My Sister's Keeper (18 page)

“
Hi,” she said.

I took a deep breath and smiled. “Hi.”

Minutes later, as we crossed the Cape Fear Bridge heading northwest, I could see her watching me out of the corner of her eye. “I guess you’ve been keeping up with the news this week.”

“
Oh yes,” she replied.

“
Then you must have been a little shocked when you saw me.”

“
Yes, I was.”

“
Then do you mind if I ask why you’re here now?”

“
I know you didn’t have anything to do with what happened to Ash.”

The quickness with which she answered surprised me. It just came out without a second thought. Not only did I find that comforting, but encouraging as well. “Thanks. I needed that.”

She smiled. “You’re welcome.”

We passed a doe with a couple of fawns grazing on new grass along the shoulder of the road. They didn’t even look up as we blew by.

“
So, what made you decide to open your own dance school?”

“
I was teaching two days a week in Myrtle Beach, two days a week in Wilmington, and one day a week in Jacksonville and just got tired of all the driving. Then a school came up for sale here in Wilmington and I really wanted to buy it, but they wanted more for it than I could afford so I decided I’d start one on my own. And I did. But I never dreamed it would be this successful. I only needed enough students to earn a living, but they kept coming. It got to the point I had to hire more teachers. Then after three years, I moved it to where it is now.”

“
It looks like you’ve got something very special there.”

“
Thanks.”

I could see her eyes staring at me through the dark lens and wondered if she was trying to figure out if I was guilty or not. “What?” I asked.

She looked down and brushed a piece of lint off her jeans. “I was just thinking about how little you’ve changed.”

“
And I was just thinking about how
much
you’ve changed. Why haven’t you gotten married and started a family?”

“
People ask me that all the time. I’ve always said I was too busy and that my students are my children. But, now? I don’t know. It would be nice, I think.”

As we rode on, we talked about the photography I’d be doing at her school, about the old days when I dated Jewell, and the black and white Manx cat named Tux that she still had after fifteen years. The more we talked, the more comfortable we got. And the more comfortable we got, the more we laughed. And the more we laughed, the more infatuated I became.

“
So what do you want from her brother?” Sydney asked.

“
I’ve got to start somewhere.”

“
Start what?”

I took a deep breath. “This whole thing

her murder, or disappearance, or whatever it is

just seems a little fishy to me.”

“
What do you mean?”

“
Like it was staged.”

Her mouth parted slightly and I could sense her eyes on me. I told her about the bicycle, the boat, the guy who knocked me in the head, the missing money, and what Mrs. Winslow had said. “And if she did set all of this up, I can’t believe she’d just walk away without letting her brother know what she was doing.”

“
I see what you mean.”

“
And tomorrow I’m going out on the river to see if I can find the boat she rented and figure out why she needed it and, hopefully, where she went.”

She looked to her right. “Why are you doing this?”

“
Why am I doing this?” I laughed and looked her way, but she wasn’t laughing. “I’m trying to prove I had nothing to do with what happened to her.”

“
And that’s the only reason?”

“
Isn’t that enough?”

“
I thought maybe you…liked her.”

“
You get right to the heart of things, don’t you? Maybe you ought to be the one to interview David.” She slapped my arm and smiled.

As we neared Lake Waccamaw, she called out the directions and I drove right to the farm. An older man in denim coveralls and mud-caked boots answered the door. I stood back from the porch and let Sydney do the talking. She spoke to him through a screened door.

“
Hi. I’m Sydney Deagan. I was Ashleigh’s dance teacher a few years back and I

”

“
She ain’t here,” the old man growled stepping back to close the door.

“
Wait! Actually, I was hoping to talk to David.”

“
David don’t talk to nobody since the accident.”

“
He knows me. Sydney Deagan. Would you ask him?”

“
Won’t do no good. I told you. He don’t talk to nobody, not even the police. They came the other day and banged on his door for half an hour. He ain’t been out of that room since he come here, except to see a doctor.”

“
We were hoping he could help us find Ashleigh.”

“
You ain’t heard what happened?”

I spoke up from behind Sydney. “Mr. Jackson, we think there’s a chance Ashleigh might still be alive.”

He pushed the screen door open and squinted his eyes. “You the police?”

I climbed the steps and extended a hand to shake. “No, sir. I’m Richard Baimbridge. I live

”

“
Baimbridge?” He retreated, closing the screen door. “Ain’t you the one they say done it?”

I retracted my hand and stuffed it in my pocket. “I had nothing to do with it, Mr. Jackson. And that’s why I need to find her.”

“
We don’t know nothing but what the police tell us,” he said.

“
When was the last time you saw Ashleigh?” I asked.

“
You folks best be on your way. We got nothing to say.”

“
Please, I don’t think anything has happened to Ashleigh. I think she planned this whole thing herself and made it appear there had been foul play. I was hoping

”

“
Now why would she do something like that?”

“
I’m not sure, Mr. Jackson. But I believe she got involved with some people she wanted to get away from.”

“
That girl was smart as a whip. She wouldn’t get herself messed up in nothing that wasn’t proper. Somebody done her in and that’s the way it is.”

I noticed a curtain slightly pulled back in a window at the other end of the porch and strode toward it. “David! Talk to us! We’re trying to help Ashleigh!” The curtain dropped back into place. I banged on the window with the side of my fist. “David!”

The screen door sprang open and the old man stumbled out holding a double-barreled shotgun leveled at me. Sydney backed down the steps.

