The Keeper

by Quinn, Jane Leopold

  "Share." He cupped her shoulders to steady her. "It's okay now. What's the matter?"

  She chewed on her lower lip and wouldn't meet his gaze.

  "Who are they? Are they threatening you? Do you want me to get you out of here?"

  She shook her head, a fast shake. "Pete, I'm okay. Maybe you'd better go. There's nothing for you to be involved in."

  "I don't want to leave you. You look terrified."

  "I'm not really afraid," she said in a low, quiet voice.

  "Tell me what's going on."

  She hesitated.

  "It's all right. Let me help you."

  Her shoulders slumped, a breath burst out of her. "They're my parents."

  "And it's not a good thing they're here," he added, figuring that much out. "You're shaking, honey. I can take you to my place."

  "No. Thanks, Pete, but I can handle this by myself."

  "You don't have to."

  "But I can. I'll talk to you later."

  She was dismissing him. He didn't have any right to interfere in her life. He hadn't known her long, but she was obviously in distress. He also recognized a courageous woman. She was shaking out of her shoes, but was going back into the fight.

  "Call me. If you don't call me by tonight, I'm calling you." He gently massaged her shoulders. Man, are they tight.

  "Okay," she finally agreed, relaxing somewhat under his ministrations.

  Count on it! Reluctantly, he left, checking his rear view mirror as long as she was in sight. She'd started back across the street toward the couple. It sure didn't look like the same type of relationship he had with his family. They wouldn't have been glaring at one another over the top of a car. At least not with the animosity he'd sensed back there. He'd just have to trust her and check on her later.

  Chapter Five

  Sharon had to get her act together before she talked to her mother and father. A surge of rage boiled up in her at the thought of seeing that man and even calling him father. He didn't deserve that name.

  "Can we go inside and talk, Sharon?" Linda asked.

  She didn't want them in her home. "There's a picnic table." She pointed to a little park across the street. "We can go over there." They walked silently to the table. The man she refused to call father, Alan, hadn't said a word yet.

  She sat on one side of the table, and Alan and Linda sat together on the other. "Why did you come back now?"

  "Honey, your dad came back to see you."

  "Isn't it a little late?" Sharon let the hostility come out loud and clear. "You haven't said anything. Where have you been all these years?"

  "I've been traveling around." His voice sounded rusty. He had to clear it a couple of times just for that short sentence.

  "Did you think I'd be happy to see you?" Her rage was the only thing holding her together. At least it kept her from crying.

  "Yeah, I kinda thought you would be."

  "Well, you're wrong. You left us a long time ago. There's never been a word from you; not through birthdays and Christmases, graduation, Mother's Days—nothing." Her teeth clenched, her lips drawing tight and flat.

  He didn't respond.

  "You have nothing to say for yourself, do you?"

  "You turned into a beautiful woman, Sharon."

  "A big difference from the chubby ten year old you left, huh?" she snapped bitterly.

  He folded his hands in the prayer position on the table in front of him. "Yeah, I guess so."

  "Were we so terrible you had to run away? Was I so terrible?" she lashed out.

  "Sharon, honey," Linda interrupted.

  "Don't defend him, Mother. Make him answer. Why did you leave us?"

  Alan glanced at Linda.

  "Go ahead and tell her." Linda slumped forward, leaning her elbows on the table's rough surface.

  "Your mother went with another man."

  Sharon gasped, her mouth hanging open before she shut it with a snap. It was the very last thing she expected to hear. Not much louder than a whisper, she asked, "So you just left me without a word? No goodbye? No I love you, but I have to leave?"

  "That was probably wrong of me," he offered weakly.

  "Oh, boy. Wrong? You left me to suffer all these years thinking it was because of me? That I'd done something wrong. That I was too fat and ugly."

  "Fat and ugly? Why would you think that?"

  Memories flooded back. Memories she had pushed out years before. "Because you were always telling me to stop eating so much. Because you were always making fun of me. You called me Tubs! You never shut up about it."

  "I was just kidding around, baby."

