Spring Rain (35 page)

He smiled at her, and she nodded politely but coolly. She seemed relieved to focus her attention on Greg Barnes as he climbed out of the police car.

“What’s up, Greg?” she asked. “Have you learned something about the man, the—” She stopped and looked at the boys.

“We know all about him, Mom. He wants to kidnap me.”

Leigh frowned and looked at Clay.

He held up his hands in a not-guilty manner. “Not me.”

“And you call him the perp, Mom,” Bill supplied. “I keep telling you that you need to watch more TV.”

Greg smiled at Bill and turned to Leigh. He looked tired after a night on duty, a turn that should have ended an hour ago if Clay computed his schedule right.

“We think the man who has been giving you trouble might be an ex-con named Ernie ‘the Worm’ Molino.”

“The Worm?” Bill laughed, Mike joining him.

“The Worm,” Greg confirmed. “He was a friend of your grandfather in jail, and he was paroled three weeks ago. No one has seen him since.”

It made sense that he was an ex-con, a friend of Johnny Spenser, Clay thought. He had, after all, called her Leigh-Leigh, Johnny’s pet name.

Greg slouched wearily against the side of his car. “He’s a little guy who’s sly and has got some street smarts, but he’s not got much brainpower.”

“Is he a little guy like in short or a little guy like in not very important?” Bill asked.

Greg blinked at the astute question but answered easily. “Little like in not important, though come to think of it, I don’t think he’s too big physically either. Skinny guy about forty-five with a bald spot he combs his hair over by growing it long on one side and spraying it into place. Know what I mean? He’s been a bookie, a bagman, a dealer, you name it, but he’s always been small-time because he’s not got the intelligence to be anything else. He’s also been in and out of prison several times because he’s always getting caught.”

“And somehow he got the idea from my father that I have something valuable.” Leigh shook her head. “He actually believed whatever story Johnny was telling.”

“Like I said, not too swift.”

“What’s he want with me?” Bill asked. “I don’t know anything about a treasure.”

“Leverage,” Greg said.

Bill nodded. “That’s what I thought. If he’s got me, he thinks Mom’ll trade the treasure to get me back.”

Greg nodded. “Or she’ll give him the treasure immediately to prevent him from grabbing you in the first place.”

Bill grinned at Leigh, impudence oozing from every pore. “I think I’d better stay on your good side for the next little bit, Mom.” He looked at Clay. “Yours too. After all, you might be the one to find whatever it is.”

“It isn’t anything, Bill,” Leigh said, clearly not overjoyed that
her son had included Clay in the program.

Greg looked at Leigh. “The word from the pen is that Johnny talked about his treasure with enthusiasm for the past few months. Before that, no one heard anything from him but gripes.”

Leigh blew a gust of air. “Now the gripes sound like Johnny.”

Clay suddenly wished he had known Leigh’s mother. Perhaps she was the secret behind her daughter escaping Johnny’s influence. And the Holy Spirit, of course, making her more and more each day into the image of Christ.

“Have you thought about the idea that there might actually be something valuable, that your father might have been telling the truth?” Greg asked.

“An actual treasure?” Leigh laughed at the idea. She indicated Clay and Bill. “We went out to the house the other day and searched, just to keep him—Molino—happy with the idea that we were looking. We found nothing but dirt, spiders, and mildew.”

Greg nodded. “Has Molino called again?”

“No, though I’ve got to admit I jump every time the phone rings. I keep expecting something to happen.”

Before he realized what he was doing, Clay reached out and ran a soothing hand down Leigh’s back. When she didn’t flinch, he let his hand rest at her waist.

Greg pushed himself away from the car. “Before I went home and fell into bed, I wanted you to know what we’ve learned. There’s an APB for Molino throughout the state. In the meantime, we’ll do our best to keep an eye on you. Just be careful, okay? And, Bill, stay close to home.”

Leigh took a couple of steps forward, and Clay’s hand fell to his side.

“Thanks, Greg,” she said, reaching to shake his hand.

Greg took her hand, smiled briefly, and climbed into his car. He wasn’t even out of the drive before Bill turned to Leigh.

“I want to go to Mike’s. Nobody’s going to grab me over there. It’s dumb to even think they might.”

