“In here, in here,” she called over and over, trying to lead them with her voice, moving, always moving away from Nelson, who moaned over his eye.
“Dammit, Veronica, I have to kill you now,” Nelson said, somewhere in the cave. He was crying, reaching blindly for her, she could feel it.
Then there were people with them. “Simon,” she rasped through a sore throat. “Simon, he has a knife.”
“You son of a bitch!” she heard Simon yell. She saw Nelson lunge, saw what might have been a glint from the weapon. She heard the sound of a fist making contact with flesh, heard a moan. More punching could be heard, men grunting. “God—damn—son—of—
a—bitch—” she heard Simon say. It was him that was hitting the most, beating and beating until there was no more resistance.
She heard something like a sob, perhaps from her own mouth, and then she had found Nelson’s flashlight, and turned it on. In its sudden glare she saw Nelson prone on the ground, either unconscious or pretending to be; Simon stood above him, fingering his own lip; Logan stood next to him, rubbing his knuckles. Simon turned to her, cried out, knelt in front of her.
“Veronica, Beauty, are you all right?” he put the light to the side, saw her in its illumination, and went paler than he had been. “Logan,” he said in a strange voice, “we need help here. See if he has something we can use as a bandage.” Logan grabbed the flashlight and shone it around. He found another light, turned it on, set it near Simon. He finally came back with a roll of paper towels. “This is all I could find. He has duct tape here, Simon, and rope.”
Simon’s mouth was a thin line as he tore off towels, and placed them carefully at Veronica’s throat. “Does that hurt, Beauty? I want to stop the blood. I don’t think he cut your—” he was choking on his tears; he had turned away, but he turned back, his eyes glistening. “Do you feel strong, Baby? Can you talk?”
“Yes,” she said. “I think I’m all right, Simon. Simon, your father—”
”I don’t know,” he answered. “They’ve taken him to the hospital.”
“Then he was telling the truth?” she asked desolately. “He shot your father?”
“No. The son of a bitch stabbed him, right in the gut. God only knows what kind of damage he did. Your mom is with him. Millie Cromwell said she was just crazy with grief. Doesn’t sound like your mom, does it?” he asked. She knew he was trying to keep talking, trying to distract her from the blood, the pain. She heard more people calling them, what sounded like a hundred people. Logan ran out of the cave, called back. She heard John O’Malley, and Sally, and other voices. She heard the word “ambulance.” She tried to tell Simon she didn’t need one, but all she could manage was to squeeze his hand. It was still unreal, just as Nelson had been, and the dreamlike quality increased until she felt very dizzy.
“Beauty?” said Simon’s voice. “Stay with me, Veronica. I love you, Baby, stay awake, please.”
She smiled, because he loved her, and then she fainted.
Chapter Twenty-One
Suzie James was yelling at God. She sat in the women’s bathroom, the only place she could find a private corner to cry, and she yelled at him, slumped on a padded bench in the corner.
“You did this to me once before,” she said. “You took the man I loved, and you made me watch him die. And you let me feel empty for all those years; you let me die a little myself. And Pat brought me back to life; he made me see the world was beautiful again. Your World!” she yelled at the Almighty, reminding Him of the irony of her situation. “So I found hope, and I found love, and I finally let myself feel it, and I realized that I love that man. And now he lies bleeding inside, dying, and you’re going to make me do it all over again. Why?” she yelled. “Why?” She burst into tears of grief and anger and shame, and that was how her daughter found her.
“Mom?” asked Juliana, not sure that this woman slouched and sobbing on the couch was her practical, controlled mother. “Mom?”
Suzie looked up, reached out, and Juliana ran to her arms. They clung to each other. Her mother’s tears had brought them to Juli’s eyes as well, and they cried together.
When Suzie was quiet, Juliana brought out tissue, and they wiped their eyes. “Mom, how is he?” she asked.
“They don’t know,” Suzie said expressionlessly. “He’s in surgery. They need to see where he’s bleeding. They said to be prepared for the worst.”
Juliana sighed, steeled herself. “Mom, you don’t know the worst.”
