Brave talk for a man quivering in his boots.
What if the next time Jacob came calling, he couldn’t break free? What if he had to live the rest of his life peering through someone else’s eyes? Or would Jacob eventually take over completely and Tom would cease to exist? Was that even possible?
He slumped forward, resting his head on the steering wheel, and broke down. His sobs woke Max who sat up and laid a paw on Tom’s arm.
20
June 19
Her screams of pain forced Annie out of sleep. She could tell only that she was sitting in the dark, her back against something hard. A second later, Kate switched on the light.
“My God, Annie, why are you cowering in the corner?”
Kate ran across the room, pulled Annie to her feet, and brushed aside the hair hanging in her face. For a few seconds, Annie’s eyes were unfocused, and then she shuddered violently, shaking off the dream like a dog shedding water.
“I was … dreaming,” she said, her voice still thick with sleep. “Oh, thank God, I was just dreaming.” She climbed onto her bed and hugged her knees close to her chest. “In the dream”—a squeak of a moan escaped her and she covered her face with her hands—“in the dream, someone was beating me, and at first I thought it was Gary, but it wasn’t. It wasn’t Gary, because I wasn’t me.” She dropped her hands and looked at Kate to see if she understood.
“You were Maggie,” Kate said.
Annie nodded. “That psychic was right. Maggie’s husband did abuse her. Oh, God. I was terrified. And the pain …” She reached for Kate’s hand, craving a loving touch. “I felt like a child. Maggie was so young, Kate. He was an old man, but strong, my God, he was strong … and cold. So cold.” She shivered as if the memory clutched her in icy arms. “It was … all too familiar.”
Kate sat down beside her. Annie took a deep breath and then forced a smile, hoping to convince Kate she was all right now.
“She looked like you.”
“Maggie? How could you see what she looked like if you were her?”
“I saw her yesterday morning … in the mirror.”
“What mirror?” Kate jumped up from the bed alarmed, as if Maggie might appear in front of her eyes at any moment.
“The bathroom mirror.” Annie laughed when Kate’s eyes slid toward the bathroom door.
“This isn’t funny, Annie.”
“Oh? It was cool when you thought I only saw her in my head.”
“That was different.” Kate sat down on the end of the bed with the bathroom door fully in sight. “She wasn’t a ghost then.”
“She’s not a ghost now. She’s a part of me.”
“Uh-huh.” Kate was not convinced.
“Her hair was darker red than yours, and her eyes were green instead of blue … but they were shaped like yours.”
Kate said nothing, so Annie continued.
“She was more a lady than you though, I’m sure.”
Kate couldn’t help smiling at that. “Did she talk to you in the bathroom?”
“No, not audibly. I hear what she thinks.”
Kate nodded solemnly. “So what does Maggie think?”
Annie turned on her side, leaned on one elbow and rested her head on her hand. “She wants to be with Jacob—”
“Which means she wants you to be with Tom.”
“Yes.” That explained it all.
“But doesn’t she know that Tom has decided to stay with his wife?”
“I don’t know if she knows that or not.” Annie paused and narrowed her eyes at Kate. “But you said he’s not happy with his wife, remember?”
Kate stood up. “That was just a feeling I got when I saw them at Delvecchio’s that night. But the situation might have ch—”
“You’ve encouraged me all along, Kate.”
Kate looked down at her hands and started picking at her nail polish. “I just want you to be happy, Annie.”
“But you think I’d be happy with Tom, right?”
“Hey, what’s with the interrogation?” Kate slid off the bed and moved toward the door. “It’s the middle of the night. I’m going back to sleep.”
Annie sat up. “Kate, come back here, I’m not done talking.”
“Well, I am. ’Night, Sissy.” She closed the door behind her.
*
Julie should have known better than to think Patricia would hush when they entered the salon. She missed only a beat or two as Julie let the manicurist know she’d arrived for her appointment. It was a good thing the manicure station was at the front near the waiting area because Patricia clearly intended to continue her yammering. Though, knowing Patricia, she probably would have shouted from one end of the salon to the other if she had to.
“It’s obvious,” Patricia said, “you don’t really believe you need to talk to Tom about this. You’ve put it off too long.”
“You’ve certainly told me that enough times, but it’s not as easy as you seem to think it is.”
“And it’s not as hard as you think it is. You know what you have to do, you just won’t do it.”
Julie sighed and started to turn toward Patricia, but the manicurist’s tug on her hand stopped her. “I told him last night about the California trip.”
“And he didn’t even get angry about that, so why didn’t you spell out the whole situation to him. Why you feel a need to give it more thought is beyond me.”
Julie glanced up just as the hairdresser in the station opposite her lowered her eyes, pretending she hadn’t been listening. Why was it that Patricia’s sense of sophistication did not extend to an understanding of what should be kept private? Stupid question. These girls were merely servants in Patricia’s eyes. Invisible and insignificant.
“And no, Tom didn’t say anything when I told him about the trip, but of course he was upset. He left the house without a word and didn’t come back for hours.”
“Ha! And where do you think he went?”
Julie wanted this conversation to end. Lately, with both Patricia’s and Eddie’s non-stop haranguing, she couldn’t think straight. “This is my decision to make, not yours.”
