Behind the Green Curtain (27 page)

Chapter 39

Caton wanted to slip out the window
like a common burglar. It took some convincing to assure her Jack would be
occupied and would never see her walking out the front door. Even then, she was
in a state of panic, as if Jack finding her there on a Saturday morning was the
worst thing that could possibly happen.

Amelia wasn’t sure how Jack would
react to the discovery that Caton had spent the night, even if he knew exactly
how Caton had spent her night, but she suspected he wouldn’t care beyond the
ego-crippling fact she had gotten in somewhere he couldn’t. Of course, the same
could be said for Caton. She had certainly unlocked passageways into Amelia
Jack had never found or explored. Realizing the revelation of their
relationship would actually be a double blow to Jack’s manhood almost made it
worth telling him.

If only Caton weren’t so afraid.

At the front door, Amelia actually
had to catch Caton’s arm and hold it with some force to keep her from bolting
without a goodbye the instant she reached it. “Caton,” she demanded, and
desperate green eyes swung her way, though they were more focused on what might
be coming from behind her than they were on Amelia. “I’m sorry.”

It didn’t come near capturing the
extent of what she felt, the intense disappointment, the longing to have her
stay, but it was all she had time to say.

Caton said nothing in return. Eyes
dropping away from Amelia’s, she looked more ashamed than anything as she eased
her arm out of Amelia’s grasp and slipped out the door into the cold morning.
Watching her rush down the stairs, Amelia pushed the door shut against the
biting wind, the parting expression on Caton’s face leaving her disquieted.

Caton’s panic, Amelia could handle.
Caton’s regret, she couldn’t.

Listening for the quiet roar of
Caton’s departure, Amelia knew when she didn’t hear it that Caton was over-thinking
things. Smiling at the fact she at least knew Caton well enough to make such an
assessment, she walked to the living room window, pulling the curtain aside and
finding no sign of Caton anywhere. With a small shake of her head, she wondered
where exactly Caton had hidden herself.

Knowing Caton would freeze out
there before giving them away, Amelia took a deep, steadying breath and headed
for the kitchen, rounding the corner to find Jack at the bar, forking eggs into
his mouth, newspaper folded on the counter by his plate as if he passed many a
Saturday morning that way.

“What are you doing back here?” she
asked by way of greeting, and the look Jack sent her way said he expected
nothing more, despite them parting on good terms.

“My plans changed,” he said, and
went back to his paper.

“Good morning,” Sole greeted,
looking apologetic, as if she could have somehow prevented Jack’s return and
the subsequent ruining of Amelia’s weekend.

“Morning,” Amelia uttered, feeling
the “good” part particularly unfitting.

“Is Caton here?” Jack asked
absently, and Amelia engaged her substantial training to keep her expression
neutral.

“Why would she be?”

“Her car is in the driveway,” Jack said.

“Is it?” Amelia returned with
little interest.

“I believe Caton had car trouble,”
Sole interjected, and Jack glanced up at her.

The explanation seemed to appease
him, even if the excuse left Amelia feeling decidedly hollow.

“I’m not surprised,” Jack tossed
out unnecessarily, before digging back into his food.

Returning her gaze to Sole, Amelia
managed to execute her casual routine flawlessly. “Sole, could you please
handle that errand I asked you to run?”

Looking understandably confused,
Sole knew better than to ask the obvious question out loud, and Amelia slid her
eyes toward the front room, hoping Sole would read her mind.

“Of course,” Sole replied at last,
amused nod indicating she at least somewhat understood, as she turned at once
to shut off the burner and put a lid over the pan on the stove. Perfect as
always in following the request, she left with just enough haste to make the
task seem important, and just enough leisure to make it seem less important
than it was.

“Thank you,” Amelia whispered as
Sole passed, and Sole reached out to squeeze her arm on her way from the
kitchen.

Alone with her husband, the last
place she wanted to be at that moment, Amelia went to the cabinet, pulling out
a glass and filling it at the refrigerator.

“You should have some of this,”
Jack declared, his civility forced and empty. “I assume it was made for you.”

