Chapter Eighteen #2
“You do what I say for once in your life. Now come on with me.” She took his hand, tugging until he climbed out.
Saying nothing, she led him around the side of the house toward the shade.
“Sit down here.” She drew him down on the side of the rope hammock and, slipping an arm around him, nudged his head down to her shoulder. “You just rest your mind a minute.”
“I don’t think about it all the time,” he murmured. “You go crazy if you do.”
“I know.” Reaching around, she took his hand in hers. “It just sneaks up on you now and again, and it hurts so much you don’t think you can stand it. But you do, till the next time.”
“I know what people are saying. She just got a wild hair and took off. It’d be easier if I could believe that.”
“It wouldn’t, not really. It hurts either way. When Mama left I cried and cried for her. I figured if I cried enough she’d hear me and come back. When I got older I thought, well, she just didn’t care enough about me, so I won’t care either. I stopped crying, but it still hurt all the same.”
“I keep thinking she’ll send some stupid postcard from Disney World or somewhere. Then I could just be mad at her instead of so goddamn worried.”
Lexy tried to imagine that, let herself see it. Perfect. Ginny on some colorful, foolish ride, howling with laughter. “It’d be just like her to do that.”
“I guess it would.” He stared down at their joined hands, watching their fingers interlace. “I just tore a strip off Brian over it. Stupid.”
“Don’t you worry about that. Brian’s hide’s thick enough to take it.”
“How about yours?” He eased back, absently pushing a loosened bobby pin back into her messy topknot.
“All us Hathaways are tougher than we look.”
“I’m sorry anyway.” He lifted their joined hands and kissed her knuckles. “Do we have to be mad at each other later?”
“I guess not.” She kissed him lightly, then smiled. The birds were singing in the trees above her, and the flowers smelled so nice and sweet on the air. “Since I’ve been missing you, just a little bit.”
Her breath caught as he pulled her close, pressed his face hard against her throat. “I need you, Lexy. I need you.”
When she released her breath, it was unsteady, shuddering from lungs to throat to lips. She put her hands on his shoulders, her fingers pressing once into those hard muscles. Then she pulled back, rose, struggling to grip her own emotions as firmly.
She’d turned her back on him. Giff rubbed his hands over his face, then dropped them helplessly. “What did I say now? What is it I do that always makes you take that step back from me?”
“I’m not.” She had to press her fingers to her lips to stop them from trembling before she faced him again. When she did, her heart was swimming in her eyes. “In my whole life, my whole life, Giff, no one’s ever said that to me. Unless it was a man meaning sex.”
He got to his feet fast. “That’s not what I meant. Lexy—”
“I know.” She blinked impatiently at the tears. She wanted to see him clearly. “I know it’s not what you meant. And I’m not stepping back, I’m just trying to get hold of myself before I act like a fool.”
“I love you, Lexy.” He said it quietly so she would believe him. “I always have and always will love you.”
She closed her eyes tight. She wanted it all engraved on her memory. The moment—every sound, every scent, every feeling. Then she was launching herself into his arms, wrapping herself around him, her breath coming in tiny little hitches that made her dizzy.
“Hold me. Hold on to me, Giff, tight. No matter what I do, no matter what I say, don’t ever let me go.”
“Alexa.” Swamped by her, he pressed his lips into her hair. “I’ve always held on to you. You just didn’t know it.”
“I love you too, Giff. I can’t remember when I didn’t. It always made me so mad.”
“That’s all right, honey.” He smiled, snuggled her closer. “I don’t mind you being mad. As long as you don’t stop.”
* * *
IN her bedroom, Jo carefully hung up the phone. Bobby Banes had finally gotten in touch. And had given her at least one answer.
He hadn’t taken the print from her apartment.
But you saw the print, didn’t you? It was a nude, mixed in with all the shots of me. It looked like me, but it wasn’t. I was holding it. I picked it up. You must have seen it.
She could hear her own voice, pitching into panic, and the concern and hesitation in Bobby’s when he answered.
I’m sorry, Jo. I didn’t see a print like that. Just those ones of you. Ah . . . there wasn’t any nude study. At least I didn’t notice.
It was there. I dropped it. It fell facedown on the other prints. It was there, Bobby. Just think for a minute.
It must have been there . . . I mean, if you say you saw it.
His tone had been placating, she thought now. Sympathetic. But it hadn’t been convinced.
