The Woman Next Door (32 page)

The lights lowered, forming a network on the ground.

“Jordie?” Karen called, clearly frightened.

Lee’s voice followed. “What are you doing up there, Jordie?”

“Come down,” Karen urged. “We can talk. We can work everything out.”

There was more thudding from the woods, then another voice. “The squad’s on its way.” It was Russ. “Hang on, Jordie. They’re coming.”

“Amanda’s up there with him,” Graham said. “I’m going up.”

“No,” Amanda cried. “No, Gray. It isn’t stable. Rocks were falling out when I climbed. If many more fall, we’re in trouble.”

“I’m in trouble anyway,” Jordie muttered.

Amanda grabbed his wrist. “If you go, I go.” She didn’t care whether he was mortified, having everyone he cared about down below. She wasn’t having him die of embarrassment. Not on her watch.

“You don’t
get
it,” Jordie cried in a hoarse whisper. “I
can’t
go down. They’ll kill me when they find out what I’ve done.”

“The vodka? No one’s going to blame you for that. You didn’t make Quinn drink it.”

“Not the vodka,” he said in a panicky way.
“Gretchen.”

That quickly, something clicked in Amanda’s mind. She saw the marks of a knife, forming the shape of words that might have been her parrot’s favorite:
Fuck it.
“The painting.”

“Yes,” Jordie hissed. “I can’t
stand
that painting. I can’t stand
her.
I just want her to leave. My parents would be okay if she left.”

It wasn’t as simple as that. Amanda knew the havoc that distrust had wreaked between Graham and her, and there had been no cause. In the case of the Cotters, there was. Lee was having an affair, if not with Gretchen, then with someone else. His marriage had been in trouble before Gretchen arrived. Chances were that it wouldn’t improve if she left.

At the clatter of more rocks, Amanda felt those under her shift. Her pulse raced. She waited for more movement, but there was none.

Down below, Graham swore.

“She was right,” Russ told him, his voice just barely carrying up to the top. “Stay down. It’s not safe.”

“Gray?” Amanda called.

“I’m okay,” he grumbled, but her attention swung right back to Jordie.

“I shouldn’t’ve done it,” he muttered in the same desperate way. “I was just so angry, and the phone calls didn’t scare her off.”

“Phone calls?”

“Just enough to spook her, only they didn’t. It was stupid of me. Stupid.
Stupid.”

She could feel the tension that radiated through his body in the wrist she held. She gave it a sharp shake. “Not stupid. Angry, yes. But anger’s okay. You have a right to be angry, though not at Gretchen. You can be angry at your parents, because they’re struggling to work some things out, and they’re upsetting you. I’ve been there. I know how that is. I went through the same thing with my parents. I kept telling myself that I couldn’t say anything, because that would only make things worse. So I drew into myself and was silent and moody, which made them more unhappy, and me angrier. It took me years to realize that I had a right to be angry—took me years to give myself
permission
to be angry.”

In the rain, he was listening. “And then what?”

“I expressed the anger. I said what I was thinking.”

“Did it make things better for them?”

“No. But I felt better.”

There was more action below, the beams of floodlights, the approach of more people.

“Half the town’s here,” Jordie said in dismay.

“No. Probably just four men. They need that many to carry a ladder long enough to reach us up here.”

“They’ll put it in the paper, just like the stuff about Quinn.”

“All they’ll know is that we climbed up here and got stuck.”

“I’m not going down. I can’t. I know the insurance people were at Gretchen’s. If they don’t come after me, the cops will.”

Relieved that help was at hand, Amanda spoke more calmly. “They won’t. We’ll work something out.”

“Like make Gretchen forget her picture’s ruined?” Jordie sneered.

“No. But it could be she’ll understand what you’re about, and why it happened.”

“The cops are already involved.”

“They won’t be, if she refuses to press charges.”

He snorted. “So then I just have to answer to my parents.”

“And they won’t feel even a little bit to blame? Think about it, Jordie. Think about what you felt with the vodka and Quinn. Your parents are going to be thinking the same way, once they get over their initial anger. You have to talk to them. You have to tell them what you’re feeling. It may help them, Jordie. Think about
that
for a minute.”

