The Man From Her Past (3 page)

The kitchen was even crazier. Completely spotless, except there wasn’t a dish to be found, beyond the paper and plastic in the cabinets where the real stuff used to be stored.

“Dear God, Leo.”

In the back of his mind, Van had blamed Leo for Cassie’s leaving. If her beloved father hadn’t been ashamed, maybe Cassie would have given Van another chance, but Leo’s humiliation had blinded her. She’d taken Van’s revulsion at his inability to help her, for shame like her father’s.

He choked in a breath and grabbed a garbage bag from beneath the sink. He set to work, realizing he’d misread Leo. They’d tried to live with their guilt in different ways.

He’d been unable to touch his wife, and Leo had stopped living in a world that made sense.

“H
OW MUCH LONGER
, Mommy?” From her car seat in the back of their rental, Hope flipped her cloth doll, Penny, in circles until the arms coiled like springs. “Where is my grampa, anyway?”

“In a hospital, honey.” Squinting into the fading evening sun, Cassie passed another highway sign that assured her she was on her way to Honesty, Virginia. She didn’t need the sign. She knew each bump and dip of the road like the corners of her childhood bedroom.

“Will he like me?”

“You’re funny. How could anyone not love you?” It was what Cassie feared. It was the reason she’d told no one back home that she’d had Hope. The reason she’d never returned.

“He didn’t come see me. We never visited him in his neighbor good.”

They’d recently started looking for a new house in a “neighborhood with a great school.” Hope couldn’t get the hang of the word.

“He’s an older man.”

“Mrs. Bonney is a older lady.” She usually babysat when Cassie had to work late. She made cookies and crocheted afghans and loved Hope almost as much as Cassie did. “She wants to see me all the time.”

“But she lives right next door.”

“She goes away. She goes to see her little girls.”

Mrs. Bonney called her granddaughters her little girls.

Cassie searched for answers. She’d told her father to stay away. She couldn’t explain why. “Mrs. Bonney isn’t sick.”

“Is my grampa a nice man?”

A simple yes stuck in her throat. He’d blamed her for the rape. And he hadn’t loved her since.

Van, too. Van, who’d been so much her other half that excising him had left gaps in her soul. Maybe he was worse than her father, because he’d vowed to be her husband. Better or worse had broken him.

“I’m talking to you, Mommy.”

“I told you all this last night, sweetie, but you might not get to see him, since he’s in the hospital.”

“I thought we were gonna get him out of there.”

“It’s not a bad place.” Another hint she should look at her current work situation. So many of the women at the shelter went to the hospital, and their husbands were kept from seeing them. From phone calls Hope had overheard, and frankness about work that Cassie and her partners should have forgone, she might have gotten the wrong idea.

“I don’t want to go.”

“You don’t have to.” Cassie’s stomach dropped. Who’d look after Hope while she was with her father? How many people in Honesty would have to see Hope? “We’re not staying here long,” Cassie said.

“But how long?”

“A few days.”

She could hear her old friends.

When did she have that kid?

Why didn’t she tell Van?

Whose kid is that?

Van would wonder why she’d hidden Hope’s existence.

“You don’t have to explain.” Her counselor in Tecumseh had repeated that over and over in the months after Hope was born. “She’s your responsibility. You have to make a good life for her and you. And frankly, to hell with anyone else.”

Cassie’s father, practically a Biblical patriarch in her mind when she was growing up, hadn’t wanted her after she was tainted. He certainly wouldn’t want Hope. When Cassie had needed him most, he’d blamed her for the worst thing that had ever happened to her.

She’d find help for him. She closed her burning eyes tight for a second. She’d provide medical care if he needed it. She owed him nothing more.

“Where’s my gramma, Mommy?”

That question hadn’t come up last night. “I’m sorry, but you don’t have one,” Cassie said, fighting, as always, the soft memory of her mother’s hands on her face, her whispered reassurance that the dark was safe. “My mom died when I was a teenager.”

Hope, who’d been traveling since early morning and missed her nap, looked as if she might cry. “You won’t ever die, will you, Mommy?”

“Not for a long time, Hope.” According to the policeman who’d taken her statement at the shelter, she had every chance of dying pretty soon if she wasn’t more careful about taking on thugs. She’d tried to explain about the advantage of surprise. He hadn’t been impressed, and he was right. He just hadn’t come up with an alternative response, other than everyone hiding—and who could do that all the time?

