Family Skeletons (15 page)

Chapter Sixteen

Tuesday morning, Marcus sat behind the wheel of the
shiny black coupe with its engine running. He’d been there long enough that he
was staring into space. Ryan still stood on the porch.

“One more time,” Ryan said to Sunny. “Come home with
me. I’ll even let you have the front seat.” Since direct orders hadn’t worked,
he was now asking nicely. And repeatedly.

“No,” Sunny answered again. “For the last time. And
don’t forget to pick up my car. If it stays there any longer, they might sell
it again.”

“You can pick it up yourself and then drive it back
here. If you’re still needed up here, that is.”

“And argue with you again? No thanks. Marcus, will
you get this guy out of here? He’s  driving me nuts.”

Ryan didn’t appear to have heard her. “I understand
your wanting to stick around. I wish I could, too. I’m glad Jonathan’s got the
time, but he can’t stay forever either. At least promise me you’ll come home
when he has to leave.”

“We’ll talk about it then. Get in the car, Ryan.”

“Sunny, you’re being evasive. I don’t—”

“Yes, I am. Because you’re being—”

“Get in the car, Ryan,” Marcus said. “You keep
stalling, we’re going to hit traffic. It’s as bad getting into the city as it
is getting out of it.”

“Yeah, in a minute. Sunny, sweetheart—”

“Ryan,” Jonathan said, “get in the car. Go home.
You’re driving me nuts, too.”

Sunny got the giggles. He really said that? And
she’d once thought him conventional to a fault?

Ryan looked at each person in turn, at the ocean,
gave a one-syllable expletive an extra syllable, then got inside the car.
Marcus accelerated and they were gone.

Jonathan gave Sunny a long look. “Do you realize how
many people are concerned with that pretty little neck of yours?”

Caught off guard, she dropped her gaze, and then she
opened the house door and went inside. “More than I think I deserve.”

“That’s one person’s opinion. And she’s in the
minority.” Still on the porch, he called after her. “If you don’t have anything
pressing right now, how about walking down to the beach with me and getting
told off by Hendricks again?”

She stopped, grinned, and turned around. “Okay.”

But it wasn’t Hendricks in charge today. It was Tom.
And he already had company. Mavis had been sitting on the ground atop the
bluff, inside the rounded part of the horseshoe near a clump of reeds, and they
didn’t see her until she stood. Evidently this wasn’t a working day because she
wore baggy denims and a sweatshirt, but she still carried the familiar
oversized purse on a strap across her shoulder.

“Hi, Sunny. Jonathan.” Mavis seemed unsure of
herself, and she seemed to have difficulty meeting Sunny’s eyes. “One of your
friends was loading suitcases in his car when I drove by, and I didn’t want to
disturb you.”

Mavis had been a friend for as long as Sunny could
remember, and she was uncomfortably aware of the distance between them. The
chasm would continue to widen until it was bridged, and Sunny suddenly felt
angry. She’d be damned if she’d let her miserable excuse for a father take
anything more from her. Or from Mavis Fairly, if Sunny could prevent it.

With a jerk of her head she motioned toward the
south side of the bluff, full of cars but empty of people. “Walk with me? We
need to talk.”

Not waiting for a response, she walked away, passing
the ugly potty sitting conspicuously on the edge. Some of the numerous vehicles
were official, some not. It looked like a disorganized parking lot. The new
path of raw earth leading down to the beach was as wide as a one-car driveway.
Down in the cove the tents had been set aside, but not broken down and packed
up. The whole scene was an abomination, and Sunny hated it.

Though Mavis had hesitated, she now caught up and
fell in step. She had her hand inside her shoulder bag, probably searching for
cigarettes.

Sunny spoke without looking at her. “This one-night
stand of yours happened a long time ago,” she said mildly. “Don’t you think
you’ve punished yourself enough by now?”

No answer. Mavis was still fumbling in her bag. Then
she came to an abrupt halt. “I did it again. I forgot that I quit.” She looked
desperate enough to cry.

Sunny stopped and faced her, but the older woman
wouldn’t meet her eyes. It was Mavis’s guilt, so therefore her problem to deal
with, but Sunny refused to give up.

