Chilinger is suspected in the rape and abduction of two other women earlier this year, both from the Charlottesville area.
According to family members, Tucker has been in a persistent vegetative state since she was found unconscious outside a rest stop off I-64.
Doctors would not comment on her prognosis.
Again, Sophie read through the article a second time, a knot of disbelief sitting tight and hard in her throat.
Grace’s mother. This had happened to Grace’s mother. Frantic now, she clicked back to the list of articles, chose the third listing.
An obituary flashed on the screen. Sophie sat back in her chair, put a hand to her mouth.
Laney Ashworth Tucker.
Age thirty-one. Survived by husband Caleb, parents Emmitt and Mary Scott.
Thirty-one years old.
Sophie put her hands over her face, closed her eyes as a torrent of emotion roared through her, as deafening as a spring river out of its banks.
Dear God.
How terrible. How unjust.
And how trite both words sounded. How completely ineffective at describing the horror that had led to her daughter’s birth.
She recalled then the well of pain in Caleb Tucker’s eyes when he’d stood in her office Friday morning. He’d made a mistake, he’d said. Grace. Born to his wife out of a nightmare. And he’d given her away. Awoken from his own coma of grief to realize what he’d done.
Dear God.
Oh, dear God.
SOPHIE PACKED UP HER BRIEFCASE and walked out of her office, one hand on the wall to support herself. Darcy appeared at the other end of the hall, waved and called out, “Hey, Sophie.”
Sophie tried to respond, but the greeting came out sounding like someone else’s voice.
Darcy stopped at the door. “Hey. You’re white as a ghost. Is something wrong?”
“I’m all right,” Sophie said, even as the walls of the building closed in around her. Any second, she would be flattened between them.
Darcy’s expression said she clearly did not believe her. “Are you sure?”
Sophie nodded once and then said, “I have to go, Darc. I’m sorry.”
“Sophie, wait—”
But she bolted down the hall, pushing through the doors and out into the sunshine, her lungs screaming for air.
She drove straight to Grace’s preschool. She pulled up in front and got out of the car, her legs unsteady beneath her.
Inside, Greta Harper, the woman who ran the school, greeted her. “Sophie. You’re early.”
“Yes. Something’s come up, and I have to go out of town,” she said, trying to calm the breathlessness from her voice. “Would you mind getting Grace for me?”
“Of course. Will you be bringing her next Monday?”
“I don’t know yet,” Sophie said, biting back the urge to scream at the woman to just get her daughter. She couldn’t panic. Had to remain clearheaded. But the fear cut through her. “If you could get Grace, I’m in a bit of a hurry.”
Mrs. Harper nodded, curiosity in her expression. “I’ll be right back,” she said, without asking anything further.
A couple of minutes later, Grace came bounding through the door into the front room, Barbie lunchbox in one hand, her Blanky in the other. “Mama! You picked me up early.”
“Yes,” Sophie said, lifting the child into her arms, loving the solid reality of her.
“I didn’t eat my lunch yet. Do you want half of my sandwich?”
“We’re going to take a little trip. Maybe we can have a picnic on the way.”
“Can Lily come?”
“Absolutely.”
“Where are we going, Mama?”
“It’s a surprise,” Sophie said.
CHAPTER EIGHT
CALEB SPENT MOST OF Monday on the tractor, mowing a ten-acre spot of land he and his dad had planned to fence in the fall for new pasture.
The sun was warm on his shoulders, and for the first time in longer than he could remember, he felt rested. For the past three nights, he had slept without dreaming. Friday night in the porch rocker. And then Saturday night, tired to the bone, he’d actually climbed into bed, certain the dreams would chase him back out again. But he’d closed his eyes and slept the night through.
Last night had been the same.
And even though the rest of the world would likely think him crazy, he knew from these past three nights of dreamless sleep, he had finally found a way to give Laney the only thing left for him to give her.
Peace.
BY FIVE O’CLOCK THAT afternoon, Sophie had reached the North Carolina line. Grace was asleep in her car seat, Lily curled up next to her.
Sophie drove with a firm grip on the wheel, a headache knocking in one temple. Her glasses were in her briefcase in the back, and she hadn’t wanted to take the time to stop and get them.
She drove within the speed limit even though the urge to push past it tugged hard. With every mile, the panic loosened a bit more, and by the time they reached Greensboro, Sophie finally felt as if she could breathe again.
At the house, she’d tried to stay calm when the voice in her head had screamed HURRY! She had to put distance between her daughter and the man who had suddenly become the enemy.
As soon as they’d pulled out of the driveway, Grace had declared them on an a’venture, sharing her PBJ with Lily when Sophie had asked if she would mind saving their picnic until they got where they were going.
They’d stopped once at a McDonald’s to go to the restroom, ordering a vanilla milkshake for Grace and a cup of water for Lily.
Sophie had popped in a CD of fairy tales, which Grace had heard a dozen times, but never tired of.
At four-thirty, the cell phone had rung. She’d glanced at the caller ID, recognizing the number for her attorney. And had let it ring.