“Why are you home, Jack?” Amelia
questioned, turning toward him and lifting the glass to her lips. The water
soothing her parched throat, it did little to ease the deeper withering.

“I can’t just want to spend time
with my lovely wife?” Jack baited her.

Humorless laugh flowing past her
lips, Amelia crossed her free arm over her chest. “Why are you home?” she
questioned again.

“It’s nothing for you to worry
about,” Jack returned dismissively.

“Then there is something for me to
worry about,” Amelia reasoned. It was hardly the first time she had dealt with
secrecy and bizarre behavior that went beyond Jack’s usual lies. “What aren’t
you telling me?”

“What aren’t you telling me?” Jack
countered instantly.

Studying him for a moment, Amelia
realized he didn’t know. Not everything. Coming home to her sleeping in late,
to a breakfast too big for one cooking on the stove, and Caton’s car in the
driveway, Jack still wasn’t convinced of the obvious.

“As much as possible, Jack,” Amelia
finally declared.

Laughing at the response, caring
little so long as Amelia stopped asking questions, Jack went back to eating
without concern. Whatever it was that brought him home, he wouldn’t tell her by
choice. That was part of the deal. Jack never told her anything. The closest
he’d ever come to any sort of revelation was a few years before, when he
staggered home one night and thought he was going to use the last vestiges of
his sex drive on her at three a.m.

After shoving him off and climbing
out of bed, Amelia had listened to him raving like a madman about busybodies
and moralists, before she finally got her wits back enough to ask him if they
were going to be forcibly ejected from their lives.

“Relax,” Jack had slurred, head
dropping to the bed. “If anything happens, just grab the gnarly bitch and
Vespasian her to Antigua.”

It wasn’t until Jack came
downstairs the next morning, looking like a man suffering a hangover he didn’t
know how to handle, that Amelia realized he wasn’t merely drunk, but high on
something he wouldn’t soon use again. He didn’t even remember his homecoming
the night before, and, from the way his car was parked in the middle of the
lawn, was lucky he hadn’t tarnished his carefully-tended reputation forever in
one ill-advised evening.

Jack also didn’t remember saying
anything to Amelia, and Amelia certainly never told him, so he had no idea
Amelia knew anything, and Amelia had no real idea what she knew.

Well aware she would never get any
truths from Jack sober, not sure she even wanted to hear his truth, she headed
for the door.

“I think I’ll invite my parents
over for dinner tonight,” Jack announced suddenly, and, though it sounded like
the thoughtful whim of a good son, Amelia knew she was being punished for a
crime Jack couldn’t even name. “Call Sole and tell her to pick up something
nice to make for them while she’s out.”

Pausing just long enough to listen
to the full command, Amelia turned through the doorway, knowing her retreat was
only temporary. She could escape the conversation that was going nowhere as
usual, she could even escape her role for hours at a time, but she couldn’t
escape her own life.

Chapter 40

Caton wished she was an idiot, that
it hadn’t even occurred to her that if her car, which was blatantly sitting in
the driveway, vanished suddenly upon Jack’s arrival, it would tell a clear
story. A story she didn’t particularly want nor need Jack to know.

Of course, freezing to death amidst
the clump of miniature pine trees next to the gate, just yards from salvation,
would also tell a story.

Peering longingly through the
branches, Caton wondered if she should risk it. Maybe she could just get in her
car and drive off, and nothing would ever be said.

Or maybe it would ruin everything.

And Jack’s unexpected return had
already ruined enough.

Scoffing derisively, she realized
how rich it was for her to cast herself as the victim, when, if anything, she
was one of the bad guys. The early symptoms of delirium setting in, she
considered simply dropping down in the snow and allowing nature to take its
course. The way her teeth clattered together, her body convulsing for all the
wrong reasons, she trusted it wouldn’t take long, especially if she cast her
coat and scarf aside in forfeit.

It was the sound of a car starting
up, distant but not distant enough, that jostled Caton out of her self-pity. On
instant alert, she stepped further back into the trees, watching the bend of
the driveway as if her doom would come curving around it. When neither Reaper
nor car appeared right away, Caton shifted forward just enough to watch a sedan
roll from behind the house, moving ever-so-slowly, as if searching for
something. Her, she realized, when she recognized the car as Sole’s. Showing
herself with caution, she watched the car pull to the edge of the driveway and
roll to a stop, and Sole leaned over to open the door for her.

