Gentry looked down at the papers, mystified.
“You won them over. Next time they’ll be eating out of your hand.”
“I sincerely hope there’s no next time.”
Darla arched a brow. “There will be. And soon you’ll hope for it.” She leaned against the window seat. “You’re a real person now, not just some actor on the screen. They want to know about you, connect with you—Gentry Fox, not just the part you play.”
The thought was surprisingly intoxicating. After all the negative press, the idea that people wanted to know the truth about her soothed the wound. She returned Darla’s smile. “Thanks.”
Darla shrugged. “It’s what you pay me for.”
“Sorry I wasn’t cooperative.”
Darla cocked her head. “Next time you’ll know better.”
Next time. Darla was right. If she stayed in the industry, this would always be a factor. Her movie with Alec, if it happened, would be a giant step up—pass Go, collect $200. Was she ready for that kind of attention, when just the thought of publicity had kept her from getting help?
“Jett and I are flying back today. I trust you’ll avoid further catastrophe?”
Gentry shrugged. She’d learned not to make promises she couldn’t keep.
Darla rolled her eyes. “Touch in when you get back. I want to keep ahead of this thing with Alec.”
“Okay.”
When Darla went out, Gentry turned back to her uncle. Something in his position suggested wakefulness, though his eyes stayed closed. Avoiding her? She understood. As much as she wanted to talk to him, she didn’t know what to say. She stood and paced the room.
While her night of struggle had prepared her to accept whatever happened, it hadn’t told her how to handle it. Uncle Rob was alive, and she was deeply grateful for that, but the burden of his injury took a toll.
As Nica said, gifts came with trials. She folded her hands under her chin and closed her eyes. Instead of telling God what she needed, she asked for the strength and wisdom to deal with this and to know how to support Uncle Rob. “Your grace is sufficient, Lord. Be his strength and courage. Surround him with your love.”
Persistent and irrepressible. Rob recognized the traits he’d fostered. How often he’d imagined Gentry his own daughter, loved her as his own—and she’d forgotten him. He’d jumped in to save her, and she’d left him alone, battered. And now maimed.
He couldn’t blame her, but he did. He shouldn’t blame God, but he did. He blamed himself for blindly believing. If he hadn’t trusted so completely, he wouldn’t be so completely disappointed. Where was the grace in that?
The only good thing he could find was that Allegra wasn’t there to see. It had ripped him apart when she left, but now it was a blessing, one of the crumbs that led to false expectation. Treacherous tidbits of hope.
Gentry bent and kissed his cheek. She murmured, “I’ll be back in the morning.”
Yes. Go. Leave me alone.
The halls grew still; the lights went down. As night came on, other thoughts loomed, thoughts he’d carried with him from the cave, an infection of the spirit. While Gentry had sat beside him he’d kept his eyes closed, feigning sleep. He hadn’t wanted conversation. But she’d employed something far more devastating—prayer. Didn’t she see how it stoked the fires?
She was gone now, her prayers wafting away, filtered through the air ducts into particles of nothing. He was alone. Alone.
“If I make my bed in the depths, you are there.”
No.
“ Your right hand will hold me fast.”
He groaned, wishing he had not impressed the words on his mind.
“ You hem me in—behind and before; you have laid your hand upon me.”
“Lord,” he groaned, and tears slipped from his eyes.
“All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.”
And what happened in each of those days was for the Lord to decide; his to determine whether Robert Fox walked on one leg or two. He had snatched him from the cave and breathed life back into his body. Now God desired to resuscitate his soul.
Wherever he went, however great his resistance, the Lord would pursue him. Humility and unworthiness settled on him like the mist. Who was he to question what the Lord chose for him? Did he know more than God? Did he think, like Job, he could interrogate the Creator of all things, demand an accounting? He was nothing, and yet the Lord had plucked him from the pit. Gratitude rushed in, and praise tumbled from his lips.
