Nobody's Fool (25 page)

He'd launched into his self-righteous lecture with the conviction of a born hypocrite. He wiped the steam off the mirror. All this time thinking he'd grown up, and it took one five-foot-two bundle of baggage and complications to show him how skin deep his maturity was.

So now what? He toweled himself dry roughly. Now he had to fix this thing. He was going to man up and make it right. He was going to stop dancing around the issue like a coward.

He was in love with Holly Partridge.

And not a little in love either. He was knock-down, drag-out, head-over-heels in love with a woman who may or may not feel the same. Deep down, he knew she had feelings for him. The trick would be getting her to admit it. She'd been hurt. She was frightened. She was hiding. It was true, but underneath was someone worth fighting for. Even if he'd taken several huge leaps backward.

Fuck, some ladies' man. He walked through to the bedroom, debating going to find Holly to fix this thing now.

She'd reamed him out good about Laura and his dad. Close enough to the truth for him to want to throw up.

What would his dad have said?

“I fucked up, Dad.” He spoke to the silent room, wishing some trace of his dad was still in this house and listening.

A woman stood in his room.

Portia.

Joshua froze.

She stood so still, he didn't see her at first.

“Fuck!” He reached for the towel, but he'd left it in the bathroom. He brought his hands up to cup his junk from her view.

Except Portia didn't even look down. Her eyes burned with a sort of unholy light as she glared through him. “How could you?” Her voice shook. “How dare you?”

“How dare I what, Portia?” Josh edged toward the door. There was an eerie stillness to her that had him wanting to run for Holly.

Portia moved swiftly, reading his intention and cutting off his exit.

Holly was down the hallway and Josh had the feeling she needed to be dealing with this and not him. Portia, with that face, scared the crap out of him. And he'd had the sheer audacity to mouth off about Portia to Holly, as if he had a clue how to deal with her. He was way out of his depth. Sunk and going down further.

“I saw you.” Portia's eyes narrowed into slits. “In the kitchen with Holly. I saw you.”

His freaked-out brain struggled to take that in and process it.

The door shutting shook him from his paralysis.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. This was bad. This was going to get so ugly it made his flesh crawl.

He edged open the door.

Portia ran down the passage toward Thomas's old room. She slipped like vapor through the door and it shut behind her.

What now? Josh stood a moment, indecision tugging at him.

He knew what his dad would have done.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

“Think, Emma; what did she say exactly?” Holly didn't bother keeping her voice down. She was fucking panicking.

Josh had found her ten minutes ago with the unwelcome news that Portia had seen them. The humiliation of being caught in the act by her younger sister was almost enough to have her pulling the covers over her head and staying there. The knowledge of what this unwelcome revelation meant got her out of bed.

“I don't know.” Emma's eyes filled with tears. “I was asleep when she came in and I only woke up because she was making so much noise.”

Grace was all for letting her go, but Holly couldn't. The guilt squeezed like a chokehold around her throat. She'd known all along what would happen if Portia found out about her and Josh.

A livid Grace paced the hallway outside the bedroom and swore.

Portia had made her escape in Grace's rented car.

“Where did she go?” Grace stuck her head around the door.

“I don't know,” Emma wailed, the tears sliding down her cheeks. “I can't remember.”

“Don't be fucking pathetic,” Grace said.

Holly could slap them both silly. She swore beneath her breath as Emma imploded into a heap of misery on the edge of her bed.

Grace took a threatening step toward her.

“Don't.” This had all the ingredients for an old-time Partridge girls fight.

Josh took Grace by the arm. “Let's take a walk.”

“Fuck.” Grace let him turn her back into the hallway.

“Emma?” Holly crouched down beside her sister. “You must have some idea where she's gone.”

Holly blew out a breath as Emma stopped crying and turned huge eyes on her.

“I don't,” Emma whispered.

“I'm sure you do,” she said. “Remember the twin bond. You know where she is, Emma.”

Emma shook her head again.

A scream of frustration built in Holly's throat. Not again. She wanted to open her mouth and yell it to anyone within hearing distance. They would have to hunt for Portia all over again. This time she had a car and there was no telling where she could get to before they caught up with her.

