by Ronica Black
She ran until her legs ached and her lungs screamed out for mercy, wet sand flying up behind her as she blazed a trail along the dark beach. She ran until she could no longer breathe, until a stabbing in her side insisted she stop. Nearly tripping, she slowed and rested her hands on her knees. Then, looking back toward the distant house, she sucked in powerful gusts of salty air and nearly collapsed as she realized one thing.
No matter how fast or far she ran, Shawn Ryan would forever be in her mind.
*
Yonkers, New York
Veronica had cheated.
Cheated.
Cheated on her! With Sloan fucking Savage.
The slut.
Slut Savage.
She downed some more burning whiskey and then tossed the bottle aside, hearing it thud as it hit the carpet.
She needed him now. More than ever. That voice. His eyes. The tender love. Yes yes, the tender love. Tender love no one else had given her. But he had.
Now she was alone. And she was hurting. Why did you do it, Veronica? Why didn’t she call her so they could be together? And then they would have the tender love.
Oh, how she longed for it. Veronica, Veronica.
Her love.
Her tender love.
She closed her eyes and curled up into a ball.
She imagined being back at the house when she was young. She could smell its musty scent, remembered the moldy walls and the dim light, the warmth of her breath as it came back to her when she slept in the small space.
Slowly, she began to relax. She was safe there. So quiet. Cave-like. Cocooned. Hot. Soft. Silent.
Until the crying. The crying and crying. She hated the crying and she tugged her pillow over her ears. She rocked. And rocked. Until the cries grew muffled and finally disappeared.
Then she was safe again.
In the home on the hill.
Where Veronica awaited her with open arms.
With the sun shining bright. So bright she had to squint. Yes, she was there. Waiting. She could smell her. See the tiny beads of sweat on her neck.
She hopped up from the bed and slid her feet into her shoes. Veronica. She was there. With her.
Yes.
She snapped on a surgical glove and retrieved the letter from the table. Her sunglasses felt cool against her skin as she pushed them on and stepped out into the bright sunshine.
She floated as if on a cloud to the mailbox. Veronica, Veronica. She deposited the envelope and stared down at the sidewalk as she walked. People were all around her now and she was extremely anxious and uncomfortable. She just kept thinking of her love. Of the home. On the hill.
Looking down, she walked briskly, weaving in and out of people, careful not to look at their faces. It didn’t matter that she wore sunglasses. They could see. They could see her thoughts and her fears. They would know what she thought of herself. But most important, they would judge.
She shoved her hands inside her big jacket and pulled off the latex glove she had used to deposit the envelope. While she was careful to leave no prints, she made it a point to leave her DNA on the stamp. DNA wouldn’t identify her right away like a fingerprint would. For DNA comparison they would have to catch her first. Something she was not worried about. So she left her mark purposely, secretly letting the world know that it was her, that she held the power.
She walked on, still thinking of Veronica and the waiting and the sunshine. She clung to the vision, held it tightly against her heart. But every beat brought Veronica’s image, her scent, her sweat.
She had to get control. Get her head where it needed to be. She had things to take care of, but she had to take her time and do it right.
She needed to get a grip. Something to ease her insides. The whiskey was dangerous. It stirred her fears and her anger, stirred them up inside.
Cars whizzed by as she crossed the busy street and ducked into a used bookstore. She relaxed a little as she stepped inside. The place was familiar and quiet and generally uncrowded. She felt safe here, wandering down the aisles, the smell of the books filling her nose. She didn’t have much money, but it was just as well.
She reached out and ran her hand across the spines. What would it be today? Fiction or nonfiction? She generally chose nonfiction, choosing to read about people that really existed, relishing their tragedies as well as their triumphs. She could live vicariously through them, something she loved to do since she was so afraid of the world.
He had brought her books. Worn paperbacks. Presents. She would always get lost in them. First in their smell, which she inhaled when she first got them, and then in their words. She loved them.
