A Place Called Home (31 page)

Mitch was halfway to nuzzling her neck when he stopped. “I wish you had had the same consideration for me,” he whispered.

“Just a moment, Em.” She held the phone against her midriff and spoke softly to Mitch. “You want to sleep on the floor?”

“No. I meant that—”

“Then be quiet.” She lifted the receiver. “Sorry, Em. Your uncle was being annoying. Mmm-hmm. Just like your brothers.” Well, perhaps, not
just
like them. Mitch was nuzzling her neck now and the hands he had slipped under her pink cashmere sweater were inching their way up to her breasts. “Ummm. I guess I could punch his lights out. Is that what you do? No, I mean to your brothers, not your uncle.” Mitch’s low, rumbling laughter sent a little shiver through Thea. The consequence of that was Mitch electing to hold her closer. “Sometimes you hide their stuff? That’s pretty sneaky, Em. It takes a little planning. What do you think I’d have to hide to annoy your uncle Mitch?”

Thea stiffened and in response, Mitch went still. “Say that again, Emilie? I’m not sure I heard you.” Thea held out the phone so Mitch could hear her answer at the same time.

Emilie’s voice was as perfectly clear this time as it had been the last. She said brightly, “His gun.”

Chapter 10

Thea knelt on the sofa and drew the window curtain aside. Mitch was still shoveling snow off the driveway. He had two packed heaps of it on either side of the pavement and still had five feet to go to get out to the street. Like every other driveway on the block, Mitch’s now resembled a luge run. Thea doubted anyone else was going at the job with the maniacal intensity that Mitch was displaying. He had already done the sidewalk from the house, as well as the sidewalk that paralleled the street, and he hadn’t slowed yet. She watched him swing the shovel as if it were a weapon.

Shaking her head, Thea sank down against the plump cushions. She would have liked to have gone outside to help him, but he was clear he didn’t want her. No, that wasn’t quite true. He wanted to be alone and Thea understood there was a difference and she respected it. He was so terribly angry. There didn’t seem to be anything she could say or do that would change that and he needed to get it out of his system. She could see that it was eating him up.

It was the gun. Mitch’s face had gone ashen the moment he’d heard Emilie’s voice saying those words. His hand actually shook as he took the phone from Thea and pressed it to his own ear. He asked Emilie a succession of questions in a no-nonsense tone that the little girl wasn’t used to hearing from him. Where did you see it? Did you touch it? Do the twins know about it? Did you find the bullets? Even before he was done grilling Emilie, Thea could hear the child sobbing. It was at that point that his mother took the phone and let Mitchell know what she thought of his interrogation and the fact that he apparently had a gun in the house. Watching Mitch’s pale stoic features, seeing the muscle twitch in his cheek as he listened to his mother was hard enough; knowing that Jennie wasn’t telling him anything he wasn’t already thinking, was harder still. Before Jennie had completely wound down, he simply handed Thea the phone and walked away.

She managed to diplomatically end the call a few minutes later and went in search of Mitch. She found him in the guest room on his haunches, an open lockbox near his heels and a Smith & Wesson revolver in his hands.

The sight of the gun had stopped Thea on the threshold. She wasn’t afraid to hold one herself, but never was comfortable seeing one in someone else’s hands. “Is it loaded?”

“No.” He hadn’t looked at her, but waved his arm to indicate the crowded expanse of the room. “The bullets are in here somewhere. I kept them in another box.” He had lifted his head, then there was an expression of cold fear in his eyes at what might have been. “I stored the bullets in a goddamned crayon box, Thea. A goddamned
crayon
box.”

That’s when he had proceeded to tear the room apart, toppling stacks of books, opening packing crates. He went through an old album collection, cigar boxes with childhood treasures, and several large clear plastic containers that held infrequently used art supplies. Thea had not asked if she could help him; she pitched in without an invitation and although the contents of the room were turned on end, they couldn’t find the bullets.

“Perhaps Emilie didn’t know the twins had found them,” Thea suggested. “Or she lied.”

Mitch’s head had snapped up. “Lied? Why would she do that?”

Because she was scared, Thea almost said. Instead, she told him with gentle practicality, “For the same reason most of us lie. Because we think we can get out of trouble. Trust me, Mitch. I know something about it.”

