by Freya Barker
At the hospital, right before they wheel her inside, she calls me close. Her hands come up to cup my face and her heart shows in her eyes.
“Thank you. You saved me.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Robin
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine,” he counters stubbornly.
Gray has been hovering over me like an angry bear since we got home late last night. They closed the cut on my scalp, where I’d hit the counter going down, and made sure no bones were broken. The only other issue was the minor concussion, which is what has him sitting like a sentry by the side of my bed.
I agree, I may not be at my prettiest with my face swollen and bruised, but he’s taking the doctor’s suggestion to keep an eye on me for twenty-four hours a little too seriously.
I wasn’t surprised to find out, when Jason and Donna showed up at the hospital, Kim had closed the diner for the day. They came to deliver my purse and coat, as well as my phone the cops had found in the office. One of them had also driven my SUV so we’d have wheels.
During the entire time we were in the hospital, Gray had said maybe five words. Even when the cops came, snapped some pictures of my injuries, and took my statement as well.
The eventual ride home had been mostly silent as well, which was welcome because my head hurt. He put me to bed and left the bedroom only to walk in seconds later, carrying one of my kitchen chairs. I didn’t question him then, I was too exhausted and fell asleep, but seeing him still sitting there, now hours later, I wonder if his eyes ever left me. It’s a bit too much.
“Have you even slept?”
He doesn’t need to answer; I can see it in the pallor of his skin and the red-rimmed eyes glaring at me.
I fling back the covers and swing my legs out of bed, hissing when my body aches in response.
“What are you doing?”
“I need to pee,” I announce snippily. “Pretty sure I remember how to do that.”
When I return from the bathroom after brushing my teeth and washing up at the sink, both he and the kitchen chair are gone. I slip into a pair of old yoga pants and a sweatshirt and head for the kitchen. He’s standing at the sink, staring out into the trees bordering my backyard.
I’m already regretting my sharp words. Giving myself a few minutes to think about it, I recognize all he’s trying to do is keep me safe to the best of his abilities, even if it means spending the night sitting on a kitchen chair, staring at me.
I place a hand in the middle of his back.
“I should be thanking you, not bitching at you. I’m sorry.”
He slowly turns around and folds his arms around me, holding me loosely. I’m struck by the conflicting emotions passing over his face.
“What is it?” I fist my hands in his shirt and give him a little shake. “Gray?”
“I lost control yesterday,” he whispers in a raw voice. “I almost killed that man. Would’ve, if you hadn’t stopped me.”
My heart hurts hearing the desolation in his tone.
“You were protecting me,” I’m quick to defend. “He was hurting me and you stopped him.” Even as I’m saying it, I realize that’s not the problem. It’s losing control at all that has him spooked.
“What if you hadn’t been able to? Or even worse, what if I got mad at you? Who’s to say—”
“That’s enough,” I cut him off. “You would never do that.”
He removes his arms from around me and grabs my wrists. The only thing I can read from his face now is agony.
“You don’t know that,” he mumbles, turning away and creating a distance between us I don’t like.
“I do know that,” I counter firmly. “Everything I know about you tells me you are a good man to the core. For God’s sake, Gray, you jumped through the glass pane of a door to protect me.” He’d had a cut on his face and a few on his hands they’d cleaned up in the hospital. “I don’t believe you could ever touch me in anger.”
Despite his rigid posture, I walk right up to him and plaster myself against his body, not allowing for any space. It takes a few moments, but eventually I feel his arms close around me as he buries his face in my hair.
“How do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Have such blind faith in me?”
I lean back so I can look in his face.
“Easy,” I tell him. “I know what evil looks like.”
Gray
“I was told at Olson’s I could probably find you here.”
Officer Derek Francisi is standing on the front steps when I open the door. I’d been half-expecting the cops to come knocking at some point.
“Come in. Robin is just getting out of the shower.”
She walks in as I’m handing the officer a cup of coffee.
“Ms. Bishop, how are you feeling?”
“Robin, please, and I’m fine. A bit banged up is all.”
“Coffee?” I ask her.
“Please.”
She turns to me with a kind smile and her eyes hold a promise.
We never finished our earlier conversation, when I asked her what she meant by knowing what evil looked like. Kim called, interrupting. Then I remembered I should probably get in touch with Jimmy, during which Robin headed for the shower. So that comment of hers still burns in my mind, but it’ll have to wait.
She sits down at the table facing Francisi.
“What can I do for you this morning?”
“Just following up. Anything more you’ve remembered from yesterday morning’s events?”
“Not really, except maybe wondering how the hell he got in? I didn’t notice any signs of a break-in, and I know I locked the front door behind when I got there.”
Derek shoots a glance in my direction before responding.
“That’s because he had a key to the back door.”
She sloshes coffee on the table when she sets her cup down too hard.
“How would he have a key?”
“That’s the question we haven’t been able to ask him yet.”
“How is he?” I can’t stop myself from interjecting, an uncomfortable feeling creeping under my skin.