A brightly covered book caught her eye and she stopped to examine it. It was science fiction, her other great love. She flipped through the pages and inhaled deeply. Yes, she loved this genre as well. Loved the adventure, the idealism, the morals. She wished she could exist in a world different than her own, wished she could interact with brave and noble people, content in the ideal worlds in which they lived.
She smiled and held on to the book. Yes, she would get two today. One science fiction and one true crime. She made her way over to the nonfiction section and found a book about the Green River Killer. Six dollars total for both. She could live with that. She held them carefully and went to check out.
In her mind Veronica still stood in the sunshine, in front of the house on the hill, arms open wide.
Chapter Seven
Hilton Head, South Carolina
Kennedy awoke from her light slumber on the recliner downstairs. Fan mail was strewn at her feet, most of it useless. She’d gone through two boxes before the words had started running together. She glanced at her watch. It was after eight a.m. and she had been asleep for a couple of hours. Sitting up, she listened intently to the sounds of the house. Monty sat at the kitchen table reading a newspaper, and she mentally chided herself for falling asleep in front of him. She didn’t want him to think of her as weak.
Slowly, she stood and stretched. She had been up most of the night, unable to get Shawn from her mind. The image of her standing in that bathtub nude and dripping wet had assaulted her all night long. Nothing, it seemed, could shake Shawn from her mind. Not even the stacks of fan mail she’d been going through. She approached the kitchen counter and poured herself a mug of steaming coffee.
“Good morning,” she said as she made herself comfortable at the table.
“Morning,” he grumbled, not sounding all that rested himself. She suspected he didn’t sleep well, the shooting no doubt replaying in his mind, not letting him rest.
“Did you get any sleep?”
“Some.”
“It’ll get better,” she said softly, taking another sip of her coffee.
“I’ll believe it when it happens.” He met her eyes briefly. He wasn’t convinced.
“If you ever want to talk about it…I’m here.” She felt for him. Could see the pain and anguish nestled in the wrinkles on his face.
“I don’t think it’ll help.”
“Couldn’t hurt.” She offered a weak smile.
Monty looked at her for a moment as if examining her true motives. Then, deciding she was truly offering her ear, he smiled back and flipped a section of the paper, angling it better to see.
“I saw the bastard,” he said softly looking at the paper as he spoke. “I saw the bastard that shot her.”
Kennedy repositioned herself in the chair, sitting up straighter. She’d seen the useless artist’s sketch, had heard Monty’s story through her colleagues and the written reports. But she wanted to hear this for herself.
“Tell me about it,” she said.
“He—”
“He?”
“Yeah, looked like a man.”
“How so?”
“Big coat, you know, had an NFL logo on it. Ball cap, short hair.”
“Was there facial hair?”
“A mustache.”
“Monty,” she started softly.
“Is there any way it could’ve been a woman in disguise?”
He thought for a moment, looking out the kitchen window to the sea beyond.
“I suppose it’s possible. He wasn’t a big guy. The coat nearly swallowed him whole.”
Kennedy breathed deep. “When did you first notice this person?”
“After the shot went off. I turned toward the noise and jumped on Veronica. As we were falling to the ground I saw him. He was shoving the gun into his coat. I could see and smell the smoke and my ears were ringing. Veronica and I hit the ground and that’s when I saw Shawn. The hole in her shoulder, the blood…” His voice trembled as he thought about the horrible scene, replaying it in his mind. “I tried…” He coughed as his throat tightened with raw emotion.
“It’s okay.” She reached out to cover his hand with her own. She didn’t usually touch people but she understood his attachment to this family, beginning to feel greatly for them herself.
As his emotion continued to pour out, she stood to get him a tissue.
“Thanks,” he said taking it and wiping his nose.
“Anytime.”
“You know, no offense,” he said. “But I never thought you would be the type to be so nice.” He chuckled a little as he spoke. “You came off as sort of a…”
“Bitch?”
“Yeah.”
“It comes with the job.”
“So why are you being so nice now?”
