The Kiss That Counted

by Karin Kallmaker

  This time they spoke more, whispered love, encouragement, needy things. Some of the emotion was slaked and now their bodies woke in familiar ways. There, more and yes flowed between them, even when words were impossible.

  All of it was true, CJ thought. Even after they finally grew too tired to move, the sleepy kisses, the murmurs of love, were true.

  CJ's head lost to her heart. She gathered the sleeping woman in her arms, breathed her in, and closed her eyes.

  There would be no more running away.

  Chapter 14

  CJ couldn't shake the feeling that she was in a dream. There was a Madonna seated at her little dining room table, eating toast and drinking coffee.

  She'd woken to the warmth of Karita and the distant awareness that she ought to get them both out of the apartment before her family showed up. They would, too. They wouldn't find her at work, so they'd locate her home address, even if it meant paying for it on the Internet. They were as inevitable as ants.

  "There's still time," CJ said.

  "Time for what?" Karita's arched eyebrow suggested what she had in mind.

  CJ fought back a blush. "Time for you to get out."

  Karita put down her mug. "What do you take me for?"

  "I just meant that—"

  "That I didn't mean the things I said last night? That I should fit along to my next flower?"

  "No, that's not what I meant."

  "I've been thinking about what you said, CJ. You were right. I go to the animal rescue and collect kisses and wagging tails from a dozen puppies, and that's not a bad thing. But it does mean I don't have to take care of any of their other needs. I don't have to see any of the women at the shelter through their entire journey. I get to experience the easiest part."

  "What you do isn't easy."

  "No, it's hard to do sometimes. But it's not as hard a job as a nurse's when she takes down the details of the sexual battery that went along with the beating. It's not as hard a job as Emily's, who has to listen to the horrific details and decide how this woman can best be helped. And if it gets too hard, I can not show up. I get to take a break."

  "I don't believe that. You didn't run from the moron with the baseball bat."

  "He nearly killed me. His eyes fooled me. I didn't think he'd swing." Karita waved an elegant hand. "I don't know what I was thinking."

  "That he couldn't be that evil."

  "No, that's not it." Karita's smile tipped to one side in chagrin. "I was thinking that I was an elf and could use my magic on him."

  "I believe you." How like Karita to simply trust that wishing could make something better. "If anyone could do that, it would be you."

  CJ guessed she'd said the right thing, because grateful tears shimmered in the vivid blue eyes. "I was trying to use my magic to save you," Karita added quietly.

  "Ah, but you didn't know I was beyond saving."

  "Stop it." Karita's tone sharpened. "Stop staying things like that, like you believe them."

  "I do believe them," CJ said.

  Last night in Karita's arms, she had stopped believing for a while. In the light of day, expecting a knock from her past on the door any minute, it was another matter. "Look, I really need a shower."

  "Let me help you."

  "No, I can manage. My knee is better, and I don't even need this support on my wrist. I'll be fine"

  She escaped to the bathroom. Her heart was so weak. She just couldn't resist that unfaltering glow in Karita's eyes. What do you do when your deepest truths turn out to be lies, which ought to be a good thing but you can't stop doubting? Her head remained deeply suspicious of her heart, and she didn't know how to stop it.

  Karita listened to the sound of running water. Toast and coffee seemed banal after a night that had emptied her completely. With each tick of the day she began to fill up again, this time, with the knowledge that CJ loved her.

  Loved her, yet would not believe in any kind of future.

  She realized it was nearly time for work. Calling in so late wasn't very considerate, but she rarely took sick days. She dialed in through the back door so she could leave a voice mail for Marty, hoping she didn't sound as guilty as she felt. Then she called the shelter to let Emily know she was still okay, and was surprised to hear Lucy's voice on the phone.

  "I sent her home, the nut. She was up all day and then all night and still saying she wasn't tired. The glazier's here and a specialty cleaner is on the way to deal with the glass in the carpet. A police officer's left a business card for you and you're supposed to call no later than tomorrow afternoon. Pauline is going to spell me in a while, so I'll be headed home too. Do you need anything? How's CJ? Emily said she got knocked around."

