The Man From Her Past (7 page)

He backed into the old-fashioned textured brick wall and she had to follow. She let go of his shirt, and he stared over her head, down the sunlit hall, giving them both time to calm down.

“Point taken. I’ll explain. I’ll say whatever you want. I was just trying to make sure nothing more hurt him or you or Hope. If you’d seen him on that bridge…”

“You decided for all of us, and I’m not sure if he’d even see why you lied.”

“Why don’t we let it go for now? We can explain after he comes home.”

“We?” She turned away from him and pressed her head to the cool mint paint on the wall. “I don’t know if you did this because you’re ashamed a rapist made your wife pregnant or you just can’t leave me alone, but my door is closed to you, Van.” She took one deliberate step back, walking away again. “I was wrong to ask you for help.” She turned toward her father’s room. “I’ll take a cab home.”

They’d scarcely noticed four nurses who bent over their clipboards and loose pages, and in one case, a tray of medication.

Van had barely spared them a thought—the hope they’d be discreet—because he had a feeling Cassie was right. He told himself to get over her once and for all. He could pretend he’d finally stepped out of the limbo her divorce had exiled him to for five years.

He straightened his shirt, tucked it back into his waistband and strolled toward the elevator.

Why had he told Leo Warne that Hope was his child?

“A
RE YOU ANGRY
that Van told me about your daughter?”

“No, Dad. You need to eat your dinner.” Which looked much like lunch. “Aren’t you hungry?”

“Try a bite of that and see if you could choke it down. Even the pudding tastes like those fake potato flakes.”

“If you gain a little weight you might get to come home. Have you been forgetting to eat?”

“My memory isn’t what it was, but stop trying to change the subject. Van wanted me to know about his child. You’re lucky he’s not mad at you.”

She stirred tonight’s soup. “Try this.”

“I don’t say that to hurt you, but any man would resent a woman who didn’t tell him about his own baby. You kept her a secret.”

She shook her head, sweeping her hair behind her ear. “I didn’t want anyone to know about Hope.”

He was distracted enough to eat without arguing. “None of this makes sense to me.”

“To me, either, Dad. We’re in for a confusing time.”

“Huh?”

“Getting you well, deciding what to do next.” She couldn’t help it. She still hoped they wouldn’t have to stay in Honesty.

He breezed over the subject. “When do I get to see her?”

“As soon as you’re well enough.”

“Is she like you?”

“I guess.” She’d been so grateful to look down on her newborn’s face and recognize her own features.

“You’re like my mother. I don’t think I noticed that before. You were always so much your own person I never saw her in you until you walked in that door this morning.”

“I was my own person?”

“Sure. You never took my advice. You wanted what you wanted, and you wouldn’t listen to me about taking a degree that would bring you a good job in college—”

“You mean a degree that led to working in the bank?”

He nodded, shameless. Her sociology major had always troubled him. “And then you just had to marry Van. There’d never be anyone else for you. You’d loved Van all your life.”

She looked up, but the afternoon sunlight through his wide window blinded her to everything except memories from the past. Her wedding day, Van looking as dazed as she with happiness. The conviction that she’d done exactly the right thing.

Unlike most brides, she’d never been afraid. Never doubted.

“I chose the right career, but you were right about getting married too young.”

“Children never listen to parents. We’re so easily taken for granted. Do you know how many times I watched you walk out of the house, annoyed with me for trying to caution you about a mistake, but you never even considered your decision might be wrong?”

She moved around the bed so she could see him. “Dad?” His eyes were clear. She’d swear he was back with her again.

“Like about leaving,” he said. “You were wrong to go. You needed me and Van. We all let that beast rob us of everyone who mattered most.”

His rising tone frightened her. “Don’t get upset. You need to stay calm.”

“I helped break up your marriage because I was ashamed,” he said.

“No, Dad.” With an arm around his shoulders, she hugged him, careful not to knock the soup spoon from his hand.

As if remembering those days cost him too much, he returned to the refuge of his hazy present. “Now, now.” He started eating again, one bite after another until most of his plate was empty. After he drained his juice, he wiped his mouth and set the cup carefully on the tray. “You have to face the facts. We all hurt. We all let each other down. Now that you’ve brought Van’s little girl home, why couldn’t you care for each other again?”

Cassie sank into a chair, as dazed as her father.

Soon he began to drift off. She moved the food tray away from him. He barely blinked as the tray’s wheels squeaked.

The nurse returned to check his vitals. “I think he’s asleep for the night, but you’ve done a good job. You’ve kept him alert and talkative all day. He’s probably exhausted.”

