But we don’t talk, James and I. We run. And we make love. We don’t bring in the rest of the world. Hey, he could be asking me about my trip right now, but he isn’t. I’m okay with that. It works on my end.
That’s why I say you’re a coward. Life is about confrontation. I lived in a time when women didn’t dare speak their piece, and I did speak my piece. That took guts.
And look where it got you. You drowned in a bottle and died. What do you want from me?
Confrontation. You live in a time when you can speak out against wrongs, and you do have the goods on the guy. So speak. You owe it to me.
To you? I was startled.
Yes. I coddled you when you needed it. I gave you your identity, for God’s sake.
Hah. It’s been a yoke.
It’s been a boon. So now I’m asking for your help. I need the Meades destroyed.
Why?
Because I can’t do it myself. Because I died too young. Because I had too many other problems, and those problems mucked things up. You don’t have those problems. Don’t you see, Annie. If you do this—if you go home to your little New England town, turn over those rocks, and expose the dirt—it’ll validate what I did myself. I was vilified. That wasn’t fair. I was living in the wrong place at the wrong time. I need you to set things straight.
“Ready to run?” James asked.
The sound of his voice silenced Grace. I knew she’d be back. She had raised a valid point. We needed to discuss it, she and I. But not now.
Pushing myself to my feet, I nodded. We headed for the woods and set off on the path—and it was a relief from the start. I did need the airing-out. It was only as I ran that I realized how tense I had been those days with Phoebe. Running now, the tension began to melt from my limbs. I focused on the warm air and the trees, on the pine needles and the sun that pierced them. I focused on being back here doing something I liked—and when we passed the cutoff to Cooper’s Point, I focused on how far I’d come. Feeling strong, I lengthened my stride.
That was when I hit James—just ran smack into him—because he stopped short. Turning quickly, he caught my arm and steadied me. We were both breathing hard.
Our eyes met, and it was there again, every bit of what we had shared the Thursday before and then some, because this time we knew where it could go. He dipped his head and caught my mouth, and it was almost comical, trying to kiss that way with the two of us breathless from running, but amazingly it worked. He deepened the kiss—or did I?—because a simple kiss wasn’t enough. Nor was not touching. My back found a tree that fit, and he pressed me there. His hands moved from my thighs over my middle to my breasts—both hands, both breasts—while I worked my own against his groin.
I heard a cry. I might have thought it had come from James, if it hadn’t been so high. And it wasn’t from me. At least, I didn’t think it was.
Apparently, neither did James. He stopped what he was doing and lifted his head. “There it is again,” he said in a raggedy way. “I thought that was you.”
“Again?”
“I heard it before. That’s why I stopped.”
“You thought I—”
“Wanted me.” He looked off into the woods.
I might have been embarrassed—like he had stopped only because he thought I needed him, like I was a charity case—if I hadn’t felt his erection against me. It had been there all along. The need was mutual.
But that cry came again, and I, too, looked toward deeper woods.
“Trouble?” I whispered, quickly forgetting my own need.
“I don’t know,” he whispered back, apparently past his own need as well. Taking my hand, he led me off the path and into the woods. We worked our way between trees, over pine needles and moss, around rocks.
Still holding my hand, James stopped and waited. The cry came again, definitely human and female. Our eyes met.
“Distress?” I whispered.
“Doesn’t sound it,” he whispered back, “but can we be sure?”
We couldn’t. On the chance that there was indeed trouble, James put me behind him. I clutched the back of his shirt and measured my steps to his and we moved on.
We didn’t have to go much farther. Just when another cry came, we rounded a tall patch of ferns to an opening in the woods—and, looking around his arm, I caught my breath. A woman was there, bound to a tree.
No, I realized. Not bound. Her back was to the tree and her arms curved around it behind her, but there were no ropes. Her eyes were closed, head turned to the side, long dark hair draped over her shoulder. No, there were no bonds. Ecstasy held her there, aided by the dark head and pale male body that covered her lower half.
“Omigod,” I whispered and would have backed up as silently as we had come—we were intruding on the most intimate of activities—if James hadn’t been so firmly planted where he stood. I gave a tiny tug at his elbow, but he wasn’t moving. Even more startling, he put his hands on his hips.
The wait wasn’t long. I don’t know whether something tipped off the woman (whom I didn’t recognize) or whether she had simply reached a break in her ecstasy-driven bliss, but her head rolled to the front and her eyes opened. She didn’t cry out then. She screamed. Her arms crossed her torso to cover her breasts. Her lover looked up, then around.
I did recognize him. Instantly. It was Hal Healy—Hal, who was so in love with his voluptuous wife that he couldn’t keep his eyes or hands off her; Hal, who had accused me of being a negative influence on the impressionable young girls in town; Hal, the illustrious principal of good old Middle River High. We had stumbled across another of Middle River’s dirty little secrets.
“You self-righteous prick,” James said.
Hal seemed to sink lower toward the ground, trying to hide his buttocks from our view, though he couldn’t turn without exposing himself more. He couldn’t run, couldn’t hide. All he could do was to go red in the face, which he did. It would have been humorous, if it hadn’t been so pathetic.