IT WAS ALMOST ELEVEN when they reached the Myrtle Beach city limits. Grace had been asleep for the last three hours, so instead of stopping midway, Sophie had driven on. She followed the signs to the heart of the hotel strip, stopping at the first decent-looking place with a vacancy sign posted. Sophie pulled up front and rolled down her window. A bellman stood by the door.
“Excuse me.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said.
“Do you allow dogs here?”
The man shook his head. “Service animals only. Try the Marley down the street to your left. Shouldn’t be a problem there.”
“Thank you,” Sophie said.
Luckily, the Marley had its vacancy sign lit. Sophie turned into the medium-size hotel with a rush of fatigue. Her eyes were so tired she could barely keep them open. But they were here. In a place where Sophie could think. Just as soon as she got a few hours of sleep. She would think. And figure out what to do.
DELIVERIES TO TUCKER’S began at six-thirty.
By eight o’clock on Tuesday morning, Caleb had helped unload a shipment of horse feed and another of fertilizer. The last truck had just pulled away from the loading dock when the cell phone in his pocket rang. He wiped his forehead on the sleeve of his denim shirt and reached for the phone.
“Caleb, it’s Amanda.” Amanda Donovan’s voice held the soft politeness of an Alabama up-bringing. Her manner was deceptive though. She’d never lost a case. She played to win and, in fact, this was the reason Caleb had hired her. For everyone concerned, he wanted this over quickly. Not some long, drawn-out court battle that turned all their lives into a made-for-TV movie.
“Yeah,” he said.
“I called Irene Archer, Dr. Owens’s attorney, yesterday afternoon to set up a meeting. I spoke with her again this morning, and it seems there’s a little problem.”
“Problem?”
“No one knows where she is. Apparently, she asked for a substitute to take over her classes. The department head doesn’t know when she’ll be back.”
Caleb dropped his chin to his chest and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “So what does that mean?”
“I d
on’t think we should do anything hasty.” She hesitated and then said, “Look, clearly she’s had a shock. Maybe we should just give her a little time to come to terms with this.”
“And what if she’s decided to leave for good and take the child with her?”
“I don’t think she would do that. From what I’ve been able to gather about Dr. Owens, she’s a levelheaded woman, well respected and liked. Let’s give it a day or two, and if she doesn’t show up we’ll get the police to find her.”
“You’ll call me when you know something?”
“I will.”
Caleb clicked off the phone. He stood there in the morning sun, and let himself think for a moment about what Sophie Owens must be going through. He did not want to cause her pain. That was the last thing he wanted.
But what had happened to him was unimaginable, the stuff he read in newspapers about other people.
And maybe that had been one of the hardest facts to accept. That fate could turn its scope on you, blow a hole right through every hope and dream you’d ever had, when all along you’d thought it was pointed at someone else.
He was sorry for the situation they were in. Sorry about the whole damn thing.
Because the truth was Sophie Owens was going to be another victim.
Just as he had been.
Just as Laney had been.
CATHERINE AWOKE AT daylight, but lay in bed, unable to sleep, unable to get up. A black shroud hung over her and she could no longer see through it. The blackness kept her from finding a spot of happiness in a life that had once been full of little else. Just as it kept her from helping her son find his way back to some sort of peace. And from reaching her own husband, as well, who had told her last night he was moving out this morning.
He wouldn’t actually do it. She’d repeated this to herself throughout a night of little sleep. He couldn’t. She felt now as if the blackness would swallow her whole, and wondered if this was what her mother had felt when she hadn’t gotten out of bed for days on end.
But her mother had been different. Her mother’s depression, or blues, as it was called then, had ruled her life for as long as Catherine could remember.
Catherine herself had been perfectly fine until the tragedy with Laney. And grief was normal. Why couldn’t Jeb understand that?
She heard him now in the bathroom, getting ready for the day, the sounds so familiar to her. The clink of his razor on the porcelain sink. The squeak of the cabinet door, opening, closing. The whoosh of water from the faucets.
They used to get ready together, sharing the shower, talking about their plans for the day. A piercing yearning for what they’d once had broke its way through the darkness inside her like a pinpoint of light, and for a moment, she willed herself to get up and go to her husband, make things like they used to be.
But the effort seemed more than she could manage, her legs and arms leaden with a tiredness that sleep never cured.
The bathroom door opened. Jeb stood framed in the light, handsome in a pair of crisp blue jeans and a white shirt. He didn’t move for a few moments, then crossed the floor and sat down on the side of the bed, careful not to touch her.
“You awake?” he said.
She gripped the blanket with both hands. “Please don’t do this, Jeb.”
He stared out the bedroom window. “Oh, Cath. I can’t go on like this.”
In all the years they had been married, she had never once heard this awful resignation in his voice. She eased up on her elbows, smoothed a hand over her hair. “It will get better. I know it will.”
“I thought so,” he said, his voice quiet. “But this thing with Caleb and the child…I know what it’s going to do to you. And I can’t stand by and watch any longer.”
She studied him, started to speak, then pressed her lips together. When she finally found her voice, it didn’t sound like her own. “I know I haven’t been myself—”
He put his hand on hers and squeezed. “I would do anything in the world to help you. Take you anywhere you agreed to go. But you won’t let me. And until you want to help yourself, it doesn’t matter how much I want to.”
