Sanctuary (24 page)

 

 

SINCE Lexy was nowhere to be found, again, Brian headed out to the garden to attack more weeds. Lexy had promised to do it, but he was more than certain she'd run off to hunt up Giff and seduce him into a lunchtime roll. He'd seen the two of them the night before from his bedroom window. Soaking wet, sandy, and giggling like children as they came up the path. It had been obvious even to his tired brain that they'd been doing more than taking a midnight swim. He'd been amused, even a little envious.

It seemed so easy for them just to take each other as they were, to live in the moment. Though he imagined that Giff had in mind a great deal more than the moment and that Lexy would do a quick tap dance on his heart on her way.

Still, Giff was a clever and a patient man, and he might have Lexy dancing to his tune before he was done. Brian thought it would be interesting to watch. From a safe distance.

That was really all he wanted, Brian mused. A safe distance.

He glanced down at the columbine, its lavender and yellow trumpets open and celebrational. It was pretty, it was cheerful, and it was up to him to keep it that way. He reached into the pocket of the short canvas apron he'd slung around his waist for the cultivator. And heard the whimper.

He looked over, saw the woman in the hammock. And his heart skipped. Her hair was darkly red in the green shade, her hand, falling limply over the side, slim and pale and elegant. Shock had him taking a step forward, then she turned her head, restless, and he backed off.

Not his mother, for Christ's sake. His sister. It was staggering how much she looked like Annabelle at times. At the right angle, with the right light. It made it difficult to let go of the memories, and the pain. His mother had loved to swing in the hammock for an hour on a summer afternoon. And if Brian came across her there, he would sometimes sit cross-legged on the ground beside her. She would lay a hand on his head, ruffle his hair and ask him what adventures he'd had that day.

And she would always listen. Or so he'd once thought. More likely she'd been daydreaming while he chattered. Dreaming of her lover, of her escape from husband and children. Of the freedom she must have wanted more than she wanted him.

But it was Jo who slept in the hammock now, and from the looks of her, she wasn't sleeping peacefully.

A part of him—a part he viewed with disdain and something close to hate—wanted to turn around, walk away, and leave her to her own demons. But he went to her, his brow furrowing in concern as she twitched and moaned in her sleep.

“Jo.” He laid a hand on her shoulder and shook it. “Come on, honey, snap out of it.”

In the dream, whatever it was pursuing her through the forest with its ghost trees and wild wind reached out and dug its sharp nails into her flesh.

“Don't!” She swung out, ripping herself away. “Don't touch me!”

“Easy.” He'd felt the wind of her fist brush his face and wasn't sure whether to be concerned or impressed. “I could do without the broken nose.”

Her breath ragged, she stared blindly at him. “Brian.” The damn shudders won, so she flopped back down and closed her eyes. “Sorry. Bad dream.”

“So I gathered.” It was concern after all, and more than he'd expected. Kate was right, as usual. Something was very definitely wrong here. He took a chance and eased himself down on the edge of the hammock. “You want something? Water?”

“No.” The surprise showed in her eyes when she opened them and looked down at the hand he'd laid over hers. She couldn't remember the last time he'd taken her hand. Or she his. “No, I'm fine. Just a dream.”

“You used to have bad ones as a kid too. Wake up hollering for Daddy.”

“Yeah.” She managed a weak smile. “You don't grow out of everything, I guess.”

“Still get them a lot?” He tried to make it sound casual, but he saw the flicker in her eyes.

“I don't wake up hollering for anyone anymore,” she said stiffly.

“No, I don't suppose you would.” He wanted to get up, move away. Hadn't her problems stopped being his years ago? But he stayed where he was, rocking the hammock gently.

“It's not a flaw to be self-sufficient, Brian.”

“No.”

“And it's not a sin to want to handle problems on your own.”

“Is that what you're doing, Jo? Handling problems? Well, rest easy. I've got enough of my own without taking on yours.”