“From what I’ve heard about Franklin, that was not
unusual behavior for him. It takes two, of course, but Roberta wasn’t hurt—at
least not that I know of. If you need absolution from her, you’ll have to talk
to her about it. Tom has forgiven you, and if you need my forgiveness, you’ve
got it. Now can you forgive yourself, and maybe we can get rid of this strained
silence between us and get on with being friends again?”

Sunny waited, and when she still got no response she
turned to walk back. She could say or do no more. But after only a few steps,
the older woman joined her. They glanced sideways at each other. Although Mavis
still said nothing, the tension in the air wasn’t quite as heavy.

Tom stood at the top of the path next to Jonathan
when the two women returned. “I saw you reach for cigarettes,” he said to his
wife. She mumbled something unintelligible. He put his arm around her shoulders
and pulled her to him. “Hang in there. You can do it, babe.”

Sunny caught his eye and motioned toward the
sanitary cubicle. “You do understand that when you go, that goes.”

He laughed, and released Mavis. He rolled his
shoulders and stretched, getting the kinks out. “That is a beauty, isn’t it? We
had no problem in the beginning, you know, but once our work force turned
coeducational...”

Looking down into the cove, Sunny’s gaze fell on the
back of a slender figure wearing a ponytail, loop earrings, khakis and a navy
blue t-shirt. The person knelt next to the skeleton, obscuring it from view.

Tom followed her gaze and laughed. “Nope. Wrong.
That’s a him. That’s Danielle behind you.”

Sunny turned. As Danielle exited the tall, boxlike
structure, she continued to straighten her clothes. She glanced at Sunny and
gave her a friendly smile. “Cramped quarters in there.” She headed for the
driveway that led down to the beach. “And I gotta say, it sure is a long way
from the potty to the wash basin.” She sprinted down the trail and trudged
across the sand to wash her hands in the surf. She also wore khakis and a
suitable-for-either-sex t-shirt, hers in bright-plum.

Tom lifted his non-police issue Stetson, scratched
his scalp, then replaced the hat. He looked at Sunny, Jonathan, then down at
the cove. “I’m glad you showed up, both of you. I was going to come up and talk
to you in another couple minutes. We’ve got it uncovered and are close to
carrying it out of here. I thought you should know.”

Sunny swallowed. She was glad the ponytailed worker
hid most of the skeleton from view. Then Danielle joined the worker, and he got
to his feet and stepped back, and the whole skeleton was in full view. The
worker looked up the incline. “Yo, Tom.”

“Right there.”

Tom went down the slope at a slower pace than
Danielle, but Sunny was barely aware of him. Her eyes were riveted on the bones
exposed atop the sand. It was all there, partially draped in frayed, drab
cloth. One leg was bent at an impossible angle and one arm stretched above the
skull, as if reaching. That was the hand that had finally caught someone’s
attention.

Jonathan’s arm encircled her shoulders.

“Tom decided not to call you until he knew for
certain,” Mavis said tonelessly, her attention also on the scene below. “But I
think you should be aware, just in case. The only thing positive is that it is...was...a
male, a slightly built male.”

Sunny was aware of Jonathan’s glance, though he
remained silent.

“Franklin was five-seven and small-boned,” she
explained, answering his unasked question. “As is a significant percentage of
the male population.” She gave him a direct look. “I got my stature, physical
stature, from him. My mother is also five-seven, and almost matched him in
weight as well. And I got my blond hair from him, too.” She paused. “But that’s
all I ever got from my father.”

She turned abruptly and started back up the road to
the house. She was angry, fed up, burned out. If she could get the world to
stop she’d get off for a good, long breather. Jonathan fell in step with her,
and she was aware when he then came to a stop, but she continued.

“Uh, Sunny.”

Her eyes were downcast, and she was walking fast.
Impatient, she looked up and saw what had caught his attention. The news van
was back.

Watch it, Sunny. You need mellow, and
you’re a far cry from that mood right now.

Jonathan arrived at her side. Then she was grasping
his hand without realizing that she’d reached for it.

It was the same van carrying the same people, and
when it stopped, the same woman stared hard at Sunny out the passenger’s
window. The reporter seemed hungry, like a shark, and Sunny cautioned herself
again to be careful. The woman was sharp—she’d clearly sensed Sunny’s mood—and
her gaze dropped to the pair’s clasped hands.

“Hi,” Jonathan said, drawing her attention. He
looked back toward the beach. “You’re just in time. They’ve uncovered the
skeleton and are ready to cart it out of there.”

