“There is,” Reno said. “My younger brother, Niles, idolizes you. He’d steal you away from me if I weren’t careful. He’ll love seeing you again.”
“You don’t have to worry, Reno. I’m not interested in anyone but my husband.”
“Thank you.”
“Do I have any brothers or sisters?”
“You’re an only child.”
“Mother and father?”
“Your father lives in California in Santa Ana. Your mother left home when you were young and hasn’t been heard from since.”
“I want to see my father. Right away. Maybe I’ll have memories.”
“We’ll do that.”
“What’s his name?”
“Roy Halliburton. He’s a retired deep-sea diver for the Navy. A courageous man.”
“Oh, my. How exciting. I will see my father!”
“Yes, you will. And it is exciting. I’ll love being there with you.”
“What is your job? Can you leave anytime you want?”
“My father left me a trust fund. So I spend my days working on my investments. I work from home.”
“Are we—are we—”
“Wealthy? Not at all. But we’re well off. You need have no worries, Chloe.”
“Where did I go to college? Where did I go to high school?”
He laughed and stroked her knee, which made her uncomfortable. She wanted to move away, but instead, she closed her eyes and counted. She would do this with him no matter what feelings came up. She struggled since his touch reminded her of how she felt about the priest, but she didn’t move away. He was her husband, and someone told her he would want to touch her.
“We’ll talk about all that later,” he said. “We have our lifetimes ahead of us, Chloe. Plenty of time to catch up on all that!”
He was right, and she liked him even more.
It was exciting to think of going home with this man. And she would have her own space, which was thoughtful. But she knew it wouldn’t be long before they were together again in the same bed. She didn’t mind; she already wanted to please him.
She wanted to be a good wife to this man. He had come for her, tracking her down and following up and spending money so he could be with her again. And you know what else was wonderful? He carried much of her inside himself. He could help her reconstruct her life from what he knew. It would be beautiful growing into her old self again. Too many nights she had lain awake in bed, wondering how she would deal with losing the first half of her life. It always made her sorrowful and unhappy. But now she reclaimed that lost world. Reno was already crucial to her. She planned on making him happy that he came for her.
Who could tell? Maybe this time, she would be an even better version of her old self.
She was ready to try.
Chapter 22: Chloe Constance
Just as they wheeled Chloe through the hospital’s main door, she turned to her aide. He had worked with her over the months, and she loved him like a brother. He had lifted her out of bed when she couldn’t sit up or walk, put her back in bed when she couldn’t climb in, wheeled her around to therapy, group, helped her with bathroom needs—he had done it all. She kissed him a goodbye peck on the cheek, and he knew, he must have known, from the tears in her eyes how grateful she was to him.
She pulled her North Face coat around her midriff and zipped it up. Reno purchased the coat and the new jeans and sweater and brought the outfit to her at the hospital without being asked. His thoughtfulness impressed her and made her smile.
The valet returned with Reno’s car, a large black Escalade, not too flashy but enough to tell her they could afford a good enough life. She watched as Reno tipped the kid, and then he climbed into the car and turned to wait for her. He put it in park and revved the motor. Her aide helped her into the passenger seat. It didn’t feel familiar, but then maybe it was new. She watched as he eased her legs into the car, but Chloe was much stronger than her aide realized. He stood back and saluted her.
The load-up had been almost easy. Her physical recovery was coming along well. She exhaled and settled back in her seat. Reno reached across and put on her seatbelt. “There.”
The sky was gray but glaring and hurt her eyes. She opened the glove box and rummaged around inside.
“Looking for your sunglasses?” Reno asked.
“I think so.”
“You were wearing them when you crashed down the ravine. The police have them, according to the report.”
“Okay.”
“But I’ll stop, and we’ll find another pair for you.”
“That would be nice. The glare is awful.”
“Do you have any place else you need to stop on the way home?”
“I’m hungry. How are we fixed for food?”