But still he didn't leave, and they rocked together quietly in the green shade. The comfort of it made her eyes sting. Cautious and needy, she took a tentative step. “I've been thinking a lot about Mama lately.”

His shoulders tensed. “Why?”

“I've been seeing her, in my mind.” The photograph that isn't there. “Dreaming about her. I think she's dead.”

The tears had slipped out without either of them realizing it. When he glanced back, saw them sliding down her cheeks, his stomach clutched. “What's the point of this, Jo Ellen? What's the point in making yourself sick over something that happened twenty years ago and can't be changed?”

“I can't stop it—I can't explain it. It's just there.”

“She left us, we lived through it. That's just there too.”

“But what if she didn't leave. What if someone took her, what if—”

“What if she was abducted by aliens?” he said shortly. “For Christ's sake. The cops kept the case open more than a year. There was nothing, no evidence she'd been kidnapped, no evidence of foul play. She left. That's that. Stop driving yourself crazy.”

She shut her eyes again. Maybe that was what she was doing, slowly driving herself toward insanity. “Is it better to think that every time she told us she loved us it was a lie? Is that more stable, Brian?”

“It's better to leave it alone.”

“And be alone,” she murmured. “Every last one of us. Because someone else might say they love us, and that might be a lie too. Better to leave it alone. Better not to take the chance. Better to be alone than left alone.”

It hit close enough to home to make him bristle. “You're the one with the nightmares, Jo, not me.” He made his decision quickly and rose before he could change his mind. “Come on.”

“Come on where?”

“We're going for a drive. Let's go.” He took her hand again, hauled her to her feet and began to pull her with him to his car.

“Where? What?”

“Just do what you're told for once, goddamn it.” He bundled her in, slammed the door, and saw with satisfaction that she was stunned enough to stay put. “I've got Kate on my back,” he muttered as he piled in and turned the key. “You crying. I've had just about enough. I've got my own life, you know.”

“Yeah.” She sniffled, rubbed the back of her hand over her cheeks to dry them. “You're really living it up, Brian.”

“Just shut up.” The wheels spun as he whipped the car around and headed down the road. “You're going to come back here looking like a sheet-white bag of bones, we're going to get to the bottom of it. Then maybe everybody'll go back to their respective corners and leave me the hell alone.”

Eyes narrowed now, she clutched the door handle. “Where are we going?”

“You're going,” he corrected, “to the doctor.”

“The hell I am.” Surprise warred with sick alarm. “Stop this car right now and let me out.”

He set his mouth grimly and accelerated. “You're going to the doctor. And if I have to, I'll cart you in. We'll find out if Kirby's half as good as she thinks she is.”

“I am not sick.”

“Then you shouldn't be afraid to let her look you over.”

“I'm not afraid, I'm pissed. And I have no intention of wasting Kirby's time.”

He swung up the little drive, squealed to a halt at Kirby's cottage, then clamped a hand on his sister's shoulder. His eyes were hot and dark and level. “You can walk in, or you can embarrass both of us by having me haul you in over my shoulder. Either way, you're going, so choose.”

They glared at each other. Jo figured her temper was every bit a match for his. In a verbal battle, she had a decent shot of taking him down. If he decided to get physical—and she remembered from their youth that it was very possible—she didn't have a prayer. Taking the high road, she shifted pride to the forefront.

With a toss of her head, she stepped lightly out of the car and walked up the steps to Kirby's cottage.

They found Kirby at the kitchen counter, slathering peanut butter on bread. “Hi.” She licked her thumb and let her greeting smile stay in place as she scanned first one coldly furious face, then the other. Strange, she thought, how suddenly strong the family resemblance. “Want some lunch?”

“Got any time to do a physical?” Brian demanded and gave his sister a firm shove forward.

Kirby took a small bite of the open-faced sandwich as Jo turned and hissed at her brother. “Sure. My next appointment isn't until one-thirty.” She smiled brightly. “Which one of you wants to get naked for me today?”

“She's having her lunch,” Jo informed Brian grandly.

