She looked up at the lights, blinking her eyes. It wasn’t about her. Or her happiness or something as ridiculous as job satisfaction or as important as this man standing next to her, reaching out to take her hand.
“If you don’t want to go, don’t go,” he said, as if it were that simple, as if the world were filled with people doing what they wanted without compromise.
Ludicrous.
“I can’t.”
“You won’t.” The anger in his voice spun her head around. “Listen to yourself, Delia. You’ve lain down and given up what you wanted most of your life—”
“You don’t know that,” she cried, snatching her hand back.
“You told me that,” he said, exasperated. “You were your parents’ battleground. You stuck it out in your unhappy marriage for the sake of your daughter. And now you’re going to go back to Texas for her, too. You’re punishing yourself for leaving her with Jared. Like you’re to blame for everything that happened.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, though it was the utter truth.
“You’re being ridiculous. Get up, do some fighting for what you want. Your daughter is young and she needs you and some friends and a good, steady diet of the truth. She’ll be fine.”
“She needs security,” she countered.
“What about you, Delia? Don’t you need security? Don’t you think the two go hand in hand?”
“You don’t know me,” she said, refusing to believe that it would really be that easy. That she could just decide and put her foot down and not take into account every other single person’s feelings.
“The hell I don’t.” He stepped closer to her. So close she breathed air that smelled like him. Tasted like him. The sensation was like brandy on an empty stomach. She went weak in the knees and soft in the head. “I knew you the moment you let me touch you. I knew you the second you opened your mouth. Just like you knew me. You knew me enough to come find me and force me to deal with Iris. You offered me forgetfulness, remember?”
Oh God, how could she forget?
“And it’s the one thing I’ve wanted more than anything else the past two years.”
“Stop,” she said. She held up her hand and stepped away so the heat from his body wouldn’t muddle her head anymore. “We barely know each other. I will grant you that we have a pretty profound connection, but I think it’s born of the circumstances we’re in.”
“You don’t think what you feel is real?” he asked.
“Do you?” she countered, completely unable to definitively answer the question. She felt interrogated, under fire. The cop in him was showing.
Suddenly, his aggression fled. The hard focus in his eyes vanished and his whole body seemed to be on pause, as if he were trying to turn around but the current was too strong. And she knew he was going to do something important to him. He was going to show her some skeleton he had in his closet and she held up her hand, desperate to stop him. She couldn’t reciprocate. She couldn’t be what he needed.
“The woman,” he said, “whose son I shot.”
“Don’t, Max,” she breathed.
“I have to. I can’t keep this inside anymore. It’s ripping me apart.”
All the pain that she’d glimpsed in his eyes before he covered it with his careful indifference was out in the open. Whatever secrets this man had were deep, and keeping them was costing him too much. As much as she didn’t want to know, she couldn’t let him keep it inside anymore. Not now, not since she could see what it cost him.
“That woman’s name was Nell, and I had convinced myself, stupidly, that I loved her.”
Delia braced herself on the table behind her, her stomach falling to her feet. For both of them. The drone of bees started in her head, a static worse than anything she’d ever heard before.
Two women abused by their husbands. Two women he felt compelled to help. Two women he felt more for than he should.
Was he so blind to not see this resemblance?
“Nothing ever happened,” he said. “I doubt she even knew how I felt, but I let myself get lost between wanting to help her and wanting to save her.” He shook his head, laughing bitterly. “I made so many mistakes. I got way too involved with the family. I let her make decisions she never should have made and that boy’s death is on my conscience in more ways than one.” He took a deep breath and scratched at his chest as if he’d suddenly let down a heavy load. “It’s so good to say that. To finally admit to it.”
Her head reeled. The load this man carried was too much for anyone. He didn’t deserve it, but she was proof that you don’t get what you deserve in this life.
“It’s always been easier to shoulder the blame,” he said. “To hide instead of dealing with it.” He smiled at her. “But I want to deal with it.”
“Why are you telling me this?” she asked.
“Because I’ve never told anyone. And I want to tell you. You said you wanted a fresh start. Well, so do I.”
“Have you asked yourself why you want a fresh start with me?” she asked, her mouth dry.
“Constantly.” He laughed. “You’ve lied to me. You’re still hiding the truth. We’ve only known each other two weeks—”
“My husband abused me and I am struggling to take care of my kid,” she interrupted when he couldn’t see the writing on the wall. “Just like Nell. Don’t you see a resemblance?”
She came to stand on her shaking legs. He had all but told her that his feelings for her were no more than what he had felt for this Nell. Proof of what she was saying. What they felt couldn’t be real, not with so much against them.
“You love a damsel in distress. That’s what’s attracting you to me.”
“No, it’s not. Trust me.”
He grabbed her hand, held her fingers hard, as if they were in a storm and in danger of being torn apart, which, Delia recognized, was exactly what was happening.
“I’ve thought about this. When you first told me about your husband it was the first thing I thought. It’s happening again. But then the more I got to know you, the more I realized you’re not like Nell. You’re like me.”
“What?”
“Nell was a victim. She was always going to be a victim, if not to her husband, then to her son and life. She wouldn’t have been able to help herself, or her family. Much less me. That’s not you.”