“Okay, fine.”
Patricia made a show of sighing with exasperation. Julie hoped she’d given up, for now, but thirty seconds later, Patricia started in again.
“Do it your way, but it’s not going to be any easier for you tomorrow, or next week, or whenever you get around to it.”
“It’s not going to be easy for him either.”
“I couldn’t care less about that, honey, and neither should you.” She snatched up a magazine.
Julie said nothing, hoping she’d let Patricia have the last word.
*
Eddie lounged by the pool drinking champagne. He’d toyed with the idea of burying the bodies at Tom’s construction site but decided that would be more trouble than it was worth. Actually, it didn’t matter where he left them. He’d be long gone before they were found.
No need to clean up any mess. When the police traced the DNA, it would identify the killer—but not as him. He took another sip and feigned an apologetic face. Poor guy would take the rap without ever enjoying any of the fun. Eddie cackled with delirium.
His plan would soon reach its glorious crescendo. He, Julie, and Patricia would leave for Los Angeles this evening. He would return alone. Oh, the joy of destruction. He shuddered with the ecstasy of anticipation. Revenge would be honey in his mouth. Sweeter than honey if he had young Lindsay for dessert.
*
Because of the rain delays, Tom scheduled the crews to work on Saturday. He’d tried several times to find a break in the morning to call his brother, but every time he reached for the phone, someone walked into his office with a paper for him to sign or a problem for him to solve. Finally, about noon, he drove off the site headed to a Wendy’s. He sat in the restaurant parking lot and wolfed down a double with everything before he dialed Dave’s number.
The second his brother answered the phone, To
m blurted out his reason for calling. “We won’t be coming down to visit this year.”
After a moment of silence, Dave responded. “Okay. I thought it was all set. What’s up?”
Tom swallowed a mouthful of fries and stuffed the rest back in the sack. “It was all set with me, but I guess I should have checked with Julie first.”
“Am I going to have to force the story out of you?”
“Sorry.” Tom took a deep breath, puffed his cheeks and then slowly let the air escape while he tried to figure out the best—least self-incriminating—way to explain. “The story is, Julie’s taking her own vacation … to California. Without me and Lindsay.”
“And when it’s all said and done, this means what?”
Tom cleared his throat before answering. “It means she wants a divorce.”
“She said that?”
“Not in those words, no. But she’s been working up to it for days, and then finally last night she told me she’s leaving for California on Saturday. Today!”
“She’s leaving today, and you just found out?”
“My reaction exactly.”
“So, you think she’s been trying to ask you for a divorce for days why?”
“Because of the way she’s been acting, like there was something she wanted to say, but—”
“No,” Dave said, “I mean why do you think she wants a divorce?”
“I don’t know. She’s not happy … I guess.” His voice sounded as weak as his reasoning.
“Hold on. Are you telling me you have no idea why Julie wants a divorce, you just know that she does?”
Tom didn’t answer because that’s exactly what he was saying, and Dave’s tone made it clear he wasn’t buying.
“Okay then, let’s play twenty questions.” Dave’s voice carried more than a hint of sarcasm. “What have you two been fighting about?”
“Nothing really.”
“So, you’re not fighting. Then what has Julie been upset with you about?”
“It’s not”—he sighed again—“she’s … nothing.”
“Uh-huh. I’m beginning to see the picture.” A curious mixture of humor and exasperation colored Dave’s tone. “What have you been upset with Julie about?”
“It’s not like that. You know how we’ve become, we’re … distant. I guess it’s just that, and now with Lindsay getting ready to go off to college, well—”
“Julie wants a little time to herself, is that it?”
“Yes, well … partly.”
After only a brief silence, Dave said, “What’s her name, Tom?”
“What? Julie’s name?”
“No, you idiot. I’m talking about the woman you’ve got on the side. The one you feel so guilty about that you’re jumping to the conclusion Julie wants a divorce.”
Tom froze, his mouth hanging open.
“Come on, ’fess up.”
“There’s no woman. Not anymore.”
“Not since Julie didn’t ask you for a divorce, you mean?”
“Yes. No. I broke it off before that.” Tom sought damage control before Dave could respond. “It wasn’t really anything. I’d only known her two weeks. We didn’t have sex or anything.”
“Two weeks?” Dave didn’t pause for a response. “Your guilty conscience is just playing games with you, man.”
“I don’t think so. Julie’s going to ask for a divorce. I know it.”
“Yeah? Well, you’re in the position to know. How do you feel about it?
“What do you mean, how do I feel? How would you feel if Becky asked you for a divorce?”
“I’d be devastated, Tom. But then I love Becky with all my heart.”
Dave’s implication had the same effect as a punch to his gut. By the time he got his breath back, he’d decided to end their conversation. “I’ve got to get back to work.”
“Hold on a minute. Don’t you hang up on me just when we’re starting to get somewhere.”
“No, really, I need to get back to work.” Tom did his best to sound as though everything was cool. “I’ll call you later from home.”
“I hope you will,” Dave said. “But if I don’t hear from you soon, I’ll be hounding you. Got it?”
“I got it, and thanks, man.”