“Good.” Hope smiled through a soft veil of tears in her eyes. Blessed with a sensitive heart, she’d always cried easily. “But you don’t have a mommy.”

“I’m used to that.” Who ever got used to that?

“It’s a good thing you have me.”

Cassie laughed. “Having you is the best. I love you this much.” She took her hands off the wheel long enough to spread them as far as she could. “And then some.”

“Good.” Hope tucked her baby onto her shoulder. “I’m not sleepy, Mommy.”

“I see that.”

“But I could use some mac and cheese.”

“Just let me know when. We’ll be home before you know it.” Home. She’d said it without thinking, after five years of dreading the sight of Honesty.

“We can make eggs for my grampa.”

The hospital concept proved tricky for her to grasp. Cassie glanced in the rearview, at Hope’s drooping eyelids.

With any luck, she could keep this trip an adventure for her daughter and then escape. No one who’d known Cassie before would see Hope, or ask questions.

H
OPE WAS ASLEEP
when Cassie parked in front of her father’s home. With her palms sweating on the steering wheel, she stared at the house, low, squat and dingy in moonlight instead of the rich blue of her memory. The ivy her father had tended so lovingly had taken over the porch and the roof, trying to pull the house down.

A woman could almost wish it had.

She glanced at Hope, hating to wake her until she saw what awaited them inside. Van had said her father would still be in the hospital, but when had Leo Wainwright Warne ever paid attention to anyone or anything other than his own sense of right and wrong?

Wallowing in a hospital bed would strike him as the height of wrong.

Cassie climbed out of the car, eased the door shut and started up the cracked driveway. Then she stopped, eyeing the house and a dark band of cloth blocking off the porch. Someone had pinned a Wet Paint sign to it. She leaned down to touch a step. Tacky. And that wasn’t all.

The ivy, cracks in the dirty cement, black tire streaks and bird droppings dotting the graying pavement. Her father hadn’t been out here with his pressure washer in a long time.

Five years couldn’t change anything this much—not unless time and neglect had lived hand in hand. Van had tried to warn her about her father. Like Hope, she just hadn’t got it.

She went around to the kitchen door. Half expecting to find it unlocked, she nonetheless lifted her key.

Only to have the door open in her face and Van come out.

Without thinking, she turned toward the car. He took her arm as if to stop her from running. She looked down at his broad hand, his splayed, capable fingers.

Her body seemed to grow heavier, but she wasn’t confused about her real feelings. She looked up at him and prayed Hope wouldn’t wake, the way children did when a car stopped too long.

“I thought I’d be out of here before you arrived.” Stress tensed his face. His dark green eyes watched her as if she were a stranger.

“You dreaded seeing me, too.” She pulled away from him. How could he bother her so much after five years? After the revulsion he hadn’t been able to hide before she’d left?

She started over.

“I came straight from the airport,” she said. “What are you doing here?” She forbade herself another glance toward Hope. Sometime he’d have to know but, please God, not now. Not yet.

“The house was a—we have to talk, Cass.”

“Don’t call me that.” Her old nickname tugged her toward him as if he were her true north. Everyone had used it, but from Van it meant familiarity and whispers in the cocoon of their bed. Secrets only they knew.

He nodded, his eyes so intense she wanted to scream. He shut the door behind him. “Parts of the house were in bad shape. Are in bad shape.”

“What are you talking about?” She reached past him. Just then, the back door of her rental car opened, and a small voice shouted, “Mommy?”

She turned. “Hope.” Cassie ran across the grass and snatched her daughter into her arms, holding on so tight Hope tried to wriggle free.

“You’re squishing me.”

“Sorry.” Tears choked her, but she never cried. “Sorry, baby.” She turned, her daughter in her arms.

Van had followed, shock draining his face of color. She wished the sunset would just finish up and fade and make them all invisible.

Cassie shook her head, begging him not to say anything that might hurt Hope. Naturally, he wondered if she belonged to him. Despite five years and the certainty he hadn’t wanted her or their marriage, she feared his unspoken question.

At last, he dragged his gaze away from Hope, moving his head as if his muscles were locked. Pain pulsed from his body.

