A Memory Worth Dying For (10 page)

Before she turned into the driveway, a faint whiff of smoke burned her nostrils. Gray smoke filled the sky on the eastern horizon behind her father-in-law’s land. Must be the wildfire they were fighting. It seemed awfully close.

She pulled up to the security gate and stared at the code pad. Was the entry code the same? Should she ring the bell or try the code to gain entrance?

In the past she had entered with confidence, knowing it was where she belonged. But now she was an outcast, entering where she no longer had a right to be.

With a trembling hand, she pushed the gold visitor button. Static filled the intercom and a voice boomed. “Yes?”

“I’m Marti Rushing, and I’m here,” she said simply.

No one answered, but the black iron gates rattled and slowly opened.

The driveway was wide and curved sharply to the right through a thick stand of trees. After three hundred feet, it cut to the left and opened up into an enormous front yard surrounding a two-story, sprawling stone mansion. Memories flooded her heart until she thought it might drown as images flashed back to happier times.

Games on the front lawn. Horseback riding on trails beginning at the stables on the right. Picnics under the massive oak trees on the edge of woods surrounding the grounds. Boat rides and swimming contests in the gentle waves of the private lake on the back of the property.

She pulled her small car to the cavernous garage area and parked it behind an empty bay. No need to park inside. She wasn’t planning on staying long. Leaving open the option of retreating was a must. The thought gave her enough strength to open the car door and step out onto the pavement. Should she ring the back doorbell? Or go around to the front entrance? Maybe they would come to her.

“I’m here,” she announced to the house, though there was no one to hear her. She waited, head hung low and eyes closed tightly in silent dread. The wait was unbearable until the whooshing of a door opening made her glance up to see a man stepping down the wide back door steps.

Jim Parker.

The air rushed from her lungs in relief when she saw it was the tall butler who worked for the Rushing family. Her lower lips stretched into a half-smile, and she nodded.

“This way, ma’am. Mr. Rushing gave instructions to bring you to his sitting room suite.” His words were respectful, but in the depths of his eyes, she could see a reserved sensor.

She shrugged in confusion, then let the meaning of his words sink into her thoughts. A slight irritation ballooned in her chest. So Gerald possessed the same arrogance and demanding tone that always infested him. How dare he summon her to his suite as if she were a servant!

But the air trickled out of her chest when she realized her limbs automatically obeyed that arrogant command. Some things would never change.

As she followed the butler through the house, she noted changes in the arrangement of the furniture and décor. Most of the old furniture was gone. Smaller, more compact furniture was in its place. The wheelchair in the corner explained why. A feeling of compassion and fear for Daniel pumped through her veins. Determination propelled her heavy feet forward.

Marti paused at the bottom of the stairs that wound up to the bedrooms and searched desperately inside herself for strength. Smells of spicy wood cleaner, chimes of the grandfather clock in the den, even the feel of the wooden banisters under her trembling fingers brought back an onslaught of painful memories.

The butler, reaching the top of the flamboyant staircase, turned to wait impatiently for her to climb the stairs—his arm indicating the first door on the right.

She gulped and searched the butler’s face for confidence to proceed. Although his facial features remained the same, his eyes flickered with an emotion she was scared to analyze.

She mounted the stairs with boldness and resolve. When she reached the top, Parker nodded toward the door and walked back down the stairs. Marti turned toward the room and stopped in the doorway.

The room had not changed. There was still an oppressive heaviness floating around the oversized furniture, and it landed on Marti’s shoulders.

An imposing cherry wood desk turned toward an open window sat in the left corner of the sitting room outside the bedroom. The perfect place for the “tyrant of the kingdom.” Behind the desk were built-in shelves made of matching cherry—full of books and souvenirs from many trips abroad.

Three plush chairs and a table sat prominently to the right and circled an oval rug in a comfortable conversational area. Through the door at the back of the room, she could see the same massive four-poster bed that had always occupied the master bedroom.

She took a deep breath and stared at the aged man sitting at the desk as he glowered at the ledger in front of him. His hair was tinged with white.