Reno smiled. “You know, I think we should kick this off with a celebration meal. How does that sound to my girl?”
She smiled and tried to catch his gaze with her own, but his eyes were on the road. He made her happy. “That sounds like something your girl would like. It’s my chance to spend more time with you alone.”
They pulled into traffic, and Reno nosed the SUV southbound. Fifteen minutes later, he pulled off the highway into a Cracker Barrel restaurant that was landscaped with young pines.
He came around the front of the vehicle, helped her down from the SUV, and gripped her elbow as they hurried toward the entrance through the blowing wind. Flecks of snow whizzed past her face as they crossed the asphalt. This winter day was the first weather she’d encountered in months. It felt good to be back in the world. Temperatures out here were real. The hospital offered a 24-hour climate that never changed from day-to-day and month-after-month. She gulped down a lungful of air and felt her eyes tear up. For the first time since the accident, she felt a squeeze of joy in her heart; life was wonderful. All the rehab had been worth it. Now she was ready to get on with the business of living.
Inside, they were shown to a table, where they sat down. The waitress brought menus, and they ordered. Chloe studied her husband out of the corner of her eye, then asked, “What things do I like to do at home?”
“You always liked to cook the evening meal, and you always liked it when I joined you in the kitchen and helped. You also like sewing art quilts. Remember that Harlem Renaissance painter, Ellis Wilson? You took one of his paintings and did it as an art quilt. You remember? People come to our house and see that and offer you money for it. You could make all the money you can spend if you decided to. Very impressive art.”
“So I have a sewing machine?”
“No, you gave away your last machine to a halfway house. It was a home for young girls, and they did lots of sewing and mending. But not to worry, we can get you another sewing machine when you’re ready. I think you had a Bernina. Does that sound about right?”
She thought about that, but nothing came to her. Their coffees arrived. She was still wondering about Bernina and if she’d ever heard the word before as she took a drink from her cup. She put it down and asked Reno, “What do I like in my coffee?”
“Cream,” Reno said. “Half-and-half is your preference.”
She poured a stream of half-and-half out of a small silver pitcher into her coffee cup. Then she stirred it around, thinking about sewing. For the life of her, she couldn’t dredge up any knowledge of sewing, much less quilting. And Ellis Wilson? She’d have to look that up on a computer.
“Do I have a computer?”
“You did, but it was lost in the accident. Whoever stole your purse took your laptop, too. You want me to stop at the Apple Store and get you another one?”
“That would be nice. Just looking around the restaurant, half the people in here have computers with them. I’d like one if we can afford it.”
“We can in about two weeks. I get another check then.”
“Well, if that’s too much to spend, that’s all right, too. I can’t remember ever using one from before, but I figured them out quickly at the hospital.
”
Reno looked away from her. He was weighing something; a trait she’d picked up on three times now. Then he said, “I’ll look into a computer right away. Thanks for telling me what you need. Anything you want is yours.”
“Did I like dogs?”
“Yes. We didn’t have one because you were trying to decide on a breed.”
“They had therapy dogs in the hospital. I think I’d like a pound puppy. Just a sweet mongrel.”
“We can do that. I love dogs, too, and I was hoping you would go ahead with it.”
“Great.” Then she shivered. “I’m enjoying this. And Reno, you’re just so patient with me. I made fantastic choices in my prior life.” She stretched her hand out across the table. “I’m talking about you.”
He blushed but didn’t take her hand. “You’re my first love.” His eyes were misty. “I’ll always be there for you.”
“What else do I like?”
“Men. You like lots of men.”
Chapter 23: Chloe Constance
He’d told her, “Men. You like lots of men.”
The words puzzled Chloe and the way her husband said them worried her.
What did he mean she liked men? When they left the restaurant, she was still ruminating. Then they were driving along, and he’d focused on the traffic, so she let it pass. She liked men. She liked women, too.
Still, she found she couldn’t drop it. There was something sinister about how he’d said like he did.
