To Know You (9781401688684)

by Ethridge, Shannon (CON)

  “We don’t know him. So we’re taking your word that he’s worth saving.”

  “None of us are worth saving. Which is what makes grace so spectacular.”

  “You do realize that words like that mean nothing. I’ve heard all this stuff before.”

  “From your parents, but not from Luke.”

  “Why don’t you watch the road and keep your paws off my love life.” Destiny opened her window an inch, slid her fingertips out.

  “Luke gets you. That’s what you said. If he’s got something to say, maybe you owe it to him to listen.”

  Destiny opened her window halfway. A rush of cold air caught Julia in the back of the neck. Within seconds, the girl’s head and shoulders were sprinkled with snow. “Pull over, pull over! There’s the exit!”

  Julia slammed the brakes. The car skidded sideways into the middle lane.

  “Don’t tap,” Destiny yelled. “Antilock, press them. Don’t tap, you idiot.”

  Drive into the skid. Matt’s voice or God’s? It must be divine because driving into the skid was so counterintuitive.

  “Antilock, stop tapping!”

  The car slid into the left lane, facing the wrong way. Destiny fought her for the steering wheel to turn against the skid.

  “No no no, you’re pushing wrong, let me let me!” Julia shoved her injured hand under the horn so she was fighting the car with her left hand and her right arm. Into the skid, into the skid, my child and her hands stopped shaking and Destiny stopped yelling.

  The car did a complete 360 and then slid sideways along the middle lane, at least in the direction of traffic. There was no traffic. If they flew off the road, they would be buried in snow and not discovered for days.

  I have always known you, Julia. Always known where you are.

  “Oh, God,” Destiny said and Julia prayed yes, dear Father, remember my little girls as the slide continued.

  The car bashed into the guardrail on Destiny’s side and the air bag blew.

  And it was over.

  Destiny coughed and pushed down the remains of the air bag. “I need a shower. There’s, like, dust or something from the air bag.”

  Julia tentatively tried the gas, was surprised when the car actually moved forward. She turned the wheel very slowly to maneuver back into the lane. “Thank God that you don’t need an ambulance. And I mean that literally, thank You, Jesus. And thank You that I paid extra for insurance on this thing.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Turn here. This is it.”

  The town roads were even worse, with a good four inches of snow and no snowplows around. The Mercedes handled like a trooper. Julia went slowly, driving in the middle of streets to avoid any cars.

  “There it is,” Destiny said, pointing down the block. “Two Brothers. The place looks closed. Coming here was stupid. She’s probably back in Cambridge.”

  “I don’t think so. I think she’s here.”

  “Where would she be?”

  “We’ve got to find her car. People caught in blizzards get stranded in their cars, run the engine to stay warm, the snow covers the exhaust and . . . carbon monoxide poisoning.”

  “If you get any more cheerful, I’ll puke. So are you saying that is what’s going to happen to us, given we’re in a whiteout in a strange town with nothing open?”

  “Let’s worry about Chloe first. The concierge said she rented a silver Honda.”

  “You’re kidding, right? Everything’s white.”

  “Stay here.” Julia put the car in park, undid her seat belt, and got out of the car. The wind punched her, making her stumble. The wool shawl she had bought this afternoon was no protection against the driving snow. She wore flats, never thinking to bring sneakers on this trip because all she could think of was Dillon.

  And now Chloe.

  Destiny stuck her head out of the window. “What are you doing?”

  “Finding her car.” Julia swept snow off the back window of the sedan that was parked nearest the pub. The wind made her face burn and then, too quickly, go numb. The bones in her feet shrieked with pain, even as her toes deadened. Brick-red, wrong car.

  She tried the cars up and down the row. No Hondas. She trudged across the street in snow over her ankles. There it was, and the Westin rental sticker on the back windshield.

  No sign of Chloe.

  “Get in here,” Destiny said. “You want to die from hypothermia?”

  Julia slogged back to the car, slid onto the seat, and knocked her feet together, trying to dislodge the snow. She welcomed the heat on her face. Her hands and feet protested with pain, nerves waking up in the warmth of the car. She should have thought to bring a couple of blankets from the Westin. They would be warm as long as they had gas in the car.