Suzie sat up. “What are you talking about?”
She clutched her mother’s hand, but didn’t look at her. “The man who hurt Pat—he was the one. Nelson Henry. The one Ronnie told us about. He went to the dance where Ronnie was, and he took her away—”
“No,” Suzie said.
“He took her into the forest, and—”
“Is she dead?” Suzie asked, feeling the tendrils of hysteria climbing again.
“No, Mommy, she’s not dead. He hurt her, but Simon and Logan found them. I’m afraid—he is.”
“He is what?”
“He’s dead. Simon and Logan—well, they were both punching him, and I guess the stress of it—it turns out he had a weak heart. That’s what the doctor thinks.”
Suzie shook her head. It was too much to take in. Her daughter, her beautiful, shy, quiet daughter, her mysterious one, who ran away for two years and had just come back to her— “Where is she?” Suzie asked.
“She’s here. They’re looking at her now. They need to see how deep—”
“He stabbed her, too?” Suzie asked, horrified.
“In the neck, Mommy.” Juliana started to cry, a slow wailing, a keening, and Suzie knew she would begin again, too.
“No,” she said. She took Juli’s arm, stood up, pulled her daughter up, into a hug. “You have to stop, and so do I. They need us now, Pat and Veronica. They need us, Juliana, and we have to be strong.”
She watched as her daughter regained control. She did it with great dignity, Suzie was pleased to note. “I love you, honey,” Suzie said.
“I love you, Mom.”
Juli suddenly gave a watery laugh. “What in the world happened to your shoes?”
* * *
In the hallway Suzie saw three men: Simon, Logan and Rick. Poor Rick: he’d just arrived, walked into a nest of horror, a nightmare of blood. She hugged her son-in-law and greeted him. She took courage and strength from his strong arms. She saw Simon over his shoulder. The man’s eyes were red from tears, and he stood trembling, refusing the coffee that Logan was offering. She loved him then, because he looked like Pat, because he’d rescued her daughter and now cried for her, because he loved his father, and because he was a good man. She walked to him, held out her arms, and he came eagerly to her embrace.
“Suzie,” he said brokenly into her ear. “God, I’m so sorry.”
She pulled away and looked him sternly in the eye. “For what? For rescuing my daughter, saving her life? Or for loving her so much that seeing her suffering is practically killing you? You stop it right now, Simon Lassiter. That girl needs your strength, all of it, and so does your father. I just gave this speech to myself, and now I’m giving it to you. Do you want a double wedding, or don’t you?”
Simon actually laughed, albeit miserably. “They say he didn’t hit the artery. If he had, she’d be dead. As it is—” he stopped as a doctor walked down the hall. “Simon Lassiter?” she asked.
Simon turned stiffly. “That’s me. Is this about Veronica, or my father—er, Pat?”
“Veronica. What a pretty name,” the doctor said, smiling. “And she’s asking for you.”
Suzie watched him run down the hall, relief flooding her. She’d been offered deliverance from one worry; now she had to return to the other. She looked at a crucifix on the wall, and gave it a stern, warning glance.
Sim
on entered the room with trembling hands. She lay in the bed, looking small, her lovely neck swathed in bandages. The doctor said she’d needed forty stitches, but that she’d be all right. She’d be fine. And the scar, she told him, could be dealt with by a plastic surgeon.
The scar on her skin, he thought darkly. What about the emotional scar, the nightmare of the cave, the memory of a knife held against her throat, plunging in? He had left her alone; like a fool he’d left her alone, as he’d left his own daughter. How could he have made that mistake twice? How could she ever forgive him?
When she spied him she smiled. “Ow. It hurts when I smile, isn’t that weird?” she asked. “They gave me pain pills; they say they’ll kick in soon.” She reached for him, and he ran to her.
“Beauty, Beauty, this is all my fault,” he said, kissing her hands, her hair, her forehead. “God, what I went through when I knew he had you—”
“Simon.” She put a soothing hand on his forehead. “Don’t torture yourself. It was obviously worse for you, because you’re the one who had to worry, who had to wonder. I knew what was happening; I was trying to think of ways to handle it, so I think I was suffering much less than you were.”