Leigh blinked. “Uh, I don’t think so. You heard Mr. Barnes.”

Bill opened his mouth to protest, but Clay beat him to the punch. He laid a very heavy hand on Bill’s shoulder and squeezed. “Bill, I have an idea for a great Easter gift for your mother. If she says it’s okay, will you come with me and see if you agree? Mike
can come along too if he’d like. We’ll stop at his house so he can ask his mom if it’s okay.”

Leigh didn’t look delighted with the idea, but she didn’t say no either. With Bill’s rebellion momentarily quelled, the three males climbed into the Grand Cherokee, Bill pulling Terror into the backseat with him and Mike. Clay felt pleased with himself as he turned the key in the ignition. He’d averted a confrontation. Maybe this parenting wasn’t so hard after all.

He waved to Leigh as they pulled away. She smiled weakly back. Obviously she was still hiding behind her stone princess persona. He’d figured out how to keep Bill safe for the time being. He’d figure out how to get back in her good graces.

He settled back in his seat, pleased with himself. Life had never been more complicated, but it had also never had more possibilities.

C
LAY WALKED INTO
the kitchen later than usual on Good Friday morning, intent on getting a cup of coffee and some food. He was surprised to see Leigh there. She had been avoiding the house—and him—since Monday night, living in her stone tower across the yard.

It was amazing the emotional distance of one small yard.

“Am I glad to see you,” he said, probably with more enthusiasm than was wise under the strained circumstances.

She gave him a frightened-doe-caught-in-the-headlights look and headed straight for the door.

Her flight at his mere presence in the same room angered him. “Running away, I presume.”

She glanced over her shoulder, her face flushed. “Yes.”

Her voice was low and strained, and he regretted his temper. “I’m sorry.”

“Um.” She grabbed for the doorknob.

“Leigh, don’t leave. Please.” She looked wonderful in shabby jeans and a long sleeved, red T-shirt with bleach stains all over one cuff. Her hair had been pulled back on the sides and held with some kind of little combs.

“I’ve got stuff to do,” she said vaguely as she pulled the door open.

With one hand he grabbed her arm and pulled her back into the room while the other pushed the door closed. He slid his hand down her arm and laced his fingers through hers. “Have a cup of coffee with me. Please. I don’t want to drink alone.”

“Turning into a solitary drunk, are we?” She smiled a real smile, and when he squeezed her hand, she squeezed back.

“I miss you, sweetheart. I miss your company and your sweet spirit.”

“I haven’t gone anywhere. I’m right here.”

He shook his head. “Not in the ways that count.” He reached out and traced the line of her hair from temple to comb. He felt a fine tremble go through her at his touch. Encouraged, he said, “Have dinner with me tonight.”

“I’ve had dinner with you several nights since you came home.”

“Yeah, me and Mom and Bill, maybe David and Ted too. You know that’s not what I mean.”

She looked at him with sad eyes. “I don’t know, Clay. It’s probably not a good idea.”

He pulled her close, wrapping their joined hands behind his own back. He slid his other arm about her waist, both to keep her from bolting and to enjoy her closeness. “What’s wrong, Leigh? Tell me. I’m going crazy here trying to figure this out.”

Carefully, carefully he disengaged their interlaced fingers and placed his hand on top of hers, still behind his back. He pressed her hand against him just above his hip. He waited a couple of seconds until he was confident she was comfortable with what amounted to her embrace. Then he released her hand and slid that arm about her, his fingers meeting at the small of her back. He took a step until they were mere inches apart. When her free hand came up and rested on his other hip, he felt hope soar.

He was totally unprepared for the tear that slid from the outer corner of her eye and bled down her cheek. “Leigh!” Without thinking he leaned down and kissed it away, tasting both her salt and her pain.

She made a strangled sound deep in her throat, and her head fell forward so that her forehead rested on his chest. He cupped the back of her head and rested his cheek lightly on her hair.

They stood like that, bodies touching only where her head lay
on his chest, but he was conscious of a near-painful yearning to pull her to him and never let her go. He wanted the easy camaraderie that had been developing between them. He missed her laugh, her humor, her quick mind, her compassionate heart. He missed
her.

