The Secrets She Carried (30 page)

“Oh, then I guess you’re welcome.”

His lips were featherlight on her cheek, lingering and almost shy,
his fingertips soft in their wake, touching the place his mouth had just been, as if to seal the kiss. “I’d best get back to our guests. You stay and rest awhile. And eat something.”

But Leslie wasn’t hungry anymore. Her belly was too busy doing the two-step as Jay walked away, and she wondered as he rounded the corner and disappeared if he was taking it slow for her sake or for his own. Rising from the bench, she wandered out onto the lawn, not ready yet to plunge back into the festivities. When she had put enough distance between herself and the barn, she stopped to lean against an old maple. Away from the lights and noise, the night felt cooler. Closing her eyes, she pulled in a deep lungful of crisp, still air.

Something, a coarse whisper or whiff of cigarette smoke, made her open her eyes and glance toward the road. She smiled as she spotted a couple walking arm in arm in her direction, weaving their way back to the party from what appeared to be a romantic rendezvous. She was about to turn away, to give them their privacy, when she felt the first prickle of warning.

There was something peculiar about the couple’s progress: not like lovers at all, and not really moving in the direction of the party, but straight for her. Her eyes locked on the cherry-red arc of a cigarette, the weaving that spoke of too much bourbon, and she prayed—prayed the dark shape coming toward her was only a figment of her imagination, conjured by exhaustion and too much punch. But it wasn’t a dream, and it wasn’t the punch. It was Jimmy.

A few steps more and he broke from the shadows. Leslie sagged against the maple’s rough bark, scanning the lawn for guests. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or panicked to find herself alone. She had no wish for witnesses to what she was sure was about to unfold. On the other hand, if things turned ugly, there would be no witness to that either.

He was standing in front of her now, the cigarette between his lips churning out a steady pall of blue-white smoke. Six years in prison
had done nothing to soften him. He was the same bull of a man she’d grown up with, built square and low to the ground. He wore a dark wool jacket with frayed lapels, and jeans that might have belonged to someone else.

A million things crowded into her head but somehow got lost on the way to her tongue. It wasn’t surprising to see Rachel Ranson at his side, though it was difficult to say just who was holding whom up. She couldn’t smell the bourbon, but the signs were all there, the distant eyes and slack jaw, the less-than-steady posture. He was drunk.

Jimmy staggered closer. “What, no hug for your old man?”

“What are you doing here, Jimmy?”

“It’s Daddy to you, Baby Girl. And what do you think I’m doing here? I wanted to be part of my little girl’s big shindig. Must have misplaced my invite, though.”

Jimmy seemed to find that amusing, laughing so hard he toppled sideways and had to make a grab for Rachel’s arm. He teetered a moment, then made a show of smoothing his jacket. “I went all the way up to that Yankee hellhole looking for you. Did you know there are a couple of fairies living at your place?”

Leslie took a deep breath and held it. This wasn’t happening. Despite the cool evening air, she felt the first trickle of sweat trace down her spine, heard the warning whispering in her blood. It had been twenty years since she’d had an attack. Please, God, not tonight. Not here.

“It’s not my place anymore,” she managed to say numbly. “I live here now, at Peak.”

Jimmy’s mouth twisted in something like a smile, and for a moment the old timbre was back in his voice. “That’s why I’m here. I thought it was time we both came home.”

The words hit Leslie like ice water. Even drunk, there was an air of resolve about him, a look that said he’d come with a purpose and meant to see it through. But if Jimmy registered her horror, he showed no sign.

“I gotta hand it to you, Baby Girl. You sure got your mama’s flair for social occasions. Look at that bash, Rachel. First-class all the way. Just like her mama.”

Leslie didn’t want to hear him talk about her mother, didn’t want to be his
Baby Girl.
She wanted to cover her ears, to run, to hide. But she couldn’t do any of those things. She had to look him in the eye and stand her ground, or she would concede it forever.

“You’re drunk, Jimmy, and I want you to leave.”

Jimmy turned his head, coughing wetly into his hand. He was sweating profusely now, mopping his face on the sleeve of his jacket. “Not drunk…,” he croaked between coughs, “sick.”

“Sick?” Leslie heard the high, thin note of panic in her voice, but she no longer cared. “Oh wait, I remember now. You’re powerless over alcohol. That’s what they teach you to say at the meetings, isn’t it?”

He was weaving visibly now. Even in the moonlight Leslie could see the oily sheen of sweat coating his cheeks and forehead. Rachel saw it too. She laid a hand on Jimmy’s arm.

“Maybe we should go. You don’t look so hot.”

But Jimmy wasn’t in the mood for advice. He glared at Rachel until she withdrew her hand, then turned his attention back to Leslie, pulling himself up to his full height. When he spoke, the words came slowly and thickly, as if the act of forming them required herculean effort. “Tough to be strong when a man can’t count on his own flesh and blood. Family’s all a man’s got, Baby Girl.”

Leslie felt a bubble of laughter catch in her throat, a sure sign that she was close to coming apart. It took everything she had to look him in the eye and keep her voice steady. “Jimmy, I want you to listen to me. You’ve wasted your time coming here. The free ride is over.” She looked at Rachel, standing sheepishly at his side. “Take him wherever he’s staying, and make sure he understands he can’t come back.”

Jimmy stared at her as if waiting for her words to penetrate. When they finally did, he lurched forward, his face scant inches from her
own. “I’m your father, goddamn it. I haven’t seen you in over six years. Not one lousy word. Now you stand there and call me Jimmy?”