Cassie relented. She’d assumed a lot of bad things about Van’s inability to be human, but he obviously had feelings.

“No,” she said. “Not yours.”

He grimaced, looking confused. Then he put his hand over his mouth. She was close enough to see sweat bead on his upper lip.

As it had the last time he’d tried to make love to her.

She’d been right to leave Honesty. She was the only one who could love the whimsical, curious girl who danced through her life in joy.

Only Cassie could love the daughter born of her rape.

“M
OMMY
,
WHOZZAT MAN
?”

Van’s eyes darkened. His mouth froze in a sharp, thin line. He clenched his fists at his side.

Cassie pressed her face to her daughter’s head and breathed in Hope’s warm, still-babyish scent. Cassie swore silently. He could still make her tremble, but she and Hope were a family.

“Van, this is Hope, the love of my life.” Be careful, she warned him in her head. Don’t say anything to hurt my daughter. “Baby, this is Mr. Van. He’s a—” She stopped. If explaining Hope’s long-lost Grampa had been hard…“a friend of my father’s.”

“Hello, Mr. Van.” Hope stuck out her tiny hand. As always, Cassie marveled at her long slender fingers. She’d know her daughter decades from now, if only by her hands. God had been kind. They were Victoria Warne’s hands, too. “Mr. Van?” her little girl said.

He literally shook himself, staring at her.

“Is he okay?” Hope stage-whispered.

He forced a false smile, but Cassie was grateful. Finally, he dwarfed her hand in his and shook it.

Giggling, Hope dropped her head against Cassie’s chest and didn’t see Van press his palm to his jeans.

Watching him, Cassie felt more than the cold of the Virginia winter. Not even the coat she’d draped over the backseat would have warmed her. Why had she expected anything more compassionate from him?

“Sorry.” He shook his head. His disgust this time was clearly for himself, but it came too late.

Cassie swept past him. “I’m taking her inside for dinner and bed.”

“There’s no food,” he said, “and a couple of the rooms…”

She waited. He didn’t go on. She didn’t look back. “What about the rooms?”

“Your dad.” He came after them. The kitchen steps dipped beneath his weight. “He had some collections.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“Paper towels,” he said. “And those dishwashing sponges. Hundreds of them.”

“What?” She stared at him underneath the porch light.

“In the guest rooms. I’ve cleaned your room and his and your old playroom, and I cleaned off and remade the daybed in there. But the others—I called the women’s shelter in town to see if they could use anything.”

He actually blushed, but for no valid reason. Obviously, his mind had gone to the women’s shelter because of what had happened to her. They’d be well sponged and paper-towel clean, because she’d forgotten she’d left her bathroom window open one night five years ago.

“Get over it, Van. I have.”

“Have you?”

His simple question rattled all her doubts. “I had to.” She glanced down at Hope’s head.

He wiped his mouth again. “I don’t know how to talk to you.”

“Fortunately,” she said, trying to be kind because she didn’t want grudges between them, “we don’t need to talk. Don’t get me wrong. I’m grateful for everything you’ve done. We’ll both have beds to sleep in, and I can go by the grocery store.”

“Let me.”

“We’re not your problem. Good night.”

“Come on, Cass.” She’d known Van nearly all her life, but never had she heard the kind of anger he was fighting to quell—all the more frightening because he was normally so controlled. “Give me a chance,” he said. “What did you expect me to do when I found out?”

She looked down. Hope’s eyes had drifted shut. “I expected the reaction you had. That’s why I left town and never meant to come back.”

“Not because you didn’t love me anymore?”

She stopped, feeling naked, sensing the eyes of everyone who’d ever known her in this town. “You stopped loving me,” she said, praying Hope was really asleep and not just pretending.

“I always told you I was the problem.” He edged closer to her shoulder as if emotion brought him there. His nearness and her unaccountable urge to remember what it was like to be in his arms made her want to scream.

“I know. It’s not you. It’s me.” Hearing Cassie’s frustration, Hope tried to lift her head, but she was too tired. “Go home, Van. I’m busy.”

“Let me help you carry your things in. The house will be a shock.”

“I don’t need your help.” She opened the door. Something smelled awful, and the kitchen looked darker than she remembered.

Van stepped inside.

“Bad man,” Hope muttered.

“Not overly bad.” No doubt Hope would have to see him again. Cassie walked around him and tried to shut the door, but he wouldn’t let her.

