question, son.”
Nathan’s head shot up, and his voice with it. “I am not your son! Can’t you get that through your thick head?” Nathan straightened, shoving Jonas back a half step. “I don’t owe you, okay? He was my dad, too, and he died trying to save your friend, and that’s all there is to it.”
Jonas stepped closer, widening his stance. “Now listen—”
“No, you listen! Nobody made you my dad, you got that?” Nathan’s eyes were fiercely bright, his anger cutting through his alcohol-induced fog. “You are not my dad and you can’t tell me how to live.”
“You are the one who always calls asking for advice! And for money. Ten thousand in the last two months, Nate.”
Emilie gasped at the sum. Ten thousand dollars! Gone in two months?
Jonas’ tone was as solid as granite. And as hard. “Where did it go, Nate? Looks to me like your rehab time was not well spent.”
“I told you I’ll pay it back.” Nate dipped his head again, bitterness seeping into his voice. “Right now I’ve got more problems than you can possibly imagine.”
“Yeah, and your biggest problem is standing right in front of you.” Jonas grabbed his arms, as if trying to shake some sense into him. “Nathan, this afternoon Dee Dee called and told me what she thought you were up to. That’s when I checked the accounts, found your digital fingerprints all over them. What you did amounts to attempted embezzlement. That’s serious jail time, do you understand that?”
Nathan shrugged, not looking up. “I figured you’d cover for me.”
“Cover for you? That’s taxpayers’ money, Nate, not mine. And then there’s this business tonight.” He turned in Emilie’s direction, hands firmly gripping Nathan around the elbows, keeping him immobile. “Did you welcome his company tonight, Em? Was he invited through this door?”
She shook her head and managed a shaky, “No.”
Jonas swerved back to Nathan, his jaw tense. “I thought not. So we’re talking forcible entry. Plus assault and battery—”
“I haven’t got a weapon,” Nate shot back.
“Your anger alone is a weapon!” Jonas lowered his pitch but not the intensity. “Your words are weapons and your hands are weapons, Nate. Emilie has the bruises to prove it. Unless you can convince me otherwise, I intend to call the Lititz police and press charges.”
“Nooo!” Emilie struggled to stand, then realized her legs were like jelly.
Jonas shook him once, hard, then let go and paced across the room, hands jammed in his pockets, his dark eyes more intense than she’d ever seen them, his brows gathered into a painful knot. His emotions were raw, edgy, and easy enough to read: He needed to move before he hit something, namely Nathan. He needed to understand, to make sense where there was none.
Finally he stood still and simply stared at Nate, waiting.
The air was charged.
Nate said nothing, not even with his expression.
Jonas finally broke the silence with a weighty sigh. “Sit down, brother. We gotta talk. Nobody needs twenty thousand that badly unless they’re in trouble. You in trouble, Nate?”
His younger brother lifted his head. His eyes were dead. His mouth was a hard line. “The less you know, the better, Jonas.”
“Nah, that’s not how this is gonna work.” Jonas pulled out a kitchen chair and nodded at it. “C’mon, sit. We managed not to hit each other. Let’s talk it through. Figure out a solution.”
Jonas dropped into the seat across the table and nodded at the other chair again. “I’m not your d
ad and never was. But I’m your oldest brother and always will be.”
Nate pushed off the counter, moving not toward the chair, but the back door. “Unlucky you!” He yanked the door open and slammed it behind him, rattling the walls of the little house.
The room fell silent except for the sound of Emilie’s labored breathing.
She slumped down, as if all the air had gone out of her body at the slam of the door. With her adrenaline already beginning to subside, the pain was back in spades, and with it, more tears.
She managed three words. “Jonas. Get Nate.”
“No.” His tone was rough, but his touch was gentle. “You’re all I care about. I can’t help my brother anymore. But I can certainly help the woman I love.”
His arms surrounded her, lifting her up from the floor as if she were little more than a feather, carrying her into the living room, carefully stretching her out on the couch.
He knelt on the floor beside her. His voice was like broken steel. “Emilie, I’m so sorry.”
