Addy stared at the papers sitting in neat stacks on the table, bills, receipts, invoices, all evidence of Claire’s hard work. Was her mother right? Was it time to declare defeat, acknowledge that like people, times changed? Bow out gracefully?
Judging from the evidence in front of her, the answer was a clear one.
But in the short time she’d been back, a subtle shift had taken place inside Addy. She’d arrived at the orchard feeling like a stranger who had once lived here. With each passing day, her love for the place rose a little higher inside her like the tide creeping back into shore. And she wanted it to thrive again.
* * *
LATER THAT NIGHT, Addy went down to the barn to check on the fawn, gave her some carrots which had quickly become a favorite. Back at the house, she settled into a leather chair in the living room with her laptop, logging onto the Internet.
Claire had already gone up, saying she was tired. Addy had watched her climb the stairs, hearing a new note in her mother’s voice that she was sure had more to do with resignation than fatigue.
She used a search engine to locate the Web pages for some of their major competitors. Most of them big commercial producers, they all had impressive sites.
She then poked around for studies on the marketing of produce. Found several. She was reading through the third one when a car pulled up outside.
She started across the floor to see who it was just as a crash reverberated through the room. Glass flew. Addy jumped back, a shard catching the inside of her right calf.
A rock landed on top of her computer, smashing the keyboard. Addy stared for a moment, too shocked to move. She bolted to the window, but the car had already roared backwards and peeled off down the driveway.
Claire clattered down the stairs, calling out, “Addy, what is it? What happened?”
“Someone threw a rock through the window,” she said, still stunned.
“Oh, my goodness,” Claire said. “You’re bleeding.”
Addy looked down, saw a circle of blood pooling on the floor beside her.
Claire took her arm, led her to the couch. “Let me see how bad it is.”
The cut was jagged and bleeding at a fairly alarming rate.
“I’ll get the first-aid kit,” Claire said, heading for the kitchen.
She was back in a few moments with the phone tucked under her chin, talking. “Ida, I’m so glad you’re there. Is Culley home?”
Addy waved both hands to stop her.
“Oh, good. Addy’s been hurt. Could you please ask him to run over?”
Addy dropped her head back against the couch. “I wish you hadn’t done that. I’m fine.”
“I’ll feel better if he looks at it. And I know he won’t mind.” She pulled some gauze from the kit and pressed it to the wound. “Where’s the rock?”
“It rolled under the desk.”
“Keep pressure on this,” Claire said. She found the grapefruit-size rock, held it up. “There’s a note attached.”
“What does it say?”
Claire unfolded the paper. “‘One way or another, the interstate will go through Lindmore County. Warning: that little fire was a test run.’”
Addy sat there for a moment. “Who would do this?”
“I have no idea.”
Headlights arced through the window. Footsteps sounded on the porch and then a knock. “Addy? Claire?”
Culley. Claire went to let him in, and Addy had to admit she was relieved to see him. He crossed the living room in a few swift strides, dropping to one knee beside her and setting a leather medical bag down on the floor.
“What happened?” he asked.
“I think someone was trying to make a point,” Addy said.
Claire held up the rock and handed him the note. He read it with a frown. He pulled back the gauze on Addy’s leg, then opened his bag and removed a jar of some kind of ointment. He opened a pack of gauze. “It’s a fairly clean slice. It won’t need stitches. But it’ll be pretty sore for a couple of days.”
Addy nodded.
“Have you called the sheriff?”
“No,” Claire said. “Maybe we should just let it go.”
“The next time it could be something far worse, Mama. We need to let the authorities handle it.”
“She’s right, Claire,” Culley agreed, his voice respectful but insistent.
With reluctance, Claire dialed the sheriff’s office while Culley cleaned Addy’s cut with something that stung.
“Sorry,” he said. “It shouldn’t last long.”
Claire stepped out into the foyer, telling the officer on duty what had happened.
“I’m sorry Mama called you over here.”
“I’m not.” He looked up, met her gaze with a smile that could melt an ice cube. “That’s what friends are for, right?”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
SHERIFF RAMSEY ARRIVED a few minutes later along with two of his deputies. They asked Claire and Addy for their versions of what had happened.
There wasn’t much to tell. Neither of them had seen anything. He assured them they would do their best to find out who did it, but the look on his face was doubtful.
“I was just over at Oscar Hammond’s place this morning,” the sheriff said. “Somebody had slashed the tires on all his farm equipment. He got the same kind of note.”
“Who could be so desperate to have this interstate go through?” Claire asked.
“I wish I knew. That would give us our answer, wouldn’t it?”
It was nearly ten o’clock by the time Sheriff Ramsey and his deputies left. Culley had gone out to the barn and found some plywood to nail over the window until they could call someone to fix the broken glass.
He came back in the house and said, “Not exactly a beautiful piece of workmanship, but it should keep the bugs out.”
“Thank you, Culley,” Claire said. “If you two don’t mind, I’m going up to bed. I’m a little beat.”
“Are you all right, Mama?” Addy asked.