He fingered her bandages, feather light. “I don’t think so.”
“Simon, please. I don’t want you to feel guilty; you didn’t do this to me! Do you understand? He’s mad, he’s crazy, we couldn’t any of us have predicted what he’d do, not even John O’Malley.”
“John feels terrible too, Beauty.”
“Is he questioning Nelson? Did he say—”
“Nelson’s dead. Heart failure. We worked him over, and I guess the stress of it—”
Simon stopped. He didn’t feel guilty. He felt hate, but he wouldn’t burden Veronica with that.
“Dead,” she said softly.
“Beauty, it could have been you,” he said.
“Oh, I was certain it would be. When he took me in there, Simon, it was so cold, like a grave, and I saw that rope, and I didn’t think anyone knew where I was—”
Simon winced at the fear in her eyes. “We were behind you the whole time. Looking, calling. I was almost crazy with the strain, Beauty, the helplessness. When you love someone so much, and you don’t know what might be happening—”
“He really didn’t hurt me, Simon, not until the end, and that was because he was desperate. He was afraid; he lashed out.”
“Don’t explain for him, Veronica. It won’t change what I feel.” He saw her eyes widen in surprise at his tone.
“How is Pat?” she asked softly. “I’m afraid to ask, but I have to.”
“He’s alive. That’s all I know.”
“Simon. He’s so strong. He’ll be fine, I know it. You Lassiters are an unusual clan.”
He smiled at her. She could always make him smile, even at a time like this. “We are, indeed.”
Two men appeared at the door, along with a white-haired lady. Simon looked up, and his face registered great surprise. “Uncle Will, Uncle Daniel,” he said, pleased. He hugged them both heartily, then turned to the tiny white-haired woman who waited patiently. “Grandma,” he said, hugging her so hard he lifted her fragile body from the ground.
“Put me down, boy,” she said, laughing softly.
Simon turned to Veronica. “Veronica, these are two of Dad’s brothers, William and Daniel. And this,” he said, holding the lady’s hand, “Is my grandmother, Mairead Lassiter.”
They must have boarded a plane the moment they heard, he thought. The three of them lived in upstate New York now.
He watched Veronica greet them all from her bed, very dignified despite her white bandages. She still looked beautiful.
His grandmother held her hand for quite a while, looking into her eyes and saying something softly to her. He saw Veronica brighten, and wondered what Grandma had said.
“How is your Dad?” asked Uncle Daniel.
Simon shrugged. “I need all of your energy, all of your prayers. He’s suffered a bad injury, Uncle Dan.” Simon’s voice cracked again, and he took pleasure in the strong grip of his uncle. His father always said that farm boys never lost their muscle, and his uncles were evidence of that.
A doctor walked in. “I think there might be too many people in here,” he said uncertainly. “Which one of you is Mr. Lassiter?”
The three men stepped forward. “We’re all Mr. Lassiter,” Simon said. “Is this about my father?”
The doctor nodded. “He’s in recovery; he’s not conscious yet. We stopped the bleeding, and his organs are intact. Things are looking up.”
Simon breathed again, looked at Veronica, and saw she was feeling the same.
The doctor smiled. “He’s a very strong man, in more ways than one. Most people in recovery groan and yell as they lie there. It’s quite normal. He’s not doing either. He’s singing.”
The Lassiters all looked at one another. “Singing?” Simon asked.
“Yes. He keeps singing the refrain from that song about Tipperary.”
Simon looked blank, until Veronica began to sing it: It’s a long way to Tipperary, it’s a long way to go; It’s a long way to Tipperary, to the sweetest girl I know—
They all started to laugh, and they didn’t stop until the tears came.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Pat Lassiter woke in a white room, with pale sunbeams shining in the window. He shook his head to clear the cobwebs, and looked down to see himself in one of those damned hospital robes, the kind that leaves your buttocks in the wind, and an I.V. hooked to his wrist. What in the hell? he thought. Had he been in a car accident? He felt the pain then. He poked gingerly at his midsection, covered by bandages crisp with dried blood. What was going on, he wondered, his fear making him angry. And where the hell was his family?
