She shook her head, eyes welling. “No. I just . . .” She looked down toward her bare feet. “Could you come stay with me? I just don’t want to be alone. I’m so worried about Patti, I—”
He circled her shoulders with his arms, drawing her close to his warmth. “Sure. Of course.” They walked together across the dark landing toward her room. “And no monkey business. I promise.”
That was a relief. “Thanks. I really appreciate it.”
“Is it okay if I hold you till you go to sleep?” he asked her.
“More than okay.” She needed the reassurance of touch.
Sometime that night, Patricia’s car disappeared from her grandmother’s garage. When Augusta called to tell them the next morning, Howe explained what had happened. True to form, his mother blamed
him
for embarrassing and alienating the girl, then threatened to disown him if he reported the car as stolen.
Not wanting to go into it with her friends, Elizabeth skipped Sewing Circle and Altar Guild, claiming illness. But she knew she couldn’t keep their situation a secret for long, just as she knew there would be plenty of people in town who’d be happy to see the high-and-mighty Whittingtons get yet another comeuppance.
Desperate, she even called her mother in Clearwater.
“Hi, Mama,” she said after her mother’s smoke-rasped hello.
“Well, glory be,” her mother said with sarcasm. “The word has come from Olympus. To what do I owe this honor?”
Elizabeth had long since hardened to her mother’s resentment. “Patricia’s missing,” she stated briskly. “Have you heard from her?”
Her mother paused. “Does she even know I exist?” she asked without accusation.
“Of course. She and Charles both know you’re there.” Elizabeth had waited till they asked about her family to explain that her father and brothers had been abusive alcoholics, and she and her mother had serious differences. True to the Whittington code, neither Charles nor Patricia had pried or expressed an interest in meeting their “toxic” grandmother.
“I know Charles does,” her mother said. “I’ve been gittin’ a nice Christmas letter and Fruit of the Month from him for the last few years,” her mother revealed, to Elizabeth’s surprise. “He sends something to Liam in prison, too. Even offered to help him with parole, since Liam’s been clean and sober all these years.”
Stunned, Elizabeth froze in her seat. Charles knew about his uncle Liam?
Parole? Liam deserved to spend the rest of his life in prison. He’d beaten his wife to death in a drunken rage. The idea of her brother loose on the world gave Elizabeth the shivers.
“But I never heard a lick from that daughter of yours,” her mother went on. “Charles mentions her in his letters. Sent some pictures, and all, but not a peep from her.”
Reeling, Elizabeth didn’t know whether to confront Charles
or let the matter lie. The last thing she wanted was for her brother to be loose to hurt anyone else.
She struggled to collect herself. “Well, if Patricia contacts you, would you please try to find out where she is and let me know? We’re worried sick.”
“What happened?” her mother asked, suddenly canny. “Y’all have a fight?” A pregnant pause resonated between them. “It’s not so easy when they get big and bossy, is it?” her mother gloated, clearly referring to Elizabeth’s long-ago decision to escape her own family and better herself.
“Please, Mama,” she clipped out, “just let me know if you hear from her.”
“Okay,” her mother said. “I reckon I owe you that much for keepin’ me up. But it wouldn’t kill you to call me occasionally when there’s not some emergency, ya know. I could drop dead down here, and nobody would be the wiser except for the smell.”
Same song, nine-thousandth verse. “The phone works both ways, Mama,” Elizabeth said, a hint of annoyance creeping into her voice. “You could call me.”
“Look out,” her mother warned. “I might just do it.”
“By all means, do.”
“By all means, do,” her mother imitated in an exaggeration of Elizabeth’s carefully cultured accent.
“ ’Bye, Mama.” Elizabeth hung up.
She stared at the phone. Charles. Dear heaven. Should she call Charles about Liam?
“Who was that?” Howe asked, surprising her from behind. “You look upset.”
“I am upset,” she said, swiveling the kitchen stool to face him. “It was Mama.”
“Oh.” Howe’s expression remained equable.
