The Condemned (Echoes from the Past Book 6)

by Shapiro, Irina

  Chapter 21

  January 2015

  London, England

  The snow came down in thick, heavy flakes, blanketing London in a pristine quilt of white and giving it a storybook appearance. Quinn pushed aside the net curtain and stared out the window, Alex in her arms. He watched the snow coming down with complete absorption, his eyes round with wonder as he held out a splayed hand, thinking he could catch the snowflakes.

  “Snow,” Quinn said to him. “Snow.” Alex cooed happily and Quinn kissed the top of his dark head. He had that intoxicating baby smell and her heart flooded with love…and guilt. When she’d gone to the shop yesterday, she’d purchased baby formula and infant cereal. She hadn’t given it to Alex yet, but she would today. She’d planned to nurse Alex until he was at least six months old, but the past two weeks had been a challenge. Her milk had become less plentiful, something that had become obvious to her when she pumped, and Alex seemed dissatisfied and fussy when he finished nursing.

  “I think he’s still hungry,” Quinn had said to Gabe after she’d nursed Alex last night. “I don’t think he’s getting enough. Sylvia said supplementing the milk with cereal will make him feel fuller.”

  “Perhaps she’s right.”

  “I just want to do what’s best for the baby.”

  “What about what’s best for you? You’re struggling, mentally and physically. You wince every time Alex latches on.”

  “My nipples are sore,” Quinn confessed. “He’s starting to teethe, and his gums are firmer. That boy has a death grip when he’s hungry. I’m going to call the clinic and speak to his pediatrician. If he says it’s all right, I will start Alex on solids and supplement my milk with store-bought formula.”

  “I think that makes perfect sense,” Gabe agreed.

  Quinn was grateful for Gabe’s support, but she still felt as if she were failing her son. Some women nursed until the child was as old as eighteen months, while she’d only managed four. But there were other issues. Perhaps it was the stress of discovering that Jo was somewhere in Afghanistan, or the helplessness of only being able to stand idly by while Rhys went off to Kabul, putting himself in danger for her benefit. She had no illusions about Rhys’s motives. He wasn’t there for Jo, he was there for Quinn. She should have refused, should have dismissed his offer as soon as it had been made, but she simply couldn’t bring herself to pass up the chance to find her sister.

  And now everyone was on edge. Logan sent daily texts, asking if there was any news from Rhys, and Sylvia had phoned twice over the past few days. Her parents, her cousin Jill, and even Drew Camden, whom Quinn and Logan had hired to find Jo, called to check in. Their concern only made her more anxious. She was so desperate to find Jo, she’d allowed Rhys to go into a warzone, and if anything happened to him it’d be her fault. As she told Gabe, Rhys had a hard shell, but inside he was soft and sensitive.

  “You make him sound like a boiled egg,” Gabe said. He tried to use humor to lift her out of her black mood, but she felt off balance, weepy and depressed. Perhaps her current mood was to blame for the lack of milk.

  Quinn turned from the window and walked into the lounge, where she set Alex down on his play mat. She’d been able to leave him there while she prepared dinner or packed a few boxes of kitchen utensils and dishes they didn’t use on a daily basis, but Alex had recently learned to turn over, and when Quinn had returned to the lounge several days ago after peeling some potatoes, she’d cried out in alarm when Alex wasn’t on his mat. She’d looked around in panic, finally spotting him by the sofa, where he’d rolled all on his own. Alex was full of glee, but Quinn had scooped him up and held him close, having had her first real brush with maternal panic.

  “You little rascal,” she’d whispered. “You gave Mummy such a fright.” But Alex felt no remorse. He kept trying to pull away from Quinn, eager to get back to the floor, where he could practice his new skill.

  “How does he roll so fast?” Emma asked, watching in amazement. “He’s like a little round ball.”

  “It’s a good thing we’re moving,” Gabe observed as he rescued the baby from rolling under the low coffee table. “There’s no room for him to spread his wings.”

  “He doesn’t have wings,” Emma protested.

  “They are not literal wings, Emma, but figurative.”

  “What?”

  “I meant that he’ll need more space and freedom as he gets older. He’ll start crawling in a few months, and then will take his first steps. This is not a safe environment for him.”