  "Shut the fuck up! Don't call me baby! Destroying a little child like that is not just kidding around." She pushed herself off the bench, stood, and twirled in a circle. Frenetically, she cried, "Do you like me better now that I'm thinner? Now that I have a figure. I wasn't perfect, so you didn't like me?"

  "Sharon." Her mother finally spoke again. "Don't be so dramatic. It wasn't about you. It was about me."

  Frustrated and deflated, she balanced her fists on her hips and struggled to hold in the tears. "And how would a ten year old girl know that? All I knew was one day you were here, the next you were gone. It was just cruel. No father who loves his child would make fun of her the way you did."

  "But, honey, he's sorry now, and he's back."

  "For good?"

  Alan and Linda exchanged uneasy glances.

  "Let me tell you a little story, Alan," she said venomously. "Yeah, I was chubby at ten. I stayed chubby through much of high school, until my junior year. A guidance counselor at school talked to me, helped me deal with my weight. When I lost it, I turned pretty. Who knew? Suddenly boys who'd never noticed me before or who made fun of me wanted to date me. They wanted to fuck me." Both her parents jolted at the second use of the crude word. "Yeah, they wanted to fuck me. I hope you're proud of me now." She wasn't going to tell Alan she didn't sleep with any of the guys. Let him suffer.

  "I'm sorry," Alan muttered.

  "The boys gave me the attention I was starving for. It was better than food."

  "I was mad at your mother."

  "So you just threw me away."

  "What do you want me to say? I've said I was sorry."

  "I can't talk about this any more. I don't care what you do. Just don't do it around me." Warm tears trickled down her cheeks. She turned her face away, not wanting them to see her weakness.

  "Can't we try to make it up?" This from Linda.

  Maybe they should see how she really felt. Maybe they should see how their actions hurt her. She turned back, looked each of them directly in the eye, and said, "You've hurt me more than you want to believe. You casually tell me the reason you left and expect me to understand. And now you think I'll just forget it and make up?" The tears fell freely. "I need to go. You, Alan, can go to hell. If you take him back, Mother, you're stupider than I imagined."

  Stalking away, she scrambled into her car and drove off with no idea where she was going. She didn't give into the shakes until she pulled into a wooded rest area along the highway. It wasn't long before a police cruiser pulled up behind her. Squeezing her eyes shut, she commanded herself to get control back. If Pete were to find out this whole sordid story, he'd be sickened. He had a wonderful, close family, and he wouldn't want to deal with her baggage.

  She knew he was there but still jerked at the tap on the passenger side window.

  "Can I get in?" he asked.

  She nodded without looking at him.

  He climbed in, settled his duty belt comfortably, and pushed the seat all the way back to make room for his long legs. "Are you all right?"

  "Yeah," she replied sullenly.

  He leaned back, rested his clasped hands on his middle, and stared out the front window.

  She sighed and rubbed her temple. She was going to have to talk to him. He'd come over at just the wrong time and had seen how distressed she'd been. Why would he want to be involved in
this? He didn't know her well enough. "That man was my father. He left when I was ten. I haven't seen him since."

  "You mean he just showed up after—?"

  "Sixteen years. Yes. I'm twenty-six. It's been sixteen years."

  "You haven't seen him in all those years, and he just showed up now," he repeated.

  "Yup." Maybe he wouldn't ask anything more. Reliving her childhood pain and fear and the resulting depression exhausted her. Mentally, she'd come so far in her life. After the confrontation with her parents, she wanted to shove it all away again. If she refused to talk about it, Pete would lose interest and leave. She caught a quick breath before it came out in a sob. Was there no one to care for her? Just stop. Pete's not the one. Don't set yourself up for disappointment.

  Then he did the most unexpected thing. He wrapped his hand around her neck, his warm hand, and tugged her over. He helped her over the space between the bucket seats and installed her in his lap. She'd been there before, but what he did next was totally nonsexual and totally wonderful.

  He urged her head down to his shoulder, petted her hair, and cradled her face in his palm. His thumb brushed idly across her cheek.