She sat up straight. “Jeb. There’s nothing wrong with me.”
He stood then, his face a mask of grief. “We’ve been through this so many times, Cath. And nothing changes. Nothing ever changes.”
“Jeb, please. Don’t go.”
“I love you, Catherine, but I can’t watch you like this anymore. And what’s happening with Caleb, how will you get through it?”
He walked to the closet and pulled a suitcase from a shelf. He threw a few pairs of pants inside, grabbed shirts, socks and underwear from the bureau drawers.
All the while, she sat watching him, dazed, disbelieving. He didn’t mean it. He couldn’t do this.
When he was done, he looked at her, an unbearable sadness in his expression. “I’ll come by in a few days to get some more of my stuff.”
“Jeb,” she said, her voice breaking. “Don’t. Please. Don’t.”
He shook his head once, then turned and walked out, closing the door behind him.
“I’m not like her!” she screamed in the silence. “There’s nothing wrong with me!”
She heard the front door open, then close.
She collapsed onto the bed and wept.
SOPHIE HADN’T BOTHERED to set an alarm, and both she and Grace slept until almost nine, unheard of for either of them.
As soon as Grace opened her eyes, she leaped from the bed and ran to the window, pulling back the curtain. “Mama, we’re at the ocean! It’s so big!”
“Really big, isn’t it?” Sophie got out of bed, swung Grace up in her arms and carried her out onto the terrace. She breathed in the potent scent of salt and sand.
“Can we go swimming in it?”
“As soon as we take Lily for a walk and get some breakfast.”
“Let’s hurry, Mama,” Grace said.
An hour later, they were outside, and Grace was every bit as fascinated by the ocean as Sophie had been when she’d first seen it as a girl.
They rented chairs and an umbrella, building sandcastles and playing in the water. Lily ran back and forth in front of them, barking at the waves until she finally collapsed in the shade of the umbrella, exhausted.
At lunchtime, they ordered sandwiches from the hotel waitress covering their spot of beachfront and chased them down with frosty glasses of iced tea. When they’d finished eating, Grace curled up on a towel beside Lily and went to sleep, too.
Sophie sat in the lounge chair, sunglasses covering her eyes, a novel on her lap. She had yet to read a word. As wonderful as the morning had been, it was shadowed by the reality she had driven away from, but not escaped.
She could not explain why she had brought Grace here except that long ago, it seemed to Sophie like a place where a person could see the horizon in the distance, gauge the breadth and depth of problems that seemed to have no answer.
When she’d been eleven, Sophie had been invited to go to the beach with her best friend Allie’s family. They’d gone every summer, Sophie’s friend and her brother so used to the trip that they’d endured the seven-hour drive with bored tolerance, not interested in any of the road games their mother had kept suggesting they play. But Sophie had been so excited she hadn’t slept the night before. Her aunt and uncle had never taken vacations. At first, Uncle Roy had issued a flat no to her request to go, but when Aunt Ruby had said she could do with a vacation from taking care of Sophie, he had agreed to let her. To Sophie, it was the most exciting thing she’d ever done. To earn the money for the trip, she’d cleaned out the neighbor’s chicken coop every morning for two months.
She’d always wanted to go to the ocean. Listen to its sound. Taste the salt water on her lips. As soon as they’d arrived, she’d waited with pounding heart while Allie and her brother had changed into their swimsuits and complained about having to go the beach when there was a great pool at the motel. Allie’s mother had
insisted they take Sophie to the beach first because she had never seen it.
She’d stood at the water’s edge, staring at the waves rushing onto the sand and the endless horizon. The other two children had run into the water, yelling for her to follow. She had, finally, not with the arms-wide-open abandon of her friends, but with one careful step at a time, wanting to remember each one in case she never got to come again.
The ocean had been everything she’d imagined and more. It made her feel the possibility of things, that there were places in the world for her to go, things she could be.
Sitting before that same body of water, arms folded across her chest, Sophie was exactly what she wanted to be. A mother. She had accomplished the other goals she’d set for herself. Teaching at a respected university. Making a place for herself in a community she had grown to love. And for those things, she felt satisfaction. But life had not taken on dimension, depth, until Grace.
It had been a very long time since she had chosen running as a solution to her problems. When she was younger, she’d seen it as the only way to find a new start. She’d packed what few belongings she had, left in the middle of the night and hitchhiked her way out of the hills of southwest Virginia. That seemed like someone else’s life now, so long ago that memory had blurred the feelings of hopelessness.
But it was back now, filling her lungs like the batting in the hand-sewn quilts her mother had once made for her.
She breathed in the sea’s fresh air. She was not the same girl she had been all those years ago.
She reached in the bag next to her chair and pulled out her cell phone. She dialed the number for voice mail. “You have eight new messages.”
The first was from Irene Archer. “Sophie, please call me.” Two more and then by the fourth, Sophie could hear the worry in her voice. “Sophie. I know you’re upset, but we need to talk.”
A Gift of Grace Page 8