“
Git on now ‘fore I drop you dead.” His eyes were clear and his hand steady. “Don’t think I won’t do it.”

I raised my hands and moved slowly to the edge of the porch and stepped off into a long-abandoned flowerbed. “We’re not trying to cause any trouble here, Mr. Jackson.”

“
If you know what’s good for you, Mister, you’ll stay away from here. I mean it. Now git!”

I backed toward the car, cupped my hands over my mouth, and shouted, “David! Call me! Richard Baim

”

The shotgun exploded.

24

S
YDNEY GOT ME INTO THE CAR, drove me home, and helped me upstairs. I was bleeding from wounds over practically every inch of the front of my body, but the shotgun shells had been loaded with rock salt instead of lead shot. Although the injuries were not life threatening, they were painful.

The house was still in disarray—“from the visitor,” I told her. “If you think this is bad, you ought to see what he did to the back of my head.”

As we stumbled into the bathroom, she pushed my hair to the side, pulled off her sunglasses, and examined the lump and stitches. “Richard, you didn’t tell me it was this bad.”

“
You mean you didn’t notice it?”

She lowered me onto the side of the tub. “No I didn’t. You should have told me.”

“
You should have seen it Thursday.”

She wet a cloth and touched it gently to my face. As she wiped away the blood and cleaned the salt from my wounds, I saw up close how beautiful she was.

“
Who’d you say you were dating?” I asked.

“
I didn’t.”

“
Is it serious?”

“
It used to be.”

“
So, what does he do?”

She exhaled. “He’s an attorney.”

An attorney?
All my hopes vaporized and the energy in my body receded as she rinsed the cloth and wiped it over my face and neck once more. “Thanks,” I whispered. “If you’ll let me get a shower and change clothes, I’ll take you back to your car.”

“
Are you sure you can do this?”

“
I’ve been doing it since I was five.”

“
You know what I mean.”

I smiled. “Yes. I’m okay.”

Touching her hand to my face, Sydney started to say something, changed her mind, turned, and left me alone. Again I stripped off a set of clothes that I dropped into a pile to throw away. With a hot shower and clean clothes, I felt better. Leaving the bathroom, I saw that Sydney had straightened up the bedroom and made the bed. As I came down the stairs she was busy wiping down the island countertop. Behind her, a clean pile of dishes rested on a drying towel next to the sink.

“
Thanks,” I said. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

“
I didn’t have anything else to do.”

“
Would you like something to drink or eat?”

She folded the cloth and set it neatly next to the sink. “I’d better be going.”

“
But you haven’t finished. Look.” I pointed to the pillows thrown around the den. “There’s another whole room to go.”

Her fingers whisked aside loose sprigs of hair hanging in her face. “It’ll have to wait until the next time you get shot.”

That struck me as incredibly funny

belly-laugh funny—and laughter spilled out of me. She laughed too and although it hurt my head, it felt so good to just let loose and laugh at something silly. It had been such a long time since I’d laughed like that.

“
That’s a deal,” I replied when I’d finally regained enough control to speak. “I’ll try to get shot again first thing tomorrow morning.” The laughter started all over again and it made her blue eyes twinkle. But the way I studied her must have made her uncomfortable somehow and when she turned away and rinsed the cloth again, it struck me that Sydney was no ordinary woman. She had a full life and more than her share of responsibilities and deserved someone like a lawyer. Certainly not me. Yet she seemed to need something.

I took her hand, gently pulled her to me, and put my arms around her.

“
Thanks, Sydney,” I whispered.

“
For what?”

“
For all you’ve done to help me today. For believing in me.” Slowly, she relaxed, laid her cheek against my shoulder, and placed her arms around me. “You’ve really done well for yourself, Sydney, and—thanks for such an incredible day.”

Her warmth seeped into my clothes and a strange force encompassed us. My insides trembled and for a few minutes the world stood still. It was exhilarating. Then she whispered, “I think we’d better go.”

A minute later, we were in my car heading back to hers. We hardly talked at first, then she asked if I was involved with anyone.

“
No. Haven’t been in a long time.”

“
Have you ever been married?”

“
Almost.”

“
What happened?”

“
I wish I knew. I’ve been trying to figure that out for years.”

The drive across town seemed to take no time at all. I pulled into the parking lot where she’d left her vehicle, parked next to it, and turned the engine off. “Thanks for going with me, Sydney, and for patching me up and cleaning the house and…everything.”

“
It’s been a very interesting day,” she said searching her purse for her keys.

“
Yes, it has and I’ve thoroughly enjoyed it. Well, most of it.”

She laughed and looked at me. I didn’t want her to go. I felt as if I’d found something that I’d misplaced years ago—something that rightfully belonged to me. I wanted to spend the rest of the day with her

maybe even the rest of my life, but I knew in my heart I’d never be able to have her. She was too special, too unique to fall for someone like me. She had this other thing going with the lawyer and I didn’t want to interfere. I got out, circled the car, and opened the door for her.

She stepped out, pressed the button to unlock her van, and placed her purse inside. When she turned back to face me, I leaned to kiss her, but she turned her head away.

Damn! How could I have been so stupid?

I stepped back. “I’m sorry, I—”

“
It’s okay. I’m just...” She left the sentence unfinished, exhaled, got in the van, and cranked the engine. I pushed her door closed and stepped away from the van regretting the way the day was ending.