“She wasn’t going to be in trouble.”

“Emilie didn’t know that.” Thea stood and offered her hand to Mitch. “Come on. I have an idea.”

It had turned out to be a good one. They found several green-and-yellow boxes in the desk that the twins shared. Mitch immediately grabbed the one that advertised twenty-four colors on the outside of the box and flipped the top. The familiar crayon smell lingered but it was the bullets that were inside.

Mitch’s relief was palpable although he didn’t enjoy it long. Thea suspected he thought he had no right to feel it. He was up and down the stairs several times looking for a place to hide the lockbox and stash the bullets until he could get rid of both. He wandered out to the garage and down to the basement. Finally he disappeared into his office and when he came out he was empty-handed. It was after that that he had gone outside to shovel snow.

The sound of the SUV’s engine pulled Thea’s attention to the window again. She was in time to see Mitch backing out of the driveway. If he saw her looking out, he didn’t acknowledge it. The SUV was headed up the street.

Mitch didn’t return for more than an hour. Thea was sitting curled in a large chair in the living room, working the Sunday crossword when she heard the garage door open. Her first instinct was to go to meet him but she thought better of it. He made a noisy entrance, stomping snow off his boots in the breezeway. The snow shovel clattered in the garage. He had his jacket and scarf in hand when he reached the living room and stopped in his tracks. He wasn’t quick enough to mask his surprise.

Thea knew that look. “You forgot I was here.”

“I ... um ... yeah.” Embarrassed, his cheeks puffed as he exhaled a short breath and his weight shifted from one foot to the other. “Pretty bad, uh? No question now that I’ve lost my mind.”

Thea ignored that. Her eyes quickly took in his ruddy, weary features and asked softly, “You doin’ okay?”

He shrugged. “I drove up to my parents’ and cleared their driveway and the street entrance.”

“I thought that’s where you might have gone. Can I make you something hot to drink?”

Mitch shook his head. “There’s still some coffee in the pot. I’ll warm that up.”

Thea watched him hang up his jacket and scarf and then disappear into the kitchen. His thick, gray woolen socks were soundless on the tile. She expected to hear him picking up the pot, getting a mug from the cupboard, or running the microwave. There was nothing. The silence lasted so long that it finally unnerved her. Putting aside the crossword and pen, Thea uncurled from the chair and went to see what he was doing.

Mitch was standing in front of the sink staring out the window, his arms braced against the stainless-steel rim, his shoulders slightly hunched. From Thea’s vantage point she couldn’t see what he was looking at. She suspected it was nothing outside the window that held his attention.

“Mitch?”

He didn’t turn. A small shudder ran from his neck to the base of his spine. He quickly flipped the lever on the faucet and ran the hot water, cupping his hands under it, then splashing some on his face. He pulled open a nearby drawer, found a clean tea towel, and used it to dry himself. “Still thawing out,” he said without looking at her. He tossed the towel on the counter and proceeded to get a mug. “Do you want some?” He lifted the cold carafe from the coffeemaker and held it up.

Thea stared at his back. “No, thank you.”

Mitch poured coffee into his mug and set it in the microwave. He hit a few buttons. The noise the unit made effectively interfered with conversation for two long minutes. Thea, though, was waiting for him when the timer finished its countdown.

“Nothing happened, Mitch,” she said. “No one was hurt. You don’t even know if the twins ever knew about the gun or if Emilie knew about the bullets. This is a might-have-been, not a was.”

Turning around, Mitch leaned back against the counter and held the mug between his hands, oblivious to the heat. His eyes were bleak. “I fucked up, Thea. That’s pretty much it.” His chin came up, almost daring her to say something in his defense. When she was silent, he jumped on it. “Good to know we agree on this.”

“That isn’t—”

He didn’t let her finish. “I don’t know if I can do this, Thea. Just when I think I can, something ...” He shrugged again because his voice locked up. No words were going to move past the hard, aching lump at the back of his throat.

“What are you saying?” The look in Thea’s eyes had gone from concern to wariness. Her body was already responding to the first inklings of panic. She could feel her insides curling, twisting, and the knots begin to form. “You’re not thinking I could take them?”

His smile was derisive. “And send them from the frying pan into the fire? I don’t think so. Stop worrying that you’ll have to do something more than write a check or screw me from time to time. No judge is going to let a neurotic, pill-popping addict have the kids.”