TWENTY-THREE
The stain would not come off. She stood in white, yards and yards of satin and toile, but the stain would not come off the bodice. The more she rubbed, the more it spread. She needed to get it off before anyone saw, but when she took a step, she found the floor thick with garbage.
She grabbed up her skirts, pulling in the train, foul with slime and rancid food. Her hands grew slick and putrid, but still she pulled and gathered the fabric into her arms. The miasmic odor cloyed. She gripped and pulled, armful after armful of rotting lace until her own vomit coursed down the front of her.
Allegra opened her eyes, surprised her spasming stomach had not actually spilled its contents. The white hotel sheets gathering like pursed lips into the depression made by the man who should not be there. Bronze and golden, Curt lay like a burnished treasure half buried in sand.
With the vigor and glow of a lesser decade, he slept unknowing, while she slipped from the sheets. His rum-fed slumber cradled him through her hasty dressing, stealthy packing, and silent departure. The message of her dream was clear. She’d tried so hard, rubbed and scrubbed until the outside looked, sounded, and seemed like class, but deep inside she was trash.
She’d taken the girl from the trailer, but she’d never get the trailer out of the girl. It had only been a matter of time before it showed. As she waited for the elevator, her hands rubbed each other with Macbethian persistence.
Rob awakened without protest when the nurse came in the next morning. In place of the thorough but taciturn woman of the previous days was a husky guy with a blond ponytail and freckles so thick he looked tan. His name tag read Paul.
“You’re my nurse?”
“And drill sergeant, otherwise known as physical therapist. You been lying around long enough, and Hawaii or not, vacation’s over.” The man had the build of a linebacker, the hands of a meat-packer. He cracked jokes while removing the catheter. Had to be sent from God.
He assembled a plastic thing with a hose and said, “I need you to breathe hard into this to clear the gunk from your lungs, cuz they’re awful swampy in there, and that ain’t good.”
No, swampy lungs were not good. He’d always had superb cardiovascular health, and he could feel the difference, like breathing through sludge.
He did his best with the machine, but the nurse looked at his results and shook his head. “That’s it?”
Rob scowled.
“Every thirty minutes give it another suck ’til you can get it up to here.”
“Okay.” Rob eyed the hosed contraption, wondering if it was rigged like a carnival hammer that never reached the bell until someone released the lever.
“Now, here’s the deal. The sooner you’re up on that leg, the better it heals.” He called it a leg, not a stump. “We gotta shrink it down; that’s why it’s wrapped in that elastic.” He spread his palm over the wrapping with no hint of repugnance. “They’ll probably transfer you to be fitted with a permanent prosthesis, but soon as you’re ready, we’ll get you started with some standing and balancing exercises. Nothing on the tightrope right away, though.”
If Paul had come in the midst of the black funk, it would have seemed cruel. Now his humor took the edge off. Rob had released the rage, but he was still raw with fear and uncertainty. What would life look like? How would he do it?
By the time Paul had bathed him and assisted his toothbrushing and shave, fear had become a shadow in the corner, waiting f
or weariness or discouragement to lure it back out. He’d do his best to keep it there.
Paul made him suck the float up the tube again, then shook his head. “Maybe I better get you the kiddie unit.”
“Maybe you’d better—” Rob tugged the sheet over just as Gentry arrived. The hesitance in her step cut him to the heart. Was she repelled by shame, or him? Would this form a wedge between them, the elephant in the room their relationship would skirt until it gave up finding a way around?
As Paul gathered rubbish from the small table, he caught sight of her and stopped moving. He’d pushed and bullied as though he ran the world, but as Gentry approached, he went stock-still. She reached the bed and smiled. Rob had never enjoyed a meltdown so much.
She held out her hand. “I’m Gentry.”
Paul detached his hand from the rail and took hers. “You’re better looking than the papers make you.”
“They try for my worst moments.”
“You look pretty good on the page, but rounded out …” He waved the hand that held the trash, realized he still had hold of her, and let go.