She was about to ask him when they pulled into the driveway of a ranch-style house on Elm Corners Road. Even though the area didn’t look that great—many neighbors with trash in their yards and rusted cars in their driveways—their house was decent. It sat back from the asphalt on a circular drive. The front porch ran the width of the dwelling, but it was all but hidden from the street by large old oak and maple trees. The storm windows were shut against the winter freeze. Curling smoke rose from the chimney to the right. The place looked homey, and when she stepped inside through the garage, it was warm and cozy. Reno told her the decor and furniture were all her own doing.
“You spent a good two years making this house our home,” he said. “And this place has missed you. We all missed you.”
“It’s nice.”
He set down her small bag, then after a slight hesitation, picked it up again. “Here, let me show you to your room.” He turned and winked at her. “Follow me, my lady.”
He led Chloe down a dim hallway. At the second door on the right, he turned the knob and waved her inside.
“Voila!” he cried. “This is your old sewing room, but remember the daybed makes into a single for sleeping. You’ll be very comfortable here.”
It looked very inviting, and she spread her arms, embracing the space. She touched his shoulder. “This already feels like my place. Could a memory be coming back already?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Could be. I mean, I hope so. Maybe your life will become even more clear the longer you’re here.”
She kicked off her shoes and moved to the daybed where she sat down. “This is exciting.” But her hands were plucking at the bedcover on either side of her. “This is what I was waiting for all those months in the hospital. To come home again!”
Reno grinned and fist-pumped the air. He whooped.
“Hey,” she said, motioning to a small trestle table beneath the window, “is that the table where I had my Bernina sewing machine? It’s too small. I think I would like to replace it right away.”
“Yes, it was right on that table, but we’ll get measurements and find one you like better before we bring in a new machine.” He looked around the room and said, “And check out the walls in here. Covered in your art quilts. Just see what you’ve already accomplished.”
She looked around the room, excited when she realized she’d created all these art quilts herself. “Did I ever show my work? Did I have it up for sale at a gallery?”
“You showed your work in different studios. But I couldn’t tell you where.”
“Right.”
She was jubilant. She patted the bed beside her. “Join me?”
He sat beside her and encircled her shoulders with his arm, pulling her close. She could feel his cheek against her own. He brushed her breast with his left hand. “The men like these.”
There it was again. The men.
He touched her on the breast again. “They love these.”
“I’m sure they do.” She was unsure what he was talking about, but he said it as if she knew. She was once a very different person than she was now. Maybe that person would come back; she didn’t know.
He touched her breast again, this time with a little squeeze at her nipple. She recoiled and batted his hand away. “Don’t! Please.” A sudden, bad feeling rippled up her abdomen. She’d been taught to trust her feelings since they could be indicators of things about her life before the accident.
But she fought it down. No, damn it, she told herself, this is your husband. You will not wreck this.
He had gathered himself, removing his arm and shifting over on the bed. She looked up at his face, thinking he’d have a hurt look or one of remorse. But he didn’t. He was gloating. She watched his lips move as he said, “So. Are you ready to get back to work?”
She cuddled up against him. “I’m sure I am.”
He made drinks, and they sat in front of the gas log, Reno in his recliner, her on her love seat. At least he’d said it was her love seat. She half-liked the piece of furniture. Maybe it was one she’d choose again; maybe not. But why would she ever choose a piece she felt so-so about? It didn’t make sense that an artist would do that.
“I’m so glad you’re home,” he said across the soft light of the fireplace. “And I’m so happy you’re feeling happy about being here.”
“You’ve given us a very nice home, and I’m so grateful to you for that.” She didn’t know if she had ever told him that before, if she’d ever acknowledged his hard work, but she would make certain she did now. A few months in the hospital did that to a person.