Cassie picked up her coat. “How long do you think it’ll take to regulate his medication?”

“A few days. His lungs are already clearing. Dr. Baxter wants to run a few more tests to make sure we have a clear picture of the rest of his health issues.” She whipped his bed into shape. “Why don’t you go home and get some rest? You can come back tomorrow.”

“I gave my cell number to the nurse at the station. You already have my dad’s home number?”

Her father muttered in his sleep.

“Van gave it to us yesterday. We’ll get in touch if there’s any change. Try not to worry, Cassie.”

“Thanks.”

“Knowing he can count on you will be your father’s best medicine.”

She meant it as comfort, but staying here, living in Honesty where her father could count on her—it was Cassie’s worst fear.

In the lobby, she called a cab and then her father’s house to say she was on her way.

“Take your time,” Beth said. “We’re making art.”

“I can’t wait to see.” Anything that looked normal.

As she was paying the taxi driver in front of her house, Beth opened the door. Hope skipped onto the newly painted front porch.

“Hi, Mommy.”

“Hey, baby.” Cassie ran to meet her and scooped her up for a noisy kiss on both cheeks, but her little girl struggled down.

“Come look. I’m drawing flowers. And we made cookies.”

“We burned some cookies.” Beth held the door. “Your father’s vintage oven defeated me.”

“Vintage,” Cassie said with a laugh. “I’ll bet that thing’s over thirty years old. It always cooked a little hot.”

“We had to clean it. Grampa had spidey webs.” Hope leaned confidingly into her thigh.

“I don’t think he enjoys cooking,” Cassie said, trying not to imagine how he’d eaten in these past years.

“I’m going to get my flowers, Mommy.”

“Okay.”

Beth held her back at the door. “How is he?”

“Like one of those mystics who’s starved himself into nothing but the slight will to live. And wisdom.” But was he wise? She shrugged. “At least he thinks he knows best.”

“A trait that afflicts my family, too. In the race to be right, Van and I have often acted more like combatants than siblings.”

Cassie closed her eyes, the day’s frustrations tempting her to shatter. “Some things about your brother haven’t changed.”

“What did he do?”

“He told my father Hope was ours, his and mine.”

“Oh, man.” Beth sank back. “I can see why you’re upset, but if you think about it, how would your father recover from hearing the truth?”

“Did Van call you?”

She shook her head with perfect innocence.

“Dad’s much better trying to put Van and me back together again.”

“Oh, no.”

“Mommy, are you broke?”

She hadn’t heard Hope come back. “I’m just fine, sweetie. Why?”

“Someone wants to put you together again, like Humpty Dumpty in my book.”

“I’m all back together.” She gathered the treasure trove of drawings Hope clutched to her chest. “I can’t wait to see these.”

“Are you sure, Mommy?” She looked Cassie over, as if she expected chunks of her to fall off. Cassie wouldn’t have been surprised. “You sounded mad.”

“I’m not mad.” Cassie took her hand and led her to the kitchen, the calmest place in her father’s home now. Thanks to Van. She couldn’t forget everything he’d done.

“But somethin’s wrong,” Hope said.

Cassie sat in a chair and pulled Hope into her lap. This was where letting Van inside her head got her.

“I was a little mad, but it doesn’t mean anything. My dad wants me to do some stuff I don’t want to.”

“Like it was your bedtime?”

“That is one of your least favorite words.” Cassie tried to smile at Beth, who followed them, obviously wondering if her brother had made her unwelcome.

“I like my bed at home, Mommy. When can we go back?”

“I’m not sure.”

“I’m betting Mommy wishes she could head straight back this second.” Beth straightened crayons and scented markers that lent the room a sticky sweet smell. “I’m sorry your grampa is sick, but I’m glad I get to keep you both with me a while.”

Cassie lifted her head. “You think I want to run away?”

“Run away, Mommy? With me, though?” Overtired and easily distressed by unfamiliar emotions in new surroundings, Hope looked wary. She half climbed off Cassie’s lap, up for an adventure, determined not to be left behind. “Where we going?”

Beth held the box of crayons close. “I didn’t mean it was a habit,” she said to Cassie.

“For five years I’ve never doubted every decision I made was for the best.” Cassie wrapped an arm around Hope, holding on for dear life. “But I should have checked things here once in a while.”

“You want honesty, Cass?” Beth set the box on the table, steeling herself to be thrown out. “What happened to you—well—” With her eyes on Hope, she broke off, but who could say anything more about that? “Your father and my brother should not have let you go, and you shouldn’t have abandoned them. You all should have taken care of each other. You should have let us care for you.”