She smiled. “Taking care of my uncle?”
Paul looked down at him. “Yeah. Uh, trying.”
Trying? After the diatribe he’d had to endure about not trying hard enough? Oh, did he have ammunition now. And for a moment he stepped out of the dread. The little vignette had cheered him, the previous darkness exalting the lightness of the moment.
Paul obviously wanted to linger, but said, “I’ll leave you two,” and neither of them stopped him.
Gentry’s eyes welled up. “Uncle Rob—”
“Gentry.” He took her hand. The tears glistening in her eyes did not belong there, nor the weight of guilt on her soul. He had this chance, this moment to protect and define their future. To determine the tone, the target, the goal. He drew the strongest breath he had. “It’s just another mountain.”
On the lanai at Hale Kahili, joy welled up again. Overnight the man she knew and loved had surfaced. The balm of his forgiveness soothed her afresh.
“ You can only do the best you can with what you have to work with.”
He’d always told her that, expecting her best, but always within her ability. The first time they’d attempted Longs Peak in Colorado, she couldn’t handle the ledges. The vertical drop had raced her heart and spun her head. Uncle Rob had tried to talk her through it, but when it came clear that she couldn’t break through the fear, he’d commended her effort and begun the descent. The next time, she faced the ledges and the narrows and reached the summit.
Though she couldn’t tell him what caused their accident, she had sat beside his bed and explained everything that had happened while he huddled in the cave, how she’d followed the stream to Nica and realized she’d lost her identity. She described her trek back in with Cameron and how they’d found the falls, the piece of netting that had told her he was there.
“So my little net caught something after all.”
“Cameron searched the pool until he found the cave.”
“That was God.” He’d closed his eyes. “Not done with me yet.”
“Not even close.” She had squeezed his hand as he fell asleep.
Now, on the lanai, relief filled the places hollowed by worry. Uncle Rob had barely begun the fight ahead, but their relationship was intact.
“It’s just another mountain.” His words were a promise. He would take the challenge, face what came. And so would she.
The photos were a time bomb. She had awakened with sharp memories of the whole ordeal with Troy. How ironic that the improv skills she’d taught had been her undoing. Troy had a great talent for getting into character. He truly became the role he played. Maybe that explained his ability to create such a thorough delusion.
She’d stood up for him on Oprah even though he’d hurt her badly. As it turned out, his claims had given her the mystique of a woman enshrined in one troubled teen’s mind. She’d run the gamut of public opinion from predator to goddess. The last thing she wanted was to churn up the speculation again.
Darla would be livid if the fake photos came out and she hadn’t been told. Stomach clenching, Gentry stood up and looked over the rail to the flowering ginger garden. She drew in the fragrance, but no sweetness could mask the stench of those photos.
If he wanted, Cameron Pierce could sell the pictures to the highest bidder, saying truthfully that he’d received them from her. Why should she think he wouldn’t? Longtime friends had done worse. Or one, at least.
She rubbed her forehead. She had no proof of that. The tabloids could have gotten the pictures … somewhere else. She hadn’t asked, sparing Helen the pain of suspicion and herself of knowing for sure. If Helen had realized the boost of recognition the whole incident would cause, she’d never have done it. Or maybe she would—because she knew what Gentry really wanted; to use her talents to impact lives.
Impossible. Daniel, her almost fiancé, had rejected the possibility that anything but evil could come from an industry steeped in sin. He’d said before she changed anything, she’d be changed. Wherever he was now, he probably thanked the Lord they’d broken off before she dragged him down too.
But then there was Nica claiming she could reach millions, shining light into the kingdom of darkness. Shekina glory. Gentry cringed. If those pictures came out, her witness to anything higher, anything pure, would be destroyed.
She didn’t pretend to be perfect. She had legitimate faults people could criticize and exploit. It was the lies that left her feeling helpless. How could she climb a mountain that didn’t exist? That was what had left her exhausted, emotionally and spiritually, and why Uncle Rob had chosen Kauai and this particular rental.
