Rachel Lee (31 page)

"Call if you need anything," Sam told Hannah. "I don't know if he's a belligerent drunk, but if he gives you a hard time, call. I'll be over in a jiff."

"Thanks, Sam." Then, without a backward glance, Hannah marched into the house and closed the door behind her.

Witt was sitting on the couch, regarding her from puffy, narrowed eyes.

The smell of bourbon was almost overpowering. "What did you call all those people for?" he demanded.

"Oh, I don't know," Hannah said with unusual sarcasm. "It might have something to do with the fact that you had a heart attack recently and you weren't answering your door or phone. For all I knew, you were lying in here dead!"

"I'm too mean to die." "You know, Witt Matlock, that may be the truest thing you've ever said!"

He blinked, as if taken aback by her attitude. Well, why not? Hannah asked herself bitterly. For a long time she'd refused to let him see any part of her except the calm, measured part. Not once in all these years had she really treated him to her temper. Oh, the occasional small flash in the pan, yes, but not the full force and fury of her anger, or her contempt, or any of the other things he suddenly appeared to deserve in spades.

"What's gotten into you?" he demanded.

"You! That's what's gotten into me. Your self centered self-pitying, damn-everyone-else attitude. That's what's gotten into me!"

For a few moments Witt appeared almost shocked back to sobriety.

"Hannah, what the hell's gotten into you?" "You, Witt. You and all your bitterness and anger. Justify it how you will, you've turned into a sour old man, one willing to hurt people he claims to love, over nothing more than a difference of opinion."

"Wait one minute! What Joni did"

"Oh, shut up! You're drank, and I can run circles around you right now. I don't want to hear it."

"Then get out of my house!"

"No way, Witt. No way." Hannah dropped into a chair and folded her arms, glaring at him. "You're stuck with me, at least until you're sober."

"I told you to get the fuck out!"

"And mind your tongue while you're at it."

His glare deepened, and she realized the anger was clearing his head.

For a moment she felt a qualm, wondering if infuriating him this way was risking his health. Then he spoke again, and everything else faded into insignificance.

"When the hell did you become such a bitch?"

"It's been growing on me for twenty-seven years. Ever since that night we betrayed Lewis."

"Oh, hell, that was no betrayal. He was screwing around on you all along. He got just what he deserved."

"You have no idea what he got. Is that why you did it, Witt? To teach him a lesson? Or to get even with him?"

"No." His eyes widened. "What the hell are you talking about? It was just one of those things. I never meant to do it. It just happened."

"So I just happened? Thank you so very much. It's nice to know I was just one more piece of accidental wreckage in your wake."

"Accidental wreckage?" His faced darkened. "You're crazy."

"Am I? Maybe so. Nobody in their right mind would put up with the garbage you've been dishing out over the last twenty-seven years."

"Garbage!" His glare was almost enough to cut steel. "I don't dish out garbage."

"Yes, you do. Day in and day out. Hardy didn't kill Karen, and Joni didn't commit a capital crime. Both of them are guilty of nothing but youth and caring about somebody besides you. And what the hell is your problem, anyway? You know perfectly well that that drunk driver caused the accident, not Hardy. So what's eating you, Witt? That she cared more for Hardy than for you? It was nothing but normal teenage hijinks, and if you hadn't insisted on turning it into Romeo and Juliet, Karen wouldn't have been sneaking out at night to see him."

"You think I don't know that?" He thundered the words and rose from the couch. Much to Hannah's surprise, he didn't even stagger as he started pacing the small room.

"So what is it, Witt?" she demanded, refusing to give quarter, the way she had always given in to him in the past. "What is it that keeps you so mad at Hardy."

"He shouldn't have taken her out against my wishes." "Bull. Do you really believe that he should have been better than Karen? More mature?"

"He was a year older." "In terms of gender, that made him still about two years younger than Karen and you know it. It was normal teenage hijinks, Witt," she repeated, "and in your soul, unless you've managed to deceive yourself completely, you know that. So what's the real problem, Witt? What's kept you so angry that you've been hurting Hardy for twelve years, and now you've hurt Joni, too?"