Gerald Rushing had aged tremendously.

She felt a flicker of compassion when she remembered what this man had been through. The loss of his only daughter and her husband. The dissolution of his son’s marriage because of accusations and scandal.

Then she remembered the way he had thrown her out of the house, and she straightened her back to quell any feelings of tenderness for this man.

Immediately, Gerald stiffened as if he sensed a presence in the room. His hands froze. He sucked in a deep breath and slowly lifted his eyes. Seeing her standing in the doorway seemed to rouse more emotion than he could handle, and he slumped against his chair.

Marti waited quietly without moving. It was he, after all, who summoned her to this place.

He gently waved her further into the room. Her feet felt heavy as she drew closer.

“You’ve come,” he stated quietly.

“I came because of Daniel.” Her voice cracked.

“Daniel’s not here right now. But, before you see him, there’s something I must say first. Please,” he indicated a plush upholstered chair on the right side of the desk, a few feet from his side, “have a seat.”

She gaped at him for a minute, then slowly approached the chair and perched on the edge.

“I don’t understand. You said Daniel is dying. Where is he?”

Gerald paused and seemed to be gathering his thoughts. “He’s away at a horse auction, Martha. There’s something important I needed to explain first, but I’d like you to promise one thing before I do.”

Marti’s head jerked up. A horse auction? She stared into Gerald’s eyes. They were the same stone gray color, but there was an unaccustomed softness there. She frowned—confused.

“I’m not sure what you want from me.”

“I want you to hear me out—to promise you’ll hear everything I have to say before you leave—no matter how you might feel.”

Even more confused, Marti stared at his eyes for several long seconds then slowly nodded. “I promise.”

Gerald looked briefly down at his hands before raising his eyes to hers. “I told you in the letter Daniel was dying, but . . . that’s not true.”

“What?” Marti’s back straightened, and her shoulders tensed. “You lied to me?”

NINETEEN

MARTI SAT GAWKING AT THE
man in front of her—not believing he had lied to her.

“If I’d ask you to come back for any other reason, would you have returned, Martha?”

Hearing him call her “Martha” brought back throbbing memories of him shouting that name in disgust. She gritted her teeth and mumbled, “People call me Marti now.”

He continued without commenting. “Very well,
Marti
, would you have come back for any other reason?”

She sat in silent indignation, her thoughts swimming with confusion.

“It was the only way I could get you to come back to help me . . .” His sentence trailed off.

Marti stared at him. His words finally penetrated the wall of protection she had erected.

Daniel was
not
dying.

The same Daniel who had turned his back on their marriage.

The same Daniel who had thrown her out of this house and blamed her for the death of his sister and her husband.

The same Daniel who . . .

Tears filled her eyes as she turned to glare at the old man.

“I don’t understand. Why would you do this?”

He focused his gaze out the window and watched the wind blowing the one-hundred-year-old oak between the house and the lake.

“I need to ask your forgiveness for the way I treated you when . . . when you left here three years ago.”

She saw his mouth moving, but the shock would not let her comprehend his words.

Marti’s eyes narrowed. “You’re saying you’re sorry?”

To say an apology from the imperious Gerald Rushing bowled her over was an understatement. Gerald Rushing never apologized.

He blamed.

He excused.

But, he never apologized.

“Yes. I should never have sent you away, no matter what you did. I’m sorry for everything I did to hurt you. I should have let you explain . . . at least tried to understand. I was wrong, and I hope you can forgive me, Martha . . . uh, Marti.”

When she got over the shock of his apology, she looked at him in confusion. “I don’t understand. If Daniel’s not dying, then why did you feel the need to lure me here? You could have apologized in the letter or on the phone.”

Gerald lowered his head and swallowed twice to gather his words. They came out stilted and wooden, almost as if he were reading a script.