“Beth.” Honesty hurt. “I never meant to harm anyone. I was trying to—” She struggled for the right word, looking down on Hope’s dark hair. “
S-u-r-v-i-v-e.
”

The letters hung in the air. What mother hadn’t spelled something totally serious and hurtful to spare a child? Staring at Beth—Beth staring back—the incongruity got to Cassie.

Laughter bubbled out of her, startling and clean. Beth laughed, too, and then she swept around the table. Her hug felt sweet. Because they were together and time hadn’t changed the fact that they loved each other.

Just like that, sharp and dear as her best memories, Cassie wanted Van back, too. She faced the truth. She was afraid of letting him back into her life, letting him matter.

But hadn’t she cowered enough? Hadn’t fear robbed her of five long years already?

C
ASSIE AWOKE
gasping the next morning. The ceiling hanging over her head, familiar and yet so unexpected, brought her immediately home.

Van.
His name whispered, a memory and a reason to feel guilty. A taunt? She lifted her left hand. For a month after she’d finally relegated her wedding rings to her jewelry box, their imprint had stayed on her finger. Gone now—as though they’d never been. As though Van had never been.

She threw back her sheets.

This house. Every time she opened her eyes here, memories, rich, and too dangerous, threw her back five years. Everyone knew you couldn’t go home again. Home had moved on without her, and she belonged in Washington.

She twisted her hair into a chignon, slipped in a bobby pin, shivered in her tank and pajama pants and found one of her old high school sweatshirts.

Only it was Van’s sweatshirt. Though he’d graduated eight years before her, she’d fished it out of his closet the first time he’d taken her to his house. She’d worn it with the pride of a barely-out-of-her-teens girl, distractedly in love.

She hesitated before pulling it over her head. But she wasn’t a naive young thing anymore. She’d grown into a practical woman who chose to dress rather than freeze to death.

Her bedroom door burst open, and Hope whirled into the room.

“Time to get up, Mommy. I’m starwing, and I want to paint some pictures. Miss Beth said she’d bring paints today. Is my grampa coming home? Am I going to see Mr. Van again? He brings good food.”

Cassie blinked. “Can I siphon off some of your energy?”

“Siphon?” Hope tilted her head, interested. “Whazzat?”

“Transferring some out of you, into me.”

Hope grabbed her own pajama top, a fleecy rendition of Dora today. Still pink, naturally. “Nope. Might make a boo-boo. I’m really hungry, Mommy.”

“What time is it? Did you make coffee, Hope?”

She giggled. “Funny, Mommy. I’m not old enough to drink coffee. I could make some, though,” she said in all seriousness. “I know how ’cause I watch you.”

Cassie grabbed her girl and they wrestled down the hall. “You’d better leave it to me for now.”

They raced to the bottom of the stairs, and Hope landed with a thud on the hardwood floor just as someone knocked on the front door.

“Mmm,” she said. “Maybe Mr. Van brought me more spaghetts.”

“Don’t get your hopes up, punkin’.” Mr. Van wouldn’t be back. In a display of perverseness that annoyed her, she was sorry she’d made herself so damnably clear to him. Suddenly, she’d learned to want what—whom—she couldn’t have.

Hope yanked at the door until Cassie managed to undo the lock and the dead bolt. Beth stood outside, brandishing a white bag full of delectable aromas.

“Doughnuts from Hagenthaler’s. I got the last bear claw, ladies, and I’m willing to fight you both for it.”

“I can thumb wrestle,” Hope said, pronouncing the
B.
She popped onto the porch. “Where’s Mr. Van?”

“He’s working in D.C. today,” Beth said, and Cassie pretended not to notice her close glance.

“Izzat where our airoplane went, Mommy?”

“Where we rode the big bus.”

“I didn’t like that bus, Miss Beth. A man sat on my coat and he wouldn’t get off.”

“Till she thumped him with her purse,” Cassie said, “purely by accident.”

“I’m not ’posed to have accinents no more.”

Beth laughed and spirited her booty into the house. “The better to avoid lawsuits, my dear.”

“What kind of suit?”

“A grown-up kind that’s hard to explain,” Beth said. “Let’s get some milk and coffee and feed Mommy before we send her to the hospital.”

“Who’s taking care of the lodge, Beth?”

“Aidan. He and Eli can handle it for a few days. He likes the change from his business. You never saw a man so proud to wield a toilet plunger.”

Cassie made a face.

“I hope I hid my feelings about that a little more skillfully,” Beth said.