  She started shivering again. No one had ever comforted her before. She'd never let anyone get this close to her past. He didn't say anything, but his silent sympathy soothed her. The fist she'd been pressing against the middle of her chest slowly relaxed. She closed her eyes and breathed in his clean, male scent while his fingertips caressed her and his warm breath wafted over her skin.

  Torn—she didn't want to be weak, but the urge to cry on his strong shoulder took over. His gentle fingers smoothed across her face, her cheeks. He traced down her nose, over her eyebrows. It wasn't sexual. He didn't touch her lips. His hold surrounded her in warmth and protection. Patiently, undemanding, he gave her time and the mental space to open up.

  Her tears trickled out. She started to dash them away, but there were too many. She buried her face in his shirt, thinking briefly it was his uniform shirt, but it was too late. Her emotions unleashed and nothing could stop them.

  "Tell me about it, Share," he said when her tears died down a little.

  "I was a chubby little girl," she tentatively began. "My parents fought so loudly. Yelled, called each other names, and threw pots and pans. I kept my head down and ate. Just mindlessly stuffed my mouth until it was all gone. I tried to be invisible."

  "But you weren't, were you?"

  "He made fun of me. Oh, God, this is so embarrassing. You don't want to hear this," she said with a sob.

  He pulled her in tighter. "It's okay, baby."

  She gripped the front of his shirt with a sweaty fist. "He called me Tubs. Isn't that sick? I can't imagine destroying your child that way, but at the time, all I knew was that I wasn't good enough. That I disgusted him."

  "What about your mother?" he asked gently.

  "She was too busy yelling at him."

  "She didn't protect you?"

  Sharon squeezed her eyes closed and shook her head.

  "Oh, God, baby, I'd have punched his lights out for you."

  She shook her head again.

  "I mean it. I've taken a lot of kids out of abusive situations."

  "You didn't hit anyone, did you?" She finally ventured to look up at him. All she saw was his strong jaw. He wasn't looking at her. He gazed out the front window, a pulse beating in his throat. She wanted to bite it and take some of his strength.

  His chest jumped with his chuckle. "Man, I wanted to, but I stayed in professional mode. Do you want me to beat up your father?"

  "Yeah," she said in a small voice. "I kinda do."

  "You got it, babe. Now, what's the rest of the story? When did he leave?"

  She slumped against him, deflated again. "I was in fourth grade. I came home from school, and he and Mom were fighting, as usual. He yelled, 'I'm going out!' She yelled, 'Good riddance.' He never came back."

  "My God."

  "We kept waiting, every day, for a long time. Then I think my mother got some note or phone call or something, and I could tell she'd quit waiting. Other men started coming around, and I kept eating." She shuddered.

  "Share," he asked, not hiding his suspicion. "Did any of the men touch you?"

  She hesitated.

  "It's okay to tell me."

  Chapter Six

  "One tried," she said, so softly she wondered if he heard. "He said he liked…um…meaty little girls."

  "Oh, baby." He tightened his arms around her.

  "I kicked him in the shin and ran away."

  "Good going," he exclaimed. "That's my brave girl. I'm so proud of you. You survived and flourished and made a nice life for yourself."

  "It wasn't easy. I made a lot of mistakes along the way."

  "We all do, honey."

  "You haven't. I've heard you talking. You have a wonderful family, a good job here, and lots of friends."

  "There's one mistake I made."

  "What?" She expected to hear about a failed marriage or an illegitimate child.

  "I didn't ask you out before Hank did."

  She moaned and buried her face deeper against his chest. He was too good to be real.

  "I mean it, Share. I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it."

  She went limp, expelling the pent up breath she'd been struggling to hold in. "Thank you, Pete."

  "You're welcome, Sharon," he replied solemnly.

  ***

  Pete fumed. How could a father be so cruel? His father would never have treated daughters that way. He had nine siblings, older and younger, all different sizes. If any one kid dared to make fun of another in that kind of personal, insulting way, they'd get a big talking to by Mom or Pop.