  Chloe . . . dear Lord, Chloe.

  “No luck?”

  “The car’s here,” Julia said. “I don’t know where she could be.”

  “Look.” Destiny held up her phone for Julia to see. “Right around the corner there’s a motel. She’s a smart girl. If she’s not with friends, then she probably booked a room.”

  “So why hasn’t she called us?”

  “Let’s go ask her that.”

  Tuesday Night

  Chloe was a fool and Destiny would tell her that the moment she had a chance.

  What a terrifying ride. That colossal spinout had nearly made her wet her pants. Raised in Nashville, and now a dyed-in-the-wool Angeleno, Destiny hadn’t ever given a thought to blinding snow and howling wind. And now the Mercedes had punked out on them in the middle of the parking lot, spinning on ice and going nowhere.

  Luke would love this. He’d suit up and dash into the heart of the storm so he could experience the crashing waves in the harbor, the gusts of wind, the driving snow.

  She should be with him now in her canyon in the Hills, sitting on the deck and watching the stars blink on, one by one. The heavens declare the glory of God, he said last week. If he were here now, she would say the heavens declare a disaster, and God seems to have no willingness to stop it.

  Julia had prayed before they came into the motel lobby, squeezing Destiny’s hand and asking her to pray too. The only thing she could muster was Luke—and a debilitating dose of fear.

  Chloe doesn’t know how bad it can get, Julia had said. Destiny certainly couldn’t have imagined this. She had had less than a day with her sister, most of it spent with Chloe poking at her laptop or muttering noncommittal things. The girl was her own high-pressure system, with her gnawed nails and compact movements, as if she didn’t want to leave footprints in her own life.

  The Perfect Storm thoughts. Framing the scene—Chloe hidden under turtleneck and tights, wrapped in scarves and lost in the storm, huddled over her phone for light. The screen flickers, then wind howls, and drifts cover her until all that remains is a pale light that is swallowed by the night.

  “She’s got to be with friends,” Destiny said. “The simplest explanation is the most likely.”

  “She’s here. I know it.” Julia stomped off as much snow as she could, then went to the desk.

  The registry was manned by a guy who looked like a stale raisin and smelled like black-market cigarettes. “Bad night to be out,” he said with a bronchial wheeze.

  “We’d like a nonsmoking room,” Julia said. “And if you could, book us next to Mrs. Deschene.”

  A bluff. No clerk would reveal the name or room number of another guest. Not even in a motel with orange vinyl easy chairs and a coffee table made out of a sailing boat’s wheel.

  “I’m booked solid,” he said. “People who couldn’t make the commute home. Sorry. You’re welcome to camp in the lobby. I won’t charge.”

  “We’ll stay with Mrs. Deschene then. If you could tell us her room number?”

  The guy frowned, tapped at his computer. “I’ll give her a call.”

  “Thank God.” Julia turned to Destiny. “Thank God she’s here.”

  He dialed, listened for a few moments, then hung up. “She
’s not in her room.”

  “She’s got to be,” Julia said. “No one would be out in this.”

  “When did she check in?” Destiny said.

  He held his hands up. “All I’m saying is she’s not answering.”

  Julia leaned across the counter. “What if she can’t answer? What if she needs help?”

  He snorted. “Lady, trust me, she’s got all the help she needs. Now, I ain’t saying anything else.”

  “I’d like you to give me her room number.”

  “Sorry. We don’t do that.”

  Destiny pulled Julia aside and whispered, “Leave it. Clearly she’s got business she doesn’t want us to know. That’s why she did something stupid like driving up here with a blizzard coming down our throats. We don’t have any right to meddle in whatever she’s got going on.”

  “Something’s wrong. I know it.” Julia’s cheeks were stark white.

  Destiny pressed her hands to Julia’s face. “You’re getting frostbite. Let’s get some warm paper towels or something.”

  “No.”

  “We can catch up with her when the snow stops. We should just camp out and get some sleep.”

