by Joy Fielding
Robin debated telling Sheriff Prescott about the events of the previous night—how she’d seen Landon sneak out of the house after midnight, how she’d watched him climb onto the back of a motorcycle and drive off into the darkness. Anything to deflect suspicion from Alec.
“Are you all right?” the sheriff asked. “Your face is kind of…”
Scrunched up? Robin pushed at her cheeks with her fingers, as if trying to smooth away any errant signs of emotion. Damn it. “I’m fine.”
“Is there something you want to tell me?” he asked after several seconds of silence.
Again Robin considered telling the sheriff about the events of the previous night. Again, loyalty toward her family won out. “No,” she said finally. “There’s nothing.”
* * *
—
“Cassidy seems to be making great progress,” Robin said to her sister as they were driving home. “The doctor said that if she continues to improve at this rate, she could conceivably be released by the end of the week.”
“Which begs the question…where exactly is she going to go?” Melanie asked. “I know I said she’d come home with me, but I didn’t mean forever. I have enough on my plate.”
Robin gave the question a moment’s thought. Melanie wasn’t being unreasonable. And Cassidy had admitted to being scared of Landon. Her cavernous new home was a crime scene, her mother dead, her stepfather in a coma. She wanted nothing to do with her newly resurfaced biological father. Her grandparents were God knows where. Which left only foster care.
Or me, Robin thought. Was she really prepared to take Tara’s child back to Los Angeles to live with her? What would Blake think of that? “Look. There’s something I need to talk to you about. It concerns Landon.”
“What about him?”
“I saw him. Last night.”
Melanie’s shoulders tensed. She turned the corner abruptly and pulled the car to a stop at the side of the road, shutting off the engine, then swiveling around to face her sister. “What exactly did you see?”
“I saw him go downstairs and out the front door. I followed him. Do you think we could leave the air-conditioning on? It’s so hot…”
“You followed him,” Melanie repeated, ignoring her request.
“It was after midnight. I was worried…”
“You were curious,” Melanie corrected. “There’s a difference.”
Robin told her sister about Landon waiting by the side of the road and the motorcycle that picked him up, watching as Melanie’s hands formed fists in her lap. “Help me out here, Melanie. I’m trying to understand.”
“Your trying to understand is going to land my son behind bars. I’m sure the sheriff was salivating when you told him this.”
“I didn’t tell him.”
“No?” Melanie looked momentarily relieved. “Well, that’s something, I guess. Thank you for that.” She restarted the car, pulling away from the curb with such a jolt that Robin’s head almost hit the front window, despite her seat belt. Neither sister said another word for the duration of the ride home. “Who the hell is that?” Melanie asked as they turned onto Larie Lane.
Robin looked toward the late-model white Lexus sitting in her sister’s driveway, her gaze shifting to the man beside it, who stood looking anxiously toward them. “Oh, my God.”
“You know this person?” Melanie asked.
“I don’t believe it,” Robin said, barely recognizing the sound of her own voice. “It’s Blake.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
She couldn’t stop looking at him.
They were walking down the road, the same route she’d taken with her sister the day before, and every few seconds Robin snuck a peek at him, just to make sure he was really there, that he wasn’t a figment of her overripe imagination.
They’d spoken only a handful of sentences since she stepped out of the car. She’d wanted to race into his arms, smother his beautiful face with kisses, but something about the rigidity of his stance, the set of his jaw, the flatness of his gaze, had stopped her, warning her to keep her distance. “Thank God you’re here,” she’d wanted to shout. “What are you doing here?” was what she’d said, stepping into an awkward embrace, Blake’s lips missing hers to graze the side of her hair.
“Do you really have to ask?”
“I take it this is the fiancé,” Melanie said, not waiting to be introduced as she walked past them to the front door.
“Nice meeting you,” Blake called after her.
“When did you get here?” Robin asked.
He checked his watch. “About half an hour ago. I knocked, but no one answered. I debated going to the hospital, then decided I might as well just wait out here.”
Robin glanced toward Landon’s room, saw him staring down at them from the upstairs window. “You must be broiling.”
“I’m okay. How’s your father?”
“Not good.”
“I’m sorry.”
“But Cassidy seems to be getting stronger, so that’s something.” Robin looked toward her father’s house, surrounded by its yellow fence of police tape. “That’s the house…”
“I figured.”
“Sorry. I guess it’s pretty obvious.” As obvious as the distance between us, Robin thought.
“No need to apologize.”
When had they become so stiff, so formal, with each other? Robin felt a line of perspiration dribble down her neck, although Blake seemed comfortable enough. He looked as cool as ever in his crisp blue shirt and khaki pants.
“How are you holding up?” he asked.
“Me? I’m fine.”
“You look exhausted.”
Robin’s hand flew to her hair, as if her unruly curls were the source of her fatigue. “Are you thirsty? Do you want to come inside, have a drink of something cold?”
“No. I’m okay. I think I’d rather take a walk, stretch my legs a bit, if you don’t mind.”