“Because I understand your pain. I understand how you can love this family so much.” As she said the words she thought of Rory and Kiley. She smiled as she thought of their joy, their love, their innocence. Her smile vanished as she thought of Shawn. Instead, her heart rate picked up and a wave of dizziness washed over her. Warmth spread from her stomach to her chest. All of that just from thinking of Shawn’s smile. She stared into her coffee as she thought about the affection Shawn showed her daughters. Loving them, playing with them, tucking them in at night. Yes, she could understand how Monty could care so much about this family.
“They’re easy people to love,” he said, his voice regaining its strength.
“Who is?” Shawn asked lightly as she walked into the kitchen. She was freshly scrubbed from a morning shower and Kennedy could smell the fresh scent of shampoo on her as she walked past her to the fridge.
“You are,” Monty clarified.
Shawn stared at them in front of the open fridge. “Me?”
“You and Veronica and the girls,” Monty added.
Kennedy looked away from her as Veronica’s name was spoken. While she didn’t out-and-out dislike Veronica, she certainly had no positive feelings toward her. Her fondness was for Shawn and the girls.
“Oh,” Shawn said, smiling at them both. “Thank you, Monty. We love you too.”
“Did you get any sleep?” Kennedy asked, still concerned. Shawn was still weak and somewhat pale.
“Some, thank you.” She placed the heavy-looking gallon of milk on the counter. “You two didn’t sleep?”
“Some,” Monty answered.
“Morning, Mommy!” the girls shrieked happily, bounding down the stairs. They were already dressed in shorts and sweatshirts, ready to go claim the beach as their own.
“Good morning,” Shawn said, hugging them both.
“Morning, Kennedy, morning, Monty,” Rory said as she went to hug them both with Kiley close on her heels. Kennedy stiffened a little, surprised at the easy affection. She watched as Monty smiled, hugging the girls back.
She looked up after her hugs and saw Shawn watching her.
“Sorry,” Shawn offered. “They really like you.”
“It’s okay,” Kennedy said, her heart warming at the gentle affection. She watched as Shawn retrieved bowls from the cabinet. Then she watched as she filled each bowl with Fruity Pebbles and then tried to lift the large gallon of milk to pour it into the cereal bowls. Unable to hold the milk with her injured arm, she shrieked with pain and dropped it. Kennedy moved quickly, grabbing the milk and setting it upright.
“Are you okay?” she asked, worried about the sudden flash of pain that had come over Shawn’s face.
Shawn nodded as she grabbed at her shoulder. “I should’ve known better than to try it with the bad arm.”
“Let me see.” Kennedy stepped up to her, wanting to see the wound, but she stopped herself short, realizing Shawn would have to remove her shirt.
“I think I’m okay.” Shawn continued to hold her shoulder, massaging it gently. Suddenly feeling awkward, Kennedy moved to the sink to get a rag to wipe up the milk. As she cleaned she watched Shawn, truly worried about her.
“Why don’t you sit down and rest?” Kennedy suggested, not liking the ashen look on her face. It was more than obvious that she was in terrible pain. So much so that she looked like she was about to faint. Kennedy cleaned up the mess and then she gently led Shawn to the couch where she sat for some rest.
“I’ll give the girls their cereal.”
“Mommy, are you okay?” Rory asked with fear in her little voice.
“I’m fine, sweetie. I shouldn’t have tried to lift the milk is all.”
Kennedy brought the cereal to the girls at the table. They ate happily, every once in a while looking at their mother to make sure she was really okay. Kennedy busied herself pouring Shawn some coffee and making her some toast. She figured the pain had probably nauseated her and the toast would go down easier than eggs or sugary cereal.
“Thank you,” Shawn said, looking up at her.
“You’re welcome.” There was a softness there. An understanding. It shot right through Kennedy. “You should see a doctor about that shoulder.”
Shawn glanced away. “I think I’m okay. It was just the lifting that did it.”
“I still think you should. Just to be safe. I can call one.”