“Leigh,” he whispered, tilting her chin up. He kissed her, a gentle kiss that contained all the longings of his heart. At first she held herself apart, those careful inches between them maintained. Then with a soft cry, she melted against him, her arms tightening around his back. He held her close and tasted her tears.

Too soon she broke the kiss and pulled away. He caught only a glimpse of her anguished face as she pulled the door open and raced across the yard. He didn’t try to stop her, stunned as he was by the depth of his response to her.

No wonder he had never gotten serious with Emilie or any other woman. For him it would always be Leigh and only Leigh. The question was, would she come around for him like she had with Mama, or was he one of the kittens? And was he having dinner with her tonight or not?

Lost in thought, he climbed the stairs to Ted’s room. The sight of his brother brought him up painfully.

Ted lay on his back, arms resting beside him. His hospital bed was raised, and pillows were stacked behind him to ease the pressure on his lungs. His eyes were closed, the dark lashes resting on pale cheeks. An oxygen canula forced pure air into his nostrils in the effort to make his breathing easier. Even though he appeared to be sleeping, he coughed frequently, ragged, croupy coughs that made Clay’s hair stand on end.

There was no question: When the home health nurse came, she’d call David and recommend Ted be in the hospital before the morning was out. The pneumonia had taken root, and home care wasn’t sufficient to dig it out.

Oh, God! Don’t let him die! Please don’t let him die!

Mom sat slumped in the chair beside the bed, watching Ted breathe. Her own breath was timed to his as if by following the same rhythm she could guarantee that his would continue as steadily as hers. Clay knew she’d been here all night. She was still wearing her nightgown and robe, and her hair was in disarray from where she’d pushed her hands through it in despair.

“Mom.” He walked to her, lowering himself to kneel beside her. He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Why don’t you take a break for a few minutes?”

She glanced at him and smiled wanly, reaching out and pushing his hair off his forehead. “I’m afraid to.”

He nodded. Every time he left the room, he was afraid too, afraid Ted wouldn’t be here when he came back.

“He’s not going anywhere just yet.”
Please, God, may that be true.
“Visit the bathroom. Take a shower. Go make some of your terrible coffee. Take a quick walk by the water. Whatever will help you most. I’ll be here, and I promise to call you if there’s any change. Besides, the home health nurse will be here soon.”

Finally she let herself be persuaded, leaving the room with a backward glance at the bed and a dubious one at Clay.

He made shooing motions with his hands. “Go. We’ll be okay.”

Clay collapsed into the chair she’d just vacated and stared at Ted. He felt so helpless whenever he was in this room. He hated helpless!

He got up and studied the chart on the wall. Maybe they had forgotten some medication. If he could figure out which one it was, he could give it to Ted, and he’d be all right. Clay compared the chart with the various bottles and vials littering the bureau.

All dosages checked off and accounted for.

He sighed. It would have been too easy a resolution.

Maybe more of that vitamin and nutrient-laced drink they were always forcing down him. Clay went to the box stowed in the corner and pulled a can out. He popped the top and stuck in one of those bent straws. When Ted woke up, he could drink it.

“Sit down already,” a barely audible voice said. “You’re driving me nuts.”

“Ted!” Clay rushed to the bedside. “Here. Drink this.”

Ted just closed his eyes. His face spasmed.

“What?” Clay demanded. “What?”

“Chest hurts.”

“I’ll rub it with Vicks Vapor Rub,” Clay said, suddenly aware that the room was redolent with its aroma. Mom. She’d always rubbed their chests with Vicks when they were kids. He began looking frantically for the little blue jar.

Ted coughed. It was a deep, fluid sound that scared Clay all over again. When the coughing jag passed, Ted lay exhausted.

Clay reached for the phone.

“Who?” Ted demanded.

“An ambulance. You need the hospital.”

“No.”

“Yes! Ted, you can hardly breathe.”

“Home.” His eyes were hard and mutinous. “Living will. My call.”

Clay looked away from his brother, out the window to the beautiful spring day, sun warm and benevolent, breeze light and soothing. He’d walked the shore earlier, praying for Ted, praying for Leigh, praying for Bill, praying for his mother. Praying for himself.

“Call Pastor Paul,” Ted said, his chest straining with the effort not only to breathe but to talk.

“What?”