“Maybe the grass is always greener.” Cassie lifted the coffeemaker’s lid.

“Have you been inspecting the grass around here?” Beth asked.

“Nope.” Cassie borrowed her daughter’s vehemence.

“Too bad. I’ll do the coffee. You go dress to see your dad.”

H
ER FATHER SEEMED
to have worked the miracle of stealing energy from Hope. He quizzed Cassie on her life in Washington and warned her she was putting herself in danger, working at the shelter.

They went for a walk down the hall, with Cassie pushing his IV stand. With permission from his nurse, she treated him to soup and lime sherbet in the cafeteria. With touching excitement, he considered the break from eating in bed a treat.

Again, in the late afternoon, he tired. Instead of falling asleep, he suggested she might be missing her daughter.

“I would like to see her, and Beth probably has business to look after at the lodge.”

“I’ve had a nice day with you,” Leo said.

She kissed his forehead. “You need to come home soon, Dad.”

“If I do, you won’t leave?”

Her heart softened like the sherbet that had melted before he could finish it, with his conversation going at light speed. “How would you feel about coming home with me?”

His frown reminded her of Hope. “All the way to Washington?”

“It’s not that far by plane. We’d take all your favorite stuff.”

“I can’t do that. I have responsibilities here. Obligations only I can take care of.”

His voice broke at the end, and his anxiety filled the room. Cassie squeezed his hand. “You don’t have to be afraid of anything. We’ll work this out.”

“Do you wonder how much time we have left together? I think I was really sick.”

“Don’t. You scare me.” She hugged him again. “I’ll bring your razor tomorrow, and maybe we could slip Hope in for a quick visit.”

He grinned, looking reassuringly younger. “Cassie?”

She smiled back.

“I’m sorry about before. You know, when I couldn’t look you in the eye.”

“You see things pretty simply now.”

“It’s all through a haze, but I remember when I was cruel to you.”

She leaned on her elbows on the bed rail. “It doesn’t matter now. You’re sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t know you were sick. Let’s call it even and be glad we both remembered in time that we love each other.”

“Okay.” He touched her shoulder. “Do me a favor.”

“You’re almost your old self, Dad.”

“Listen to me while I’m feeling clear.”

“I’m anxious about what you’re going to ask.”

“Because you already know what I want and you know I’m right.”

“You’re about to bring up Van.”

He nodded. “You two split up. I told him to stay away from me. Our family fell apart, and none of us knew why.”

“I knew.”

“About me, but I think you were wrong about Van. He was angry all right, but he kept trying to tell you he was angry at the man who…” His voice drifted a little. “The man who hurt you.”

“I’ve heard all this from him.”

“Try listening, only once, and then I’ll leave you alone.” He leaned back and exhaled, weariness settling on him like the haze he’d spoken about. “I’m sleepy.”

“Good night, Dad.”

“Uh-huh.”

Whether he was asleep or not, he wasn’t with her any longer. She backed out of the room and looked for Lang to tell him about her father’s few moments of clarity.

“He’s on rounds. He’ll stop by Mr. Warne’s room later, but I’ll tell him for you. Try not to assume too much. His body is fighting back, but this could be a phase in his condition, too. Early on, you’d expect him to be clearer than he has been.”

Nodding, Cassie stumbled toward the elevator. The nurse already assumed a more dire prognosis than she’d considered. She still hoped her father would get better. She hoped it enough to do him that favor.

V
AN CAME OUT
of the bank to a light snow muffling children’s laughter from the Christmas tree lot on the square.

A balloon arose to the sound of a shout, sheer joy only a child could feel. Over the trees, the red balloon floated, trailing a leash of dark green tinsel.

He hadn’t thought about a tree for his own house. He tucked the receipt for his latest loan payment into his pocket. Having worked at the bank when he was just out of college, he knew that Jonathan Barr, who handled loans now, liked to feel superior to those who desperately needed them. Paying in person, with a total lack of concern, had become Van’s petty revenge.

He’d like to be too busy to waste the fossil fuel, but an investment analyst was only as good as his last picks, and his errors eight months ago had given him more free time than he wanted.

No one could have worked harder to change that.

Those Christmas trees looked inviting. It’d be ridiculous to let Cassie’s rejection turn him into a Scrooge.

He pushed his bare hands into his pockets and started across the street. A green mesh fence ran around the tree lot and he followed it to the parking area nearest the courthouse entrance.

A car’s balking engine drew his attention. In a gray minivan, one of his neighbors, with a spectacular Douglas fir on her roof, was unsuccessfully trying to go home.

