SHERIFF RAMSEY ARRIVED a few minutes later along with two of his deputies. They asked Claire and Addy for their versions of what had happened.
There wasn’t much to tell. Neither of them had seen anything. He assured them they would do their best to find out who did it, but the look on his face was doubtful.
“I was just over at Oscar Hammond’s place this morning,” the sheriff said. “Somebody had slashed the tires on all his farm equipment. He got the same kind of note.”
“Who could be so desperate to have this interstate go through?” Claire asked.
“I wish I knew. That would give us our answer, wouldn’t it?”
It was nearly ten o’clock by the time Sheriff Ramsey and his deputies left. Culley had gone out to the barn and found some plywood to nail over the window until they could call someone to fix the broken glass.
He came back in the house and said, “Not exactly a beautiful piece of workmanship, but it should keep the bugs out.”
“Thank you, Culley,” Claire said. “If you two don’t mind, I’m going up to bed. I’m a little beat.”
“Are you all right, Mama?” Addy asked.
“I’m fine. I’ll see you in the morning. Thank you again, Culley,” she said on the way up the stairs.
“Anytime.”
The two of them stood in the foyer. Claire’s bedroom door clicked closed, echoing in the silence.
“I’d better get going, too,” he said. “Leg okay?”
“Yes. Thank you. I’ll walk you out.”
Outside, the sky was sprinkled with stars, a half moon hung high. Culley set his bag inside the Explorer, then turned with one hand on the door. “You’ll be okay?”
“Yes.” She folded her arms across her chest.
“They’ll find who did it, eventually.”
She nodded. “I know.”
“I’m glad you’re all right.”
There was more than simple politeness behind his words. And she was at once glad and grateful to know that he was here.
He reached out, brushed the back of his hand against hers, a feather touch, then threaded his fingers through hers and tugged her to him. He had his back to the vehicle, feet apart. She stood between his legs, her gaze set on the buttons of his shirt.
She should really step back, stop this now before it went any further. But the desire to see if memory had touched up the reality of that night in New York was strong.
One kiss.
What could it hurt?
And then he kissed her, swift and swooping, as if not giving either of them a chance to change their mind.
Just then, it was the last thing that would have occurred to her.
Memory had done a fine job of holding on to the details. It was one of those kisses that hits the bloodstream like a drug, instant ignition. Everything inside her went weak, and at the same time was empowered with something so good and real that she wanted to freeze the moment, prevent it from melting away.
He pulled back, and they looked at one another again, acknowledging the impact of the kiss.
He fit a hand to either side of her waist, bringing her up flush against him. And they settled into another kiss that had a little less fire at its center, but no less potency.
“You know, this friendship thing—” he said, his lips at the corner of her mouth.
She tipped her head to the side. “Umm.”
“It’s not so bad if kissing like that is a part of it.”
“Yeah.” The word came out on an exhale. “So…you think being friends doesn’t mean we can’t kiss.”
“It’s working for me.” This while he nuzzled the soft spot beneath her ear, his hand dropping from her waist to the back of her hip.
It was getting harder to think, much less breathe.
She dropped her head back and then stepped away. “Go home, Culley Rutherford.”
He looked at her, a too-appealing half smile accompanying his, “You sure?”
She took another step back, needing distance for clarity. “Yeah. I’m sure.” Weak, Addy. Even to her own ears.
He swung the door open, slid onto the seat. “Promise me something?”
“Maybe.”
“Leave this as it is? Don’t spend the next two hours adding a whole bunch of what-now’s to it. Let’s just let it be what it is.”
“And what is it?” she asked softly.
“A few pretty hot kisses between two people who used to like each other. And still do.”
He closed the door, and she stood there, arms folded across her chest, watching as he lifted a hand, backed up, then rolled off down the driveway.
* * *
CULLEY LET HIMSELF into the house a few minutes later. His mom was waiting in the foyer.
“Madeline asleep?” he asked.
“Yes. I read her some books, and she drifted off on the last one.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
“How’s Addy?”
“She had a pretty good gash on her leg.”
“Thank goodness it wasn’t worse.”
They went into the kitchen. Ida poured him a glass of tea from the pitcher on the counter, then added some ice. “All right if I make an unasked for observation?”
“It’s pretty certain you’re going to whether I say yes or not,” he said with an indulgent smile.
“It’s been good for you, having Addy here. I see something of who you used to be.” Ida patted him on the shoulder and nodded.
After she had left, Culley took his tea to the office off the living room. He sat down in the leather chair and thought about what his mom had said.