“I feel as if I’m barging in, but the house is going to come as a shock.” The past, moments in time that should have ended, reopened the gulf between them.

“I’m fine.”

Her little girl looked up. “Mommy, what are you talking about?”

“Old stuff,” Cassie said. “And what you and I should have for dinner. Can you stay awake long enough to eat something?”

“I’m pretty hungry.”

“Me, too.”

Hope wrinkled her nose. “Something smells funny.” She covered her face with both hands. “Are you sure this is your daddy’s house?”

“The smell is bleach.” Cassie sniffed harder. “And garbage?”

Van nodded ever so slightly.

She stared at the faded paint and worn appliances. How had this looked before Van started cleaning? “Can I see Dad tonight? Does the hospital have late visiting hours?”

“What about—” He looked at Hope.

Cassie had known people would treat her and Hope like freaks, but she hadn’t expected Van to be the first. “I’ll manage. Thanks for your help.” She went to the door, forcing him to follow, and then ushered him through. “And for looking after Dad.”

On the porch, Van turned, opening his mouth, but Cassie had stopped worrying about manners. She shut the door.

And locked it. Tight as a drum.

T
HE MOON HUNG
above thick trees. Van stared at it as he measured each step to his car.

His hand shook so much he could barely hit the button for entry. He stared at the house and wished he’d opened all the blinds. Whatever Cassie was doing, she wasn’t letting in light or prying eyes.

Whatever she was doing…Finding something to feed her daughter. He got in the car and grabbed the steering wheel to keep from crashing his fists through his windshield.

His wife had given birth to that rapist’s child.

His wife loved that animal’s child. Love for Hope was a coat she wore—a second skin—a part of her he’d seen the moment the girl had called her name.

Damn her. Damn her to hell along with that bastard who’d stolen everything from him.

No.

That made it sound as if the rape had been her fault. He’d never thought that, never blamed her, never wanted her anywhere but at his side.

But it didn’t feel as if five years had passed. He was still living that last night they’d tried to make love. His head swimming with images of that guy forcing her, he’d had to get away or punch the damn wall.

She hadn’t understood. It was almost as if she’d preferred thinking he couldn’t stand being near her.

And tonight, she’d sprung Hope on him like another test. He’d failed again, but how could she expect the people who’d loved her to accept a constant, living reminder of the worst moments in their lives?

So, he hadn’t thrown a party. He hadn’t said anything to hurt Hope or Cassie, either. Why couldn’t Cassie give him a break?

He looked up at the closed windows and the door whose locks still clanked and clicked in his ears. Five years, and it was as if she’d left last night and come home this morning.

All the feelings were so familiar. Fear, anger, dread.

And somewhere down deep, the love he hadn’t been able to abandon or smother. No other woman had ever made him forget Cassie.

He’d been stranded in a time capsule since the evening she’d left him outside her lawyer’s office. Him still swearing he’d make her love him again. Her looking sad. Out of his reach.

And early on, whenever he’d suggested he come to Washington to see her, she’d refused. Finally, she’d said her life would be easier and she’d forget the past better if she never again saw anyone connected with it.

Especially him.

He took a last look at the windows, like eyes closed against the world. Cassie had made enough rules for him and her father. Surely Leo was a living illustration that Cassie’s way led to disaster.

Van made his own rules in every other part of his life. If Cassie wanted to throw away love, she’d have to say so, flat out.

He turned the key in the ignition and then pulled his cell from his pocket. Cassie took three rings to answer.

“Hello?”

If she’d sounded certain, instead of wary, maybe he’d have backed off. If she hadn’t sounded afraid…

“Don’t start dinner. I’ll bring something back.”

“I don’t want you to come back.”

“I don’t blame you. I didn’t treat Hope right and I’m sorry.”

“She deserves better, and so do I.”

Before, he’d have handled her with kid gloves. She’d been hurt, inside and out, and he couldn’t hurt her more.

“Cassie.” If he gave in, he’d lose any chance of finding out if they could still love each other. “I don’t want to hurt that kid, but she reminds me of—” He couldn’t say
her father.
If he did, he’d never look the child in the eye again. “She reminds me of what happened. Give me a chance to live with it.”

“Are you crazy? I’m not coming back here. You and I have been divorced for almost five years. We’re over.”