“A walk sounds good.”
Robin strode down the long driveway, Blake falling into place beside her. She longed to take his hand, to hug him close, but settled for the occasional graze of the back of his hand against hers as they walked. We might as well be strangers, she thought.
Maybe that was what they were.
“You seem shocked that I’m here,” he said after a few minutes of strained silence.
“I guess I am.”
“Why does it surprise you?”
The question caught her off guard. Maybe because we haven’t spoken in days. Maybe because you haven’t returned any of my messages. “You didn’t tell me you were coming,” she answered, the safest option.
“You didn’t tell me you were leaving,” he countered.
“What?” Why was he bringing this up now? “I called your office,” she reminded him.
“And left a message with my assistant. Told her you had to go back home because of a family emergency.”
“Which was true.”
“It was also something of an understatement, wouldn’t you say?”
“Yes, okay. But at the time I didn’t really know what was going on and I didn’t want to worry you…”
“So you were thinking about me?”
“Well, no, I probably wasn’t thinking at all.” What’s happening here? Why are we having this discussion? Why do I feel as if I have to defend myself? “Okay. Look. Maybe I should have insisted on speaking to you before I left. I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings, but we’ve spoken a number of times since then and…”
“You think this is about hurt feelings?” he interrupted.
“To be honest, I don’t know what this is.” She stopped when she realized that Blake was no longer beside her. She turned around to see him standing several paces back, not moving. “What’s wrong?” she asked, returning to his side.
“You tell me.”
Really? “Well, Tara is dead and my father is barely hanging on. My brother’s car was photographed in Red Bluff on the night of the shooting
s, and he seems to have disappeared off the face of the earth. The sheriff obviously considers him a suspect, along with my nephew. Then there’s some guy named Donny Warren who may or may not have been having an affair with Tara and…”
“All very interesting, but that’s not what I meant and you know it.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Neither do I.”
“Tell me what you don’t understand,” Robin said, adopting a more conciliatory tone and picturing herself leaning back in her office chair, pen poised over her notebook, encouraging a shy client with a friendly smile.
Blake shook his head, clearly picturing the same thing. “You’re doing it again.”
“What am I doing?”
“Whenever I try to have any kind of a serious discussion with you these days, you turn into a therapist.”
“I am a therapist.”
“You’re also my fiancée. We’re supposed to be on the same page. We’re supposed to tell each other things, to be there for each other. Why are you cutting me off?”
“I’m not cutting you off.”
“The hell you aren’t.”
“You’ve been very busy at work, with meetings…” With your new assistant.
“You’re saying this is my fault?”
“I’m not saying this is anybody’s fault. I’m not even sure what you’re talking about.”
“I’m talking about us. I’m talking about the fact that something’s changed with us, and I don’t know what it is and I don’t understand why.”
“My father’s been shot. My best friend is dead.” You’re screwing your assistant.
“You don’t have any friends,” he said. “You haven’t talked to your ‘best friend’ in almost six years. The minute anybody gets too close, you pull away.”
“Whoa. Hold on. You’re the one who hasn’t been returning my phone calls.”
“Because we never say anything,” Blake said. “ ‘Hello. How are you? I’m fine. How are you?’ What the hell, Robin? Your life gets turned upside down and you shut me out completely. What did I do to deserve that? When did I become the enemy?”
“You’re not the enemy. I’m not shutting you out.”
“You want to know why I didn’t tell you I was coming? Because I knew you’d tell me not to bother. That you were fine. And maybe you are fine. But we’re not.”
Oh, God. Were they really having this discussion? Now?
“You’re saying you want to call off our engagement?”
Blake looked stunned. “No. Of course I don’t want to call off our engagement. Is that what you want?”
“No, that’s not what I want.”
“What do you want?”
“I want you.”
“Well, I’m here. And I drove all night to get here. Damn it, Robin. I’m standing right in front of you.”
The first few notes of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony began emanating from Blake’s pocket. “Shit. Sorry,” he said, pulling out his cell phone and glancing at the caller ID. “It’s the office.”
“Then you’d better answer it.”
Blake turned away, lowering his voice. “Kelly, what’s up?”
Robin resumed walking up the road, the sun beating down on the top of her head like hot liquid gold. She was perspiring heavily. I bet Kelly doesn’t perspire, she thought. I bet the humidity never causes her perfectly straight blond hair to spiral out of control. I bet that when Blake runs his hands through it, it feels soft and silky, not like a ball of steel wool.
“Sorry about that,” Blake said, returning his cell phone to his pocket as he hurried to catch up to her.
“How long have you been sleeping with your assistant?” Robin asked, the words out of her mouth before she could stop them.
“What!”
“Please answer the question, counselor.”
“You think Kelly and I are sleeping together?”
“Aren’t you?”
“No. No,” he repeated. “Why would you even think that?”
“Kelly’s a beautiful girl.”
“So what? L.A. is filled with beautiful girls.”
“And you could have any one of them.”
