Chapter Ten
Nate carried a sleeping Duke across the town square.
Julie pushed the empty stroller beside him.
Anyone driving by would think they were a family walking home after dinner or visiting friends.
Nate couldn’t let himself be swayed into thinking this was normal. Duke deserved someone great to raise him. Julie deserved a man who was better than Nate. And Nate deserved...
It didn’t bear thinking on.
Besides, no one drove past. No one saw them and wondered or passed along this sighting using the phone tree. The breeze had died down after dark, just as Julie’s anger had cooled down with their conversation.
When they reached the Lambridge Bed amp; Breakfast, Julie said, “I’ll take him from here.”
Nate walked past her, his arms filled with a weight that wasn’t a burden. “I’ve got him.” But for how long? April’s questions were designed to make Nate look bad. His past—the one he’d never shared with April—was being dredged up for Julie’s review. The whole process was painful and would continue for another week.
As they walked up the porch stairs, Reggie played doorman this time. “Welcome back. How was dinner?”
“No one complained about my cooking.” Nate carried Duke past her and up the stairs with Julie at his heels. “I’ll change his diaper.” He knew enough about little ones to know they shouldn’t go to bed without a dry pair of pants.
“I’ll do it. You’ve done enough.” Julie hurried past him to open the door to her room. She put the worry stone on the bedside table.
He’d given her that stone the same way his mother had all those years ago—as a peace offering. Had it worked? Julie hadn’t thrown the rock at him. She might actually see its value.
It was foolish, but deep down, Nate wanted her to see the value in him.
He laid Duke on the bed and bid Julie goodnight.
Nate took the long route around to the sheriff’s office. Couples and families were inside El Rosal. Gage and Shelby ate at a table with their daughter, Mae, in a high chair. Arturo was tending bar, laughing when his mother poked her head out of the kitchen to say something to him. Slade and his fiancée, Christina, laughed along with him.
Their closeness. Their camaraderie. Their love. It wasn’t meant for him. Nate could have friendships, but no one had taught him how to love. He’d dated April. They’d been a couple. But it had been a comfortable thing, like Terrance wearing Robin’s slippers.
“Who’s there?” Rutgar asked when Nate entered the sheriff’s office.
“Just me.” Nate turned on a small light on his desk. “How are you feeling?”
“My ankle hurts more than my head, if that’s what you mean.”
Nate went into the cell and lifted the handkerchief from Rutgar’s face. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
“All of them,” Rutgar said, squinting before snatching the handkerchief back. “You have a fine boy. You’ll make a good father.”
“Will I?” Nate glanced at the two fingers he’d waved in front of Rutgar’s face.
“Don’t go thinking you’re special,” Rutgar grumbled. “Every man who’s ever been told he’s going to be a father has the same doubt. You’re either thinking how can I be as good of a dad as I had, or how can I be a better dad than I had? Or maybe you’re pondering the worst option, which would be you thinking you shouldn’t be a dad at all. Which is ridiculous.”
Nate swallowed thickly. “When did you become—” a mind reader “—so wise?”
Rutgar finger-combed his beard like a prophet who was considering his words carefully. “You’d like to think it was when I hit my head today, wouldn’t you?”
“That would be more comforting than thinking you’d been a fountain of wisdom all this time and I’d missed it.” Nate returned to his desk, running his fingers through the smooth stones in the bowl on top. He’d given Julie the worry stone he associated with the dark thoughts of his childhood. The other stones he’d picked up here and there over the years. A stream in Colorado. A beach in South Carolina. A ruin in Mexico.
Perhaps he’d chosen the wrong career path. Perhaps he should have become a baker or a carpenter. Someone who made things that people enjoyed. Perhaps then he’d have been more comfortable with people, more at ease expressing his feelings. Instead, he’d chosen law enforcement. A field that required him to detach from his feelings and compartmentalize his emotions. When faced with his first crisis on the force, a domestic violence call, he’d reacted on instinct. He’d taken all the frustrated emotions from his childhood and channeled them into action in a way he’d been unable to do when faced with the same danger as a kid.
Late on the night of his eighth birthday, crisis had arrived with a big bang, shaking Nate’s bedroom wall.
He’d startled awake. It was cold in the house. His nose stung from it. The smart thing to do would have been to roll over and burrow beneath the covers. He had school in the morning.
But something banged against his wall again. And something whimpered in the hallway.
They didn’t have animals. Mom had said it wouldn’t be fair. She’d never explained why.
But there was a noise and Nate was a man. Still only eight, but a man nonetheless. Men got out of bed when they heard a noise. They checked doors and windows. He’d seen men do that on TV.
Nate crept out of bed, wishing for his gun. Dad had taken it away when they’d returned from shooting. They’d been pulled over on the way home because Dad was speeding. He’d blamed Nate and threatened the whole time to blister his butt. Only when they’d gotten home, Mr. Chilton from next door had been talking to Mom in the front yard. Nate had run inside and begun to do his Sunday chores, dusting and cleaning toilets. Dad had put away the guns, settled on the couch and drunk more beer. Thankfully, nothing more was said about whuppings.
The wall shook once more. Another whimper whispered in the air.