As if in response, Suzie walked in. She looked like a dream. She wore a blue pantsuit, and her hair was fluffed attractively around her face. She was such a pretty woman, even without makeup. Her eyes were a bit red; he imagined she was tired. Had she been watching over him? Worrying a bit, maybe? He hoped so. He should send her home for a nap, but he didn’t want to. I’m a selfish bastard, he thought, grinning at her.
When she saw that he was awake, she was at his bedside in a flash, her face as bright and happy as a spring flower. “Pat! Oh, my dear man, how are you?” Her hand was cool on his hot forehead, and he closed his eyes in a moment of bliss.
“Good now, darlin. You are a sight for sore eyes, I must say. That something new you’ve done with your hair? It’s pretty. Come here, let me pet you.”
To his surprise, she bent obediently toward him, and he touched her face. “Why are you crying, girl? I thought we were an item. You’re not going to dump me, are you? Have some pity on an old man in a dress.” He glared at his clothing, and she laughed.
“Oh, Pat, I love you,” she said, hugging him as best she could from his bedside.
“What in the hell is going on here, Suzie James?” he asked.
The pain in her eyes told her it was a bit more than he’d figured. “Pat,” she said, kissing his dry lips, kissing his unruly eyebrows, kissing his ears, for goodness sake. “You gave me such a scare.”
“Thought I might not pull through? Was I in an accident?” he asked. He couldn’t remember. “Did we not make it to the dance?” he persisted.
Suzie sighed, pulled up a chair. “Pat, you went to Millie Cromwell’s house. Do you remember that?”
The long driveway. He had something to tell her, something important. He shook his head. “Sort of.”
“You got there, and you met a man. It turned out it was Nelson Henry. The man who had written those notes. You must have figured it out, where he was hiding. You should have told someone, Pat.” Suzie’s tone was gentle, and her hand held his.
He saw the ring on her finger, his mother’s ring, his wi
fe’s ring, and now Suzie’s, with a shining ruby in the center of three diamonds. She was going to marry him. He vaguely remembered her rubbing it against his hand. The boy. His eyes, crazy eyes, fighting for the knife . . .
“He stabbed me,” Pat said. It came to him now, painfully. He felt a jolt of anger and humiliation. “He left me for dead, the rat bastard.” He tried to smile at her.
“Pat, you mustn’t think of it. I’m so glad Millie found you, cared for you and called the ambulance. The doctor said you couldn’t have afforded to lose much more blood. You had to receive transfusions.” Her eyes teared up, and Pat, unaccountably, felt happy.
“You were there the whole time, love?”
“Oh, Pat. I ran from the hotel in my stocking feet, I rode with you in the ambulance. I couldn’t believe God was doing it to me. I gave him such a piece of my mind. I was quite beside myself.”
“What did you tell God, then?” Pat asked softly.
“I told him I loved that poor man, and I wouldn’t watch him die, I wouldn’t let it happen again, and He’d best think twice about doing it to me, or to you.”
“Did you now?” asked her fiancé, his eyes resuming some of their old twinkle.
“I did.” She wiped at her eyes, laughed helplessly. “I love you, Pat. You’ll be sorry you ever had your Lassiter Response when you find me refusing to go home.”
“Suzie.” He pulled her to him, pulled her all the way onto his bed. She came willingly, not wanting him to strain himself. “You are home, love.”
At that moment, to his great shock, his mother walked in.
Mairead Lassiter was eighty-five years old. She was tiny, and neat as a pin, and her eyes were as green as they’d been when James had first laid eyes on her, just off the boat. Her mind was still as sharp and keen as well, and she eyed her son with something like exasperation. “Figures I’d find a girl in your bed.”
Suzie James blushed to the roots of her gray hair. “Mrs. Lassiter,” she said, trying to slip down, but held in place by Pat’s steel arm. “I don’t—”
Love, Lust, and The Lassiters Page 16