The van inched forward, but the woman jerked her
left arm out, fingers splayed wide, to halt the driver. She kept her eyes on
Jonathan. “Are you Jonathan Corday?”

He nodded.

Her gaze fell again to their clasped hands.
“Cousins, right?”

His grip didn’t tighten or loosen, but Sunny felt
the shift in his mood.

“Yes, but I’ve lost count of how many times removed
we are,” he said mildly. “Being a news person, you’ve probably already
researched it and must know the exact relationship, so you’ll have to tell me.”

Sunny had never seen a smile as disarming and as
insincere as the one he gave the newswoman. The reporter must’ve realized she’d
run into a blank wall; she switched gears back to Sunny. “You saw the skeleton?
It’s uncovered?”

She nodded.

“Was it your father?”

Sunny felt a stony mien come over her, and sensed
that the reporter caught it because her eyes sharpened. “It didn’t look a bit
like him,” Sunny said in a flat voice.

Jonathan squeezed her hand, and then with his free
arm he motioned toward the beach. “They’re preparing it for removal. You might
miss something if you don’t hurry.”

He resumed walking, leading Sunny away. The van
would have to travel in reverse if its occupants wanted to stay with them, but
after a brief moment it continued toward the beach.

“Thanks,” she said, keeping her eyes downcast. Then
when Jonathan came to another halt, she had to stop because he still had her
hand. She looked up, and again he squeezed her fingers as the neutral-colored
minivan passed them. One word in small black letters on its side identified it:
Coroner
.

Chapter Seventeen

Within a week Sunny was feeling close to normal
again—if not exactly looking that way.

On a lazy morning Jonathan rolled onto his back,
reached for her hand and squeezed it. There was little energy in his clasp—he’d
just spent most of it—but the message was clear. She was special. She was
important. She was loved.

And so are you
. Her breath
caught and for an instant her gaze froze on the ceiling, then mentally she
shrugged it off.
Nope. Not going anywhere else with that thought right now
.

He pulled her into the circle of his arm. As she
settled her head on his shoulder, her fingers played with the curled hair on
his chest. Not too much hair, just enough. There was also little strength in
her fingers. Her hand stilled and her eyes closed.

“Gorgeous view,” he said.

“Umm.” She lifted her head to look through the
old-fashioned paned windows then realized that he meant her, not the ocean. The
scratches were healing, and the bruising was less prominent, but she still had
a ways to go before she’d look normal again. Apparently Technicolor didn’t turn
him off.

“Oh, stop it.” She reached for the sheet, feeling
both complimented and flustered.

With only the sheet to look at now, he directed his
eyes to the window.

“There’s something I’ve been curious about,” he said
lazily. “This is the best bedroom in the house and you had your choice of any
one of them when you moved in here. Why did you choose that dinky little room
in the back corner?”

“It’s closest to the bathroom.”

“Very funny.” Her hand got squeezed again. Then he
chuckled. “On second thought, considering that uncomplicated side of yours,
that could be the truth.”

She rose onto her elbow, taking the sheet with her,
and looked around the room, studying it. “Yes, this is the best room. The
master bedroom. It was my parents’.” Quietly, she added, “I might have been
conceived in this room.”

At the look on his face, she smiled. “No, I haven’t
done any conceiving. We can both guarantee that.”

“That’s not what I was thinking. I was thinking
about your ties to this place, the people, the history. I still don’t think of
you as a Corday. I guess because you didn’t introduce yourself as such in the
beginning. I can’t imagine the mixed feelings you must have.”

Mixed feelings? That’s what you call it?

“I guess you could say that.” She shifted to prop
her back against the headboard, and then she stared straight ahead. “Feelings
and memories. But the memories I’d prefer to forget aren’t of this place and
Franklin. What I wish I could forget is much later than that. I was the most
mixed-up person I ever want to meet. I fought—not just rebelled, but actually
fought—everything and everybody. Roberta, school, society, you name it.
Franklin was never in my life, so I couldn’t fight him, which might have been
the problem. If I could’ve just once lit into him, beat up on him, told him
what I thought of him, maybe I wouldn’t have abused myself and everybody else
so much.”

She brought her knees up to her chest, leaned
forward and clasped her arms around them, unmindful now of the view she
allowed. Her mind was full instead of past pain. She’d come a long way, but
there was still much in her that hurt. She looked down to meet his eyes. She’d
gone from serene to disquiet in record time, and she wondered if it showed.