He shook his head and paced faster.

"Quit evading the issue," she told him sternly. "Whatever's going on has wrecked you, and now it's wrecking this whole family. Are you feeling guilty?"

"Why would I be feeling guilty? I told her the right thing to do! I told her not to go out with that boy. He was trouble, I told her."

"But he wasn't, was he? Hardy got into a couple of scrapes over ordinary pranks, but by and large he was one of the better kids at that school."

Witt shrugged, still pacing and refusing to look at her. "I didn't want her hanging out with that family of drunks."

"Family of drunks." Hannah repeated the words disbelievingly.

"Hardy's father was the drunk. Barbara never touched so much as a drop of liquor, and Hardy...! don't think I've ever seen him have anything but an occasional beer or glass of wine. And back then he didn't drink at all."

"He came from bad blood!"

"Oh, cow patties!"

For a few seconds Witt appeared arrested. "Cow patties? Christ, Hannah, just swear. Your tongue won't turn black and fall off."

"I don't like swearing and I never have. And I hate myself when I do it."

"Why don't you unlace that damn corset? If you get any more pure, there won't be room for angels in heaven."

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm not pure. As you should well know."

"Hannah, that was a lifetime ago. We agreed never to talk about it."

"Too bad. We're going to talk about it now. Because finally, after twenty-seven years, you've got me nearly as withered and desiccated in my heart as you are." "What the hell are you talking about, woman?"

"Don't call me woman. It's not a word to be treated like a bad name.

So what is it, Witt? Are you feeling guilty because you turned Karen into Juliet? Or are you feeling jealous because she picked Hardy over you?"

"That doesn't have anything to do with it!"

"No? You're lying, Witt. To me and to yourself. And there's nothing more disgusting than a man who lies to himself."

She rose, pulling her jacket closer around her, and zipped it up.

"Apparently you're not still drunk enough to need a baby-sitter, so I'm going home."

"You can't just leave after saying all these horrible things to me."

"I can't? Why not? You left after saying a whole bunch of horrible things to Joni. Why shouldn't I be able to treat you the same way?

Surprise, Witt. What's sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander."

Just as she reached the door, he called out her name. "Hannah..."

She turned and faced him then. "Oh. One more surprise, Witt. That night we had our little slip? You made me pregnant. You might not want to talk about that event anymore, but you're going to have to live with the fact that Joni is your daughter."

She had the pleasure of seeing his jaw drop and waited just long enough to be sure he wasn't going to have a problem with his heart. Then she stepped out into the cold afternoon, where sunlight as sharp as daggers bounced from the snow into her eyes.

She didn't know if what she had done was right. She just knew she could no longer tolerate what Witt was doing to himself and everyone around him.

Enough was enough.

Joni lifted her gaze from her plate and looked across the dinner table at Barbara and Hardy. Though she had cooked the meal herself--ham and scalloped potatoes

--Joni thought it tasted like sawdust. She'd given up flailing in her mind against Witt, arguing with herself and thinking she was the worst person on the face of the earth to have wounded him so. The truth was, he was wrong. And she knew it.

"I'm going to see Witt."

Both their heads snapped up. It had been a quiet dinner, o one seeming to have much to say, and maybe the sound of her voice had startled them.

"Joni..." Barbara spoke her name uncertainly, trailing off as if unsure what to say.

Hardy's gaze was still stony, but it seemed to Joni that there was a little gentleness around his mouth now. He was coming back. "Are you sure you want to do that?"

"Yes."

"He might say terrible things."

"Well, I've got a terrible thing or two to say to him. And if I don't say them, I'm never going to stop worrying about this. I need to have it out with him. To really stand up to him for the first time in my life."

"I'll go with you," Hardy said.

Barbara spoke carefully. "That might make him think you're ganging up on him."

"Too damn bad," Hardy said. "I'm not going to let Joni face that man alone."

Something inside Joni warmed a little at his protectiveness, even though it reminded her that she was nothing but a responsibility to him. At least someone in the world cared enough about her to take care of her.