He pushed up from his recliner, came over and knelt beside her love seat. He leaned into her and nuzzled her hip with his face. Then, when he stood, she could feel his breath on her cheek. Without warning, his hand reached down and touched her knee. He stroked the top of her thigh. It didn’t feel bad. It wasn’t in any sense an electric moment, but she hoped electricity would come. Dr. Gorski had said it would.
When she pulled away from him, he seemed to sense her discomfort. As a result, she felt safe when he lifted his hand from her thigh and withdrew. As if she could accept his advances or not, and it would still be all right.
When she smiled, he returned his hand to her leg. Then he stroked her inner thigh over her jeans. She leaned back and pushed his hand away. She looked at him, but his expression hadn’t changed. Softened by the firelight, there was only loving kindness and patience. She regretted pushing him away and took his hand and returned it to her leg.
Kneeling beside her, he looked up. “Are you sure?” he asked. She answered by pulling his hand up to her core and pressing it there. She was warm and damp, and he knew. “Now I remember you, Chloe. You were always ready.”
They made love on the rug in front of the fireplace. He told her it was a classic moment, but she was sure she didn’t know. They finished, and it wasn’t at all uncomfortable although he didn’t smell as fresh as she’d prefer. And his penis hadn’t been all that hard. Or maybe it had been, and she couldn’t remember what it should be like.
While he made another drink for himself at a cabinet in the corner, she retreated to the kitchen, if for no other reason than to put space between them. But then he followed her, and whirling the ice in his highball, he stepped up to the kitchen island. “I think I’ll let you unpack your bag. There are three drawers in that little bureau in your sewing room, and there’s plenty of room in the closet. If you run out of things to wear, your walk-in closet is still full of your stu
ff. It’s just off the master bedroom. So be sure and get reacquainted with your dresses and makeup.”
“Thank you, Arnold. I will.”
“‘Arnold’ is my middle name, Chloe. Please use my first name, Reno.”
“Reno. Reno. Okay, then.”
With that, he turned and walked away through the family room to his office. He closed the door behind, and she was alone in the kitchen, trying to remember one thing she knew how to cook.
She gave up and went back into her sewing room and shut the door. Alone on her bed, she surveyed the many shelves of quilting fabrics of all colors and designs that took up every square inch of shelf space in the entire room. One fabric caught her eye: a print featuring some of Chagall’s iconic paintings. Then she realized. She recognized the work of a particular artist, yet art wasn’t something she studied at the hospital. It also occurred to her she must have liked Chagall in her prior life. Owning the fabric was evidence enough. Why else would she have that fabric? Plus, it gave her such a good feeling to gaze at it.
As she studied the Chagall, it became clear to her that the fabric had a hillock along its surface, a raised area. She stood and looked across the darkness of the room at the doorknob. It locked. So she crept over, twisted the tab and locked it. Now she was alone for the first time since waking up in the hospital. Back over to the Chagall cloth she went where she ran her hand beneath. Which was when she felt it—a book? It was about the size of an old Reader’s Digest. She slipped it out and had a look. Favorite Recipes said the gold-embossed cover. She flipped it open to a random page. Maybe she had stumbled onto the recipes she liked.
Cursive handwriting, so her first thought was that it belonged to someone else. Then she reconsidered and decided it was likely her writing from before. Since coming out of the coma, she’d had to relearn printing and cursive, and she did not understand if what she was looking at was her hand. She decided it was, so she turned to the first page and read.
If you are reading this, I may or may not still be alive. My name is Chloe Constance. I am a kidnap victim. The man who kidnapped me is Reno Rivera after Maddy brought me here. He also raped me one time before he kidnapped me. Now he rapes me several times a day. I have been here two days, and I am swimming in his body fluids. Never in my life have I loathed another human being like this. I would stick forks in his eyes if given a chance. I would mutilate his penis with a razor blade. My only reason to keep fighting to stay alive is so I can kill him. I want to get back to my family too. But I want to kill this man even more.
The Fifth Justice (Michael Gresham Legal Thrillers Book 10) Page 10
