Spring Rain (27 page)

What was he supposed to do? Let his dog drown?

It wasn’t his dog he wanted to save, and you know it. It was your son. His son, only he doesn’t know it, does he, Leigh?

She saw Clay last night, Billy clasped in his arms as he carried the boy home. The image of Billy’s head resting on Clay’s shoulder while his skinny legs in their wet jeans wrapped about Clay’s waist made her vision blur. They looked so right together, the father and son, that it scared her.

It’s my call. It’s my right to keep my secret.

Is it?

She slammed her eyes closed again, as if that would stop the mental debate. No such luck.

What’s wrong with admitting he’s nice?

What’s wrong? Are you crazy? I haven’t the emotional stamina to open that Pandora’s box.

You’re afraid.

You’re darn tooting I am. He can’t be nice! He can’t!

And in a flash she realized why. If Clay were nice, genuinely nice, then she couldn’t continue to blame him for The Incident. She couldn’t make him out to be the villain of the piece. She couldn’t keep the cloak of righteous indignation wrapped protectively about herself. She’d have to admit to equal responsibility, and not just intellectually. She’d have to admit it emotionally.

And she was liable. She had let him into her house that long-ago night. She’d never said a negative word. If she were to be totally truthful, she’d been more than a little encouraging. A separate but equal responsibility.

She pulled her legs up onto the bench, wrapping her hands around her shins. She rested her chin on her knees and sighed.

Okay, Lord, what are You telling me?

She stared down the path through the tunnel of dunes. Of the great expanse of sand and sea, she saw only a sliver, a slim beige band of beach, and a gently rocking ribbon of gray-green saltwater.

Epiphany.

A narrow view of Clay, huh?

That was it, she knew. She had been suffering from an acute case of tunnel vision, looking at Clay for years from a deliberately
narrow perspective. He had taken advantage of her loneliness. He hadn’t come back to her. Period. He was therefore unworthy. Wholly accountable. To blame.

While those basic facts were true—he had taken advantage; he hadn’t come back—she had to admit her conclusions were not. There was a lot more to Clay, and well she knew it if she was willing to be honest. He
was
nice. That quality had attracted her to him way back then. It was one of the reasons she had had such a crush on him. He was also intelligent, kind, and handsome, a natural leader. And he cared deeply about things.

He had such difficulty dealing with Ted because he cared inordinately about both Ted and what was right. She understood that with a clarity that made her wonder why she hadn’t seen it sooner. When he couldn’t reconcile Ted and truth to his satisfaction, he was deeply torn. Since truth was invisible, he took out his frustration on the all-too-visible Ted.

He also cared deeply for Julia. Even though he didn’t come home as much as his mother would have liked, and Leigh now suspected that was as much because of her as because of Ted, she knew he wrote, called, and e-mailed Julia regularly. He was a loving and concerned son.

And on top of it all, Clay was a godly man, a man of integrity. One sin, one fall from grace, no matter how major, didn’t negate years and years of living for the Lord. Granted it put a big dent in things, but it didn’t change the basic truth that Clay loved and followed Jesus with an intensity and devotion she had to admire.

She lowered her forehead to her knees and felt like weeping.

Clay was nice. Very nice. More than nice. And if she had the courage to be totally honest with herself, she still cared for him. Maybe she even loved him. No wonder Eric didn’t interest her, or Hank or Mike Henderson or any of the others she had dated through the years.

She shook her head. No wonder she was scared.

Not that she feared they’d jump into bed again. They were both older, both in better control of themselves, both regretful about the other time, both committed to following Christian principles. It was for her heart she feared. He could break it today as badly, maybe worse than he had before.

Oh, Lord, what do I do now?

“Mom?”

Leigh started and looked up at Billy’s hesitant voice. “Hey, guy. I thought you were still asleep.”

“Are you all right?” He stood midway between her and the apartment door, frowning in worry. Terror was calling a happy greeting, but Billy ignored him. Mama, of course, ignored them all as she slept on.

“I’m fine, baby. Just thinking.” She held out her hand to him.

