Keeping Caroline

by Vickie Taylor

James sobbed into the phone.

  “Unless you want to send them both out,” Matt suggested softly.

  “Then I won’t have nobody. I won’t have nobody, man.”

  “You’ll have me. I’m not going anywhere.”

  The H.T. made a sound like a trapped animal. Wounded. Dying. The phone clattered as if he’d dropped it.

  “James? James!” Matt yelled, his gaze glued to the video monitor. His body braced for the blast of gunfire.

  He’d pushed too hard. God, he’d pushed too hard, too fast.

  But there were no gunshots. An eerie silence descended on the scene as parabolic microphones across the street from the H.T.’s house picked up the creak of hinges. Time stopped as the front door swung slowly open.

  Eight-year-old Jasmine Hampton stood in the doorway, cheeks streaked with tears. Her brother nudged her from behind, and they stepped out onto the porch, blinking like owls in the bright sunlight. Their father stood behind them, a dim silhouette of a man in a shadowed foyer.

  Matt didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. “Come on. Come on,” he whispered to no one.

  Brother and sister took another halting step forward, then another.

  Four tactical officers in full body armor darted from cover. Two trained weapons on the entrance to the house. A third officer scooped up Jasmine, tucked her against his side and kept running. The fourth slung an arm around James Junior’s shoulders, shielding him and hurrying him along. But the boy stopped, turned to look back at the house, his eyes huge and haunted.

  On the porch, James Hampton fell to his knees as the robot rolled to the door.

  Come on, James, Matt willed. Get the tape and get back inside. Get on the phone. Talk to me.

  James stood, but he didn’t pick up the tape. He looked at the clear expanse of azure sky. Watched the breeze rattle the sugar maples. Wiped the dampness from his cheeks.

  Matt shuddered. No. He knew that look. James wasn’t going back to the phone. Throwing off his headset, he ran for the door. He had to get outside. Had to get to his H.T.—

  Even as he started to move, Matt knew it was too late. He stared, transfixed, at the monitor as James lifted his weapon and ran toward the police barricades on the street. The shotgun muzzle flashed and a deep-throated concussion shook the video camera.

  In the side yard James Junior tried to run back toward the house, but an officer restrained him. Horror etched a deep epithet into the boy’s face as he watched his father pull the trigger again, then a third time, until the perimeter officers were left with no choice but to return fire.

  A barrage of small arms fire peppered the air, and James Hampton wasn’t living in limbo any longer.

  Chapter 1

  Welcome to the plains of southwest Texas, Matt thought, kicking at a withered dandelion shoot wedged in a crack in the dry earth. Where even the hardiest of weeds struggled to find foothold in the dry earth and the wind blew so strong it could peel the paint off a pickup.

  Not much survived here; not much tried.

  Matt never thought he’d come back here. Never expected to have reason. But James Hampton changed all that.

  What had happened yesterday had touched Matt deeply. Driven him to his study to sit in the dark in the wee hours last night. Pushed him to the bus station a few hours later when he knew what he had to do, where he had to go, but didn’t trust his weary body to drive himself there.

  He dropped the duffel bag he was carrying to the ground at his feet. Bending over, he pulled the zipper back enough to check that the thick yellow envelope was still inside.

  The finality of what he was about to do hit him like a fist in the gut. The urge to go home, to pretend everything was all right and none of this was happening, followed like a one-two punch. But Matt couldn’t let himself be knocked down.

  James Hampton was right. Living in limbo wasn’t really living at all. It was time to get on with life.

  Before Matt ended up just like him.

  Picking up his duffel, he started again toward the sun. When he reached the bottom of the hill atop which his destination lay, he took the long way around. On the backside of the slope, out of sight of the road, he paused to skip a stone across the pond where he’d learned to skip stones years ago. After a time, he felt the pull of the weeping willow tree behind him like a physical force. Giving in to the compulsion, he stepped into the magical circle of its fronds.

  Would it still be there?

  With fingers and eyes he skimmed the gnarled trunk until he found what he was looking for. An old carving:

  M.B. Loves C.E.