“There’s only one girl I want. You.”
“We haven’t made love in weeks. You’re always working late.”
“It’s been a crazy busy time, that’s all, and you’re always asleep when I get home.”
“Because you don’t get home till after midnight.”
“I know that I’ve been working a lot of late nights. I’m trying to make partner.” Blake’s hands fluttered aimlessly in the air. “Maybe I haven’t been as attentive as I should. I’ve been preoccupied, and I’m sorry about that. But I’m not having an affair with my assistant. I’m not having an affair with anyone.” He hesitated. “I’m not your father, Robin.”
Shit.
“You have to stop projecting his face onto mine.”
“Now who’s playing therapist?”
“I’m just saying…”
“I know what you’re saying, and you’re way off the mark.”
“Am I?”
“I’m not some little girl with daddy issues.”
“Nobody said you were a little girl.”
“Really? What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that I would never cheat on you.”
“All men cheat,” she heard Tara say.
“You have to trust me.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?” Blake repeated. “What does that mean?”
Robin looked toward the ground, his words swirling around in her head like a swarm of angry bees. “I don’t know.”
She heard a rumble in the distance, and for a second she thought it might be thunder. Which would be good. Thunder meant rain. And a little rain would cool things off, give them a chance to catch their breath. It was only as the rumble drew closer that she recognized it as the sound of an approaching motorcycle.
The large bike slowed down as it passed. The same one that had picked Landon up last night? The rider wasn’t wearing a helmet, affording Robin a fleeting glance of his deeply tanned face and the sandy-colored hair that stopped just short of dark, deep-set eyes. His arms, stretched out before him on the handlebars, were muscular and bare beneath his sleeveless black leather vest. In the next second, he picked up speed and the motorcycle disappeared down the road.
“You know that guy?” Blake asked.
Robin shook her head. “We should go back.” She turned and hurried down the road, Blake on her heels.
The man and his Harley were nowhere in sight when they reached her sister’s driveway.
They stood for several seconds in silence, Robin aware that Landon was staring down at them from his bedroom window.
“Do you want me to leave?” Blake asked.
“I want you to do whatever you feel is right.”
“Damn it, Robin. I’m asking what you want.”
Robin stared into Blake’s face, catching her father’s reflection in the shadow falling across his eyes. It took all her resolve to push that image aside, although she felt it lingering just outside her line of vision. “I want you to stay.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
They left for the hospital before ten the next morning.
“Somebody looks happy,” Melanie commented, climbing into the backseat of Blake’s car. “I take it you two slept well.”
“We did,” Robin said from the front seat, smiling as she snapped her seat belt into place.
“The bed big enough for the two of you?”
“We managed,” Blake said.
“Hopefully you managed quietly. Teenage boys are quite impressionable, as I’m sure you remember.”
“I think we were pretty quiet,” Blake said easily. “Don’t you, Robin?”
Robin smiled. The fact was they’d gone right to sleep. They were both completely spent—Blake from his long drive, Robin from the events of the day, and both of them from tiptoeing
around the eggshells that Melanie had been constantly scattering at their feet. They’d managed a few tender kisses and tentative caresses before being overwhelmed by a combination of fatigue and the relentless rocking from the next room. Robin had lain beside him, wrapped in the comforting cocoon of his embrace, feeling the steady beat of his heart against her back.
“I’m not your father,” he’d told her. “You have to stop projecting his face onto mine. You have to trust me.”
He was right, of course.
But it would be hard. To do it, she’d have to let go of the only thing that connected her to her father, to loosen her viselike grip on the past. Could she do it?
Did she want to?
However destructive, there was something inherently comforting about familiar patterns. As a therapist, she knew that efforts to change, to break free of ingrained habits, were usually accompanied by counter-instincts to “change back,” to take refuge in the way things had always been.
The past is always with us.
Did it have to be?
She woke to the touch of Blake’s lips grazing the top of her shoulder as his hands reached around to cup her breasts. Was she dreaming? Seconds later, he was lifting her nightgown and pushing gently into her, his face buried in the nape of her neck. They rocked together, their bodies unconsciously mimicking the rocking coming from the next room. If this is a dream, Robin thought, it’s the best dream I’ve had in a long while.
Except there was no question now that they were awake. Instead of Blake’s warm breath on the nape of her neck, she felt the heat of Melanie’s impatient sighs from the backseat.
“Everything all right back there?” Blake asked, checking his rearview mirror.
“Hunky-dory,” Melanie replied.
“I take it that Landon won’t be joining us.”
“Landon’s not very keen on hospitals.”
“Don’t know many people who are,” Blake said, backing down the driveway. “You’ll tell me where to go?” he asked as they reached the road.
“With pleasure,” Melanie said.
Robin released a sigh of her own. “Can we please give the sarcasm a rest for a few hours?”
Melanie laughed. “Oh, lighten up.” She sat forward in her seat, stretching toward Blake. “Tell me, Blake. Is my sister always this humorless?”