Apparently, it did.

“I must have hit a nerve,” he said, and touched her
face with his fingers as if to smooth the lines from it. “I’m sorry.”

“No need to be.” She took his hand and kissed it.
“I’ve got a lot of history, as you know. Sometimes it sneaks up on me.”

“Do you need to air it?” His gaze held hers. Gently
his fingers moved to the back of her neck and massaged.

You don’t know what you’re asking for,
Jonathan.

And you don’t even want to think about
it, Sunny. He’s the best thing that ever happened to you. Don’t scare him away.

But she said, not allowing herself to talk herself
out of it, “Yeah, maybe I do.” And then her gaze left his. It was easier
talking if she concentrated on the distant blue of the ocean.

“I got into drugs early.” She spoke slowly, her
voice even. “But somehow I managed to stay away from the hard stuff. No coke or
acid, and I never stuck a needle in my arm. Booze didn’t turn me on, either. It
was pills, uppers, downers, every combination, any combination. I still don’t
know how I didn’t kill myself. I took anything I could get my hands on, but I
had favorite combinations that turned me so mellow and warm that I just wanted
to stay that way forever. But then when the high wore off, I turned so jittery
and jumpy that it scared me, and I didn’t want to ever do it again, but then I
did anyway...and...”

If you want to break it off with him,
Sunny, there are easier ways to do it than this.

But she went on, her voice quiet yet surprisingly
clear. “I don’t remember what I was on the day I married Alec. We were both so
high we were floating. As young as I still look, I don’t know how we pulled it
off. We’d crossed the state line into Nevada. He was old enough, and we just
kept going until we found someone who just looked at us, said okay, and then
said the words. And that was that.” She paused. “Then Roberta had it annulled
three days later.”

She breathed in, out.
Okay, enough.
But still
she didn’t listen to herself. “She watched me like a hawk after that, and I was
forced to back off from the pills. So I got back into school again, and that’s
when I met Ryan. We were both seniors, and we hit it off right away. Maybe
because both of us were misfits, trying to find ourselves and fit in, and I
guess we leaned on each other, supported each other. But then he grew up. And I
didn’t.”

Again she breathed deeply, aware of, but not caring
about, the tears building and burning in her eyes. If she blinked, they’d break
through. Jonathan remained silent, and she didn’t look at him.

“I got back on the pills again, even heavier than
before.” Her voice was a mere whisper now, barely audible within the quiet
room. “Ryan had also hit it off with Roberta. She’d sensed right away that he
had his head on. They both saw what was happening, and they ganged up on me. It
was the day after graduation. He’d brought me home from grad night. I don’t
remember exactly—I was really out of it—but I think he had to use force. They’d
already talked it out between them, had a rehab place in mind, all the plans made.
Roberta had to get a second mortgage on her house to get me into it, but it was
a good place. Out in the country, healthy food, exercise, full-time therapy,
physical and emotional, professional company. They cleaned me up.”

She looked at Jonathan then, noted that his gaze was
level and patient, and remembered he already knew much of her past.

He’d known the facts, but not the
feelings. Is that what you needed to tell him?

Why, Sunny? Why do you want him to know?

Fast on the heels of the question, its answer struck
her, and then the tears broke through. Not only had Jonathan grown to be very
important to her, but in many ways he’d shown her the feeling was mutual, and
for the first time in her life it seemed something solid was within her reach.
It was wonderful, and it was scary, and honesty was as painful as it was
essential. Rarely had Sunny looked so deeply inside herself, nor had she ever
even wanted to.

Since no tissue box was at hand, she dried her eyes
with the heels of her hands. Feeling shaky but determined, she looked back at
the window and resumed her story. “Both Ryan and Roberta wanted me to go to
cooking school and then to business school, so I could open my own restaurant.
But I didn’t think I could deal with fussy people.” Because she’d already
proved to both herself and Jonathan that she didn’t deal well with fussy
eaters, she gave him what had to be a weak smile. He smiled back, but made no
other response.

Then again she directed her eyes to the ocean that
looked so calm in the distance, yet was constantly in motion. “I talked to
Mavis instead. She tutored me and I got my license, and then I got in with a
successful agency. I was no whiz, but I made enough to support myself. It
seemed I was finally on the right track, and I should’ve been happy...but...I
don’t know how to explain it. There was something missing. I wasn’t just
unsatisfied. Sometimes I was angry, too, but I didn’t know at what, and
sometimes I got the feeling that I just had to break out. Then I met this guy.”

