Relinquishing the phone, he covered his face with his hands and dropped his head back.
Jane couldn't find her voice. She had to say hello twice to get it to sound right.
"Hi, babe," Oliver said. "How are you?"
Bringing her knees up, she hugged them to her chest and stared at her lacquered toenails while she talked. "Fine."
"What's Noah doing there?"
"Just--" she cleared her throat"--fixing a few things. You know, helping me get the house ready for when you come home."
"That's nice of him."
She felt her heart break a little, because she'd no longer have Noah once Oliver returned. She wished their affair didn't have to end, knew the coming months would be easier if he was there to support her. But they couldn't risk continuing the relationship.
"He knows I want it to be nice for you. He and your parents have been so good to me." Feeling Noah's hand on her head, she let her forehead rest against his knee.
'They shouldbe good to you. You're my wife," Oliver said.
That was something she wasn't likely to forget. Her tie to him had 37
humiliated her in the worst possible way. And yet he was the father of her daughter, the man she'd once loved, someone who could never have committed the crimes Skye Kellerman claimed.
"You still getting out on Friday?" she asked.
"Yeah. Just six more days. I can't believe it, can you?"
"No."
"Once I'm home, we'll forget about the past and move on. We'll buy a big house, like we had before. My folks will help us if we need them to."
Betty and Maurice had told her the same thing. They knew, just as Jane did, that Oliver wasn't a violent criminal. Sure, there'd been a desperate struggle between him and Skye Kellerman. Oliver had come home pretty carved up that fateful night, so badly injured Jane had been forced to take him to the emergency room. But it was Skye who'd freaked out and attacked him. She must've been on drugs, just like he said.
"Jane?" Noah whispered. He knew she was dying inside, but she couldn't look at him. It was too hard.
Raising a hand to indicate that he should wait until she'd dealt with Oliver, she walked over to the window to gaze out at the postage-stamp yard behind her cheap rental. She hated living here. The neighbors went on drunken binges and fought half the night. Teens loitered in the empty lots, smoking pot, or they ran around vandalizing property. And the schools were nothing like the one Kate should've been attending. Jane had to get out of here. But she wasn't going to do that cutting hair at a low-end beauty salon.
She needed Oliver. They had to reestablish what they used to have, forget everything that had happened since--Skye, prison, Noah, the anger, the hurt, the resentment. Even the guilt.
Suddenly cold, she wrapped both arms around herself. "Skye was on television again last week," she told Oliver.
"I know," he responded. "Don't worry about her. She's a pathological liar."
"She was raising money to help other victims."
"Hopefully, they're real victims, not like her."
"She's capitalizing on what she did to you, using it to launch a whole new career. I mean, look at all the publicity and sympathy she got because of her lies." It made Jane want to write her another letter. She'd sent a few over the years, telling Skye what she thought of her. But they'd all gone unanswered. And any more she sent would probably go unanswered, too.
"I'll bet she's taking a hefty salary from that nonprofit, too," he said.
While Jane was cutting hair eight hours a day just to pay the rent on a dump like this...
38
"But it doesn't matter what she does. That's all behind us," he went on.
Could it be true? Jane ached with the mere hope of it.
Noah came up and kissed the back of her neck, and she let the enjoyable sensations he evoked force Skye from her mind. She wouldn't think about the past. The past brought such rage. "We'll start over, build a new life," she said into the phone, repeating what Oliver had told her so often.
"Exactly."
"Just like the one we had before."
"Just like the one we had before," he echoed.
She leaned into Noah, drawing strength from him while she could.
"Sounds great. See you Friday morning."
"Leave Kate with my mom and bring enough money for a hotel. We deserve a night alone in San Francisco, don't you think?"
"I guess so."
"Aren't you excited?" Oliver asked.
She wasn't sure. She'd loved him once. Would that feeling return after he came home? She hoped so--for her sake, for Kate's sake, for everyone's.
"Of course."
39
"You're late."