“Nathan’s fault.” It was all she could get out. Oh, but it hurt like the dickens to speak. Lord, help me! She smoothed a hand over her throat, trying to swallow.
Jonas disappeared into the kitchen for all of half a second, returning with a glass of ice water. The cold felt good—and awful—in her throat, making the muscles constrict, muscles that already ached from too much pressure.
“Say the word, Emilie, and I’ll call the police.”
She shook her head so hard it hurt. “No. Doesn’t matter now. Help Nate.”
The knock at the front door nearly launched her off the couch. Jonas was on his feet in an instant, stalking toward the foyer. Emilie watched him, grateful for his protection, and felt a tiny tug at one corner of her mouth. If he’d had enough hair on his head to do so, it would have been standing on end right now.
“Who is it?” he barked through the solid door.
Let it be Nate, Lord. She swallowed, then winced. Let him come back, apologize, make amends, something. The two were brothers, not enemies. Nate had no place else to go, nowhere else to turn.
She lifted herself up on one elbow, straining to hear. I’m not afraid, Lord. I know Jonas will keep me safe. Let this be Nate knocking on our door. Please?
But it wasn’t.
Not Emilie. Dee Dee.
She was the one who’d turned him in.
Nate staggered along the alley behind Emilie’s place, looking over his shoulder for his brother, relieved when Jonas didn’t follow him.
Not that he knew where he was going.
He couldn’t go back to Jonas’ house. Ever. Didn’t have enough money in his pocket to buy even one night in a cheap hotel. He could manage without food—his stomach was tied in a permanent knot anyway—but it was a chilly night for sleeping under the stars.
He swung his head back, which made him so dizzy he had to grab a nearby telephone pole to steady himself. No stars. Clouds. Rain in the forecast.
The one place he’d thought he could go, Dee Dee Snyder’s house, was now out of the question.
Dee Dee would never welcome his kisses—or anything else—again.
Nate pulled himself forward on legs that refused to walk a straight line. Maybe he wouldn’t worry about what kind of welcome he got. Maybe he’d just go there. Make her sorry she’d put two and two together and come up with four. He’d known she was smart, just not that smart.
Shouldn’t have asked her so many questions, Fielding.
Dee Dee’s house. He could walk that far. Put one foot in front of the other, cursing her all the way. Yeah, he could make it to Dee Dee’s. Knock on her door. Give her the surprise of her life.
He aimed his tottering steps in her direction, his mind reeling with all the things he could and would say to this woman who’d ruined his life, ruined everything.
Cy would come soon, knocking on his door. Or he’d send a buffoon in his stead, with an ugly face and a temperament to match.
Nate turned up another alley, grateful to avoid the main streets where he might attract attention, have somebody see him.
Somebody dangerous.
A children’s riddle came to the surface, mined from a memory long left behind for the more serious games of adulthood.
“Knock, knock!”
“Who’s there?”
“April.”
“April who?”
“April Fool!”
He snickered, stumbling into a pool of light from the streetlamp on the corner. Just as quickly as it lifted, his countenance fell.
You’re the fool, man. The biggest one of all.
“Who’s there?” Jonas called out again, leaning toward Emilie’s front door, straining to hear.
“Drew,” came the male voice from the porch.
Jonas sighed, relief crashing on him like a wave, then flung the door open. “C’mon in, man. Glad you’re here.”
Drew smiled, oblivious to the tension still hovering in the air as he stepped through the door. “I dropped Sara off at home, then realized she’d left her teddy bear here. You know her. Never sleeps without Bear-Bear.”
Jonas nodded. “Right. Uh … we have a situation here, buddy.” He motioned Drew in, took a quick look out the front door, then shut it behind them. “My brother Nate just left. I have no idea where he went, but a liquor store is the first place I’d look.”
Drew nodded, pointing a thumb toward the street. “That explains why I just saw him stumbling across Cedar. You want me to go get him? Drive him home?”
“Please!” Emilie groaned, motioning from the couch.