There were voices far below, the scrape of aluminum on stone, the extension of the ladder. There was a jiggling, a ratcheting, more scraping and squealing, until the top of the ladder settled against the stone on the other side of Jordie. Amanda held her breath, half expecting the top of the tower to fall inward under the weight. But it held.

“You have nothing to be ashamed of, Jordie,” Karen called. “Absolutely nothing. Things sometimes happen that aren’t your fault.”

“We all make mistakes,” Lee said.

But it was Graham’s voice, spoken with greater quiet and extraordinary intent, that spoke to Amanda. “Hold on, babe. Hold on for me.”

Her heart swelled and clenched. Somewhere through the rain she felt the warmth of tears in her eyes, but there wasn’t time to
dwell on that emotion. With a final creaking as the ladder took on weight, the first of the rescue team started up.

“What do I do?” Jordie asked Amanda.

“They love you,” she said, holding his wrist as tightly as ever.

The ladder creaked; its extension pulleys jangled.

“Are you going to tell them we talked at school?” Jordie asked in a rush.

“No,” Amanda answered, feeling an urgency to seal the deal before their time alone was done. “I told you that was confidential. Besides, you’ve told me much more up here than you ever did there. That’s the stuff you need to share with your parents.”

“About Gretchen? They’ll go
apeshit.”

“Not if you tell them why. Not if you explain.”

“That’s easy for you to say.”

Yes, it was. It struck her just then, with help fast approaching, that lately she hadn’t done a very good job sharing her own feelings and thoughts. She was a fine one to talk.

“It’s the strong thing to do, Jordie,” she said, though she might have substituted her own name for his. “It’s the grown-up thing to do.” Releasing his wrist, she took his chin and forced him to meet her gaze. “You are strong. You’re a fighter. You’re a
survivor.
You can get through this, Jordie. I know you can.” She held his eyes until the sound of a man’s voice came from barely four feet away.

“Okay, Jordie, I’m going to grab hold of your leg and guide your foot to the ladder.”

Jordie started to shake his head, but Amanda tightened her hold on his chin. “Yes,” she whispered firmly. “Quinn was a coward. You aren’t. Show them that, Jordie. I’m begging you to show them that.”

For an instant, he looked like he wanted to argue. In the next instant, though, he seemed to let out a breath. He didn’t quite nod,
but she saw his acquiescence. Releasing his chin, she held his arm until he had both feet on the ladder. He looked up at her a final time.

“Go,” she said. “I’ll be down right after you.”

She saw the rescue worker immediately beneath Jordie, close enough so that he couldn’t fall or jump. In tandem, they moved down one step, then another. Before long, they were a body’s length beneath her, then two. She was just starting to think that they were out of the woods when she heard the rumble of stone and felt a shift. This one didn’t stop so fast.

In the space of a breath, as she slid forward and back on the slick granite, Amanda pictured Graham standing below and feeling unspeakable pain as he watched her die.

But she didn’t die. Heart thundering, she rode the stone to a standstill. Beneath her, there was a commotion of voices. It was a minute before she was thinking cohesively enough again to look down into the grid of flashlight beams and wonder about Jordie. She couldn’t see the ladder.

“How is he?” she yelled.

“Fine,” said Graham, sounding closer than he could possibly be.

“Gray?” she cried.

“On the ladder, behind you and down, babe. Are you hurt?”

“No. Just terrified.”

“You’re gonna have to slide back to where you were.”

“It isn’t safe. The rocks are loose.”

His voice came from a closer point. “We have no choice.” He shouted down,
“Shine the beam so I can see her,”
then gentled his voice again. “Move slowly now. There, babe. That’s it.”

Desperate to be where he was, which was surely a safer place, she inched backward. She didn’t look anywhere but at her own two hands, which were soaking wet and cold with fear.

“Keep coming,” Graham coaxed from close enough behind her that she started to cry. “Keep coming.”

She felt his hand on her leg, guiding her carefully.

“Gentle, there. A little more. I’m putting your foot on the top rung. Lean forward now, honey, and swing the other leg over. Easy. That’s it. That’s my girl.”