Van hesitated only a moment. He went over and tapped on Lexie Taylor’s window. She rolled it down, relief flooding her face.

“Do you think you could give me a jump, Van?”

“We could try that.” He glanced into the back, where her son lazily kicked his boot-clad feet as he gnawed on a piece of teething toast. “You and Spence stay warm. I’ll get my car.”

“You’re a lifesaver.”

“Thanks.” Gratitude beat suspicion any day of the year. He nosed his car as close to Lexie’s engine as he could get it, and then took jumper cables from his trunk. After a couple of tries with the cables, he had to climb out and disappoint the mom-in-distress.

“Sorry, Lex. It’s not working. I’m afraid we’re going to drain my battery, too, and we’ll both be stranded. Why don’t I give you a ride home, and maybe Sam can get you a replacement battery?”

“Sounds good, if you don’t mind driving us.” She opened the door, sliding her arms into her coat sleeves. “But you were going in to buy your tree. We can wait.”

He shook his head. “Let’s move yours to my roof. You can’t leave it sitting here. Spence needs his tree at home.”

“Well, it cost enough that I’m reluctant to abandon it,” she said.

“You transfer Spence and the car seat, since I don’t know how to hook them up, and I’ll take care of the tree.”

He undid the cables and backed the car into a space. Then he took her tree down while she moved the car seat across. He finished the tree about the time Lexie was leaning in to put Spence back in his car seat, laughing at a mother-son game that involved kissing and cradling of faces.

Grinning, wondering what it was like to be part of such a family, he straightened to find himself staring into Cassie’s bewildered eyes. Hand in hand with her, Hope jumped as she saw him, too.

“Lookie, Mr. Van, we’re buying a tree for my grampa.”

He couldn’t restrain a wary glance toward Lexie, who’d been a few years behind Cassie and Beth in school. She hadn’t been too young to read about the rape and the trial. “Sounds like fun,” he said.

“Come on, punkin’. Mr. Van’s busy.”

Before Lexie could raise her head, they were gone, swallowed by the fragrant evergreens and the laughter inside the fence, as if he’d imagined them.

“Van? Something wrong?”

He got a grip. “Not a thing. Spence all set?”

Lexie nodded. “And I’m freezing. You don’t even have gloves.”

He brushed the snow off his shoulders and out of his hair. “I missed the forecast.”

“W
AS THAT
Mr. Van’s girlfriend, Mommy?”

Exactly the disquieting question she had on her mind. The woman had tucked her little boy inside the car while Van tied down their tree. Working in tandem, they looked as if they were together. Used to being together.

“Where did you hear about girlfriends, missy?”

“I watch TV, you know.”

“Apparently the wrong kind for your age. Want some cider?”

“Uh-uh.” She shook her head. The hood on her coat shifted back and forth, mussing her silky hair.

“Hot chocolate?”

Hope slapped her mittened hands together. “Yummy.”

“Let’s indulge ourselves and buy a tree and pretend we’re at home.”

“What’s hen-dulge?”

“Have something we really like. When I was a little girl, they sold tasty apple fritters along with the cocoa and cider.” Who was she kidding? Not even a fritter would shave the edge off this dull, unexpected pain.

“I never had a apple critter.”

“Fritter,” Cassie said, visions of squirrels and chipmunks that hadn’t been quick enough to hide for winter dancing in her head.

They bought a tree, which Cassie wrestled onto the roof rack of their rented car while Hope shouted plentiful advice.

At home, she hauled the tree as far as the bay window in the living room. Then, while Hope stayed to admire it, Cassie plucked up her courage to visit the attic, where nothing was out of order. No paper towel stacks. No newspaper like the piles that had turned up beneath the master bath cabinets. Just the boxes and oddments she and her parents had stored over the years.

She found the ornaments and dragged the box downstairs. All the while, an image of Van, with that woman and little boy in his car, kept sneaking back into her mind. How many times had she asked him to stay away? And now was he putting a star on some other woman’s tree?

That woman, laughing, had been grateful to him.

“Mommy, you look sad.”

“What?” She brushed off Hope’s concern. “I’m just avoiding the untangling-of-the-lights ritual.”

Hope giggled. Together, they opened the box. Together, they decorated the tree, Hope doing the bottom while Cassie covered the top. Finally, Cassie lifted Hope, who managed to maneuver the star onto its place of honor.

“Can I plug in the lights, Mommy?”

“Maybe I should.” They hadn’t yet mastered the concept of keeping tiny fingers from between the plug and the socket. “You keep an eye out for any bulbs that don’t work.”