It felt like her. It felt exactly like her.
“You’re a fighter who isn’t fighting. Just like me,” he said. “We’re paralyzed between what we want and what we need. You want to give Josie security but you need it for yourself first. And as long as you keep sacrificing that, Josie will never feel safe and you’ll never be happy.”
She leaned against the table, the wind knocked out of her. Was he right? Was it that simple?
“I’m a cop, Delia. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to be and I’ve let that get taken away from me because I was too scared to fight for it. Your life is being taken away from you because you’re too scared to fight.”
She shook her head, not wanting to believe it.
“I want you, Delia. I want you and your warrior soul and your messed-up daughter and all your baggage. I want to fight for you. With you.”
He stopped, waiting for her to say something. But she had nothing to say. She was going back to Texas. She had Jared and the D.A. to deal with. She had an unhappy daughter to make happy. She had a life to rebuild.
Rebuild it here, a voice whispered in her head. Do this. Make yourself happy.
“I can’t—” She sighed and shook her head, panicked.
“Of course not,” he said, the light draining from his eyes.
Then he left.
That night Gabe and Max walked down the hallway to Patrick’s room. Gabe carried three plates filled with steaks and baked potatoes, while Max had a bottle of Scotch, three glasses and a heavy heart.
“This should work,” Gabe said.
“Rare steak and Scotch usually do,” Max agreed. He felt buoye
d by his brother, by the prospect of eating with his dad. By the Scotch he’d already had to drink.
Anything to distract himself from thoughts of Delia.
Gabe pounded on their father’s door. “Open up, old man,” he called through the wood. “We’re not taking no for an answer.”
The door opened just as Gabe was going to knock again and Patrick stood there, his flannel shirt unbuttoned over one of the white T-shirts he wore every day.
“Hey, boys,” he said with a grin, running a hand through his hair. “Am I ever glad to see you.”
“Well, if you’re so glad,” Gabe asked, shoving a plate at his father, “why have you been hiding?”
Patrick grabbed the plate and stepped out of the way to let Gabe and Max walk in. Max set the Scotch and glasses down on the table in the corner, pushing away the stacks of Patrick’s clean laundry, and poured them each a glass.
“I’ve had some thinking to do,” Patrick said. He sat on his tidy bed and took the tumbler that Max handed him. “And I needed to talk to your mother.”
“Let’s not call her that,” Gabe said. He pulled up a chair, rested his feet on the dresser and stared, cutting into his T-bone. “Let’s never call her that.”
Patrick nodded. “Nonetheless, we needed to talk.”
“And?” Gabe asked around a mouthful of steak. Max pushed his plate aside and concentrated on his Scotch. Concentrated on getting good and blind drunk.
Delia had offered forgetfulness then yanked it away when he needed it more than ever.
“And, we talked.” Patrick shrugged and cut into his own dinner. Gabe kept eating, Max kept drinking, knowing in the end their dad would talk when he was ready. He always did.
“She’s going to invite Jonah here,” he finally said and Gabe sputtered in his Scotch.
“That’s good,” Max said, watching his ice cubes melt. “I’d like to meet him.”
“That’s my boy,” Patrick said, smiling at him.
“What about—Iris?” Gabe asked. “When’s she leaving?”
“She’s not.” Patrick sighed and Max thought Gabe’s head might explode. “Jonah won’t come unless she’s here.”
Gabe didn’t say anything, but cut his meat with a bit more force than might be required on something already dead.
“You have to do what you have to do, Dad,” Max said, and poured himself a little more Scotch.
Gabe and Dad both turned to stare at him. “You okay, son?”
“Great,” he said, feeling the booze work on the muscles in his chest around his wounded heart. “Fresh start,” he said.
“Does this have something to do with that pretty redhead that’s here?” Patrick asked, his blue eyes twinkling.
“Psst, Dad.” Gabe pretended to cut his knife along his throat, telling Dad to shut up.
“No.” Max held up his hand. “It’s okay. We can talk about it. And yes, it’s because of Delia.”
Gabe’s mouth fell open and he set his plate down, picking up the tumbler he’d set at his feet. “You want to talk?” he asked, and took a swig.
“I don’t want to,” Max conceded. “But I need to.”
He felt the waves of love from his father and brother and suddenly felt bad for Jonah. Jonah might have gotten the mom, but he missed out on these two men and these two men made Max’s life worth living.
“I appreciate the way you’ve let me live and work here,” he said to Gabe.
“You’re my brother,” Gabe replied, furrowing his brow. “I want you here.”
“And I appreciate how you’ve let me do things my way. I know you have a lot of questions about the shooting.” He stopped and realized that he no longer felt so fragile, so ready to splinter at the thought of what had happened two years ago.
Just saying the words once and already he felt he had a grip on it, that the past didn’t rule his life anymore.
“In your own time, son,” Patrick said.
Max set aside his Scotch and told them about Nell. About how his muddied feelings had soured his decision-making skills. He told them how the boy he’d shot had been so wrapped up in what he’d felt was his parents’ betrayal, his mother’s weakness and his father’s abuse.