  "She fell on the garden claw—got a few stitches. She'll be fine" Her voice softened on the last word and perceptive Lucy didn't miss it.

  "So you had a, um, interesting evening after you left here?"

  "You could say that." Karita wondered if Lucy could tell from her voice she was blushing.

  "I wondered—we had a nice date but she did pump me for information about you. She was about as subtle as a ten-year-old."

  Karita wanted to giggle. Lucy's depiction was at such odds with the darkly pessimistic woman who didn't think she could ever overcome her own past. "I left my purse, my keys, everything, in my locker. I wasn't exactly thinking clearly. CJ's place isn't that far—I don't suppose you could drop them by on your way home? Off of Colfax. You'll be going right past."

  Lucy agreed, and Karita hung up, pretty sure Lucy would be as puzzled as she was by the modest location of CJ's home. Given the article in the paper, anyone would expect CJ to own her own home, at a minimum. Mandy had lived in a five plus den and bonus room model home.

  "Karita? Can you bring me some undies?"

  "I'd love to." Not sure where to look, she chose the easier option of the suitcase, where she'd glimpsed some the night before. As she pulled a lovely pair of skimpy pink panties free she dislodged a file folder and its contents spilled across the floor.

  "Here." She handed them unceremoniously through the crack in the door. "It's not like I haven't seen you naked, you know."

  CJ peered out at her. "I'm just feeling shy right now."

  Karita couldn't help but smile. "We'll see about that later."

  Kneeling on the carpet, Karita gathered printouts and newspaper clippings, some looking very old. A handwritten list of crossed out names, in a childish script and marred by lines across most of them, had drifted almost under the bed, and she put it on top of the ungainly pile. She carried everything to the table to put it back in order.

  The newspaper clippings were dated nearly twenty years ago. A few were from old microfiche and printed on fading thermal paper. She had three in date order when she realized they all bore similar headlines. After that, she couldn't stop reading.

  A crime gone wrong…Reverend Paul M. Carter only wanted to spare an elderly parishioner's hard earned funds from a home improvement scam when the crime turned deadly. Assailants at large…a family affair…father and daughter arrested…

  A few articles briefly covered the trial, and the father, Callomikea James Rochambeau, had been convicted of second-degree murder and sent to prison, in part due to the testimony of his fourteen-year old daughter, name withheld.

  Oh, CJ, Karita thought. You were just a kid. What else were you supposed to do?

  She couldn't find any articles at all in a gap of nearly fourteen years. The next item was a page from a church newsletter. The Lord provides…Phoebe Carter reports that her daughter was notifed of a scholarship covering her entire tuition and materials at Holyoke Bible College. "I despaired of her being able to go to college at all. The Lord couldn't give her father back to us, but God is kind and merciful…"

  Another article, from The Lexington Gazette, two years later. Found treasure…Mary Champlain didn't even know what bearer bonds were, but when the stack appeared on the seat of her car she took them to her best friend who works fo
r a local bank…

  There were more of the same. People finding valuable coins, sudden windfalls or, in one case, even a pile of cash delivered by a confused messenger who couldn't identify the woman who'd paid him very nicely for the job.

  Her gaze traveled from the articles to the list. Mary Champlain, five thousand; Jimmy Tallarude, thirty-eight thousand; Sarah Benchford, nineteen thousand—name after name, crossed off. At the top of the list was Paul Carter Family, sixty thousand, also crossed off.

  Karita's heart was beating so painfully it felt as if it would break.

  A little noise from the bathroom doorway made her look up. CJ was wrapped in a towel, looking as if she would faint.

  "I spilled it and didn't mean to pry." Karita pushed the handwritten list across the table toward CJ. "That bad reputation you've been working on is really ruined now."

  CJ sank into the other chair at the table, her lips pale. "It doesn't make me a good person."

  "Yes, CJ, it does."

  "It's not all there. I couldn't remember everyone."

  "You've done what you can."

  "No. Because I'm hiding from the law, I didn't look those people in the eye and apologize. I had to do it all in secret."