She leaned her head all the way back against the
headboard. The tears were coming in earnest now, and she wiped at them again,
the action angry and impatient.

“He was bad news. I knew that right away, but I
didn’t care. I was in self-destruct mode, stronger than ever before. I turned
my back on Roberta, Ryan, my job, and was back on the pill scene before I knew
what hit me. I even married the bastard, and it was legal this time. No one
could annul it.”

When her hand slid down to the mattress between
them, his hand moved to cover hers. Her breathing, which had grown agitated,
soothed a little at his touch. “My first marriage had lasted three days. The
second one lasted two months. And he put me in the hospital three times during
those two months.”

Her throat had grown so tight and dry that it was
difficult swallowing. She concentrated on taking even, calming breaths, and
then she went on. “The last time, he came after me with his belt. I tried to
run, even though there was no place to run to, and I knocked over a chair—we had
one of those really cheap, lightweight dinette sets—and he was so close behind
me that he tripped over it. I saw what had happened, and I picked up another
chair and hit him with it, and then hit him again and again, until the chair
broke. Then I realized he wasn’t moving. And he was bleeding. I’d never seen so
much blood, and I thought I’d killed him. The phone was on the wall in the
kitchen. I tried to call for help, but I couldn’t remember nine-one-one. It
just wouldn’t come to me. I had to look at each number in turn, and I finally
got to nine, and then I remembered it. But when the woman came on the line I
couldn’t talk. He’d broken my jaw, and all I could do was cry and make this
funny sound deep in my throat. But she figured out that I needed help. When I
heard the sirens, I collapsed. They had to pick me up off the kitchen floor and
pry the phone from my fist.”

Jonathan’s hand was still on hers. She looked down
at it, but not at him. “I never saw him again. As it turned out, I hadn’t
killed him. I’m glad now that I didn’t, but then I didn’t care.”

She paused again. Her gaze remained on his hand. “As
much as I hated my father, after the divorce I legally changed my name back. I
couldn’t stand to wear the same name as the brute I’d married. So I chose
Corday. It was still my mother’s name.”

She curled her fingers under his and squeezed. He
squeezed back, and she resumed her story. The telling was getting easier.

“When I got out of the hospital, I moved in with
Ryan. I got clean again, but I did it on my own this time—with his help and my
mother’s. No clinic. But I wanted it. I wanted to be clean more than anything
I’d ever wanted in my life. That’s why I was able to do it, and that’s why I’ve
been able to stay clean.”

She shifted, burrowing into the bed and resting on
her hip, facing him. He didn’t look shocked, appalled, disgusted. He just
waited, still listening, giving her time. “You were right when you said I was
using Ryan. I swore off men and relationships, any relationship. With a track
record like mine, that was the only safe thing to do.”

She lifted her hand, traced his cheekbone with her
fingertips, and held his gaze.

“Until you,” she whispered. “But you’re not just the
first man I’ve made love to since then. You’re the first man that I’ve ever
really made love to. I’m not saying I never climaxed before, but...but it’s
different with you.”

Sunny was drained, but this was important and she
searched for the right words. Then she finished, voice choked. “With you, I
feel loved. I don’t feel used.” Her forefinger trembled as it traced the line
of his lips. “I don’t feel used, Jonathan,” she whispered. “I don’t feel used.”

He drew her face down to his and kissed her, long
and deep, and then they made love again. Slowly, sensually, thoroughly. When he
entered her this time it was more than a physical union. They truly became one,
in every possible way.

At climax, she cried again. With his breath still
coming in uneven gasps, he leaned down and kissed her tears away. He said
nothing. He didn’t need to.

* * *

Two days later, Sunny watched Jonathan as he spoke
on his cell. He’d been on for a long time and he clearly didn’t like what he
was hearing. When he finally clicked off and lowered his hand to his side, he
gave her a worried, frowning look.

“It’s no big deal,” she said, and then she forced a
smile but figured her annoyance still showed. “I’ve told you that ten times
already. Don’t turn into another Ryan. Please.”

“I can get another week but that’s it. Then I’ve got
to go back, at least long enough for them to go through the interview process
and hire someone to cover for me.”