He walked to her and let her take his hand. She delighted in the feel of his small palm in hers for the ten seconds he let her hold it. Then he smiled weakly as he looked toward the main house and began tugging. Clearly he was worried about someone seeing him holding hands with his mom. Leigh smiled to herself and released him.

He promptly folded his arms, putting his hands safely out of her reach. “Do you know we only have raisin bran?” It was an accusation, however mildly stated.

She nodded. “It’s good for you.”

His look of disdain made her smile. “I’ll just go to Mike’s and get some decent cereal.” He didn’t even pause his customary ten seconds before beginning to trot across the yard.

“No, Billy!”

He stopped and looked back over his shoulder. “Bill, Mom. It’s Bill! And why not?”

“You’re not going to Mike’s this morning.” She ignored his frown. “We’re going out to Pop-pop’s.”

“What in the world are we going there for?”

Leigh couldn’t say, “To try to find the treasure so that your life will be safe.” She didn’t want him to know about the threat. “Because.”

Bill blinked. “What?”

Leigh got up off the bench and strode to the main house. “You heard me. We’re going to Pop-pop’s.”

By this time Terror was jumping against the end of his rope with such desperation for Bill’s attention that he was gagging himself. Bill knelt, still frowning, and absentmindedly rubbed the dog behind his ears. Terror leaned against him in ecstasy.

Leigh marched into the kitchen just as Clay and Julia were finishing
breakfast. Bill, scowling fiercely, was right behind her, an unchained Terror on his heels.

“She won’t let me go to Mike’s.”

“I’m sure she’s got a good reason,” Clay said peaceably.

“Yeah. Because.”

“Ah,” Julia said. “I used that one every so often myself.”

“Thank you,” Leigh said, feeling vindicated. She poured a cup of coffee and took a sip. Mmm. Hazelnut this morning.

Bill still looked mutinous but knew he was beaten, at least for the moment. “What good have you got to eat?” he demanded. “All we’ve got is raisin bran.”

“Homemade raisin toast,” Clay said. “Mom made the bread this morning for an early birthday present because she remembers it’s Ted’s and my favorite.” He smiled at Julia who smiled thinly back.

Leigh looked at Julia closely as the older woman got up and poured herself another cup of coffee. She was wearing jeans and a yellow, long sleeved T-shirt and looked like sunshine. Still she didn’t seem her usual cheerful self.

“More raisins,” groused Bill. He wandered to the counter and picked up the sharp bread knife.

“Sure you don’t plan to run me through with that?” Leigh asked with a wry smile.

Snorting, Bill sawed two thick slices of bread from the loaf and stuck them in the toaster.

Leigh made herself look at Clay. He smiled warmly, and she looked self-consciously away.

Act naturally!

But it was easier when he was the bad guy.

“Have a good night’s sleep?” Julia said. It was obvious Clay had told her nothing about last night’s adventure. Leigh didn’t want to deal with it at the moment either.

Bill slathered butter on his toast and announced, “I’m going up to eat this with Uncle Ted. He’ll let me go to Mike’s.”

“Too bad he’s not in charge,” Leigh said. “Pop-pop’s. In ten minutes.”

The buzzer sounded on the dryer, and Julia stood. “Be right back. I’ve got to get that dress out and on a hanger before it becomes a mass of wrinkles.”

“A dress?” Leigh asked her, quirking her eyebrows. “For a stay-at-home Monday? Where is David taking you tonight?”

Julia didn’t answer, but she turned a delightful pink. She left the room smiling.

Leigh looked at Clay. “Stop scowling.”

“I’m not scowling.”

Leigh snorted.

“I’m concerned,” he defended. “Any son worthy of the name would be.”

Leigh waved a hand at him in disgust. “David’s a wonderful man, and he makes your mother happy.”

“He’s not Dad.”

Leigh heard the hurt and loss under the words. “Of course he’s not,” she said softly. “Will’s with the Lord.” She reached out with her coffee-moistened spoon and tapped him on the back of his hand. “Just remember this when you’re feeling wary and protective. Your mother’s been lonely for three long years, Clay. She deserves some happiness.”

He looked out the window, saying nothing but obviously struggling. She knew he knew she was right. She also knew he’d come around eventually. After all, he was nice.

“Why are you going to your father’s?” he asked, still looking outside.