  "I don't understand." Karita fished out the brief article about the sentencing of the man who killed the little town's minister. "You told what happened. Why are you still a fugitive?"

  CJ leaned heavily on her arms. Her eyes were shadowed. "Two separate things. I'm still a fugitive because I left prison before my sentence was up. Three months early."

  Okay, Karita thought, that was serious. No matter how long ago, as far as she knew, CJ would still be wanted. But surely it wasn't insurmountable. "You said they were two separate things."

  "I didn't tell what happened. I lied in court. I sent my father to prison to escape him. I said he made me pull the trigger, but the truth is I don't know if it was him, or me, or both of us."

  Karita took a deep breath. "Why?"

  "I don't think I meant to pull it. I'm not sure if that's just wishful thinking." She closed her eyes and held her head in her hands. "My father had the gun. He always had the gun at the final drop, just in case. The minister showed up. I don't know if the guy thought God wouldn't let anything bad happen or what."

  She gave Karita a bleak stare. "I guess he was like you. He didn't believe in evil, and yet there we were, about to take twenty grand from an old woman to fix a fake radiation leak in her basement. Daddy would have blown the money on a big-screen TV that Aunt Bitty would have thrown a chair through two days later. If the man had just let us leave it wouldn't have happened. It wasn't his fault, but if he'd just let us leave…"

  Karita ached to hold the frightened teenager close, but she knew that CJ didn't want to be told it was all okay. She knew full well that it wasn't all okay. "So what happened?"

  "Daddy gave me the gun. Said it was time I learned. A Smith and Wesson .38 not big, but it seemed so heavy. It was hard to hold up. I told the minister I would shoot the old lady. I figured that was what he needed to hear. He told me I couldn't be so bad, and Daddy started yelling at me to pull the trigger, yelling it in my ear. The minister came across the basement at us, and Daddy put his hand on mine, on the gun, helping me aim. It went off and we ran. The old lady was screaming. I know she called for help but it wasn't in time." Her memory-darkened gaze stared into a place Karita couldn't see.

  "My father wiped the gun down and stashed it in an irrigation drain. The coroner said in court that it was a lucky shot. Went through his neck and the slug fattened into the brick wall behind the guy. He bled to death in minutes. There was no murder weapon but the witness—the old lady—she said she didn't know which of us fred, but we had both been holding the gun. I told the jury my father pulled the trigger, forcing me to pull it as well. It wasn't quite like that. I don't know if I meant to do it. But when I told the story in court I wasn't trying to get out of jail. I wanted to be sure he went to jail. I was trying to get away from my aunt and from him. From home."

  Karita extended a hand across the small table and after a moment, CJ took hold. "It was so long ago."

  "I wanted him to pay for my mother. He never even would say she was dead. My aunt, Aunt Bitty, she told people my mother ran off. She said the same thing about her husband. That's how I knew that guy would kill you if he could. He swung that bat the way she swung a crowbar."

  "Your father's sister?" Violent to their very core, Karita thought, and CJ had overcome it, broken the cycle.

  CJ shivered. "Oh yeah. Yeah, same DNA. He could be savage and then sometimes so smart. He taught me I was good for something. He cared when I did good and for a long time all I wanted was to please him. I didn't want him to think I was a waste of space, like my mother. If I pleased him he sometimes told Aunt Bitty to lay off me. She was a slow poison, like something ate at her all the time and she could only forget it was there when she was angry."

  Karita squeezed CJ's fingers. "Have you ever hit anyone?"

  "No." CJ's red-rimmed eyes flashed with outrage. "Never, never once."

  "You're not like them, CJ. You've truly escaped."

  CJ let go of Karita's hand to wipe her eyes with a corner of the towel. "I don't want to talk about them anymore. Not right now."

  Karita watched her limp to the bedroom. Trying for something like a normal tone, she called, "I don't suppose I could borrow a pair of panties and a T-shirt?"

  "Sure. My pants are going to be too short, though. I thought we were the same height until last night."

  Karita leaned in the bedroom doorway, watching CJ's slow but successful attempt to pull a simple top on over her own head. "We are the same height."