Emma sat up straighter. “Wait.”

Holly froze and turned to stare at the other girl. Bloody twin bond indeed, but she would take anything right now.

“I do know where she is.”

“That's my girl.” Holly took her hand.

“At least I think I do.” Emma bit her lip and sighed. “But I'm not sure.”

“Just tell me where you think she is.”

“I asked her what was wrong.” Emma's eyes lost focus. “And she told me she had seen you and Josh.” Emma paused and glared at her. “I told you what would happen.” She gave Holly a look loaded with reproach. “But you never listen.”

“Emma.” Holly got her back on track before she let rip with the blast of profanity bristling in her mouth. “What did Portia say then?”

“I asked her to sit and talk to me, but she said I didn't understand. She said that only one person understood and she needed to talk to her.”

“Melissa.” Certainty exploded in Holly's brain. “She's gone to see Melissa.”

Josh appeared in the doorway. “She went to your mother's grave?”

“That's what I said.” Emma crossed her arms over her chest.

“Why would she do that?” Josh kept his attention focused on her.

“Holly won't tell you.” Emma tossed her head. “She and Grace never want to talk about Mummy. They always change the subject whenever we do.”

Holly dropped her eyes. She didn't want to answer the questions gathering in his eyes. “Can you take me there?”

“Yes.” He came to stand right in front of her. So close his big, strong shoulders beckoned. “Let's go find your sister.”

“Portia came to Willow Park to find our mother,” Emma said. “She needed to make peace. Before she had the baby, Portia said she needed to make peace.”

Holly turned on her heel. She couldn't listen to any more of this. Not with Josh standing there looking like he was putting the pieces together into a neat picture. She didn't want to stand here dissecting the past. They had to find Portia.

Now.

Grace stood in the doorway, barring her exit and forcing Holly to stop.

“Melissa was like Portia,” Grace said.

“Like Portia how?” Josh asked from behind her.

“Melissa was bipolar.” Grace's voice went flat. “It got worse and worse as we grew older. Here in Willow Park, it finally got the better of her.”

Holly's spine stiffened. It was out there. She should feel relieved, but a part of her still wanted to grab up all the snippets of information her sisters tossed around and shove them back in their box.

 

 

The mystery unraveled in Josh's mind. The final piece of the puzzle that was Holly Partridge clicked into place. The mother, Melissa, had been bipolar. All these years and Holly had carried this weight around on her delicate shoulders.

Her strength awed him and scared him at the same time. He knew she'd taken care of her sisters, but he hadn't really got how deep that responsibility ran.

There was so much to reevaluate in light of this new information. It went racing through his memory banks. He'd been sure he had all the information. Positive he had Holly figured out.

Deep down, he'd suspected all along. The times he'd trod near the subject of Melissa, Holly had checked him instantly. She was so guarded, especially about her mother. She carried a mammoth-sized warning:
Here be dragons
.

His words from earlier rose up to taunt him, and he wanted to puke in self-loathing. She had called it right. He really had no idea what her life had been like and no right to judge.

He took a deep breath. “Do you know where she's buried?”

“Oh, yes.” Emma cheered up. “We know exactly where she is.”

“I'll get the keys to my mother's car.”

 

 

Relief punched Holly in the gut. Only one car in the parking lot, and it looked like Grace's rental. She guided them through the massive cemetery on autopilot.

Portia sat on the ground beside Melissa's grave, looking as if she were on a family picnic.

Emma ran on ahead.

Holly hadn't been here in years. Beside her walked Grace and Josh. She wanted to slip her hand into Josh's larger one and feel the instant reassurance of his presence. She cast a quick glance up at him.

His beautiful face was set in severe lines, cold and unapproachable. It was better this way. Now Josh knew the whole ugly truth and would want to be as far away from her buggered-up family as he could. She grabbed Grace's hand instead, and her sister's clasp tightened.

Her and Grace against the world. Again.

There wasn't much to mark the passing of Melissa Partridge, only a small granite square set in the ground among hundreds of others. No message from a husband and her children, just her name and the dates of her birth and death.