“About two months after you . . . left . . . Daniel joined the army. Eventually he was assigned to a special operations unit. After he completed the individualized training, he was deployed overseas for a year to conduct secret operations in Iraq. During the last month of his deployment while on his last scheduled mission, something went terribly wrong. They were ambushed. Daniel sustained life-threatening injuries as well as a severe concussion that left him in a coma for almost six months. The doctors gave us no hope he would wake up at all.”

The air slowly seeped out of Marti’s lungs and her face paled.

Gerald paused for a minute to collect his thoughts—his next words soft and exact.

“I tried to trace your location to let you know, Marti, but you were always one step ahead of the detective I hired.”

She nodded, lowering her head, her voice just a whisper. “I traveled a lot—not staying in one place very long until recently. I was trying to run from everything.”

Gerald’s eye’s squeezed shut. “I’m sorry, Marti. I know we hurt you terribly. We were cruel and unforgiving. I’m so sorry we couldn’t find you to let you know about Daniel’s injuries. He might have died during that time. He came close several times. That brings me to one of the reasons I wanted to bring you here.”

Marti waited patiently with shallow breaths.

Gerald paused as unexpected tears filled his eyes.

“During that time . . . I turned to God for help. The same God I’d ridiculed you for believing in three years ago. Thanks to your witness, I had a God I could believe in and trust.”

Marti blew out a doubtful breath
.
Trusting in God had not gone very well for her.

Gerald, oblivious to her thoughts, continued. “I didn’t want to lose Daniel just like I lost Angie . . .” His voice broke, but he recovered. “Losing Daniel would have been devastating. I made a deal with God. If He saved Daniel, I would somehow find you and ask your forgiveness for my part in breaking up your marriage. I also wanted to encourage Daniel to contact you and reconcile. When Daniel woke up the very next day, I knew what I had to do—keep my promise.”

Marti stared at the pale rugged face. Gerald wanted forgiveness, but that was not something she could give on command. It would take time. Even though she knew harboring bitterness only made life harder, forgiveness was not an easy thing to achieve.

She slid her purse strap onto her shoulder and stood. “So, now you’ve fulfilled your promise, and I can go. I don’t need to see Daniel at all. He’s okay, and you’ve apologized.”

“No . . . wait, please.” Gerald sat up in his chair. “That’s not the only reason I called you back. Let me finish. You promised.”

She reluctantly nodded.

“When Daniel woke up, he had no memory of the last few years. He still doesn’t remember anything after his high school graduation. That’s why I didn’t contact you immediately when I found you living in Tennessee.”

Marti’s back straightened. “You mean he doesn’t remember . . .” Her voice trailed off.

Gerald shook his head. “He has no memory of you at all, Marti. Nor does he remember being married—except what I’ve told him.”

The air rushed out of Marti’s lungs, and she sat back down stunned. “That’s why he . . .”

Finally it all made sense. Now she understood his reaction to her at the gallery.

“The doctor says his memory might return naturally. It might come back quickly, or it may never come back. He encouraged us to subject him to familiar surroundings, situations, and people in order to help prod his memory. The problem is . . .”

He paused to gaze at her knowingly and continued.

“
Veronica
has her own plans for Daniel. This situation—his not remembering you—is her dream come true. Somehow, by using Daniel’s vague remembrance of growing up with her, she’s made Daniel believe they’ve always been crazy about each other, and now they’re engaged. I can’t seem to stop that nonsense.”

“Then why did you send for me? You have what you always wanted. He can’t remember me, so that should make you happy. He can marry your precious Veronica.” The sneer in her voice was not like her at all, but she couldn’t hold back the derision.

Gerald’s head hung low. Grief, guilt, and shame all circled like a cloud around his bowed head.

“No, Marti. That’s not what I want at all. I admit I played a major part in Daniel’s decision about the divorce, but I have to acknowledge the fact that during the four years you were together, Daniel was the happiest I’ve ever seen him. Veronica and Daniel always enjoyed a close friendship growing up, but marriage between the two of them . . .” He shook his head. “It just wouldn’t work.”

“I know he loved you, Marti. After you left here, he wasn’t the same. He was moody and walked around with a scowl on his face. He was miserable and made everyone miserable around him.”