  “No,” Julia said. “I am telling you, something is wrong.”

  “And I’m telling you that you don’t know her. You don’t know me. And you have no right to meddle in our lives, even when we’re being blinkin’ idiots.”

  “Shut up and stop telling me what I have a right to.” Julia stomped back to the counter. “And you—you tell me what room she’s in.”

  “Don’t make me ask you to leave,” the clerk said.

  “Now.” She fumbled with her bag, came up with a fiftydollar bill.

  The man held up his hands. “We may not be five-star, but we don’t mess with our guests.”

  “You listen to me.” Julia leaned over the counter. She was so tall, she could get in the clerk’s face. “You’re going to give us Mrs. Deschene’s room number or I am going to pound on every door in this flea-bitten hole until I find her. When I tell your guests that a mother is looking for her daughter that’s been lost in the storm, you’re going to get a lot of phone calls and I ain’t the one they’re going to be screaming mad about.”

  “Impressive,” Destiny whispered.

  “Lady, this is Massachusetts. You go bangin’ on doors, you’re gonna get stuffed headfirst into a snow bank.”

  “Really?” Julia was screeching now, her cheeks suddenly red. “How about I stuff you into a snow bank?”

  “Come on. Let’s give it a few minutes and then we’ll have him call her again.” Destiny tugged at her elbow. Julia yanked away from her and stormed to the clerk’s side of the counter.

  “You want me to call the police?”

  “Be my guest.” Julia towered over him, her left fist clenched.

  “I can’t tell you anything,” he said. “I could get fired.”

  “Show her then,” Destiny said, leaning over the counter and tapping on the monitor. “Show her.”

  The man reached over and tapped some keys.

  “D.E.S.C.H.E.N.E,” Julia said.

  He made a sarcastic grunt as he typed, then stepped aside.

  “Room 141. Now that wasn’t so hard.” Julia took a deep breath. “I apologize if I . . . was harsh.”

  “Where’s my fifty?” the man said.

  Destiny winced as Julia drew back her right arm. Maybe she should have asked Jack Deschene if her birth mother had any assault priors. Or maybe this was just maternal desperation in its raw form.

  Julia grabbed it from her bag and threw it at him. It fluttered to the floor. He scrambled to pick it up and she shoved by him, into the office.

  “What’re you doing?” he said.

  “We’re taking these,” she said, tossing his boots to Destiny.

  “You want me to call the cops?” he yelled. “Stealing a man’s boots in a blizzard is a hanging offense.”

  “Here,” Julia said, throwing more bills on the counter. “We’re renting them for the next ten minutes. No worries.” She jammed her feet into the guy’s boots, grabbed Destiny’s arm, and said, “Come on.”

  Wow, Destiny thought as they headed out into the storm. Luke was a black-diamond skier and Destiny a pretty good snowboarder. They’d camped in the snow, snug and toasty in down sleeping bags and wool caps, Coleman lantern between them so they could see each other. Looking without touching was a sweet way of making love.

  We have no fear because we control the details, he said about his stunt work. And suddenly, Luke decided he didn’t control the details, that he needed God to step in and measure his every step.

  Julia and Destiny linked arms so they could stay on their feet as they hiked to Chloe’s room. She was booked all the way at the back of the complex. Fluorescent lights flickered and then held in the walkway. If they had to do this in darkness, they might walk off a pier.

  Julia slipped, yelled as she fell.

  “Get up, get up.” Destiny put her hands under Julia’s arms and lifted her. “Did you get hurt?”

  “My hand.” Julia pressed her hand to her abdomen, bent over it as if to comfort it. She wore the clerk’s boots and her wool wrap. Otherwise, she was unprotected against blizzard conditions.

  “We have to keep moving,” Destiny said.

  The outdoor lights went dark—no, please, God—and then came back up. Thankfully Chloe’s room was on the ground floor. No way they’d make it up those stairs to the second level. It was an end unit, not the best of circumstances.