  Emma pondered this information. “Did I roll like Alex?” she finally asked.

  They were used to her questions, but the lack of information still bothered them both. They knew very little of Emma’s first four years and there was no one to ask. Gabe had taken to simply telling her what she wanted to hear, not wishing to remind her day after day that he hadn’t been a part of her life until her mother died in that motor accident.

  “Of course, you did, only you weren’t nearly as round as Alex. You were a tiny baby.”

  “Didn’t I like to eat? I like to eat now.”

  “Well, since you couldn’t have any pizza or ice cream when you were this small, I expect you weren’t as pleased with your choices,” Quinn interjected.

  “I don’t like milk,” Emma replied.

  “All babies drink milk. It’s their first food,” Quinn explained.

  “When will Alex start eating real things?” Emma demanded.

  Quinn was glad to see her finally taking an interest in her little brother, her jealousy receding now that she’d had an opportunity to choose her bedroom in the new house and settle on a color scheme.

  “I will start mixing a little cereal into his milk once he turns four months. Once his belly gets accustomed to the cereal, he’ll be ready to try some mushed vegetables and stewed fruit.”

  “Yuck!” Emma made a face. “I’m glad I’m no longer a baby, but I’d like to try new things. Maya says I should be more open to new experiences.”

  “Then perhaps you should tidy up your room. That would be a new experience for you,” Gabe replied smoothly as he tried to suppress a grin.

  “Dad! I meant I wanted to try new foods.”

  “Really? Such as?” Gabe asked.

  “Maya says her family has international night every Friday. They eat a different cousin every week.”

  “Don’t they like their cousins?” Gabe asked, teasing her. “I think you mean cuisine, darling.”

  “Yes, whatever. You know what I mean. Maya said they had sushi last Friday.”

  Gabe and Quinn exchanged glances. Emma liked only certain types of foods and her pediatrician had advised them not to force the issue. “It’s a form of control. She’s lost her mother and had to deal with drastic changes, including a new baby in the house. Limiting what she eats allows her to feel a sense of control over her environment.”

  “All right, then. Friday night is sushi night,” Gabe announced dramatically. “Ready or not, Emma McAllister Russell, you’ll be eating raw fish come Friday.”

  “Eww,” Emma cried. “Sushi is raw fish?”

  “It certainly is,” Gabe replied.

  “Can we start with something less icky?” Emma asked.

  “Of course. What shall we have?”

  “How about kebobs?”

  “Done,” Gabe exclaimed.

  “Where do kebobs come from?” Emma asked.

  “From places like Iran and Afghanistan,” Gabe replied. He glanced at Quinn, his gaze apologetic. “Sorry, I—”

  Quinn waved the apology away. “You’re all right.”

  But despite her cavalier attitude, she felt a knot of anxiety settling in the pit of her stomach. Rhys still hadn’t called after being gone nearly a week. What if he had gone missing too? She knew she was being irrational, and the mere mention of the place was no reason to get upset, but her mind seemed to be on a track of its own.

  Quinn handed Alex to Gabe and dashed to the ba
throom, making it just in time. This was the second time this week she’d been sick. She rinsed out her mouth and pressed her forehead to the cool tiles of the bathroom wall, breathing deeply to prevent a second wave of nausea.

  “Quinn, are you all right?” Gabe called through the door.

  “Fine,” Quinn replied, but she felt anything but.

  Chapter 22

  Quinn was relieved when Gabe and Emma left for school and work early the following morning. Being alone with Alex allowed her to worry and brood without constantly having to account for her feelings. She knew she was all over the place, but for once in her life she couldn’t force her emotions into an appropriate box. She felt weepy and hopeless one moment, angry the next. She wasn’t even sure who she was angry at these days. She was angry with Sylvia for separating her from Jo, annoyed with Seth for calling her every few days to check on the progress of her search, and furious with Rhys for not calling her when he must have known she’d be going out of her mind. She was even angry with Logan for not being as obsessed with finding Jo as she was. That was probably why she hadn’t been feeling well. She no longer felt nauseated, but her head ached, and her belly was cramping, as if she were about to get her period. She hadn’t menstruated since giving birth because she was still nursing Alex, but as soon as she stopped, she was sure to get it soon. She actually looked forward to getting back to normal. It was time.