“No, please don’t. I’ll think about it, okay?” She offered a smile and Kennedy didn’t argue.
Monty got up from the table and stretched, breaking the intensity. “I’m gonna go out and do my rounds.” With a wave, he disappeared out the back door.
“Mommy, are you going to play pirates with us today?” Kiley asked in-between bites of cereal.
“Oh, I don’t know, sweetie.” She winced as she tried to move her arm.
“Oh.” The girls moaned their disappointment in unison. “You promised.”
“I know and I’m sorry, but my shoulder…”
“I’ll play with you,” Kennedy said quickly. She knew how badly Shawn needed to rest. And she would do anything to make sure that she did.
“You will?” Rory asked with surprise.
“Sure.”
“Cool!”
“Yeah, big cool!” Kiley added.
“But only if you finish all your cereal,” Kennedy added. The girls grinned and happily dug back in, anxious to go play.
Shawn relaxed against the couch and finished her toast. She felt warm and fuzzy and genuinely happy for her girls. Kennedy was kind and attentive and willing to play with them, allowing her to get some rest. She was grateful and truly thankful.
She leaned back against the couch and brought her feet up off the floor. She thought back to how uncomfortable Kennedy had been the night before. How she’d done her best not to look at her in the bathtub. How she’d flushed profusely, her body stiffening.
Her heart surged with heat as she relived that moment. Kennedy was attracted to her. She knew it. Could feel it. Could almost reach out and touch it.
She had tossed and turned all night, trying to examine her own feelings, wondering why Kennedy Scott affected her so. There were many reasons, almost too many to count. But why now? What did it mean? Was it real or was she just so upset over Veronica that she was pushing everything onto Kennedy, wanting her to be some sort of savior?
She was attracted to Kennedy. She had admitted that much. But the realization only caused more questions and brought on more confusion. It left her feeling guilty, making her think about her ow
n marriage and whether or not she’d made the right decision in going ahead with a divorce. It was the right thing. It was. But it wasn’t the easy thing. The betrayal still stung. Facing that and the pending divorce would continue to be difficult. But she couldn’t turn the other cheek this time. Her mind clouded with all the negativity as she thought of Veronica. It almost hurt her head, it was so powerful and consuming.
When would it ease up? All the anger and hurt and confusion? She was tired. Too damn tired to think about it at the moment. So she eased back and breathed deep and allowed the fog to consume her, falling fast asleep.
*
Shawn awoke some time later, the house very still and quiet. She sat up slowly and looked around. Her shoulder screamed at her for the movement and she winced, wishing it would go back to just being uncomfortable. But the fall in the tub had irritated it.
Pushing herself up off the couch, she noted the time. It was after noon. She’d been asleep for hours. A soft blanket was snuggled around her, as if it had been placed with great care. She uncovered herself and stood, trying to wake up, quickly realizing that the sleep had done her good. While she was still in pain, she felt better rested, her mind clear and focused.
“Ms. Ryan,” Monty said as he walked into the kitchen.
“Where is everyone?” The house was unusually quiet and she knew her girls must be out somewhere or taking a nap.
“Down on the beach. Ms. Scott’s sister arrived.”
She walked to the back door and looked out. She’d slept through the arrival. She’d been so tired she’d nearly forgotten they were coming.
She smiled as she saw four little ones playing along the surf, pails slinging from their hands. A red dog ran along with them. Kennedy stood alongside a woman near her same height. The hair color was similar as well. It must be Keri. Opening the door with her good arm, Shawn stepped out into the salty air. She walked beyond the pool and hit the soothing sand with her bare feet. It was cold and soft, giving under her as she walked. She shaded her brow as the wind blew the scent of sea into her face. As she edged closer, her girls caught sight of her and they came bounding up to her with great excitement. She noted the bandannas tied on their heads and the jeans with the rolled-up cuffs to their knees. Both the girls wore large hoop earrings, clipped on. She laughed at the sight.