“Get in.”

With no other option, Caton did as
she was ordered, sinking into the seat and pulling the door closed before
accepting the blast of hot air from the vents with open palms.

“Are you all right?” Sole asked,
easing the car forward until the gate began to open.

“Did Jack ask why my car was here?”
Caton countered.

“Yes,” Sole answered.

Releasing an aggravated exhalation,
Caton wondered if loathing herself would somehow stop her from doing what she
was doing. She didn’t know why it would. It hadn’t brought out the better parts
of her so far.

“I told him you had car trouble,”
Sole added, and Caton numbly nodded. So, getting in her purportedly “troubled”
car and driving off may well have ruined everything, or at least destroyed one
bad alibi.

“What in the hell am I doing?” she
asked no one, which Sole seemed to realize, because she didn’t answer. Moments
later, silence of the car pressing in on them, Caton felt her mouth open and
heard mumbled words she meant to only think. “I am fucking up everything.”

“For whom?” Sole did question that,
and Caton met her sidelong glance before turning back to the dash.

“For everyone,” Caton uttered.
“Amelia, you, me... Jesus Christ, I was hiding in the fucking trees.”

Small, nervous laugh escaping her,
Sole waved at a neighbor walking his dog, and Caton slumped in the seat, trying
to make herself invisible.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Sole
said. “Amelia would have come up with some explanation.”

“I don’t want to be fucking
explained!” Caton’s vehemence surprised even her. Hand thrusting into the car’s
dash with a thud that pulled Sole’s eyes from the road, it was followed by a
rush of pain that made Caton instantly nauseous. “Sorry,” she uttered, realizing
she was not only distracting, but it wasn’t her car she was attempting to
destroy.

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay,” Caton countered,
sinking further into the seat and dropping her head into her hand, roots of a
headache already sprouting. “None of this is okay.”

That wasn’t Sole’s fault. Or her
car’s. And the fact that Caton was complaining like a brat didn’t strip away
the truth in what she was saying. She was the only one at fault, and the only
one who could stop herself from continuing down the dangerous path she felt
compelled to travel. She was like a crack needlepointer, embarking on a design
far beyond her expertise, too invested in the pretty picture to admit defeat.

That picture was getting uglier
every day, though, new snarls piling on top of each other, and, recognizing
that there was no attractive end in sight, she attempted to blink back the
tears that formed in vain. “I have to end this,” she breathed.

“Is that what you want?” Sole asked
instantly.

Of course it wasn’t what she
wanted. She wanted Amelia. She had given into the attraction, then the
seduction, then the illusion that it was more than it could ever be, knowing
the entire time it was a short ride on a doomed expressway.

“I want to do the right thing,”
Caton murmured. If she said it enough, maybe she could make it true.

“How do you know this isn’t the
right thing?” Sole questioned.

That, in a single, impossible
question, was the problem. Morality, duty, decency, Caton was certain of
nothing anymore. Inside, an infernal battle was raging between logic and heart.
She wondered if it would burn her alive, slowly cauterize her from the inside
out. Feeling the warring factions rising up, rushing each other with no regard
for casualties, Caton shrugged her shoulders against the building tension. “You
should let me out,” she warned Sole. “Because I really want to tear the hell
out of your car.”

“Go ahead,” Sole returned gently.
“It’s only a car.”

The overly-compassionate response
wasn’t what Caton had coming, but, combined with the sympathetic smile Sole
cast her way, it was enough to call a temporary cease-fire within Caton.
Instead of clawing at the car’s interior, she dropped her head back against the
seat, eyes fixated on the passing scenery.

When her phone rang in her bag, she
knew who it was without looking, and Sole knew too. Caton could feel the other
woman’s anxious gaze on her as she resisted the temptation to answer.
Fingertips going white where she clutched her bag, she waited for the ringing
to stop. When it finally did, returning the interior of the car to relative
silence, Caton could breathe again. One battle won, though she knew it was only
the first of many.