  He had every intention of making love to Sharon Timmons and making her feel cared for and safe. She'd told him how a counselor had helped her turn things around. Now, she's the beautiful, alluring woman of his dreams. Of course, those weren't her words. He had a feeling she didn't see herself as gorgeous and sexy. He was going to make it his mission in life to change that attitude.

  His cell phone chirped. Damn it. Unbelievable timing. "Rayne. Yeah, Route 20 and Marion Street. Okay. I'm heading there now. 10-4." He opened the car door but paused before getting out. "Auto versus truck at Twenty and Marion. I've gotta go."

  "Injuries?" she asked.

  "Yeah, two ambulances are there already."

  "Oh, my God, it must be serious. I can go with you."

  He swung one leg out the door.

  "I took CPR courses at the Red Cross since I work in the medical field. I might be able to help. Do something."

  He gazed back at her tear-streaked face. Even with her problems, she thought of other people and wanted to go to an accident scene with him. His already high respect for her, shot up. "It might be pretty bad."

  She was already leaning forward to start her ignition. "I work in people's mouths. I can take it."

  He met her eyes.

  She nodded and gave him a brief smile. "Go. We've gotta hurry. I'll follow you."

  He leaned back in and chucked her under the chin. "Later, babe," he promised. He didn't have any more time to waste. Not that being with her was a waste of time. He tore out of the rest stop, tires throwing gravel, and raced, lights and sirens, the ten miles to the scene. What he found there was horrifyingly more than he'd expected.

  A pickup hit an SUV full of kids. Jesus. He pulled his car onto the side of the road, already blocked by other cop cars and ambulances. Sirens were off, and the only sounds were paramedics eerily making brief comments to each other and the squawk of the official radios.

  The sheriff spotted him and motioned him over. "There were six kids in the SUV. Four are still in it."

  "Shit," Pete muttered, then glanced over his shoulder at Sharon's car coming to a stop, several yards down the road. Smart girl to keep her car out of the way of the emergency vehicles.

  "Here, miss, you can't come over here. It's an accident scene," the
sheriff yelled at Sharon.

  "Sheriff," Pete said. "She's trained in CPR and might be able to help."

  "Well, search for the other two kids. Jesus, how far can they have been thrown?"

  Pete grabbed Sharon's hand. "Share, two kids were thrown from the SUV. Start there." He pointed to the barbed wire fence between the drainage ditch and the cornfield. "Walk several yards in one direction, into the cornfield a few feet, and back in the other direction. I'll take the other side. Shout out if you find anything."

  She nodded and headed for her task, her expression grim.

  ***

  Sharon tried to quell her shaking. Two children were out here. Please God, keep them alive. While she stepped carefully, she listened for anything other than wind sighing through corn stalks. Any little moan or whimper. It became strangely quiet as she went further into the field. She couldn't see or hear what was going on at the highway. Maybe her search parameters were too small. Maybe she should go farther up and down on each side.

  She started calling, gently. Maybe if a child heard a voice, they would make a sound. Her heart thudded at the thought of an injured kid lying out here, alone and frightened. "I'm here to help you. Call out, if you can. Cry. I'll hear you."

  Back and forth, she tramped. Her eyes stung from holding back tears. They wouldn't do any good and would just hinder the search. Flies and gnats bombarded her face and arms. She fanned them away. Nipping from bugs was minor compared to the search. Sweat dripped down her face. The sun was straight overhead, beating down on the stifling cornfield.

  Maybe they're both on the other side of the road? Just when she feared she wouldn't find anyone, she heard the sound. Like a baby bird's chirp. She straightened, turned in the direction she thought it came from, and closed her eyes in concentration. There it was again. Clearer. She shoved aside corn stalks, heading toward the sound.

  Oh, God. A small body lying flat in the dirt. Silent, but with big blue eyes staring up at her. Alive!

  She immediately shouted back toward the highway. "Here! Over here. I found one!" She ripped off her tank top, to wave above the corn so they could get a location on her. She had a bra on, thank God, but she would have used her top anyway. Finding the child was more important than bare boobs. Kneeling at the boy's side, she glanced over his dirty, tear-streaked face and torn T-shirt.