Serenity and seclusion. He had known how badly she needed both, but he couldn’t have known how good it had felt to forget altogether, to live as though no one knew her name or her face. To be Nica’s friend Jade, to not wonder if Cameron saw her or some fantasy. She could kiss Officer Kanakanui for not having had a clue—but the tabloids would be all over that one, wouldn’t they.
With a sigh, she yearned for a simple conversation, the kind friends had when they didn’t have to worry they’d be overheard. Or betrayed. Longing squeezed her throat for just one person to share Uncle Rob’s progress with. On impulse, she took her cell phone from her pocket and placed a call. Monica answered on the second ring. “Nica, this is Gentry.”
“How are you? How’s your uncle?”
She filled her in, and it felt so good to share the news that she went one step further. “Would you like to come over this evening?” Why did she feel so vulnerable? It was a simple invitation.
“I’m so sorry, but I’m meeting TJ at Choy’s.”
“Oh.” So she hadn’t imagined that dynamic, but it had become evident.
“You could join us there.”
Gentry leaned on the banister. “A third wheel?”
“We’d love it. TJ was just asking about you.”
“He needs his report.”
Nica laughed. “He would like to know what happened.”
“Uncle Rob told the police where to find the Jeep and traced our route as well as he could from a hospital bed.” He had gotten directions from a local, as she’d guessed, but he didn’t know what caused the accident. He’d only seen her fall. “Anyway, I don’t want to intrude on your date.”
Nica laughed. “TJ Kanakanui’s had fourteen years to light a fire. What’s one evening more or less? Besides, I want to tell you something.”
She wavered between a companionable night with Nica and TJ’s possible interrogation.
“TJ’s finishing some paperwork. The way he procrastinates, it could take a while.”
She bit her lip. “Okay. If you’re sure.”
“Gentry, I’m sure.”
She hung up in a surprisingly buoyant mood. What were the chances it would last?
Nica turned down the high crooning of IZ’s In Dis Life as Gentry slid into her c
ar, looking less harried than she’d been. It still seemed impossible to think of her in Hollywood terms. She was Jade in the ways that mattered. “I’m glad you’re coming.”
Gentry settled into the seat. “I’m sure Officer Kanakanui will be less so.”
Nica laughed. “If he’s upset, it’ll take a year or two for him to realize it.”
Gentry clipped the seat belt. “I didn’t know you were together.”
“We weren’t, aren’t … Actually, with TJ it’s like interpreting the clouds.”
Gentry raised her brows. “Interpreting …”
“An ancient Hawaiian skill. Is it simply ao, which means cloud, or aokū, dark with rain, or ao pōpolohua, purplish cloud. TJ expects me to see with Okelani’s eyes and know what he thinks but won’t say, what he feels but won’t admit.”
As they reached the end of the private drive, Gentry turned abruptly from the window.
“Is something wrong?” Then she saw the white compact near the hedge with a single driver, camera raised.
“Just your friendly neighborhood paparazzi.” Gentry expelled a breath. “He’ll follow us.”
That rudeness violated aloha. “I’m not sure I can elude him between here and Choy’s.”
“Just don’t give him a clear shot of your face, or Cameron’ll kill me.”
Nica pulled onto the highway. “Kai’s protective, not homicidal.”
“That could change if you’re plastered on next week’s tabloids.”
The thought sank in, and Nica shuddered. “It’s not right.”
“Would you rather take me back?”
She shook her head. “I meant for you, for anyone.”
“As Cameron said, I chose the limelight. But you didn’t.” She put a hand to her cheek as the compact angled for position around a turn.
“Kai doesn’t—”
“He was explicit. He doesn’t want you bothered.” Gentry faced her. “You should take me back.”
“No. He’s not going to spoil our evening.”
Freefall Page 21