Thea simply stared at him. She would have given anything to have been able to rein in her hurt, to not have let him see it, but her reaction was swift and clearly visible. Color flooded her neck and face and even her scalp felt hot. Her eyes were so dry that she had to blink to moisten them and her tongue was cleaved to the roof of her mouth.

A muscle jumped in Mitch’s cheek. His entire body jerked in response to seeing the pain he had just inflicted. He felt hot coffee splash the back of his hand and wrist and knew that had he poured the entire mug of scalding liquid on himself, it was nothing compared to what he had just dumped on Thea. He put down the coffee mug and took a step toward her. He wasn’t at all surprised when she took a step in the other direction.

Mitch stayed where he was, running one hand through his hair in an impatient, at-a-loss-for-most-words gesture. He swore softly because those words always came to mind. “Thea, I’m—”

She held up one hand. It was trembling slightly. “Don’t you dare apologize to me for saying what you think. Most of it was true anyway. Let’s just leave it.”

“No, that’s not what you and I need—”

“And don’t ever presume to think you know what I need to do,” she said flatly. “I’m going upstairs to get my bag. If you’ll drive me someplace where I can get a rental, I’ll get out of here. Obviously you need some time to feel sorry for yourself. You don’t need me here for that.”

“Thea, I don’t think—”

She turned her back on him and started for the stairs.

“If it’s the truth,” he called after her, “then why can’t we talk about it? Why are you running away?”

Thea paused briefly, her hand tightening on the banister. She stared back at him for a moment, on the verge of speaking, then shook her head slightly, thinking better of it. She continued up the steps.

Mitch had the keys in hand when she came back down. Without a word he took her bag from her and gave Thea her jacket. “Give me a minute to warm up the car.”

Nodding shortly, Thea sat herself down on the stairs. As soon as Mitch was gone, she dug in her purse for her cell and brought up Rosie’s number. She almost wept when her call went straight to voice mail. “It’s Thea, Rosie ... I guess I’ll call you when I get home. It’s ... umm ... it’s gone to hell in a handcart. I think I told Mitch too much, though he gave me some great sympathy sex, so maybe it was worth baring all.” She groaned softly. “Sorry. Robby, if you get this message first, ignore that. Got to go.” As an afterthought she added, “Oh. I’m doing okay. Mitch didn’t have anything in his medicine cabinet except aspirin and antibiotics that expired in the last century.” She tapped End Call. Rosie wouldn’t have any trouble understanding what she was really saying.

Thea turned off the phone so Rosie couldn’t call or text her while she was in the car with Mitch and then dropped it back in her purse. The SUV was warm but not toasty when Thea climbed inside. Mitch closed the garage door and backed out of the driveway after she was buckled in. Snow crunched under the tires as soon as they were out in the street but the all-wheel drive made short work of the deep ruts.

Thea swiveled sideways so she could drop her purse on the bench seat behind her. She caught Mitch’s furtive glance in her direction. He was obviously looking for an opening to talk to her. “I’m not mad at you, Mitch,” she said, turning to face front again. Thea pushed her hands inside her pockets. “If I’m mad at anyone, it’s me. Joel warned me I should think carefully before I decided to tell people about my addiction, that there might be consequences I hadn’t considered. I suppose this is one of those times I didn’t think it completely through.”

Mitch’s strongest reaction was to Thea’s reference to Joel as the clear-headed, cautious prophet. He had to make himself pause a beat to absorb the rest of what she was saying. “What consequences are you talking about?”

She looked over at him, disbelief making her mute for a moment. Hadn’t he heard himself? “Look, Mitch, I know a judge still has to approve us being named legal guardians for the kids,” she said. “Wayne explained that to me a couple of weeks ago. At the same time he told me a new judge would hear the case.”

“Wayne told you that? Not that cold fish Childers?”

“I fired Avery the morning after we all met at Wayne’s office.”

Mitch wondered about that but he had the good sense not to pursue it. “Go on,” he prompted.

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m going to get cut out of the kids’ lives because I’m a neurotic pill-popper. As soon as the judge finds out I’ve been to rehab and have less than six weeks of abstinence out of it, she’s going to have cause to keep me away from the kids.”