“I called on the off chance that Patricia might have tried to contact her. She hasn’t.” Should she tell him about Liam? “But Charles has been sending her Christmas updates and gift baskets.”
Howe gripped her shoulder briefly. “Good for Charles.”
“He’s done the same with Liam. Charles has offered to help him with parole,” she said in disbelief.
“Parole.”
“Your brother’s been sober for a long time, Elizabeth,” Howe said quietly.
She peered at him. “And how would you know that?”
He shrugged. “In my past life, I made it my business to find out anything that might affect our family. I’ve been keeping tabs on Liam all along. I did the same with your father and Jacob, before they died.”
“You mean drank themselves to death, at long last,” she corrected, the old bitterness surfacing.
Howe drew her from the stool, pulling her into a protective hug. “They’re gone now. They can’t hurt you anymore.”
She leaned against his chest. “Liam can. I don’t want Charles having anything to do with him. What if people found out?”
After a weighty pause, Howe let out a long breath. “Charles and I had a lot of time to talk in Florida. We ironed out a lot of things. He’s a man, now, a good one, and nobody’s fool.” He chuckled. “He told me if I ever went back to being the way I was, he’d come for me, himself.”
Howe sobered. “Whatever relationship he has with his uncle is up to him. It’s not up to us. I promise you, Lillibet, it will only make things worse if we try to intervene.”
“But if Liam gets out . . . Even if he has been sober, facing the real world, especially as an ex-convict, who knows—”
“If he gets out, we’ll deal with it. Together.” He drew back to lift her chin with his finger, meeting her fears with a calm, steady gaze. “I won’t let anybody hurt you, Lillibet. I promise.”
A throb of heart-deep pain loosed her next thought without her conscious participation. “You let Patricia hurt me. And your mother. For a long time.” Lord! Where had
that
come from?
He winced. “Ouch. I deserve that. But I mean to change it, Lizzie, I swear.”
She didn’t even react to the name she hated. “I know. I know. I’m sorry. I’m just so worried about Patricia. It’s not your fault.”
He stilled, drawing her close again. “It is my fault. I spoiled her, then came down too hard on her, and she bolted. Not a moment goes by that I don’t wish I could do it over. But we have to believe she’s okay.”
If only she could. “I’ll call Charles and see if she’s contacted him. And her friends.”
He patted her back, then released her. “You do that. With no credit cards, she’s bound to turn up before too long.”
Howe went to the cabinet for some Advil, something he’d been doing more often lately. He headed for the refrigerator for a bottle of spring water. “I’ve got some things to catch up on in my study.”
“You’ve been spending a lot of time in there,” Elizabeth ventured.
Guilt flashed across his face. “It . . . I’ve been . . . reading.” She could see he wasn’t being truthful. “It helps distract me.”
A dozen possibilities crossed her mind, none of them good. “You’re not . . . doing anything weird on the Internet in there, are you?”
His features cleared, to her relief. “No. God, no. Really, I’ve been reading. Pretty heavy stuff, actually.”
At least she could see that was true. But where had his initial guilt come from? “Okay.” Whatever it was, he would tell her eventually. He wasn’t good at keeping secrets anymore.
He popped the Advil and washed them down.
“Are you okay?” she asked, even though she knew he didn’t like to talk about it. “You’ve been having a lot of headaches lately.”
He massaged his temples, then sighed. “I’m sure it’s just stress, but I guess I ought to tell Dr. Clare. I’ll call him.”
“Good. And I’ll start calling Patricia’s girlfriends,” she said. “Though how I can do it without setting off the grapevine, I can’t imagine.”
“Just tell them the truth,” he advised. “We had a fight over her grades, and she left.” He cocked a wry expression. “Like the good book says, the truth shall set you free.”
The reference sent a random thought across her mind. “You’re not reading the Bible in there, are you?” she asked, embarrassed that it sounded like an accusation. “I mean, you’re not thinking about becoming a
minister
or anything?”