“Rough,” he says, giving me a hard look. “But he’ll live. You messed him up good, though: he’ll need surgery to fix his face.” He turns back to Robin. “As to how he’d have a key, that’s part of the reason I’m here.”
“Not from me,” she blurts out indignantly.
“I figured as much, but thanks for confirming. Who else has a key to that door?”
“As far as I know Jason, Donna, me, and of course, Kim, the owner. She’s the one to ask if you want to make sure.”
“I plan to. Right after I leave here.”
“So…” Robin puts a hand on my knee under the table before she continues. “What will happen now?”
Francisi moves his chair back and gets up.
“Once he’s back on his feet, he’ll be heading for jail and new charges will be added. No judge is gonna let him go before his trial, so you don’t have to worry about that.”
“And that’ll be the end of that?”
I cover her hand with mine. I know what she’s digging for and apparently so does Francisi.
“Robin, the only charges coming out of this incident will be felony charges against Mike Hancock. We’ll keep you updated.”
I push a hand on her shoulder when she tries to get up, “I’ve got it,” before following the officer to the door, stepping outside with him.
“You sure?” I ask him, partially pulling the door closed behind me. “Prosecutor may remember my name.”
“Got nothin’ to worry about, Bennet. I understand your concern, but I suspect your reputation isn’t half as bad as you may think it is. Your father’s reputation was another thing altogether. Not a lot in this town goes unnoticed.”
Feeling a weight lifted, I watch as he ambles to his patrol car and gets behind the wheel. I’m still standing there when he pas
ses another vehicle coming up the drive. A silver compact driven by a woman I don’t recognize. Not at first anyway.
“Excuse me, who are you?” she snaps, getting out of the car.
She’s young, in her twenties if I had to venture a guess, and something about the challenging look she shoots me is familiar.
“Paige, right?”
“Where is my mother?”
She looks over my shoulder at the partially closed door and shoves her hand in her purse, and I lift my hands up defensively. As I suspected, her hand comes out holding a small can I assume is mace.
“She’s inside.”
The young woman gives me a hard look and I step out of the way when she barges past me and shoves open the door, yelling for her mother. I follow in a little slower to find the two women facing off in the living room.
“What the hell?”
“Calm down, Paige, I’m fine,” Robin soothes. “Let me—”
“Your face is a mess! My God, Mom!”
She must’ve heard me walk in because she swings around, aiming her mace at my face.
“Whoa. Easy.”
“Paige, put that thing down and let me—”
“What is going on?” The girl’s eyes dart from me to her mother, and I use that moment of distraction to close the distance and grab the canister from her hand.
“If you’d give your mother half a second to explain, you’d know,” I grumble.
Robin jumps right in.
“Gray didn’t do this, baby. There was a little incident at the diner yesterday.”
Understatement of the year, but I’m not going to correct her when she’s trying to calm her clearly upset daughter down.
“What incident?”
Robin pulls the younger woman down on the couch, their heads close together.
“Why don’t I put on another pot?” I mutter at no one in particular, since the two of them are too engrossed in each other to pay me any attention.
It’s just noon and already I’ve had more social interaction than I’m accustomed to or even comfortable with. Instead of escaping out the back door—or ‘running away’ as Robin likes to refer to it—I busy myself making coffee.
I’m at the sink, looking out the window, when I feel a tugging on my jeans. I drop my gaze to Zeus, sitting by my feet, his big eyes blinking up at me.
“What do you want?” I ask the little terror.
He complains urgently in response.
“Demanding little thing, aren’t you?”
Meowww.
“You have a cat?” I hear Paige exclaim inside when I open the cupboard for the cat food. “Oh my God, she’s so cute.”
“It’s a he.”
Robin’s daughter looks up from where she’s crouched on the ground, plying Zeus with attention the cat seems to lap up. Then she scoops up the cat and straightens, holding out her free hand.
“Sorry about earlier,” she mumbles when I shake it.
“No worries. Name’s Gray.”
“Paige. So Mom says you rescued her when that old piece of shit car of hers broke down?”
She tilts her head to the side and the move reminds me of her mother. In fact, now that I’m looking at her a little closer, the family resemblance is quite obvious.
“Technically we first met in New York at the 9/11 Memorial,” I correct her.
I watch her eyes grow big before she swings her head around. Robin is walking in from the living room, a concerned look on her face as she bulges her eyes at me.
I’m not sure what, but I’m positive I did something wrong. The air in here has just gone electric in a significant way I don’t quite understand.
Robin is blushing, looking guilty, and her daughter is staring daggers at her mom.
“Mom? When were you at the 9/11 Memorial?”
Robin
Well, fuck.
I guess there was always a chance she’d catch on at some point. Especially now she’s an adult. For years, I was able to get away with my annual trip around the beginning of September by telling her I was meeting up with my old sorority sisters.