David stood on the stoop of his ex-wife's two-story home--his old home--and managed what he hoped was a pleasant smile. "Nice to see you, too, Lynnette."
"Where've you been?" she asked. "I've been trying to reach you."
He'd silenced his phone so he wouldn't have to listen to it ring.
Hearing her bitch at him as he fought the Monday-evening commute wasn't going to bring him home--to her house--any sooner. He refused to let her badger him. "Bad day at the office."
"They're all bad." She walked away, leaving the door open, her irritation dissolving into an attitude of bored indifference. "Jeremy's been asking for you. He was afraid you'd cancel again."
It was David's turn to be irritated. "What are you talking about? I hardly ever cancel. Only when work gets in the way."
"Yeah, well, you do love your work."
As a phlebotomist at a local lab, her hours were fixed-- nine to three, five days a week, which was perfect because it coincided with Jeremy's school day. But the regularity of her schedule certainly didn't make her more understanding of the spontaneity and extra hours required in police work.
"You know I can't always quit at five, Lynnette." His job was demanding, but not nearly as demanding as she'd been when they were together. Highly emotional, she was quick to laugh when she was in a good mood and quick to anger when she wasn't.
"Spare me." She pulled on her shoes and grabbed a coat. Then she motioned at the closet, partially jammed with his jackets, hats, umbrellas, ski equipment. "You still have stuff in here."
"I know." Was she asking him to remove it? So far, she'd been careful not to go that far. And he'd purposely ignored the fact that he'd left some things behind. Since Lynnette had been diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis, which was discovered after their second divorce became final, he didn't feel he could just walk away. What kind of man would abandon the mother of his child when she was facing a lifelong battle with a disease like that? "I'll 40
get it soon," he said with a shrug.
"No, you won't. You'll let it sit here till it rots or I throw it in the street."
Because he didn't have a choice. It wasn't as if she had any reliable family to turn to. His family had become her family, and they'd decided to stand by her, for her sake and Jeremy's. A phlebotomist didn't make that much, and it probably wouldn't be long before she couldn't work anymore.
He'd already seen significant changes in her, including an even more volatile temper.
But they used to love each other. They had ten years invested in the relationship. Surely, with enough effort and persistence, they could make it work. If only he could forget about Skye...
"I won't be home until midnight," she said.
Why so late? He spent every Monday with Jeremy while she attended an art class over at American River College. But she'd never come home past ten. Had she met someone else?
If so, he couldn't believe it would last, couldn't believe she'd find a new husband who'd be willing to take care of her when her health began to deteriorate. He wasn't sure he wanted Jeremy to have a stepfather, anyway.
That invited a whole slew of additional problems. This was his family; he'd take care of them. "Have fun," he said.
She eyed him skeptically. "Aren't you going to ask me where I'm going after class?"
"Should I?"
A pained expression crossed her face. "No, I guess not. Jeremy's here.
He's all you care about."
"Lynn."
She didn't look up. Taking her keys off the counter, she started for the door.
"Lynn," he said again, catching her arm.
When she lifted her eyelashes, he could see tears glistening in her eyes.
"What is it?" he asked.
"You think you're coming back," she said. "You tell me you want things to work out between us. That you won't leave me to deal with this disease alone."
"I won't."
"But only because you feel obligated. You don't love me anymore."
He didn't know what to say or what to make of her erratic behavior.
Although they never argued in front of Jeremy--as far as David was 41
concerned, that was an unbreakable rule--half the time she acted as if she could barely contain her animosity toward him. The other half, she was so frightened by what was happening to her and so clingy he couldn't breathe.
"I care about you. I want you to be happy."
"You want Jeremy to be happy."
"That, too."
"But I can tell..."
He filled the gap so she wouldn't find the words she was looking for.
It would just be more of the same complaints he'd been hearing for the past five years. "We don't have to be miserable if we're together," he said. "We'll get more counseling--"
"We've had enough counseling, David!"
Her voice was shrill as the tears spilled over her lashes, and David worried that Jeremy would hear her and be confronted with an upsetting scene. "Come on." He tried to take her in his arms, to calm her down, but she shoved him away.