Leigh was quiet for a minute. Then, “There was a message on the answering machine when we came in last night.”

Clay spun to her and studied her face. “What did it say?”

“That last night was to confirm the warning that he meant business. He wants the treasure.”

“So you’re going to go get it? Just like that? You’re going to give it to him?”

She laughed a bit wildly. “I couldn’t get it if I wanted to. I have no idea what it is, or if it actually exists!”

“No idea?”

“None.” She raked her fingers through her hair. “None.”

“So you’re going on a treasure hunt that probably has no pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.”

She nodded. “That about sums it up.”

“I’ll come with you.”

If the truth were told, she knew that was why she had come
into the kitchen this morning. Going home always gave her the willies, and his solid presence would help dispel them. “Oh, you don’t have to do that.”

He just looked at her.

“You don’t. We can manage.”

“Do you really think I’d let you go out there all alone after what’s happened? What if he came? What if something happened to you? Or Bill? No, I’m coming.”

She nodded, relieved that he’d ignored her protest. “Thank you.”

“Did you call the police about last night?”

She nodded. “I talked to Greg.”

“And?”

“He says they’ll look into it. They’re going to come out and see if the rope is still wedged in the jetty. Bill wanted to go get it this morning, but I wouldn’t let him. ‘You don’t want to disturb the scene of a crime,’ I told him. He didn’t like it, but I think he bought it.”

“He ought to. You’re right. It is the scene of a crime.”

She smiled slightly. “I think they plan to talk to the prison officials where Johnny was to see if they had any thoughts about someone recently released or something.”

“Sounds like a good step to me.”

Bill sulked the whole drive to Johnny’s, all ten minutes of it. At least he tried to. It was hard with Terror sitting in his lap and kissing him. Still he gave it the old college try.

“I still don’t know why I couldn’t do what I wanted to do,” he complained as he climbed out of Clay’s car. “After all, it’s my vacation.”

“Give it a rest, Bill.” Clay looked directly into Bill’s eyes. “Your mom doesn’t need you grumpy all day. Not after the scare you gave her last night.”

“Hey, that wasn’t my fault. I didn’t tie Terror out there.”

“I know. But it was still hard on her, watching and not knowing if you’d get back safely and all.”

Bill looked at Leigh out of the corner of his eye, and she tried to look as sad as she could, which wasn’t easy with Clay defending her like that. This was the way it probably happened in two parent families, she thought, the dad speaking up for the mom and vice
versa. She sighed with longing. It must be wonderful.

“Why don’t you take Terror out back and play, Billy—Bill?” she suggested. “Just don’t go onto the bird reserve. I want you close.”

“Mom!” he squawked.

“Bill,” she said in a steely voice.

Bill looked at her, then at Clay. He made a face and muttered, “Come on, Terror. There’s at least five feet of yard we can romp in out there.”

“Romp?” Clay said with a laugh as Bill raced off. “Whatever happened to
play?”

Leigh just shook her head and turned to look at her family home. Her heart caught as she thought of all the sadness that had lived within those walls. Now nothing lived here but her own ghosts.

She studied the front door. It was a faded, uneven blue now, but one summer it had been beautiful. She’d painted it a rich Williamsburg blue with paint she bought with money saved from her new job at the Acme. Johnny had mocked her when he came home and saw what she had done.

“Who cares about a front door? Just so it closes and locks; that’s all you need. That’s nothing but a waste of money, girl. Now get me a beer.”

“I just want our house to look pretty,” she said, staring at the ground. “I thought I’d do the porch railings too.”

Johnny hooted derisively. “Well, where are they?” he asked, looking up and down the deserted street.

“What? Who?”

“The magazine people who are taking our picture for
House Be-oo-tee-ful.”
And he laughed that mocking laugh that made her feel useless, worthless, and all the other
less
words in the dictionary. She’d never painted the railings.

She shook away the memory as she started up the steps. “I don’t know how I survived.”

“But the important thing is that you did, Leigh,” Clay said as he started to follow her. “You’re a woman of character.”

She turned, surprised. “What did you say?”

“You’re a woman of character?” He looked almost as astonished as she that he’d said it. “Well, it’s true, you know.”