“It’s not what you think,” he managed in a shaky voice. His eyes were on James, not me. James was clearly the threat.
“No?” James asked. “Then what is it?” To me, James said toward his shoulder, “I assume you know Dr. Healy. The lovely woman with him is Miss Eloise Delay, the guidance counselor he hired last year. She’s fresh out of college, which makes her substantially younger than our prinicpal. She gives advice to troubled students.”
Miss Eloise Delay was frozen against the tree, covering herself as best she could, her eyes large and filled with horror. She looked like she would have welcomed death, if that were her only means of escape.
“Don’t take this out on her,” Hal begged.
“Was she unwilling? It didn’t look it. I’d heard rumors, Hal. People are wondering why you’re all over your wife whenever anyone is looking, at the same time she’s complaining that you’re at school night after night. The rumors hinted that it was someone at school, but could never quite home in on who. So it’s you and Eloise, working late evenings? That’s bad enough. But here, in broad daylight? What if I’d been one of your students? What if I’d been a whole group of your students?”
Lacking an answer, Hal begged, “Back off so we can get dressed, at least.”
“When I’m done,” James said with every bit of the authority I had always attributed to him. He didn’t have to raise his voice to imbue it with thunder. “What are we going to do with you?”
“It will never happen again,” Hal said.
“How many times have students said that, just prior to being suspended or, worse, expelled? How long’s it been going on, Miss Delay? Was the spark there when you interviewed for the job?”
Eloise didn’t speak. I suspected she couldn’t have found her voice if she’d tried.
“Hal?” James prodded. “How long? I remember when you hired her, there was some talk about her being inexperienced. You were her champion before the school board. What was it you said? Stellar academic rec
ord? Brilliant recommendations? Personality plus? I guess the plus takes on new meaning now.”
I touched James’s arm. “Let’s go,” I whispered.
But James wasn’t done. “What about your wife, Hal? She’s lived in this town all her life. Do you have any idea what happens when the rumors go to work? Think it’s fun for her? Okay, so you resign and take a job somewhere else, but what about her? This is her home. Are you going to uproot her and take her along? Is she your cover? Is that it? Or will you divorce her and scoot off with Miss Delay?”
“James,” I repeated. I detested Hal Healy, but I was beginning to squirm.
My plea registered. James made a scornful sound in his throat, turned and strode off. I followed gladly.
“What are you going to do?” Hal cried.
Calling back over his shoulder now, James thundered, and I have to say it was awesome: “Let you wonder what I’m going to do.”
Back on the path, he continued to stride, taking the shortest route to the parking lot.
“James?” I called from several paces behind.
He held up a hand and went on, stopping only when we reached the grass on the far side of the trees. Bending over, he put his hands on his knees and hung his head. I came alongside, but just stood there and waited until he had regained control. Then he straightened.
His eyes met mine. “I’m not sorry for one word of that. He deserved it. He’s a pompous ass. But what about us? Are we any different?”
I knew exactly what he was thinking. Lord knew I had my faults, but I refused to group myself with the Hal Healys of the world. “Yes, we’re different. For one thing, when we did it here, it was dark. For another, neither of us is married. For a third, we don’t preach abstinence and restraint. He does—all the time, from what I hear. My niece was telling me that he’s even cracked down on the showing of bare skin in school, and I agree completely, except that he has some gall to be calling for that, when he’s out here without a stitch of clothing on and with someone who isn’t his wife.”
James’s eyes were dark. “Are you Greg Steele’s lover?”
“No.”
“You live together, but you don’t do it?”
“No.”
“Did you ever?”
“No. We’re very good friends. The cost of condos in the District has gone through the roof, but because we pooled our resources, we could afford something good. Neither one of us wanted to live alone. We’d rather live with each other than with anyone else. We see other people; if one of those relationships ever gets serious, we would sell the condo, but for now, this works. We have separate bedrooms on separate floors. We’ve never been sexually involved.”
I’m not sure if my answer pleased him. His eyes remained dark, not so much doubting as haunted. “So what we did hasn’t broken any moral code. And yes, we did it before in the dark. But just now, would we have stopped what we were doing if we hadn’t heard her cry?”
He had me there. I couldn’t answer. The truth was that when I was with James like that, the rest of the world didn’t exist.
He grunted. “Yeah. I know. So what are we going to do about it?”
“Do we have to do anything?” I asked with a half smile. “Can’t we just enjoy it while it lasts?”
He studied me for another minute, then pushed a hand through his rumpled hair. Leaving that hand on the back of his neck, he regarded me with what seemed like amazement and returned my half smile. “I keep saying, is this really Annie Barnes? The old Annie Barnes, who was such a royal pain in the Meade butt way back when? I don’t understand why I’m attracted to you.”
“Thanks.”
“You know what I mean. Don’t you feel the same way?”
Suddenly I was very serious. I wouldn’t have picked this time or place. I actually would have let it go awhile, because it was so nice just…feeling James Meade against my body…and surely this kind of discussion would ruin that. But here was another truth, but I’ve lost track of the count, so what is it, maybe TRUTH #18? Time and place have a mind of their own. We can decide one thing. Then another thing happens, and our decision is moot. We can’t go back, only ahead.