“Peanut butter's not lunch unless you're six.” He gave her another shove. “Go in there and strip. We're not leaving until she's looked you over, head to foot.”

“I see this is my first appointment by abduction.” Kirby eyed Brian consideringly. She'd hoped he cared enough about his sister to be tough with her, but she hadn't been sure. “Go ahead, Jo, back in my old room. I'll be right in.”

“There's nothing wrong with me.”

“Good. That'll make my job easier and give you an excuse to punish Brian afterward.” She skimmed a hand over her neat French twist and smiled again. “I'll help you.”

“Fine.” She spun around and stomped down the hall.

“What's all this about, Brian?” Kirby murmured when the door slammed.

“She's having nightmares, she's not eating. She came back from the campground this morning white as a sheet.”

“What was she doing at the campground?”

“Ginny didn't show up for work today.”

“Ginny? That's not like her.” Kirby frowned, then waved it away. That was a different worry. “I'm glad you brought her in. I've been wanting to take a look at her.”

“I want you to find out what's wrong with her.”

“Brian, I'll give her a physical, and if there's a physical problem, I'll find it. But I'm not a psychiatrist.”

Frustrated, he dug his hands into his pockets. “Just find out what's wrong with her.”

Kirby nodded, handed him the rest of her sandwich. “There's milk in the fridge. Help yourself.”

When she stepped into the examining room, Jo was still fully dressed and pacing. “Look, Kirby—”

“Jo, you trust me, don't you?”

“That has nothing to—”

“Let's just do this, get it done, then everyone will feel better.” She picked up a fresh gown. “Go into the bath across the hall, put this on, and pee in the cup.” She took out a fresh chart and a form as Jo frowned at her. “I'm going to need some medical history—last period, any physical problems, any prescriptions you're on, any allergies, that sort of thing. You can start filling that out once you've donned the latest fashion there and I'm doing the urinalysis.”

She bent over to print Jo's name on the chart. “Better give in gracefully,” Kirby murmured. “Brian's bigger than you.”

Jo shrugged once, then stalked off to the bathroom.

 

 

“BLOOD pressure's a little high.” Kirby removed the cuff. “Nothing major, and likely due to a slight temper fluctuation.”

“Very funny.”

Kirby warmed her stethoscope between her palms, then pressed it to Jo's back. “Deep breath in, out. Again. You're a tad underweight, too. Which makes the female in me green with envy and the sensible physician cluck her tongue.”

“My appetite's been a little off lately.”

“The cooking at Sanctuary should take care of that.” And if it didn't, Kirby intended to reevaluate. She took out her ophthalmoscope, began to examine Jo's eyes. “Headaches?”

“Now or ever?”

“Either.”

“Now, yes, but I'd say that's a direct result of tangling with Brian the Bully.” Then she sighed. “I suppose I've been getting more of them in the last few months than usual.”

“Dull and throbbing or sharp and piercing?”

“Mostly the dull and throbbing variety.”

“Dizziness, fainting, nausea?”

“I—no, not really.”

Kirby leaned back, leaving one hand resting on Jo's shoulder. “No, or not really?” When Jo shrugged, Kirby set the instrument aside. “Honey, I'm a doctor and I'm your friend. I need you to be straight with me, and you need to know that anything you tell me inside this room stays between us.”

Jo took a deep breath, clutched her hands hard in her lap. “I had a breakdown.” The wind whooshed out of her, part fear, part relief. “About a month ago, before I came back here. I just fell apart. I couldn't stop it.”

Saying nothing, Kirby laid both hands on Jo's shoulders, massaged gently. Jo lifted her head and saw nothing but compassion in those soft green eyes. Her own filled. “It makes me feel like such a fool.”

“Why should it?”

“I've never felt that helpless. I've always been able to handle things, Kirby, to deal with them as they came. And then everything just piled up, heavier and heavier. And I'm not sure if I was imagining things or if they were really happening. I just don't know. And then I collapsed. Just broke.”