“Your father is extremely ill. You won’t throw him into some nursing facility and run away.”

“I will,” she said through what sounded like gritted teeth.

“I know you.”

“You’re living in a crazy dream. You need treatment as much as my father.”

“You might be right, but I’ve never said goodbye to you. I don’t want to give up.”

“On what? On nothing. It’s been nothing since the night I left here.”

“Do you think I’m proud of feeling this way? I’m a man. I don’t want to run after a woman who couldn’t be more clear about not wanting to be with me. But I think you were lying five years ago about not wanting us in your life, because you were afraid for your child. I have to know if we can still care for each other.” He tapped his fist against the steering wheel. “Don’t make me talk about feelings, Cassie. And don’t make me beg.”

Her silence stretched so long he pulled the phone away from his ear to see if the signal had faded or she’d hung up.

“Mommy,” said a small voice on Cassie’s side of the connection, “I’m really hungry.”

“So I’ll be back,” Van said. “With dinner for both of you.”

“For all of us?” Cassie asked.

He stiffened. “Are you inviting me or preparing yourself?”

She took a deep breath, but he was holding his. “Maybe a little of both.”

“That’s a start,” he said. “I’ll be back.” He hung up before she could change her mind.

She might be right. What kind of man held on to a woman who’d turned her back on him in the most final of divorce decrees five years ago?

But she’d kept information to herself then. She’d been pregnant. With a rapist’s child, but she’d been his wife and she’d been carrying a child. He’d loved her. He’d had a right to know—or to tell her he couldn’t face it.

He wasn’t sure he could face it now.

He pulled away from the curb, not letting thoughts of Hope reignite his old anger. She was a child, not someone to blame.

And he was through giving up on everything that had mattered because Cassie didn’t believe in him. It was his turn to take charge.

For the first time in a long time, he felt a little hope.

He drove to the town’s new overpriced luxury market, parking next door at the
Honesty Sentinel
because everyone who wanted to see and be seen had already taken all the open spots at Posh Victuals.

The second he hit the aromatic air inside, his stomach muttered with guttural hunger. He flattened his hand against his belly, but in the Babel of dinnertime shopping, no one else noticed.

He waited in line at the Poshly Prepared Pasta counter. A high school girl, wearing a checkered napkin folded artfully into a cap, finally got through the three customers before him.

“What may I feed you, sir?”

As if she were wearing a toga and offering grapes. “What do you have that will make a four-year-old girl happy?”

“Huh?” She glanced around the counters as if seeking help. No one materialized.

“I have a friend who’s just arrived in town with her four-year-old daughter, and they haven’t eaten. I’d like to take them some dinner.”

Lowering her voice, she leaned toward him. “I’m supposed to talk you into buying the more expensive stuff, but take the spaghetti. Kids always like spaghetti. I have a little brother, and he can’t get enough of the stuff we make here.”

“Perfect. Pack it up.”

“Just for the girl? Would you like a whole dinner? Or a child’s spaghetti?”

“Dinner for three.”

“Okeydoke.”

“Do you have a meatless sauce?”

She nodded.

“I’d better take two orders of that.” Cassie hadn’t eaten meat for years before she’d left, and she might have persuaded her daughter to eat the same crazy way.

With deft hands, the girl packed a meal in takeout cartons. Pasta, a container of sauce, a larger one without meat, and garlic bread, so rich with spicy scents his stomach grumbled again. Louder.

The girl must have heard. Her mouth twitched, but she was too polite to mention it.

She added vegetable antipasto, a tossed salad and two containers of tiramisu. He stopped her in time to ask for crème brûlée for Cassie.

“Just warm everything up. If you boil the pasta for two minutes, it’ll be better than new.” She leaned in again. “I add olive oil to the water. Amazing.”

“Thanks.” He found her badge beneath a wavy ponytail. “Rita.”

“My pleasure. Here’s hoping your friends enjoy.”

His friend had probably changed her mind about letting him in—and changed the locks.

Back at Leo’s house, he parked in the driveway behind Cassie’s rental and carried their dinner to the front door, tapping the newly painted porch with his fingertips to make sure it was dry. He rang the bell and then waved the bags in front of the wood to spread the delicious aromas. That market might have a froufrou name, but their cooking smelled great.