  They passed room 131, Destiny’s arms around Julia to try to protect her because at least she had thought to wear one of Chloe’s ubiquitous turtlenecks and a Duke hooded sweatshirt. No gloves meant freezing hands. Julia’s broken fingers must be in agony.

  Room 135. They could see Chloe’s window now at the end of the row, a strange glow peeking through the blackout curtains. Not the yellow lights in the other rooms, this was a diffused white light that Destiny knew well. Julia’s son—the kid who was supposed to be her brother—would also recognize it.

  “A camcorder,” she said. “With lights.”

  Room 139. Almost there.

  “What does she need a camcorder for?” Julia said.

  Oh, God, Destiny thought, shocked that she meant it because whatever was going on behind those curtains was something beyond her or Julia or even Luke to fix. Oh, God, let her be safe and I mean this, so don’t let me down, please don’t let her down.

  Julia raised her hand to knock and Destiny stopped her. “Stay. Stay right here.” She pressed her ear to the window, heard the rumble of a man’s voice. Nothing from Chloe, if she was indeed in there.

  She has all the help she needs, the clerk had said.

  “What?” Julia said.

  Destiny turned the handle on the door. Locked. She pounded. No answer. She pounded again, deepened her voice the best she could and said, “Police! Open up.”

  The light went out.

  “What do we do?” Julia said.

  “Police. I said open up!”

  Nothing.

  “We have to go back to the desk,” Julia said, “get him to open up.”

  “Not yet,” Destiny said. “Stay here.”

  “No, I—”

  “I’m just going around the back. I’m pretty sure these rooms have patios and sliders. Please, stay right here.” Destiny trudged around the side of the building. Her feet no longer hurt, no longer felt anything.

  She made it to the glass slider just in time for a man to fly out of the room. He shouldered her hard and knocked her into the snow. With the camcorder under his arm, Destiny could not allow him to get away. She grabbed his ankle. He turned and kicked her in the jaw.

  It hurt so much but only for a heartbeat. She slipped into the snow and dreamed that she was in Luke’s arms because everything was so soft and so warm.

  Nine

  Tuesday, 10:23 p.m.

  Twenty-five years.

  Twenty-five years J
ulia had prayed for the safety of her children. First Destiny, and then Hope, and without ceasing for Dillon.

  And this is how You repay my prayers? One child naked and drunk. One child kicked in the head and tossed in the snow. And one child still dying, after our prayers and the prayers of multitudes.

  If this is love, Father, I would hate to see what abandonment looks like.

  Oh, wait—she knew every sign of that as well. Daddy stretched out those business trips from three days to five when she was about eight or so. By the time she was a teenager, he was gone two weeks here, three weeks there—until one day he didn’t come home again.

  By the time her mother tracked him and his girlfriend and step-children to Idaho, reconciliation was a joke and child support a ten-year writ of desertion. Alicia McCord had clung to her God with iron hands. If she cursed God or Daddy, Julia never heard it. Maybe if Mom had shown some anger, Julia wouldn’t have wallowed in her own.

  Julia adored the God of creation. She didn’t so much trust the everlasting God—until Matt proved to be as close to everlasting as flesh could be.

  And so, heavenly Father . . . if You won’t hear my prayers, please hear his.

  Why had she been so surprised and devastated at losing Tom and then Andy? Julia bore more responsibility for those relationships. Maybe if she hadn’t been so needy—or forgive me, God, maybe if I hadn’t felt such a desire to connect with a man—but that notion made her angry too, because it diminished herself and it diminished God.

  Anger drove her now, giving her the strength she needed to drag Destiny out of the snow and into the motel room. The girl struggled to stand. “Shush, just stay here,” Julia said and propped her against a chair.

  She slammed the slider shut, found the bathroom, and started the bath. Warm water, not hot. She ran back out to the main room and pulled the sheets over Chloe to cover her nakedness.

  The stench of alcohol was overpowering; her dilated pupils spoke of something stronger. The girl stared up at her with blank eyes.

  Julia knew advanced first aid: how to clear an airway, how to perform effective chest compressions, even how to start an IV. She and Matt had prepared for medical emergencies. What should she do with this?