  Matt Burkett loves Caroline Everett. He remembered the night he carved that. Back then, he’d thought love lasted forever. Through any hardship.

  How idealistic he’d been. How young.

  And he wasn’t getting any younger. No sense putting off the inevitable any longer.

  With a sigh, he hitched his duffel over his shoulder, called his K-9 partner, Alpha—Alf for short—from the bank of the pond, and set off up the hill toward the house.

  Caroline’s house.

  Minutes later, breathing a little harder, he stood at the top of the hill and stared up at the turn-of-the-century Victorian monstrosity. “This is it, Alf.”

  The dog looked dubiously at the old house, then nudged his nose under Matt’s hand for reassurance. Matt obliged with a few easy strokes over the dog’s graying muzzle. “Let’s go see who’s home.”

  In the front yard he studied the house up close. The last time he had seen the place, the facade had shone pearly white. Looking up from the bottom of the hill, it would have fit right in with the feathery summer clouds in the sky above it. Now, paint peeled from a weathered gray frame that reminded him more of thunderheads than summer cumulus.

  Of all the places Caroline could have run to, he wondered why she’d come back to Sweet Gum. Happy memories? Simpler times?

  Maybe she’d come home for the slower way life was lived here, where time was measured in seasons, crops planted and harvested, instead of seconds. Precious moments that never lasted.

  Lost in his thoughts, Matt didn’t notice the small black boy barreling around the corner of the house until it was too late. The boy, five or six from the looks of him, ran into his knees, then bounced a step back and said, “Hey!” as if Matt had stood in his path on purpose.

  Matt reached down to steady the boy, who then kicked him in the shin. “Ow!”

  “Who’re you?”

  He held the boy with one hand and rubbed his leg with the other. “Who are you?”

  “I axed first.”

  Matt forced himself to not recoil from the small body despite the pain slicing through him at the sight of twiggy arms and knobby knees. The kid was as rangy as Brad had been at that age. Only when he met the boy’s wide eyes and saw…nothing…did he realize the boy was blind. Stomach clenched against the unfairness of the child’s disability, he lowered himself to one knee, sliding his hand down the boy’s arm to shake his hand, and spoke less harshly. “Name’s Matt Burkett. You?”

  The boy narrowed his unseeing eyes distrustfully a moment, then relented. “Jeb Justiss.”

  Matt let go of the boy’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Jeb.”

  Jeb’s nose wrinkled. He lifted his head, scenting, then the corners of his mouth curled up. His blank eyes shone with glee. “Dog!” he said exuberantly, his hands searching the empty air. “Can I pet him?”

  Matt signaled Alf away and stood. “No.”

  Jeb’s jubilant expression fell.

  “He’s a police dog, not a pet,” Matt explained.

  “You a cop?”

  “Uh-huh. K-9 squad.” When he wasn’t negotiating with suicidal hostage takers whose lives reminded him too much of his own.

  “What’re you doin’ here?”

  “I’m looking for my wi— For Caroline.”

  “Oh. She’s in back, pay’ in.”

  Painting. Matt realized what Jeb had been saying when the boy led him to the back
yard where Caroline, her back to him, stood atop a wobbly ladder propped against the house. Her brush swept back and forth over the buckled siding with the care of a master artist adding color to canvas.

  He stopped, drinking in the sight of her.

  She’d put on weight. Lush curves had replaced the willowy leanness he remembered so intimately. The flare to her hips was a little less subtle. Her cheeks—the ones in back—filled the seat of her ridiculously short cutoffs in two tempting teardrops. The bloom looked good on her. Lord knows she’d been too thin before.

  Grief could do that to a person.

  Though he’d meant to be silent, enjoying the view more than he had any right, he must have given himself away with some small noise. She turned. White paint dotted her cheeks—the ones in front—and slashed across her wrists and hands, a stark contrast to her bronzed complexion.

  For a few seconds they simply stared at each other. Then in lieu of a greeting, she said simply, “You’re late.”