The instant she had the thought, she felt guilty, because after all, Hannah had come to the hospital last night to sit with her. It wasn't that no one else cared. It was that she still felt a little heart sore that her mom had kept her true relationship with Witt a secret for so long.

Of course, she thought with painful honesty, that information probably wouldn't have changed much of anything. Witt had always claimed to love her as a daughter, and it hadn't kept him from disowning her.

Hardy spoke. "When do you want to go?"

"As soon as we finish cleaning up."

It was seven-thirty by the time the last counter was wiped. Night blanketed the world, and a cold, biting wind had kicked up. "And it's only January," she muttered as she stepped outside and walked to Hardy's car.

"" It's only January' can be a good thing," Hardy remarked. " If you take advantage of it. Wanna go cross-country skiing? Snowmobiling?

"

"Skinny-dipping?" she retorted, drawing a laugh from him.

"Sorry," he said. "I'm too chicken. I'll stick to activities that let me keep dry clothes on. But what got you so down on winter?"

"This month. This month alone. It's lasted forever. The post-holiday blues don't even come close."

"It has been kind of exciting, hasn't it?"

They both climbed in, and he started the engine. It was still warm from an errand he'd run right before they sat down to eat, so the first blast from the heater wasn't icy, even if it wasn't exactly hot.

"Exciting?" she demanded. "This hasn't been exciting. It's been miserable and painful and hurtful, but it hasn't been exciting."

"Depends on how you look at it, honey. Painful situations usually put us in a position to grow. If we choose to."

"Grow? Ha. I'm going to crawl into my little clamshell and close it up. And caulk it with super glue Had he really called her honey? Had he meant it? Or had it just been a slip? A slip, she told herself.

A.

slip of the tongue.

Hardy laughed. "Your little clamshell, huh? I thought clams couldn't talk."

"Apparently you've never read the comics."

"It's a cute image. Except for the glue part. I hope you don't mean it."

"Right now I do." And the closer they got to Witt's house, the more nervous she grew. She'd never faced down her uncle--her father--over anything, so she had only a vague idea of how cutting he could get.

He'd wounded her to her core when he'd disowned her, but she had a strong fear he could do worse than that.

And she already hurt so much, she didn't know how many more wounds she could withstand. But she had to do this. Before she moved away, she had to say her piece to Witt. All of it. She hoped he would listen, but if he didn't, it wouldn't really matter. All that mattered was that she get her own concerns off her chest, that she made her stand.

At least then she could walk away with her head up, knowing she'd stood up to him.

When they pulled up in front of Witt's house, Joni was almost sorry to see the lights on and Witt's shadow moving across the living-room curtains. He was home, and he was awake. She had no excuse to postpone the reckoning. Her heart began to beat nervously, and her mouth went dry.

"What if Hannah's there?" she blurted.

"I don't see that it makes any difference," Hardy said. "But if it does to you, I'll go in there and give him a piece of my mind. I've been wanting to anyway."

Much as she feared Witt's reaction, Joni wasn't about to let Hardy be braver than she. Her chin setting with determination, she climbed out of the car . right into the snowbank left by the plow. Snow slipped into her boot and slid down, soaking her sock and making her foot icy.

Wrong boots, she thought. She should have worn her lace-ups. It was an irrelevant thought, but it was easier to be annoyed with herself than think about what was to come.

She climbed over the snowbank and slid down onto the sidewalk. Witt had salted it recently, so the pavement was free of ice. Salt crunched under her boots as she forced herself to walk to the door. Hardy crunched along right behind her.

Witt answered on the first ring of the doorbell. His eyebrows lifted when he saw them, but his face didn't take on the flush of anger that usually came when he saw Hardy.

He did not, however, look at Hardy for long. His icy blue gaze came back to Joni. "What is it?"

"I want to talk to you, Uncle Witt."

"I've had all the talking to I want today."

"Well, you're going to get some more."

After a moment he stepped back and waved her in. He didn't even object when Hardy followed.