Over the years, he had changed. He’d once been a guy who knew how to have fun. His outlook on life one in which he saw the glass half-full. His marriage to Liz had eroded all that, until the result was somebody he didn’t like being. A guy who worked too much, saw his daughter too little, smiled infrequently enough that she looked surprised when he did.
Tonight, standing under a sky filled with stars, he’d kissed the woman with whom he’d actually once shared a baby pool. And realized that he wanted to be who he’d once been. A guy who could admit his life hadn’t taken the path he’d envisioned. But could move on.
He opened his eyes and sat up. That was the difference. For the first time in three years, he wanted to move on. Make a new beginning.
The cell phone on the desk rang. He glanced at the caller ID, didn’t recognize the number but picked it up. “Hello.”
“Hey. It’s me.”
He sat back in the chair, pressed two fingers to the bridge of his nose. “Liz.”
“I’m in the infirmary with some kind of stomach bug. There’s a nice nurse here who snuck me a phone.”
“Oh,” he said.
There was a heavy pause, as if they had no idea what to say to one another. Which, on his part, was true.
“Did you get the letter I sent a while back?”
“Yes,” he said, feeling a stab of guilt for not having responded.
“Can you come for a visit, Culley?”
Culley squeezed his eyes shut. Even though they were no longer married, no matter how hard he tried to convince himself that Liz’s life was her own now, he still felt sorry for her.
“You don’t owe me anything, Culley,” she said, her voice dropping a few notes. “I’m just scared.”
“Liz,” he said, the hard knot in his voice softening. “I want to see this end so you can get on with your life. But you understand that’s what it will be, don’t you? You getting on with your life.”
“I know you’ve moved on. Beyond what our divorce papers say. And I don’t blame you.”
He heard the loneliness in her voice, marked as it was by an edge of desperation. Was it so much to ask, really? They hadn’t seen one another in a long time; the last few times he’d taken Madeline, his mom had gone in to supervise the visit. He hadn’t wanted to see Liz.
Another shaft of guilt hit him for that. Maybe it would be the right thing, to go. Give them both some closure. “All right,” he said. “I’ll come on Monday.”
“Thank you, Culley. I’ll see you then.”
He disconnected the phone. Sat there for a while thinking about Addy and what it had been like kissing her tonight. Of how he’d driven home feeling like he’d been filled with helium.
He compared that to how he felt now. As if all the curtains had been drawn, and the room was pitch-black, the air inside stale.
He didn’t want to feel that way anymore. He wanted his life to be one in which the windows were wide open, a breeze stirring.
The clock struck midnight, and with it came a sudden resolve. He would go see Liz on Monday. And then close the door for good.
* * *
NIGHTTIME WAS THE WORST.
Liz Rutherford lay on the narrow bunk, staring at the ceiling. Below her, the woman with whom she’d shared the bleak cell since her incarceration, snored softly. She was in on a child-abuse conviction.
At night, when they were both lying in bed, wishing for sleep, regret hung over the room like a thick fog. Liz wondered if either of them would ever see past it.
That was the hard part about being in this place. She had all the time in the world to reflect on the wrongs she’d done, and yet she couldn’t do anything about trying to fix it. Not that any of it was fixable. She’d tossed her marriage out the window, put her daughter’s life in jeopardy, paralyzed a man.
All for a bottle of booze.
Sometimes, lying here thinking about what had happened, it felt as if it must have been someone else’s life. That she couldn’t possibly have done what she had.
But no matter how many times she circled it, that was the point she always came back to. She had done those horrible things.
On the heels of that came another hope. Maybe there was still time. Maybe it wasn’t too late to make things right. Culley had agreed to visit. That was something. A glimmer of light to cling to.
She rolled over on her side, pressed her face into the pillow. He had given her so many chances. But that was Culley. He’d believed in her, thought she could turn her back on the drinking, rise above it. Put her family first.
But the need had gone deeper than that. Deeper than anything in her life. As ashamed as she was to admit it, deeper than her love for her husband or her child.
That was the part that scared her most about leaving this place. She’d been through the treatment program, of course, hadn’t had a sip of alcohol since she’d entered the prison. But out there? What about when she got out?
She held her hand up in the near dark. It shook.
* * *
CULLEY AWOKE TO the sound of sobbing.
At first he thought he was dreaming. He lay there in the dark for a moment, straining to hear.
Madeline.
Wide-awake now, he swung out of bed and lunged down the hall. He opened her door, stepped into the room. “Madeline?” he called out quietly.
She lay on her side, facing away from him. And she was crying as he’d never heard her cry before, heartwrenching sobs that sounded as if they came from some wounded spot deep inside her. He flicked on the lamp, sat down on the edge of the bed, rubbing a hand across her hair. “Honey? What is it?”