Sick and shaky, she turned away from the phone, told herself it was useless to wish he hadn’t called, hadn’t told her. It was better, much better, to have the truth. All she had to do now was live with it.
From her bedroom window, Jo looked down on her sister and Giff. They made a pretty picture, she decided. Two young, healthy people locked in each other’s arms, with flowers growing wild and ripe all around them. A man and woman sparkling with love and sexual anticipation on a summer afternoon.
It looked so easy, so natural. Why couldn’t she let it be easy and natural for herself?
Nathan wanted her. He wasn’t pushing, he didn’t appear to be angry that she kept that last bit of distance between them. And why did she? Jo wondered, watching as Giff tipped Lexy’s face up to his. Why didn’t she just let go?
He stirred her. He brought her pleasure and set something to simmering inside her that hinted the pleasure would spread and deepen if she allowed it.
Why was she afraid to allow it?
In disgust she turned away from the window. Because she questioned everything these days. She watched her own moves, analyzed them clinically. Oh, she felt better physically. The nightmares and slick-skinned panic attacks were fewer and farther between.
But...
There was always that doubt, the fear that she wasn’t really stable.
Why else could she still see in her mind that photograph, the photograph of the dead woman?
One minute her mother, the next herself.
The eyes staring, the skin white as wax.
She could still see the texture of the skin, smooth and pale.
The shades and sweep of the hair, that artfully spread wave of it.
The way the hand had been draped, elbow bent, arm crossed between the breasts.
And the head turned, angled down as in shy slumber.
How could she see it so clearly when it had never existed?
And because she could, she had to believe she was still far from well. She had no business even considering a relationship with Nathan—with anyone—until she was solidly on her feet again.
And that, she admitted, was just an excuse.
She was afraid of him—that was the bottom line. She was afraid he would come to mean more to her than she could handle. And that he would expect more of her than she could give.
He was already drawing feelings out of her that no one else ever had. So she was protecting herself with cowardice that wore a mask of logic.
She was tired of being logical and afraid. Would it be so wrong to take a page out of her sister’s book for once? To act on impulse, to take whatever she could get?
God, she needed someone to talk to, someone to be with. Someone who could, even for a little while, crowd out all these self-doubts and worries.
Why shouldn’t it be Nathan?
She rushed out of her room before she could change her mind, and for once didn’t even bother to grab her camera. She paused impatiently when Kate called out her name.
“I’m just heading out.” Jo stopped at the door to the office. Kate was behind a desk covered with papers and brochures.
“Trying to get ahead of the fall reservations.” Kate pulled a pencil out from behind her ear.
“We’ve got a request to have a wedding here at the inn in October.
We’ve never done that kind of thing before.
They want Brian to do the catering, have the ceremony and reception right here.
It would be just wonderful if we could figure out how to do it. ”
“That would be nice. Kate, I’m really on my way out.”
“Sorry.” She stuck the pencil back behind her ear and smiled distractedly. “Lost my train again. I’ve been doing that all morning. I’ve got your mail here. I was going to drop it off in your room, then the phone rang and I haven’t budged from this spot in two hours.”
As if to punctuate the statement, the phone jingled again, and behind her the second line beeped, signaling an incoming fax. “If it’s not one thing, it’s two, I swear. There you go, honey, you got a package there.” She picked up the phone. “Sanctuary Inn, may I help you?”
Jo heard nothing but the beehive buzz in her own ears. She stepped forward slowly, could feel the air around her thickening like water. The manila envelope felt stiff in her hand when she reached for it. Her name had been printed on it in block letters in thick black marker.
JO ELLEN HATHAWAY SANCTUARY LOST DESIRE ISLAND, GEORGIA
The warning in the corner stated clearly: PHOTOS. DO NOT BEND.
Don’t open it, she told herself. Throw it in the trash.
Don’t look inside. But her fingers were already tearing at the seal, ripping open the flap.
She didn’t hear Kate’s exclamation of surprise as she upended the envelope, shaking the photographs out onto the floor.
With a little keening sound, Jo dropped to her knees, shoving through them, pushing one after another aside in a desperate search for one. The one.
Without hesitation, Kate hung up on the reservation she was taking and rushed around the desk. “Jo, what is it? Jo Ellen, what’s wrong? What is all this?” she demanded, holding Jo under one arm as she stared at dozens of pictures of her young cousin.