She did as he told her, grateful to be led. She was weeping softly, shaking all over, feeling tired and weak and sore—and frightened still, now for Graham, too. When she had both feet on the ladder, he guided her down one step after another, until his body surrounded her. Only then did she dare release her hold on the granite and grasp the sides of the ladder.

Graham pressed against her and tucked his chin into the curve of her shoulder. For a long moment he held her still. His breath warmed her ear. “Shhhh. Don’t cry, Mandy We’re goin’ down now.”

Fearful that the slightest movement would topple more rock, they moved slowly, backing down carefully, one rung at a time. The ladder widened when they reached the next extension, then widened again a bit lower, but Amanda was only peripherally conscious of anything but Graham’s voice in her ear. She didn’t even hear the words, just felt the tone. It kept her legs working, kept her holding her own weight until he touched ground and swept her up in his arms. He carried her to the edge of the clearing, safely away from the tower and the others gathered there. Sinking down onto the wet earth, he enveloped her in his slicker and drew her in close, rocking her back and forth, holding her with arms that trembled.

Amanda didn’t move. She was too tired, too content. The rain was no problem, since they were already drenched. Speech was unnecessary.

At some point, Russ came over to report that Jordie had broken a leg in the final tumble, but fortunately that was the worst of it. At
another point, he came back to report that they had the boy on a stretcher and were carrying him out. At a third point, he returned to see if Graham and Amanda needed help.

At that point, Graham pulled Amanda to her feet. They didn’t need help, he said. They were fine.

“Fine” was one word for it, Amanda thought, though that put it mildly. Jordie was safe; a tragedy had been averted. Amanda knew who had defaced Gretchen’s artwork, and though she still didn’t know who had fathered the baby, she knew with absolute certainty who hadn’t done it. Graham hadn’t. Being with him now, pressed close to his heart under the shelter of his arm, she felt the conviction of that.

She felt more, as they made their way back through the forest. She felt the psychic connection that had so drawn her to Graham at the start. She also felt the chemistry. It was back—back from the lab, where it had been stuck in a mess of tissue cultures, blood workups, tests, and medication—back to the heart-pounding, bone-deep thrill that had been such a steady part of their relationship before all that had come between them. It felt good to focus on those curls of attraction as they walked back through the rain—felt good to press against Graham’s body and let his warmth become part of her again.

By the time they came out of the woods, the rescue squad had Jordie on his way to the hospital. A tiny voice in the back of Amanda’s mind told her to see who had gone with him, who was left with the other children, how they all were faring.

She ignored that tiny voice. Graham filled her heart, and her senses. Selfishly, she pushed all else from her mind.

They were barely in the kitchen with the door closed behind them when he lifted her, set her on the counter, and took her face
in his hands. His kiss had the taste of urgency. It said that he felt everything she did—but she had known that well before their lips touched. She was able to savor it and return it, clinging to his hair, then his shoulders.

“I love you,” he whispered, lowering his mouth to her neck. At the same time, he unsnapped her jeans and tugged at the zipper. It was wet and resisted, but that didn’t stop him. He managed to push a hand inside.

Amanda felt the heat rise even before he found his mark, and his touch sent it higher. She climaxed within seconds, a spasming that seemed endless. She was still in the last of it when he began pushing her pants out of the way, and she went to work releasing him from his own. He was heavy and hard; she would have explored that, if there hadn’t been such a dire need to have him inside. His entry was magic. It was smooth and fast, creating aftershocks of her climax that drove her toward a second, and his was nearly as potent. One, two, three deep strokes, and he clutched her tighter and cried out in release.

He stayed hard even when the pulsing inside was done. Sliding his fingers into her hair, he took her mouth again, and for Amanda it was a reunion. She had missed the way his lips slanted over hers, the way his tongue searched and his teeth nibbled. She had missed the trail of his tongue on her neck and, once the slicker was pushed from her shoulders, her jersey was over her head, and her bra tossed aside, on her breasts. She cried out when he drew a nipple into his mouth, and, feeling a line of fire arrowing down, bucked against him when he suckled more strongly.

He began again then, stroking her inside while he used his hands above. Again they climaxed within seconds of each other— one igniting the next in an order neither knew.