“Hey, what are big brothers for?”
Tom headed back to the mobile office. He had no right to get angry with Dave for the jibe comparing their marriages. Dave and Becky were still madly in love with each other after nineteen years. Madly in love like he and Julie used to be.
It shook him that Dave had guessed there was another woman involved. Did his brother know him that well, or was it such an obvious cliché for middle-aged men that everyone else would assume the same?
*
On his way home from a horrible day at work, Tom vowed to shake that off and be civil to Julie the last few hours they’d probably ever spend in the same house. But the minute he turned into their cul de sac he saw Patricia’s car—in the middle of the driveway, blocking his access to the garage. She and Julie were standing beside the car, laughing together. At the sight of them, his anger shot to full force. He parked at the curb, slamming the truck door behind him, and strode straight into the house without a glance at either of them.
Julie’s largest suitcase sat at the bottom of the steps, in the front hall. Lindsay was upstairs in her room, apparently talking on the phone. He’d just set foot on the bottom step when Julie walked in the front door.
“I was afraid you wouldn’t get home before I had to leave,” she said.
“You’re leaving right now?” He turned to face her.
“I told you our flight—”
“No. You didn’t.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it. “I don’t want to leave with you angry, Tom.”
“Well, you can’t disappoint Patricia.”
“Tom … ”
The plea in her voice made him want to take her in his arms and beg her not to go to California, and the way she lowered her lashes and looked away quickly, made him think she would gladly stay if he asked. But a silence, almost visible, stood between them.
“Well,” she said finally, “I’d better go.” She pulled up the handle of her roller case.
“Julie, please—” She looked up at him, and he swore he could feel her hopeful expectation. The words of his heart ran for his lips but were tagged out when Patricia stepped up to the open door. He sighed. “Don’t forget to call when you get there. Lindsay will worry, if you don’t.”
“Yes … I will.” She hesitated for a moment before turning toward Patricia.
“Have a nice trip,” he said in a voice edged with ice.
What was the matter with him? Why weren’t they talking about this ugly, black and rotten thing between them? Last night he listed reasons why his marriage was doomed to failure. But a part of him—the deepest, most sincere part of him—believed the bond between them was a good thing, a strong thing. And yet, Julie was going to walk out that door, and he couldn’t bring himself to utter one word to stop her.
(Why?)
I don’t know.
He’d lost control of his life. He was two different people—and he wasn’t counting the one who dressed in buckskin. When the door closed behind Julie, he continued up the stairs. He shook like a naked man in the Arctic. He undressed and stepped into the shower, adjusting the water as hot as he could stand. Turning his back to the spray, he braced his hands against the tiles and let go. The salt of his tears stung worse than the scalding shower. His diaphragm convulsed with sobs.
Sometime later, when he wiped the steam from the bathroom mirror, he half expected to see both the faces he wore now. Only the haggard face of the louse he’d become stared back at him.
During dinner, Lindsay tried hard to keep a cheery conversation going, but Tom responded in monosyllables when he responded at all. After they cleared the table and cleaned up the kitchen, Lindsay escaped the obvious tension by driving off in a carload of her frie
nds. Tom sat stone-faced in front of the TV, flipping through the channels, not really watching anything. Exhausted from the stress of the day, his eyes grew heavy.
Her skin felt almost feverish beneath his fingers as he trailed them lightly from her throat to her breast. The warm scent of her passion mingled with the scents of the woods around them. She felt so small, so fragile beneath him. He braced himself on a forearm as he lifted her thigh to rest against his hip. Her gasp in his ear, as he guided himself into her, radiated a thrill through his loins. Undulating in languid rhythm, he was conscious only of the growing tension in that red-hot area of his body. Finally he cried out in release and collapsed beside her, showering grateful kisses on her neck, her lips, her glorious auburn hair—
Tom jerked upright in his chair, breathing hard and drenched in sweat. In horror, he realized he’d just dreamed of making love to Kate. He jumped up in an effort to shake off the dream, and stumbled into the kitchen. As he bent over the sink, gulping cold water straight from the tap, the details of the dream came back to him.
Yes, the woman had red hair, but it was darker than Kate’s. He replayed the dream in his mind. An icy finger ran down his spine as it dawned on him that he’d seen that same red hair before—in the visions. He was not the man in the dream … Jacob was.
“Goddammit,” he muttered into the dark kitchen, “now I’m having wet dreams for the son of a bitch!”
He punched the power button on the TV as he walked by on his way upstairs. He undressed in the dark and went to the bathroom to brush his teeth. Guilt stabbed him at the sight of his brush and toothpaste laid out for him as Julie had done every night of their marriage. God, what a jerk he was. Knowing how nervous flying made her, he’d sent her off with nothing but a smartass comment. He was beyond counting the strikes against himself.
*
Eddie and Patricia had chattered with excitement all the way to the airport, through the checkin and security lines, and while they waited to board the plane. Now as they located their seats—Eddie always flew first class—Julie’s nerves were stretched as tight as the smile on her face. Their incessant cheerfulness was at least in part for her benefit, so she felt obligated to play along, but her heart was not in it. Her heart was back home.
Forever Page 19