“I think,” he said, staring at his hands, running his thumb over the callus on his left palm. “I think he was waiting for a chance to hurt his mom and when his dad showed up it just sent him over the edge. He had the gun under his bed. Loaded and ready for I don’t know how long. But once he got it, once he cocked it, he didn’t even look at his father. He just raged at Nell. She was crying, holding out her hands to him, begging him to put the gun down, and he just aimed it right at her. His eyes were dry as a bone and I knew this kid was going to do it. He was going to take out all of us. So—” he took a huge breath of air “—I shot him. I meant to wound him, but the last minute Nell cried out and he turned and-” Everything he thought he was and he meant to do changed in that moment. Ended. In that moment.
“The boy needed counseling,” Patrick said after a moment.
“He did and his mother refused to see it.”
Not like Delia. Delia was well aware of what was happening with Josie. Max just hoped she dealt with it in time, in the right way.
“It’s not your fault,” Gabe said, having long since leaned forward in his chair.
“It’s not all my fault,” Max admitted. “Some of it is. And I’m going to deal with that.”
“Good for you, son.” Patrick stood and clapped Max on the shoulder and Max surprised him by wrapping his arms around him.
“I love you, Dad,” he whispered in the older man’s ear. “You are the best dad, and whatever you need to do with Iris and Jonah, I support you.”
“Oh, for crying out loud,” Gabe muttered, and Max felt his brother wrap his arms around both of them. “I support you, too. Both of you.”
“Good,” Max said, pushing away from the incredibly awkward first-ever group hug the Mitchell men had shared, and everyone went back to their seats, surreptitiously wiping their eyes and picking up their food. “Because I quit.”
15
Delia woke in a sudden blind panic. She couldn’t breathe, and her heart rate was through the roof.
Josie.
In the dark she couldn’t see the lump of her daughter on her bed and she was sure, in her bones, that the bed was empty.
“Jos?” she whispered. She flipped the covers off her legs and stepped over to pat down Josie’s bed. Nothing. Her little girl was gone.
The digital clock flashed 3:00 a.m. and she whirled into action, grabbing her robe and throwing it over the T-shirt and old yoga pants she wore to bed then heading out the door.
She did not want to believe the worst. Frankly, had Jared found them, she doubted he’d sneak off in the night with Josie and miss an opportunity to hurt Delia.
But her heart still skipped and stuttered as she opened the door to their room. “Jos?” she called quietly down the hall.
No response.
She ran for the stairs. “Josie?” she asked in the empty, shadowed dining room. “Where are you?”
Oh, God, she might have run. Might have gone out to the clearing in the middle of the night in the freezing cold. She could be hiding, punishing Delia for her role in the collapse of her life.
Delia grabbed her coat from the hooks by the main door and hurried toward the kitchen and the back door and the cold December night, only to be brought up short by the sight of her daughter and Patrick Mitchell sitting on the kitchen counter eating ice cream.
“Hi,” Patrick said, cheerful and welcoming as though it wasn’t the middle of the night and Delia hadn’t just aged twenty years. “Your daughter and I seem to have the same late-night ice-cream cravings.”
Josie put down her bowl, the spoon clanging against the porcelain as she leaped off the counter. The tennis shoes on her bare feet and her winter coat tossed on the butcher block told a different story than ice-cream craving.
She’d been about to run
off but Patrick stopped her.
Delia gasped for air.
“Calm down, Mom,” Josie said, her patronizing tone ugly out of her eight-year-old mouth. Delia’s mind was a blank for a strong, motherly comeback. She didn’t know what to say, or do.
“Why don’t you go get your daughter settled,” Patrick said, when it was clear she wasn’t going to be able to say anything.
“Right,” Delia breathed. She held out her hand, grazing Josie’s shoulder, but her daughter jerked away, walking toward the kitchen door with her head high like some kind of noble prisoner of war.
“Come back.” Patrick’s low voice followed Delia out the door. “When she’s asleep.”
They returned to their room and Delia tried to figure out what approach to take with this stranger living in her daughter’s body.
When Josie finally pushed open the door to the room, Delia had decided, since everything else failed, she’d have a go with honesty.
“Were you going to run away?” she asked Josie, who only shrugged blithely with one shoulder.
“I am trying to be calm, Josie, but you sared me.” Moonlight sliced a white triangle from the center of Josie’s face and she appeared to be made of stone.
“I was just going to go outside,” she said.
“It’s the middle of the night,” Delia cried. “And it’s freezing.”
“I know.”
Josie’s head tilted as she looked down at her hands and Delia could finally see her eyes, dry and solemn.
“Do you think Dad is coming here?”
“I don’t know, sweetie.”
Josie sighed. “A little girl came over yesterday,” she said. “Helen.”
“I know. Her mom came in for a massage.”
“Helen and I helped Max with his fort.”
“That must have been fun.”
“I pushed her down in the snow,” she said. This was why Max came to her yesterday, the problems he said Josie was having. Oh, God, she never saw this kind of behavior coming. A quiver started in her blood, ran through her organs and made her whole body shake.
Secrets of the Riverview Inn Page 18