“You bet I do,” I said, and what came out of my mouth then had nothing to do with Grace. She had been a victim of her own time and place, but this was mine. “You’re the bad guy. I should not be attracted to you, especially after what I learned in New York. My sister went through a whole barrage of medical tests there, the upshot of which is that she has been diagnosed with mercury poisoning. The only source of mercury here is your mill.”
“I was under the impression that mercury poisoning could come from dental amalgam.”
“It can. But she doesn’t have silver fillings. Besides, there have been spills.”
He stared at me. Doubting? Daring?
“Phoebe isn’t the only one who is sick,” I said.
“I know.”
I pounced on that. “You know, and you do nothing about it?”
“That isn’t exactly correct.”
“Enlighten me, please.”
He looked off toward the field house, which was the only part of the high school that was visible from where we stood. “Not here. Not now.”
“But you raised it. If not here and not now, when?”
“Tonight.”
“I have to take care of Phoebe. She is really bad, James, and it’ll get worse before it’s better. She goes in tomorrow for the first of the treatments. Tom’s doing it—and, so help me, if you people cause trouble for him because of that, I will write my book.”
“No trouble. When will Phoebe be in bed tonight?”
“Nine.”
“Come then.”
Chapter 21
SABINA MADE breakfast for Ron and the kids, but she was distracted. As soon as Lisa and Timmy had left the room, Ron sat back in his chair. “Calling Sabina,” he teased. “Come in, Sabina.”
Her eyes flew to his. She smiled sadly. Ron did know her well.
Helping herself to another cup of coffee, she sat kitty-corner to him. “I think…we have a problem.” She passed on what Annie had told her the night before.
“The first problem is insomnia,” Ron said. “You barely slept. Why didn’t you tell me this last night?”
“Because I didn’t want to believe it—and then, when it kept on nagging at me, I wasn’t sure what to do with it. There’s so much at risk. On one hand, there’s Phoebe and all those others who are sick. On the other, there’s the mill. Aidan is watching me. The slightest provocation, and he’ll fire me.” She frowned. “And then there’s Annie.”
“Sweet, successful, troublemaker Annie,” Ron said.
“Troublemaker Annie is right.”
“Our very own Grace, stirring things up.”
“Yes, and I keep telling myself that, only this time, what she says makes sense. I’ve been going over it in my mind all night, looking for every reason to say she’s simply out for revenge. Except that she’s right—as plots go, this one is plausible. Not only that, but it explains so much.” She raised her mug and let the scent of the coffee soothe her. In time, she sipped it.
“Did you decide what to do?”
“Actively decide? No. But it’s like I’m being swept along with something that I can’t drop. This isn’t just Annie telling the world that Daddy did most of my sixth-grade science project, or that Phoebe sucked her thumb until she was ten. It isn’t just Annie accusing Aidan Meade of being a liar or Sandy Meade of manipulating Sam Winchell. This is poison. It’s innocent people being robbed of their health. It’s Mom—and maybe Omie and a slew of others—dying because of something that could have been prevented.” She paused, struck again by the weight of it all. “I mean, it really is bad. Can I turn my back and walk away without saying a word?”
Ron chewed on his cheek.
“Yes, I may lose my job,” she went on. “You, too. Would you hate me if it happened?”
“I’d be worried about how we’d survive.
”
“But suppose we figured that out, would you hate me for what I’d done?”
“I might wonder what it accomplished. Look, Sabina, even if Annie’s right, can she really take on the Meades and win?”
Sabina had spent the wee morning hours considering that question. She kept trying to find alternative answers, to give herself choices, but only one emerged. Could the Meades actually be beaten?
“This time, yes,” she said, “because if what Annie says is right, this is bigger than Middle River. This isn’t about who’s sleeping with who. It isn’t about who has power and who doesn’t. It’s about who’s sick and dying, and whether it can go on.” She spoke pleadingly, desperate that her husband understand, because, of all the other arguments, this one tormented her the most. “Our kids were in that day care center, Ron. They were there, each of them, from the time they were three months old until they went to school. What if something had happened during those years? Or before they were born? You’re up there by the shipping docks all day, but I’m going to different buildings all the time. What if I had happened to walk through an area where there was a spill while I was pregnant? Getting mercury out of Phoebe’s body is one thing, but when there’s fetal damage, it’s permanent.”
Ron countered, “What if I fell off the shipping dock, like Johnny Kraemon did last week? He broke his back. He’ll never walk again. Bad things happen.”
“Accidents do. But what if we have a chance to prevent them? Don’t you see, there’s my sister Annie, who has a life somewhere else, and she’s committed to this cause—and here I am, with a life right here, and I’m on the fence? Who stands to lose more? How will I feel if she actually wins this?”
Ron was silent for a moment, his expression grim. Then, with a chill she rarely heard, he said, “Is it still a race between you two?”
Sabina was stunned. “Low blow, Ron.”
“Answer the question. Is the motivation Annie, or is it the cause?”
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