  Not exactly the welcome he’d been expecting. But then, he wasn’t sure that he really was welcome here. “Huh?”

  “One year, we said. It’s been thirteen months, eight days.”

  “Two hours and—” He checked his watch, getting her meaning. “About six minutes.”

  She climbed down the ladder. “You remember.”

  Three rungs above the ground, she took the hand he offered to balance her. Her fingers were warm and dry and trembled slightly, but her grip was strong.

  He turned her to face him and found her warm caramel gaze just as strong. Vibrant. Alive. More alive than he’d felt in months.

  He turned loose her hand and took a step back. “A man doesn’t forget the moment his wife walks out on him.”

  Caroline set a bowl of water on the floor next to Alf and scratched him under the chin. The dog lapped up a drink, then drooled half of it down her arm, just like old times.

  Standing, she looked around the room, trying to figure out what to do with herself next. Matt sat at the table in the breakfast nook. Even in a chair, his long legs and burly body took up most of the room. And what space his oversize frame didn’t fill, his sea green eyes seemed to devour.

  He’d aged since she’d seen him last. Hard wear lines creased his face, and the smile that had once perpetually captured his mouth—and her attention—was long gone. Still, with his broad shoulders and barely tamed cap of golden, wavy hair, he looked more suited to the bow of a Viking raider than her antiquated kitchen.

  Deciding a strategic retreat was in order, she backed away to the refrigerator and took out a pitcher. “How did you get here?”

  “I walked.”

  “All the way from Port Kingston?”

  The flicker of good humor in his eyes fled too fast. “From the bus stop in town.”

  She arched one brow as she handed him a glass of iced tea. “Something wrong with your Blazer?”

  He frowned slightly as he wiped the condensation off his glass. “I needed the downtime.”

  “Leave the driving to us, huh?”

  “I guess.”

  There was more to that story, she was sure. It wasn’t like Matt to give up control, to be a passenger, but she didn’t press. His transportation woes weren’t her concern any longer.

  She lowered herself into the cane seat of a chair by the window, where she could keep an eye on Jeb outside. “So,” she finally said just because she couldn’t bear another moment of silence. “How’ve you been?”

  “Fine.” He was lying. She could see it.

  “How’ve you been?” he countered.

  “Fine.”

  The clock on the mantel ticked away fifteen seconds.

  “Let’s not—” she started.

  “Don’t—” Matt said at the same time.

  He held up his hand obligingly. “You first.”

  “Let’s not do this, Matt. Sit here like polite old acquaintances with nothing to talk about at the class reunion. We were married for God’s sake.”

  “We’re still married.”

  The hard edge in his voice caught her like a kick in the chest. “So we are. Is that why you’re here?”

  He bent and pulled a thick yellow envelope out of his duffel. It landed on the table with a thud. “It’s time to get on with our lives.”

  She didn’t reach out. Wouldn’t touch it. Couldn’t.

  “I think you’ll find the settlement fair,” he said.

  “I have no doubt.” She bit her lip. This shouldn’t be so hard. She was the one who’d left him. But still, it took the breath from her.

  “You don’t have to worry about money. I’ll take care of you.”

  Unable to sit another second, she swung out of her chair. “Is that what you think I worry about? Money?” The wood beneath the worn linoleum flooring creaked as she paced. In truth, she did worry about money. She worried about money a lot. The old house she’d inherited from her aunt Ginger needed so many repairs. Busy with her life, she’d nearly let it fall to ruin in the years she’d lived in Port Kingston with Matt. Now all her dreams depended on this house. Her future.

  But Matt wouldn’t be interested in her dreams. Or her future.

  “Is that why you think I left you? Because of money?”

  Matt lowered his head. “I know you wanted…other things. Things I couldn’t give you.”

  “‘Things’?” That did it. She squared off in front of him. “You can’t even say the word, can you?”

  Slowly he raised his gaze. Penetrated her with that clear, green, dead sea stare. Matt had always been a master at hiding what he was really feeling behind that placid gaze. It was what made him such a good negotiator. Such a lousy husband.