  Quinn settled Alex down for his midmorning nap and put the kettle on. She was jittery, but she wanted a cup of coffee, and something to eat. She hadn’t had any breakfast, and now her stomach felt hollow. Perhaps some buttered toast. And an egg, Quinn decided.

  She’d just popped the bread into the toaster when the doorbell buzzed. Funny, that. When she’d lived with Luke at her little chapel, no one had ever come by. She supposed there really hadn’t been anyone to come by in those days. She and Luke had led a pretty claustrophobic existence when it had been just the two of them. Now, the flat was like the arrivals area at St. Pancras. Quinn pressed the button and saw Jude’s sorrowful face staring into the screen.

  “Hey, can I come up?” he asked.

  “Sure.” Quinn buzzed him in and shook her head in amazement. She’d thought she and Jude would never form any sort of relationship, but this was the second time he’d come to visit her. Perhaps there was hope for her siblings after all.

  Quinn opened the door and let Jude into the flat. He was wearing his navy coat and a knitted cap, a thick striped scarf around his neck.

  “You got a dog,” he exclaimed as Rufus came trotting down the corridor, eager to greet the visitor. He gave Jude a cursory sniff, then let out a halfhearted woof, as if he wasn’t sure if Jude was friend or foe. “He’s sweet. What’s his name?”

  “Rufus.”

  “Right. Interesting choice.”

  “We let Emma name him.”

  “Now it all makes sense,” Jude joked as he followed Quinn into the kitchen after divesting himself of his coat, hat, and scarf. “I gather Cecil was voted down. That was her initial choice, if I recall correctly.”

  “Yes, it was. Want some coffee?” Quinn asked as she took another mug down from the cupboard.

  “Yeah, that’d be grand.”

  Quinn put her toast on a plate and moved it toward Jude. He accepted it and reached for the butter. “Want an egg?”

  Jude smiled. “I’m actually hungry today.”

  “I’ll take that as a yes.” Quinn gave Jude one of her eggs, poured the coffee, and sat down across from him. “No work today?”

  “My shift starts at two. Where’s the little guy?”

  “Napping.”

  “I was kind of hoping to see him. Emma too. I miss her.”

  “She’s at school.”

  “Right, I forgot.” Jude bit into his toast and stared at Quinn, his gaze inviting her to ask him why he was there. He looked pale and sad.

  “Is something wrong?” Quinn asked gently. “You seem—I don’t know—miserable, for lack of a better word.”

  Jude hung his head and sighed loudly. “I am.”

  “Want to talk about it?”

  Jude nodded, but didn’t say anything. Quinn took a sip of her coffee and waited. Jude was obviously grappling with something and needed the space to approach whatever it was he wanted to say in his own time. He tapped on the egg and sliced off the top, then stared at the contents as if he’d never seen a boiled egg before. He took a spoonful of egg and swallowed it, grimacing. He sprinkled a bit of salt into the egg, then tried again. Finally, he spoke.

  “I’m doing all the right things for my recovery, Quinn. I’m in a methadone program, I’ve got a job, I’ve chucked in my drug-using girlfriend, I spend my evenings under the watchful eye of my mother, and all I can think of as I sit there watching Britain’s Got Talent is that I want to die. I’ve never felt so hollow, so joyless.”

  “Would drugs take that feeling away?”

  “For a time.” Jude’s gaze slid toward the window, his expression as bleak as the colorless winter sky. “I hate my job, Quinn. It’s soul crushing. How can anyone spend their days taking out the rubbish and sweeping the floors and be content? I can’t even help myself to anything in the dispensary to make the days a little less dreary. It’s locked up air-tight,” Jude said, a sarcastic smile tugging at his lips. “And I miss Bridget. I know she was no good for me, but I miss her. I’m supposed to be on the straight and narrow, but I feel like my life’s gone completely tits-up. If I don’t find an outlet for my frustration, I’ll go starkers.”

  Quinn reached out and put her hand over his. Her heart went out to him. He was so young, and so unhappy. At this moment, he looked as if his soul was in someone else’s body, trying to figure out how to live this new life.

  “Jude, I know you’re grateful to Logan for getting you the porter job, but surely there’s something else you can do that’d make you happier.”