“I’m fine. I’ll see you in the morning. Thank you again, Culley,” she said on the way up the stairs.
“Anytime.”
The two of them stood in the foyer. Claire’s bedroom door clicked closed, echoing in the silence.
“I’d better get going, too,” he said. “Leg okay?”
“Yes. Thank you. I’ll walk you out.”
Outside, the sky was sprinkled with stars, a half moon hung high. Culley set his bag inside the Explorer, then turned with one hand on the door. “You’ll be okay?”
“Yes.” She folded her arms across her chest.
“They’ll find who did it, eventually.”
She nodded. “I know.”
“I’m glad you’re all right.”
There was more than simple politeness behind his words. And she was at once glad and grateful to know that he was here.
He reached out, brushed the back of his hand against hers, a feather touch, then threaded his fingers through hers and tugged her to him. He had his back to the vehicle, feet apart. She stood between his legs, her gaze set on the buttons of his shirt.
She should really step back, stop this now before it went any further. But the desire to see if memory had touched up the reality of that night in New York was strong.
One kiss.
What could it hurt?
And then he kissed her, swift and swooping, as if not giving either of them a chance to change their mind.
Just then, it was the last thing that would have occurred to her.
Memory had done a fine job of holding on to the details. It was one of those kisses that hits the bloodstream like a drug, instant ignition. Everything inside her went weak, and at the same time was empowered with something so good and real that she wanted to freeze the moment, prevent it from melting away.
He pulled back, and they looked at one another again, acknowledging the impact of the kiss.
He fit a hand to either side of her waist, bringing her up
flush against him. And they settled into another kiss that had a little less fire at its center, but no less potency.
“You know, this friendship thing—” he said, his lips at the corner of her mouth.
She tipped her head to the side. “Umm.”
“It’s not so bad if kissing like that is a part of it.”
“Yeah.” The word came out on an exhale. “So…you think being friends doesn’t mean we can’t kiss.”
“It’s working for me.” This while he nuzzled the soft spot beneath her ear, his hand dropping from her waist to the back of her hip.
It was getting harder to think, much less breathe.
She dropped her head back and then stepped away. “Go home, Culley Rutherford.”
He looked at her, a too-appealing half smile accompanying his, “You sure?”
She took another step back, needing distance for clarity. “Yeah. I’m sure.” Weak, Addy. Even to her own ears.
He swung the door open, slid onto the seat. “Promise me something?”
“Maybe.”
“Leave this as it is? Don’t spend the next two hours adding a whole bunch of what-now’s to it. Let’s just let it be what it is.”
“And what is it?” she asked softly.
“A few pretty hot kisses between two people who used to like each other. And still do.”
He closed the door, and she stood there, arms folded across her chest, watching as he lifted a hand, backed up, then rolled off down the driveway.
* * *
CULLEY LET HIMSELF into the house a few minutes later. His mom was waiting in the foyer.
“Madeline asleep?” he asked.
“Yes. I read her some books, and she drifted off on the last one.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
“How’s Addy?”
“She had a pretty good gash on her leg.”
“Thank goodness it wasn’t worse.”
They went into the kitchen. Ida poured him a glass of tea from the pitcher on the counter, then added some ice. “All right if I make an unasked for observation?”
“It’s pretty certain you’re going to whether I say yes or not,” he said with an indulgent smile.
“It’s been good for you, having Addy here. I see something of who you used to be.” Ida patted him on the shoulder and nodded.
After she had left, Culley took his tea to the office off the living room. He sat down in the leather chair and thought about what his mom had said.
Over the years, he had changed. He’d once been a guy who knew how to have fun. His outlook on life one in which he saw the glass half-full. His marriage to Liz had eroded all that, until the result was somebody he didn’t like being. A guy who worked too much, saw his daughter too little, smiled infrequently enough that she looked surprised when he did.
Tonight, standing under a sky filled with stars, he’d kissed the woman with whom he’d actually once shared a baby pool. And realized that he wanted to be who he’d once been. A guy who could admit his life hadn’t taken the path he’d envisioned. But could move on.
He opened his eyes and sat up. That was the difference. For the first time in three years, he wanted to move on. Make a new beginning.
The cell phone on the desk rang. He glanced at the caller ID, didn’t recognize the number but picked it up. “Hello.”
“Hey. It’s me.”
He sat back in the chair, pressed two fingers to the bridge of his nose. “Liz.”
“I’m in the infirmary with some kind of stomach bug. There’s a nice nurse here who snuck me a phone.”
“Oh,” he said.
There was a heavy pause, as if they had no idea what to say to one another. Which, on his part, was true.
“Did you get the letter I sent a while back?”
“Yes,” he said, feeling a stab of guilt for not having responded.
“Can you come for a visit, Culley?”
Culley squeezed his eyes shut. Even though they were no longer married, no matter how hard he tried to convince himself that Liz’s life was her own now, he still felt sorry for her.
“You don’t owe me anything, Culley,” she said, her voice dropping a few notes. “I’m just scared.”