Howe laughed for the first time since Patricia had run away. “Lord, no. Quite the contrary.”
Whatever that meant.
“Don’t worry about dinner,” he told her. “I’ll make a salad later and do some steaks.” Then he disappeared into his study.
Patricia called Charles first, not mentioning Liam or her mother, but he hadn’t heard anything. After that she started contacting every one of Patricia’s friends listed in her address book, without any luck.
Assuming they’d tell her if Patricia
had
contacted them.
She even scrounged up a sorority directory in Patricia’s room and started calling girls she didn’t know, but nobody she reached had heard anything. A few parents told her that a lot of the girls were vacationing, making Elizabeth wonder if Patricia had joined any of them, but there was no way to reach them if she had.
By suppertime, Elizabeth had come up empty, and she and Howe shared a subdued meal.
That night, she dreamed Patricia was calling for help, but she couldn’t find her. Frantic, she searched through more and more dire settings till she woke in a panic, drenched in sweat. Howe was sleeping soundly on his side of the bed, so she crept into the shower and cried under the cover of the noisy spray.
When he came in and found her, she was too miserable to notice that she was naked in front of him. He just quietly shucked off his pajama pants, then climbed in to hold her as she sobbed, his presence communicating more than words ever could. When the hot water ran tepid, he turned it off, then helped her out and
dried her. Back in bed, he held her close, her wet hair against his chest, till they both, at last, fell asleep.
It was the closest she had felt to him since law school.
But the sun dawned on yet another day without word of their daughter. And another.
Meanwhile, Dr. Clare saw Howe and ran some tests, all of which came back normal, much to Elizabeth’s relief. And Howe hired a skip tracer the bank had used, saying the man was very discreet and would find Patti soon.
But two more days passed, and the only calls Elizabeth got were from her friends—predicated on thinly veiled excuses, which proved the gossip mill was onto Patti’s disappearance—and a few from P.J. Elizabeth didn’t mention Patti to him at first, feeling it would be disloyal, somehow. But he found out anyway.
Howe was in his study when her cell phone rang on the fifth morning since Patti had left. Seeing “unknown caller,” Elizabeth wondered if it was P.J. or Patti and said a breathless, “Hello?”
“I just found out,” P.J. said. “Why didn’t you tell me? I could have hired a detective. Done something, anything, to help. I know you’re frantic.”
“Hold on.” Elizabeth hurried to the side porch, safely out of earshot from Howe’s study and the workmen. “Howe has somebody looking for her,” she explained when she got there. “I just didn’t . . . I appreciate your concern, but I really don’t want to talk about it, if that’s okay. I get sick to my stomach when I do.”
“I never got to have kids,” P.J. said. “Liza kept putting it off. Then my business went to hell, and she went with it, so no kids for me. I can’t begin to imagine how awful this must be for you.”
So much for not talking about it. “We’ll be okay,” Elizabeth told him, using the plural without thinking. “Howe’s convinced she’ll show up eventually, when she runs out of money.”
“He would think of money,” P.J. said, leveling the first direct criticism of Howe since he’d woken from his coma.
“It’s not like that,” Elizabeth defended. “He’s not like that anymore. He’s as worried as I am.”
“Sorry,” P.J. apologized. “I just can’t help . . . the man has everything, including you. I’m jealous. I admit it.”
“Don’t be,” Elizabeth told him. “Once I make sure Patti’s okay, I might just strangle her. She’s so . . .” Anger and frustration threatened to set her tongue loose at both ends, but she managed to get a grip on herself. “Trust me, you don’t need to be jealous.”
An uncomfortable silence lengthened between them. “What can I do to help?” he asked at last.
“Give me space,” she said frankly. “I can’t handle . . . the whole
us
thing. Not till I know Patti’s safe. Maybe not even then. There’s still so much to work out with Howe.”
“Okay,” he conceded. “But I’m here for you, Lillibet.” The pet name rankled, coming from him. “I’m not going away.”