“She was thirty-eight.” Portia looked up as they drew near. Her eyes gleamed clear and focused from her pale face.

Holly hesitated, with no idea of the correct response.

“She wasn't that old. In my mind, she was always older.” Portia touched her fingertips to the engraving.

“You were very young when she died.” Grace's grip on Holly's hand tightened.

“We were ten,” Emma said. “I don't remember a lot about her, though. You would think I would remember more, wouldn't you?”

“She was like a ghost,” Portia said. Her voice sounded eerie and otherworldly, and Holly's nape prickled. She had no idea what she'd been expecting, but this wasn't it.

Portia sat at their mother's grave and chatted, as if this was the most normal occurrence in the world. “I used to think of her as a ghost in the house. Holly was the one who took care of us. And Grace.”

Holly's world wobbled on its axis.

“Holly took care of you?” Josh asked.

“Yes.” Portia rubbed her hands over the gravestone. “She had the same disease as me, you know.”

“Yes, I know,” Josh said.

“There were bad days, like I get. Holly never said anything, but I could tell when the days were bad.”

“Come on, Portia.” Emma patted her sister's hand. “Why don't we get you home?”

Holly watched from outside like her life was a movie. She had this weird sort of disconnect inside her that couldn't understand why they were talking about this. The Partridge girls never did this, and certainly not in front of someone outside the family.

Yet there was something right about Josh being there.

Wrong
, shouted her mind. He should not be here.
It's because you weren't strong enough to walk away that this is happening
.

“Do you remember the bad days?” Portia turned and asked her twin.

Emma nodded. “I remember the bad days because those were the days when Mummy would stay in her room and Holly was in charge.”

“Dad would stay at work.” Portia nodded. “I would hear her at night, always weeping. It would go on and on for hours. There were times when I wanted to get up and yell at her to stop.”

“I don't remember that.” Emma frowned at her sister.

Holly's stomach churned. She was going to puke if they didn't stop. The memories screamed at her, demanding she listen to them, let them out.

“You don't?” Portia blinked. “We used to snuggle under our duvet and I could hear her through the walls. Holly would always go to her.”

“I remember that part,” Emma said. “I wish I remembered more about her.”

“I don't think I want to.” Portia looked up suddenly. “I think she was bad at the end, and I don't think I want to know.”

As if Portia's words opened a floodgate, the memories came pouring out. Holly spent most of her adult life refusing to think about her mother. It hurt too much. As she stood there, pictures flashed rapid-fire through her mind. One after another the memories came, and she couldn't stop them. She stopped trying and let the past wash through her and over her. She'd been trying for so long to keep it neat and confined. In the raging chaos of her childhood, she'd created a ruthless, safe order.

“She killed herself, you know?” Portia said conversationally. “In the end it was too much and she killed herself.”

Yes, Holly did know. She'd been there in that last race to the hospital, trailing the ambulance as it rushed their mother to emergency. She and Grace, hands tightly clasped, legs sticking to their plastic chairs, when the doctor had come out. She and Grace couldn't hear what he said to their father, but they had known. Melissa had succeeded in killing herself this time. Neither of them had cried.

“I understand how she felt,” Portia said. “Sometimes I understand exactly why she did it.”

“Shit.” Grace took a deep breath.

The graveyard gave a sickening dip before it settled around Holly. The twins had known all along. She'd spent so much time hiding the truth. For nothing.

“What?” Portia looked from one face to another. “You didn't think we knew?”

Holly shook her head, not trusting her voice. “We thought it was better that you didn't.”

“We've always known,” Emma said. “Is that why you won't talk about her?”

Holly nodded. “And because it . . . hurts.” Such a small word to encapsulate a huge, aching chasm of pain.

Portia laid both hands against the grave marker. “I'm just the same, just the same as our mother.”

“But not today.” The words spun out of Holly's dead brain and over her lips. “You aren't like her today and it's time to go home.”

This wasn't how it would end for Portia. She would use every ounce of strength and determination she had to make sure it wasn't.