Drew turned toward her and the color drained from his face. “My word, Emilie! Your neck. What happened here?” He turned toward Jonas, a scowl on his face. “Somebody better start talking, and fast.”
Jonas sketched out only the necessary details, watching as Emilie leaned back against the cushions, one hand lightly rubbing her throat.
You did that, Nate. He’d never thought it possible to feel such loathing for his own brother. I trusted you, Nate. I loved you.
They had not come to blows, but their words had cut like knives.
When Jonas finished, Drew let out a low whistle. “Thank goodness I came by for Sara early by mistake.”
Jonas exchanged glances with Emilie. “No mistake there, Drew. That was God’s provision for her safety.” The thought of Sara being witness to Nate’s cruelty made his stomach clench. Thank you, Lord, for sparing her.
Drew finally asked the question on all of their minds. “What are you gonna do, Jonas? Press charges? Issue a warrant? Have him arrested?”
“I can’t.” Jonas dropped his head, the weight of such hard options bearing down on his shoulders like a heavy wooden cross. “He’s my brother.”
“Your brother in blood, or in Christ?”
His head snapped up at that. “I wish it were both. He arrived in town, saying the right words. An hour into it, it was pretty obvious Nate was putting on a good show.” He exhaled, standing to pace the floor again. “The kid always was a good liar.”
“Liars have to face the consequences sometimes, Jonas. You can’t rescue your brother like you did Trix.”
Jonas turned sharply on his heel, feeling a flush of heat rise from his chest. “He’s not a dog, Drew. He’s my flesh and blood.”
“Yeah, but he’s not your responsibility.”
“Who’ll look after him, then, if I don’t?” He heard the anguish in his voice, tasted it in his mouth, felt it in his soul. “C’mon, who?”
“God.” Drew waited one beat, then two. “Face it, Jonas. Nate is God’s responsibility. Always was, but even more so now. He’s dug a hole so deep even you can’t pull him out.”
Jonas sank down on his knees, wrapping his hands around Emilie’s. She sneaked one free and stroked his hair, offering comfort and solace with her touch, if not her voice.
He bowed his head almost to the floor. “Father … please …” His words came slowly, drawn from a place where
surrender lived, a place deeply buried and seldom visited.
Help me, Lord. Help me let Nate go.
Behind him, Drew lowered himself onto one knee and laid a supportive hand on his shoulder.
Jonas began again. “Lord, forgive me for trying to save Nate when we both know I can’t. Only you can.” His voice failed him. He gripped Emilie’s hand harder. “Nate’s in pain and he’s in trouble. He won’t even tell me what it is. It’s … it’s so hard to stand by and watch.” His heart felt crushed to breaking. “Help me, Father. I would suffer for him if I could.”
I have already suffered for him.
Tears clogged his throat. “I love my brother, Lord …”
I love him too, Jonas. More.
His forehead pressed against the hardwood floor. His words were a hoarse and tortured whisper. “What will happen to him, Lord? What am I supposed to do?”
Let him go, son. Let him find his way to me.
Twenty-three
It is one thing to show a man that he is in error, and another to put him in possession of truth.
JOHN LOCKE
It rained on Good Friday.
The gray, weeping skies and coolish air suited the mood of the day. Melancholy and solemn, a day of sorrows.
Emilie’s neck was stiff and striped with bruise marks. The purplish spots were noticeably worse this morning. The painful memories remained equally vivid.
Nathan lunging through her door. Grabbing her. Hurting her. Jonas bursting through her door. Saving her. Soothing her. Bless you, Lord, for Jonas. Within the hour he’d be knocking on her door again. Quietly, this time. Emilie smiled at the thought.
Stepping from the tub, she patted herself dry, avoiding the mirror, dressing quickly. The weather gave her a perfectly good reason to swathe her neck in an oblong, paisley scarf.
Though her skin was bruised, Emilie was surprised to find her heart was not. She felt no bitterness toward Nathan. If anything, she felt pity. He was a broken man, without a friend in the world, it seemed. Except Jonas, whose love Nate no longer wanted.
Bookends Page 33