It had been an excuse both Paige and my parents accepted easily. My parents thought it was a nice distraction for me around the anniversary of Rick’s death, assuming any 9/11 memorials would be too painful for me. I never bothered to disavow them of that notion. Over the years it had become an easy tradition for everyone to get used to.
Paige had been the first to suggest we see the Tribute in Light when she first went to school in New Jersey. I would still go during the day, supposedly to meet up with friends, and would return with Paige at night.
As far as Paige is concerned, her father was one of many to die an unfortunate death when she was only five. She holds no real memories of him—thank God for that—and I wasn’t about to refresh her limited recollection.
I remember clearly how he held a gun to her head the last time I tried to leave with her, stating how he’d kill us both. I’d believed him. How could I not? He’d never hit me but I was painfully familiar with that gun. He knew all too well I would sacrifice everything for my child.
I remember how terrified Paige had been, her eyes big and not understanding what was happening. I remember trying to smile at her reassuringly, all the while screaming inside. After he saw his message had the desired result, he left me to lie down with Paige. I coaxed her back to sleep and stayed with her the night. The next morning I explained to her she’d had a bad nightmare.
When Rick died so unexpectedly, I felt safe for the first time in years. Free. I never saw the point of burdening Paige with the truth about her father, or my parents with knowledge they could do nothing about. That’s why I moved back to Michigan the first opportunity I had.
Looking into my daughter’s face, I realize she’s become too savvy for me to try and lie my way out of this one, but before I have a chance to respond, Gray speaks up.
“I should probably check in at the shop,” he announces, his gaze sliding from Paige—who is still glaring—to me. “And maybe leave you two to talk. I’ll check in with you in a bit.”
Despite my daughter’s sharp attention, he closes in on me, brushes his lips against mine, and heads for the door.
I’m not sure whether to be upset or relieved he’s leaving.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Robin
“So when? When you were staying with me?”
I reluctantly look at my angry daughter as the door closes behind Gray.
“Yes,” I admit.
Moved to find out she’d caught a flight home so I wouldn’t be alone for New Year’s as well, I hate ruining her sweet gesture.
“I don’t understand,” she says agitated. “For years you told me you would never set foot in Manhattan. That being there would be too overwhelming. Why?”
I don’t immediately answer, wondering how much or how little I should tell her. Is it time for the truth? A truth I had hoped never to have to share if I could help it? A truth I’d prayed had gone down when those towers fell?
Even Mom assumed I’d sit in Liberty State Park by the dock, staring at the Manhattan skyline while grieving the loss of my husband. She had no idea I was heading to the Memorial Pools.
Tired of waiting, Paige rages on as tears well in her eyes and the betrayal she feels is visible on her face.
“For years I asked if perhaps we could visit the memorial, until I finally went to see it by myself when I moved there. I wanted desperately to see his name on the memorial, but you wouldn’t come any closer than Liberty State Park and watch the Tribute in Light from there. Why would you go without me? Why lie about it?”
“Honey, it’s…it’s something I needed to do on my own.” I take her hand and pull her with me to the living room where I sit down, waiting for her to do the same. “People deal with loss differently,” I say carefully when she finally sits. “I have my way to cope but never wanted that to influence the way you grieved his loss. The way you remember him.”
> She yanks her hand from mine and abruptly gets to her feet.
“You have no idea how I remember him, Mom. Or maybe I should say how I’ve tried hard to forget him.”
My mouth drops open.
“Why would you want to—”
“Oh, come on, Mom,” she interrupts me, cutting her hand through the air. “You can’t be that blind. The man held a gun to my head. He threatened to kill me—it left me with nightmares for years—it’s the most vivid memory of him I have.”
“But…” I sputter, but nothing more comes out. I’m too stunned.
I remember right after he died she would sometimes come in my room at night to ask me if I was sure her daddy wasn’t coming back. Those were the only times she talked about him. I always thought she missed him and wanted to sleep with me for comfort. Turns out I was wrong.
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because I was afraid to upset you. Mom, I was five—not stupid. Dad always scared the crap out of me. Did you know my nightmares stopped when I saw his name chiseled in stone? I needed to see it for myself.”
She turns on her heel and disappears in the direction of the bedrooms. When I hear a door slam, I drop my head in my hands.
How stupid of me to think I could make her forget what he put us through. She’s right, even at five she had been sharp as a tack. Never said a word out of place when her father was around. Hell, other than occasionally asking me to take her to the 9/11 Memorial since it opened when she was fifteen, she never mentioned his name.
I should’ve known.
I rub my face in my hands and force myself to my feet, following her down the hall. My daughter is an adult and she deserves to know.
She’s lying on her old bed, facing the wall when I walk in.
“Oh, honey…” I lie down in bed beside her, staring up at the ceiling. “I’d hoped you’d never have to find out your father wasn’t a good man,” I start. “I was still so young and wide-eyed, living in the big city. I didn’t have a lot of experience and was swept off my feet when this older, handsome, and successful man paid me attention. I got pregnant, he wanted to get married, and you know? Life was pretty good for a while.”