  “Making music makes me happy. Playing clubs, getting high, and shagging Bridget in the toilets after a show makes me happy. She liked doing it in public places. It turned her on,” Jude added with a heavy sigh. “Is that too much information? Sorry, but I really have no one to talk to. Mum and Logan will lecture me on the evils of my chosen lifestyle, and my friends will try to drag me right back into the hole I’m trying to climb out of. Things are pretty bleak at the moment.”

  “Is there anything that appeals to you, career-wise?” Quinn asked, desperate to help in any way she could.

  Jude shrugged. “I like kids,” he mumbled, “but who’s going to let me come within a foot of their child? One look at me and they’d start calling me a ‘peedo.’”

  “Just because you’re a young man who likes kids doesn’t make you a pedophile, Jude. I wouldn’t recommend looking for employment as a nanny, but surely there are other things you can do. You’re a talented musician. What about teaching music to kids? Or you can volunteer and see if you enjoy it.”

  Jude looked up, his expression thoughtful. “They have people who come to entertain the kids on the pediatric oncology ward.”

  “I’m sure those children would like a real-life musician to play for them.”

  “You think?” Jude asked, a spark of hope lighting his melancholy gaze.

  “I think there are lots of options out there, but you won’t discover any of them unless you stop feeling sorry for yourself. Nothing will give you the high you got from heroin, but that doesn’t mean you can never be happy. There are other girls, other jobs, and other ways to nurture your love of music.”

  “Thanks, Quinn. I know you’re right, I’m just rubbish at motivating myself. My band was the only thing I got excited over. I got us gigs, made arrangements, and generally kept everyone on their toes. Now they’re touring without me. I hear they got a new bass player. I’ve been very quickly replaced.”

  “No one is irreplaceable, Jude. Just over a year ago, Emma lost her mum. She was shocked and devastated, but now she has a new family and she calls me Mum. Life goes on. I
f a small child can find the strength to move forward, so can you.”

  “I can’t see that Emma had much choice in the matter,” Jude replied.

  “And neither do you. Not if you want to have a future. Maybe, once you’ve been clean for a while, you can go back to playing clubs and shagging in toilets, but now you have to stay strong.”

  “And resist the siren call of the heroin?”

  “And resist the siren call of the heroin.”

  “You never stop hearing it, you know.”

  “I imagine not, and facing a lifetime without it must seem impossible. But if you take it one day at a time, you have a much better chance of success.”

  “Now you sound just like Logan,” Jude complained.

  “He’s only trying to help,” Quinn said softly.

  “I know. I’m blessed to have so many people who care enough to give me a bollocking. Well, I’d best be going. I have a few errands to run before I have to report for another exciting shift at the hospital. Thanks for the food, and the talk.”

  “Jude, come back anytime. Emma would love to see you. She might even let you walk Rufus.”

  “Your husband won’t be pleased to find me here.” Jude still hadn’t forgiven Gabe for slamming him against the wall and threatening to call the police when he found Jude’s heroin fold in Emma’s possession.

  “Gabe will be fine. Just come back. Promise me you will.”

  “Okay, I promise,” Jude said. He gave Quinn a peck on the cheek, grabbed his coat, cap, and scarf, and walked out the door.

  Chapter 23

  July 1620

  Virginia Colony

  Mary watched from her perch at the table as Travesty cut and buttered thick slices of cornbread, then wrapped them in a piece of muslin, buttered sides facing each other to avoid ruining the cloth. She poured ale into a stone bottle and set everything into the basket, which she was about to take to the men out in the field.

  “I’ll do that,” Mary said, surprising herself. Travesty always brought dinner to John and Simon, while Mary busied herself with household chores. The sun was brutal when it rode so high in the sky, and Mary’s fair skin turned an angry shade of pink whenever she spent too much time outdoors. Travesty wore a man’s wide-brimmed hat over her cap when she went out. She’d never said where it had come from, but Mary suspected it had been her husband’s. The first time Mary’s skin had burned, Travesty had forced her to sit at the table and smeared buttermilk on her face. She said it soothed the sunburn and prevented the skin from blistering. Mary hadn’t thought she’d enjoy having curdled milk all over her face, but Travesty had been right, and the cool buttermilk helped soothe her burning skin.