Nate got up and opened the bedroom door a crack.
At the end of the hall, Dad had his hands around Mom’s throat, her head against the wall. Blood trickled down one side of Mom’s face. Her lip was purple and puffy. Dad had hit Mom before, but nothing like this.
Both his parents turned their heads in his direction. Dad’s stare had a dangerous gleam; Mom’s eyes widened with horror.
Nate wanted to run, far and fast, as far as he could go. But his parents stood between him and the front door.
What to do? What to do?
Nate’s body tingled with fear.
Dad released Mom and charged toward Nate, releasing a cry of rage.
Nate’s blood ran cold. And for a moment, he froze.
“Run!” Mom cried.
And Nate did. He ran for the master bedroom. He slammed the door behind him and punched the lock.
Dad crashed into it a moment later. “I owe you, boy!” The door handle shook. “I owe you a whupping!”
Nate’s legs shook so hard, he almost collapsed. But he didn’t. He grabbed the cordless phone, ran into the bathroom and locked himself in. Then he climbed into the bathtub and dialed 911.
“My dad is trying to kill my mom,” Nate said breathlessly when the operator came on the line.
The memory of the bullet whizzing by Nate’s head returned.
He yelped. “And my dad is trying to kill me!” He huddled in the bathtub, shaking.
By the time the police arrived, Dad had kicked in the bedroom door and was working on breaking down the bathroom door.
“Police! Put your hands up!”
“Not until I’ve taught this boy a lesson!” Dad’s words were punctuated by grunts and attacks on the bathroom door.
Then Nate heard the slap of bodies and the grunts of a fight. And then the click of handcuffs and the reading of Dad’s rights, just like on TV. Finally, a policeman told Nate it was safe to come outside.
Nate was shaking so hard he couldn’t unlock the door. Some man he was. Mom had hugged him tight, and Molly hadn’t made fun of his tears.
Later, after a trip to the police station, after a trip to the hospital for Mom, after being taken to a safe house in another county, and after weeks of Mom going through therapy, she’d pressed the worry stone into Nate’s palm. “Keep this under your pillow. When you can’t sleep at night, rub this stone and know that you saved my life and I love you for it.”
Had she known he’d been feeling guilty for making that call and sending his father to jail? Or had she known he’d need it even more in the years to come?
“I’ll take my dinner now,” Rutgar said meekly.
“Sure.” Still, it took Nate a few more minutes to move.
He’d given Julie his rock. She had no idea what it meant to him.
Julie knew she was in a dream.
It didn’t matter.
She couldn’t move. Shadowy shapes stalked her, carrying guns.
She couldn’t move. But she carried a weapon.
She couldn’t move. But she was able to fire. To shoot and shoot and shoot until her fingers cramped and her shoulder ached, and her throat cracked from screaming.
“Stop that.” Bony fingers gripped her right shoulder above her stitches.
Julie grabbed the arm attached to those fingers, twisted and pulled. Fingers fell away. Pain fell away. A body fell on top of her.
A dead body?
That wasn’t how it had happened.
“Miss Smith,” Leona said in a choked voice. “Miss. Smith!”
Light from the bed amp; breakfast hallway illuminated the shadowy figure sprawled across Julie. Leona wore a green velour robe over a white flannel gown. Her streaky gray hair was looped as loosely as a used Brillo pad. Julie’s arm was around her thin neck cutting off her air supply.
Julie gasped and released her. “What are you doing in here?” It was better than asking herself what she’d been doing.
Leona scrambled off the bed and to her feet, picking up the white terry slippers that had dropped to the floor during their struggle. “You were crying for help.”
Julie sat up, clutching the neck of the Raiders football jersey she wore as a nightgown. “I wasn’t... Was I?” She had been. Her throat was raw from it. She rolled over to check on Duke. He slept peacefully within the confines of his pillow wall, worn out by his big day.
“I think the answer to your question is obvious.” Leona had the slippers on and was straightening her robe. “It isn’t safe for the boy here.”
She hadn’t added, “With you.” But Julie knew she should have.
“What’s going on?” Reggie clung to the door frame wearing a fuzzy purple bathrobe and a worried expression. “I heard shouts.”
“I...” Julie swallowed. She couldn’t argue. And it was a relief, really, to be given a reason to leave town. She wouldn’t have to stay the week Nate wanted. She wouldn’t have to soften her stance on him. But she also wouldn’t have a signature on those custody papers. “I’m leaving in the morning.”
“She had a nightmare.” Leona pushed her granddaughter to the hallway. “Go back to bed, Regina.” She waited until Reggie retreated before turning in the doorway. “I lost a little boy once.” The coldness in Leona’s sharp features turned as desolate as a snowy peak in the Sierras. “Children are fragile. Be careful with him.” And then she closed the door behind her.
Fear coursed through Julie’s body. Doubts bubbled up. Would it be better for Duke to be in Nate’s care? It was selfish to say no.
She had to beat the nightmares. Julie picked up the rock Nate had given her. It was cool and smooth in her palm. It was calming. She could almost hear his deep voice reassuring her everything would be all right. She could almost feel his fingers cradling hers.
It didn’t matter. Julie didn’t sleep the rest of the night.