"No! Don't you understand? This is killing me! I have to get over you.
You'll never love me the way you used to."
David couldn't contradict her. What he'd felt was dead and gone long before the diagnosis. All the hushed arguments and complaints and accusations had killed it and, hard as he tried, he couldn't resurrect it. But there were other elements in a marriage. Trust. Stability. Companionship. As time went on, those things often became more important than the head-over-heels, I-can't-stop-thinking-about-you devotion she craved. At least she'd have someone to lean on and Jeremy could be sure his mother would be well taken care of. "I'm not a quitter. I'll always be there for you, support you as much as I can, be true to you--"
"In other words, you'll soldier on," she interrupted bitterly. "That's not enough. I love Jeremy, too. He's the reason I've hung on. But I can't be a good mother when I'm this miserable." Dashing a hand across her cheeks, she seemed to rally. "I have a date tonight. You might want to sleep here because I'll be late. Maybe I'll even stay the night with him." This last comment she tossed over her shoulder as she turned toward the door again.
"Lynnette." She paused at the sharp way he'd said her name. "If you don't know this guy very well, be careful."
"That's all you've got to say? Be careful?"
"Don't do anything rash just to get back at me."
"I wouldn't be doing it to get back at anyone," she retaliated. "I want to make love, I want to be loved, I want to feel good about myself again!
You bring out the worst in me. / don't even like me when you're around!"
42
David told himself to stop her, to say the words she wanted to hear, to take her to her room and make love to her. But Jeremy came to the top of the stairs and looked down at them uncertainly. "Dad? Mom? What's wrong?"
Glancing between his ex-wife and his son, David almost breathed a sigh of relief. "Nothing, bud," he said, and climbed the stairs to reassure his son.
The front door opened and closed. Then Lynnette's car started and she drove off. Listening to her engine fade into the distance, David felt more of the old self-recrimination. What the hell was the matter with him? Lynnette had a debilitating disease. Why couldn't he give her what she needed?
He just couldn't. He couldn't make love to her and pretend she was the one he wanted. Not today. Not after seeing Skye this morning.
"Dad?"
"What?" he said.
"You're still moving home, right?"
David winced as he stared into his son's tortured eyes. Somehow he had to stop the pain. For all of them.
"Dad? You said you were moving home."
"I will, bud."
"When?"
David clenched his jaw. "Soon."
Grinning widely, Jeremy threw his little arms around David and gave him a big hug. "Yay!"
Rain always made Skye a little uneasy, but tonight the hollow, echoing patter on her roof unnerved her more than usual and drove her from her bed. Sometimes, if it was a big storm, the sloughs would overflow their banks, break through the levees and wash out the roads. It was fairly common in winter, part of life in the delta--the excitement of which she'd loved as a child. But knowing Oliver Burke would soon be back in Sacramento, free to roam wherever he wished, transformed the anticipation she'd once felt into raw anxiety. It wasn't a good time to be worrying about getting cut off from the rest of civilization.
God, if she was this unsettled before he got out of prison, what would she be like afterward? She'd been this way all weekend.
Fixing herself a cup of tea, she turned on the television and tried to focus on the news. But when the immaculately groomed anchorman launched into a story on the disappearance of a "Del Paso Heights man in his early forties," she turned it off. Sean Regan. She hadn't rescued him in time.
But she was doing what she could, right? Jonathan had started on the case last Friday. He'd find Sean eventually.
43
Unfortunately, that didn't make her feel a whole lot better. Sean was out there somewhere, in the storm, like so many other victims....
Using exercise to work off her excess energy, she did fifty push-ups, two hundred stomach crunches and a half hour of yoga but still couldn't relax.
After making another cup of tea, she settled at the kitchen table to call Jasmine. They'd spoken briefly over the weekend--Jasmine had called the second she heard Burke was about to be paroled, but she'd been with an FBI agent at the time so they hadn't been able to discuss the situation in Ft.