  “You wanted a baby,” he said flatly.

  “I wanted to be a mother again. To hear a child cry because she didn’t get her way, not because she was in pain. To hear her laugh.” Her fingers curled into fists so tight her fingernails scraped her palms. “Do you remember what a child’s laughter sounds like, Matt? Because I didn’t, not until I came here. I only remembered the wails. The terror.”

  He gripped his glass so tightly she was afraid it would shatter. “We have to move on, Caroline.”

  Anger ripped through her as she tore open the envelope and scanned the divorce papers. “You call this fair?” she asked a moment later.

  “What’s wrong with it?”

  “You won’t have enough money left to feed Alf, much less yourself. How are you going to pay the rent, put gas in the car, if you give me every cent you make?”

  “I want you to be taken care of.”

  “But you don’t want to take care of me.” She regretted the bite in her tone, and took a deep breath. “I’ve let you take care of me most of my life, Matt. It’s time I took care of myself.”

  She dropped the papers on the table in front of him.

  Instead of picking them up, he stood. Reached out for her hands and held her fingers lightly in his. She trembled.

  “Let me do this for you.” He laced his fingers with hers.

  “No.” But she didn’t pull away. Under the scent of dust and honest sweat, she could smell the musky aftershave he favored. The aftershave she kept a bottle of on her dresser, just so she could open it now and then, and breathe him in, even though he wasn’t here. She gave in to the scent, and inhaled.

  God, it had been so long.

  “It’s the only thing I can do for you.”

  “You want to help me?”

  “Yes,” he said. But he’d hesitated, and she knew what he was thinking. He thought she was going to beg him for a baby again, the way she had before she’d left. But she wasn’t. She wouldn’t ever beg again.

  “Then keep your money.” She pulled her hand away. “And lend me your strong back. I’m trying to open a business here, and look at this place. It’s a wreck.”

  His gaze trailed over the peeling wallpaper. The outdated appliances. His green eyes turned suspicious. “What kind of business?”

&n
bsp; “A day-care center.”

  As expected, his eyes widened in horror before he shuttered out the reaction. Seeing his discomfort gave her a perverse pleasure. She didn’t really want to hurt him, but she would like to shake him up. To make him see what he was missing.

  “For special kids,” she pushed on, watching for any further reaction from him. Hoping to see some spark of life, but finding no such sign. “Like Jeb.” Disappointed, she nodded toward the window, where Jeb sat outside, pushing a toy truck over a dirt pile.

  “Blind kids?”

  “Jeb’s visually impaired, not blind. He has some perception of shapes and movement. But yes, for blind kids and developmentally challenged kids. Kids with illnesses and kids from high-risk homes. Remember what a hard time we had finding someone to keep Brad, even for a few hours, while we met with the doctors?” She didn’t have to see the deepening of the creases at the corners of his mouth to know he remembered. “If it hadn’t been for your family, I don’t know what we would have done. I want to help parents that don’t have that kind of family support. All the little ones who need some extra TLC will be welcome here. For an hour, a day, a month. Whatever time they need.”

  Matt stared out the window, but Caroline didn’t think he really saw. “That’s a lot to take on. Those kinds of problems.”

  Caroline’s back stiffened. “They’re not problems. They’re children.” Despite the offense she’d taken, she found her insides softening at the thought of her little charges. She smiled. “I already have two other students besides Jeb. Maxine and Rosie. They’re twins. Fourteen months old.”

  Matt winced, probably remembering Brad at that age, as she was, but she thought she saw something soften in his eyes, too.

  “When school lets out in a couple of months,” she continued, wiping the memories away before they leaked out onto her cheeks, “I’ll have more kids here. But I’ve got to get this place fixed up and pass a state licensing inspection first. I’ve only got until the end of May.”

  “And you want me to help you?”

  “You’re good with your hands.” Heat suffused her stomach. He was very good with his hands, as she remembered. “And you like this kind of work. At least you used to.”