For Leslie it was the tipping point. If he didn’t leave—if she didn’t get away—she would soon be on her knees, or worse. The world was starting to recede, growing smaller and dimmer, until all that remained was her father’s rage-filled face. And then, through the swell of panic, Jay was coming toward them, closing the distance in long, purposeful strides.

“Go now,” she hissed raggedly. “Please. I’ll get you some money. Just please go.” The only thing more humiliating than Jimmy airing his dirty laundry out here on the lawn was Jay standing by while he did it.

“I’ll go when you ask me nice. Like a girl should ask her daddy.”

Leslie blinked hard, forcing herself to focus, to hold on. She had just agreed to give him what he came for. What more did he want? And since when did he care what she called him? But there was no time to ask. Jay was beside her.

“Leslie?” He was clearly waiting for an introduction. When none came, he turned to Jimmy. “Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Nichols?”

Jimmy made an attempt to square his shoulders. “I know…who you are,” he said, slurring thickly now. “She’s my little girl, and this is none of your business.”

He made a move then, an aborted lunge that landed him on his knees in the grass. Leslie was only dimly aware of Jay hauling him back to his feet, Jay’s voice echoing up from the bottom of a very deep well.

“Rachel, help me get him to the car.”

He touched her arm then and locked eyes with her. When he mouthed the word
go
, she didn’t wait. She fled to the house, tears blurring her way as a thousand tiny lights began to tumble from the trees.

The sky was falling.

Jay

T
he house was dark when Jay slipped in through the mudroom door, nothing but the steady drip of the kitchen faucet. He heard it then, a thin whimper coming from the parlor, like a child in the throes of a bad dream. He nearly tripped over her in the dark, propped against the wall, knees drawn to her chest. After fumbling with the lamp, he dropped down beside her. She was clammy and rigid, trembling all over, her eyes clenched tight.

“Leslie—what’s going on?”

She had half-moons of smeared mascara beneath each eye. Groaning, she covered her face, shaking her head from side to side.

“I’m trying to understand. What did your father want?”

“What he always wants: money.”

“There had to be more to it than that. When I walked up you looked like you’d just seen a ghost. Now I find you crying in the dark. What did he do to scare you?”

She surprised him by throwing her head back and laughing. “He didn’t
do
anything. He didn’t have to. He just had to show up.” She sniffed, then hiccupped. “You asked me once if I believed what everyone else did about my mother’s death.”

She was looking past him now, rather than at him, her hands
pleating and unpleating the velvet of her dress. “I was there when it happened. I was playing under the stairs. They were fighting. He said he’d…he said he’d break her neck. Then I heard her scream. When I came out she was at the bottom of the stairs. She’d been cutting fabric for my Halloween costume. She fell on the scissors.”

“Jesus. Maggie told me how she died, but not that you were there.”

“She never knew. No one did. They held her body for almost two weeks before they ruled it an accident.”

“Maybe it was.”

“Maybe.” She wiped her eyes, making an even bigger mess of her makeup. “He was too drunk to go to the funeral, but that night he came back from wherever he’d been and threw me in the back of the car. I never saw Maggie again.”

Jay stood and went to the little tea cart Maggie always kept stocked with a few bottles and poured a healthy draft of vodka, then handed it to her. “Drink this.”

She choked as it went down.

“There. Now let’s have the rest of it. I want to help, but I can’t if I don’t know what’s going on.”

Leslie sat very still, both hands wrapped around her glass. “I told you, he wants money. He’s spent the last six years in jail. Now he’s out, and he wants money. That’s what he was doing here. A friend told me two weeks ago that he was in New York looking for me. I don’t know why I thought he wouldn’t track me down. He always does.”

“Always?”

“Anytime he gets out, I’m his first stop.”

“Because he knows you’ll give him what he wants?”

She took another pull of vodka, her eyes shiny with fresh tears. “Anytime I’ve tried to refuse him, he threatens to move in with me. He doesn’t care anything about me; he just knows it’ll get him what he wants.”

Jay let his breath out very slowly, fighting the urge to break something. “Why didn’t you tell me about any of this?”

Leslie shrugged, swiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “It’s my problem.”

“This is your house. He can’t come back unless you let him. And you’re not going to let him.”

“It sounds so simple.”

“It is simple, Leslie. You just say no.” She was staring at him, her eyes heavy and dazed. “Did you ever get anything to eat?”

“My God, the party—!”

“Buck and Angie had it under control when I left.”

“Did anyone—?”

“See what happened? No.”

“Where did…what happened to my father?”

“I had Rachel take him home. Apparently, he’s staying at her place.”

The relief on her face was plain. He saw no reason to bring up the meeting he had scheduled for the next morning. Plenty of time to tell her about that after Jimmy left town, because one way or another, the bastard
was
leaving.

She was staring through him now, her eyes focused on nothing at all, the glass of vodka in her hand forgotten. She flinched when he touched her arm.

“Go on, drink up. It’ll help you sleep.”

He watched her obediently drain her glass, then hand it back, dabbing her mouth on her sleeve. The desire to pull her up into his arms was suddenly overwhelming, but now wasn’t the time.

“Go on up now. I’ll make sure everything’s locked up.”

She lingered a moment at the base of the stairs, one hand clutching the newel for support, her face pale, her eyes fathomless. “Thank you for…everything.”

She turned then and was gone, the soft rustle of velvet receding
in her wake. He waited for her door to close, counting the hours until he could look Jimmy Nichols in the eye.