“Liz,” he said, the hard knot in his voice softening. “I want to see this end so you can get on with your life. But you understand that’s what it will be, don’t you? You getting on with your life.”
“I know you’ve moved on. Beyond what our divorce papers say. And I don’t blame you.”
He heard the loneliness in her voice, marked as it was by an edge of desperation. Was it so much to ask, really? They hadn’t seen one another in a long time; the last few times he’d taken Madeline, his mom had gone in to supervise the visit. He hadn’t wanted to see Liz.
Another shaft of guilt hit him for that. Maybe it would be the right thing, to go. Give them both some closure. “All right,” he said. “I’ll come on Monday.”
“Thank you, Culley. I’ll see you then.”
He disconnected the phone. Sat there for a while thinking about Addy and what it had been like kissing her tonight. Of how he’d driven home feeling like he’d been filled with helium.
He compared that to how he felt now. As if all the curtains had been drawn, and the room was pitch-black, the air inside stale.
He didn’t want to feel that way anymore. He wanted his life to be one in which the windows were wide open, a breeze stirring.
The clock struck midnight, and with it came a sudden resolve. He would go see Liz on Monday. And then close the door for good.
* * *
NIGHTTIME WAS THE WORST.
Liz Rutherford lay on the narrow bunk, staring at the ceiling. Below her, the woman with whom she’d shared the bleak cell since her incarceration, snored softly. She was in on a child-abuse conviction.
At night, when they were both lying in bed, wishing for sleep, regret hung over the room like a thick fog. Liz wondered if either of them would ever see past it.
That was the hard part about being in this place. She had all the time in the world to reflect on the wrongs she’d done, and yet she couldn’t do anything about trying to fix it. Not that any of it was fixable. She’d tossed her marriage out the window, put her daughter’s life in jeopardy, paralyzed a man.
All for a bottle of booze.
Sometimes, lying here thinking about what had happened, it felt as if it must have been someone else’s life. That she couldn’t possibly have done what she had.
But no matter how many times she circled it, that was the point she always came back to. She had done those horrible things.
On the heels of that came another hope. Maybe there was still time. Maybe it wasn’t too late to make things right. Culley had agreed to visit. That was something. A glimmer of light to cling to.
She rolled over on her side, pressed her face into the pillow. He had given her so many chances. But that was Culley. He’d believed in her, thought she could turn her back on the drinking, rise above it. Put her family first.
But the need had gone deeper than that. Deeper than anything in her life. As ashamed as she was to admit it, deeper than her love for her husband or her child.
That was the part that scared her most about leaving this place. She’d been through the treatment program, of course, hadn’t had a sip of alcohol since she’d entered the prison. But out there? What about when she got out?
She held her hand up in the near dark. It shook.
* * *
CULLEY AWOKE TO the sound of sobbing.
At first he thought he was dreaming. He lay there in the dark for a moment, straining to hear.
Madeline.
Wide-awake now, he swung out of bed and lunged down the hall. He opened her door, stepped into the room. “Madeline?” he called out quietly.
She lay on her side, facing away from him. And she was crying as he’d never heard her cry before, heartwrenching sobs that sounded as if they came from some wounded spot deep inside her. He
flicked on the lamp, sat down on the edge of the bed, rubbing a hand across her hair. “Honey? What is it?”
She turned to look at him then, bolted upright and locked her arms around his neck, as if she were drowning, and he was the only buoy in sight. She pressed her face to his chest, the sobs coming harder now. He cradled her to him, stroking her hair and letting her cry.
When her sobs began to soften, he pulled back and said, “What’s wrong, baby?”
“I had a dream. An awful dream.”
“About what?”
She looked down, shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It does matter,” he said, tipping her chin up so that she was forced to look at him. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, her lashes glistening with tears. “To me, it matters.”
She was quiet for a while, her crying turning to snuffles. “It was about the accident.”
“Oh, sweetie.”
She hesitated, and then, “I—I was trapped in the car. I couldn’t get out, and I kept calling to Mama, but she wouldn’t wake up. She didn’t hear me.”
Culley pulled her tight against him again, his chest aching with fresh sorrow, regret. “You were dreaming, honey. It’s just a dream.”
“But that’s how it happened,” she said, pulling back to look up at him with urgent eyes. “I kept calling and calling. And she wouldn’t wake up. I could see the other car through the windshield, and that man was screaming.”
Culley cupped her cheek with his hand, pain searing through him. She had never talked about it before. Had never wanted to. He had assumed she didn’t remember. Or didn’t want to. “I’m so sorry, honey.”
She launched herself at him again, wrapping her arms around him and holding on as if she never wanted to let go. “It was so awful, Daddy.”
He held her, stroked her hair, wishing for words to comfort her, wishing he could wipe that day from their past as if it had never happened. “I’m so sorry,” he said again because it was true even if it didn’t make it better.
* * *
A MEETING HAD been scheduled in town on Saturday during which Congressman Bill Powers was scheduled to address the citizens of Harper’s Mill with his view on why the new interstate would be a positive boon to the county.
Unfinished Business Page 10