  CJ wouldn't meet her gaze. "Your legs are longer. I'm usually in heels and you're not."

  Karita watched CJ rife through a dresser drawer, and took the offered underwear and shirt. "Shower time for me."

  With hot water pouring over her head, Karita allowed herself to feel the relief of finally knowing what it was that frightened CJ so much. The specter of prison was very scary and very real. Fourteen, fifteen years of thinking any day there could be a knock on the door… CJ had made a small fortune and tried to get right with her own conscience.

  She used the dryer long enough to reduce her hair from wet to damp. CJ, looking fragile in jeans and a long-sleeved sweater, was at the table again when she opened the bathroom door. The file folder was filled neatly and closed. About to ask if CJ would like more coffee, she instead went to respond to a knock at the door.

  "No, wait!" CJ tried to rise too quickly and faltered with a gasp. "Don't open the door."

  Her hand on the knob, Karita said, "It's probably Lucy with my stuff. I told her where to find me."

  "Look, at least."

  After a glance through the peephole, Karita reported, "It's Lucy and a guy."

  "What guy?"

  "I don't know him. About my age—he looks like a kid though."

  "Big Bambi eyes? That's Burnett—I work with him. You can let them in." CJ sounded relieved.

  Karita looked over her shoulder. CJ was still too pale and obviously very much on edge. Suppressing a worried sigh, she opened the door, gave Lucy a brief hug, and introduced herself to the shy young man.

  Lucy handed over Karita's purse with a huge sigh of relief. "I hate these things. I was afraid people would think it was mine."

  "Burnett," CJ said, still seated at the table, "what brings you here?"

  Karita closed the door and wondered if CJ would mind if she offered coffee.

  "It wasn't like you to call in sick," he said tentatively. "I didn't realize you had company."

  "We met almost on your doorstep, CJ." Lucy dug in her pocket. "Your car keys, Karita. I moved it to the street in front of the shelter to avoid the street cleaners."

  "Oh, thank you so much! Like I needed another ticket."

  "It's okay," CJ said to Burnett. "I got a little banged up last night is all."

  "Well, yea
h." Burnett glanced nervously at Karita and she hoped the smile she gave him was reassuring. "Listen, um, I got in early this morning because I was dropping off a revision for Cray. When I got to the office. there was this really scary old lady outside the door asking for you."

  CJ froze.

  Karita asked, "How do you mean scary?"

  "Like Bette Davis and Joan Crawford put together in Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? Totally off their meds kind of scary. Thing is, she was with the woman from the Rocky Mountain Diner, CJ. The one who said she knew you and kind of freaked you out. I told them you were on vacation."

  CJ looked as if she wasn't breathing.

  There was a knock on the door and Karita, out of pure reflex., opened it.

  It was too late to tell Karita to keep the door closed. It was just plain too late. The nightmares of her past had shown up in the daylight.

  The others naturally stepped back from a large puff of cigarette smoke. It was an old trick, and Daria had no trouble getting all the way inside the apartment. Then she stepped back as if to usher in royalty.

  CJ had imagined Aunt Bitty older. Had imagined her dead, for that matter. But aside from the gray in her hair, Aunt Bitty hadn't changed. Her face was carved with disdain. CJ thought that every cruelty the woman had ever committed showed in that face and in her eyes.

  "You led us right to her, sissy boy." Daria blew smoke again, then slammed the door shut once Aunt Bitty was all the way inside. She flung herself onto the sofa, knocking a cushion to the ground. Another long drag let her blow smoke rings toward Burnett. "So, Cassie June, aren't you glad to see Aunt Bitty again?"

  Karita bit back a gasp and Daria gave her an annoyed look. Lucy crossed her arms over her chest and flexed while Burnett waved away the smoke.

  CJ stood up, hiding her hurt knee. The stitches in her hip pulled slightly, but she ignored the discomfort. "No, I'm not."

  "Is that any way to talk to the woman who fed you and wiped your ass when you were a baby?" Aunt Bitty had a cane, but CJ was sure she leaned on it for dramatic effect when she wanted sympathy, and swung it when she got mad. A glorified crowbar, that's what it was.