She turned to look at him then, bolted upright and locked her arms around his neck, as if she were drowning, and he was the only buoy in sight. She pressed her face to his chest, the sobs coming harder now. He cradled her to him, stroking her hair and letting her cry.
When her sobs began to soften, he pulled back and said, “What’s wrong, baby?”
“I had a dream. An awful dream.”
“About what?”
She looked down, shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It does matter,” he said, tipping her chin up so that she was forced to look at him. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, her lashes glistening with tears. “To me, it matters.”
She was quiet for a while, her crying turning to snuffles. “It was about the accident.”
“Oh, sweetie.”
She hesitated, and then, “I—I was trapped in the car. I couldn’t get out, and I kept calling to Mama, but she wouldn’t wake up. She didn’t hear me.”
Culley pulled her tight against him again, his chest aching with fresh sorrow, regret. “You were dreaming, honey. It’s just a dream.”
“But that’s how it happened,” she said, pulling back to look up at him with urgent eyes. “I kept calling and calling. And she wouldn’t wake up. I could see the other car through the windshield, and that man was screaming.”
Culley cupped her cheek with his hand, pain searing through him. She had never talked about it before. Had never wanted to. He had assumed she didn’t remember. Or didn’t want to. “I’m so sorry, honey.”
She launched herself at him again, wrapping her arms around him and holding on as if she never wanted to let go. “It was so awful, Daddy.”
He held her, stroked her hair, wishing for words to comfort her, wishing he could wipe that day from their past as if it had never happened. “I’m so sorry,” he said again because it was true even if it didn’t make it better.
* * *
A MEETING HAD been scheduled in town on Saturday during which Congressman Bill Powers was scheduled to address the citizens of Harper’s Mill with his view on why the new interstate would be a positive boon to the county.
Addy and Claire drove in together, pulling up outside the community center just before seven o’clock.
The meeting room was full. Lowell Duncan, the town mayor, called the meeting to order behind a microphone that squawked when he spoke into it. He stepped back, smiled and tapped it a couple times, then spoke again. “Good evening, everyone. You all know why we’re here tonight. One of the proposed routes for Interstate 92 plows a path right through the heart of our county. Many of you have homes and businesses that will be directly affected. At the table to my left, we have several representatives from the Virginia Department of Transportation as well as Congressman Bill Powers. Congressman Powers, if you would like to speak first, then we’ll open the floor up to discussion.”
A short man with a big voice, Congressman Powers removed the microphone from its stand and stepped out from behind the podium. “I’m very pleased to be here tonight, although I’m sure most of you would prefer that it be for another reason. This is not the easiest point to make, and certainly not the most popular, but I believe that what is in the best interest of many sometimes involves the sacrifice of a few. The proposed route for Corridor A would bring about a good bit of change in this county, but the studies show that the resulting creation of new businesses would actually be a major economic boost to the area.”
The congressman continued on for another twenty minutes, during which the mood of the crowd did not soften. Addy looked around at the people who sat with folded arms and straight backs, their faces set in disapproval.
The congressman concluded with a pitch aimed at the greater good.
Mayor Duncan stepped forward. “Thank you, Congressman. We’ll now take questions and comments.”
Addy and Claire were seated in the middle of the room. All around them, people raised their hands, wanting a turn to speak. Things heated up fast. Over a hundred homes would be bulldozed should this route be chosen, one of them with documents dating back to 1769 and a land grant from King George III of England. There was history in the community, and people didn’t want to see it replaced with truck stops.
After the fifth person had spoken, Addy leaned over and whispered to her mother, “Aren’t you going to say something?”
“I hadn’t planned to.”
“You should.”
Claire shook her head and then, “Oh, why not?” She raised her hand.
Mayor Duncan nodded and said, “Claire?”
Claire stood, cleared her throat. “Both my home and business stand to be destroyed if this proposal goes through. I realize that wherever the road is built, someone will lose something they value. And I understand that some people think the economic growth stimulated by such a road would offset the loss to people like me. That very well may be true, but that doesn’t change the fact that I love my home. My grandparents started Taylor Orchard in the twenties. Times are a little hard right now, but it would be very painful to see the efforts of generations of my family bulldozed and paved over as if they were never there. I know that’s true for others in this room as well.” She sat down.
“Thank you, Claire,” the mayor said.
Addy squeezed her mother’s hand. Claire squeezed back.
The door opened in the back of the room. Addy glanced over her shoulder. Culley stood just inside the entrance. He lifted a hand. She raised a hand back, glad to see him in a way that said a lot of things that were hard to deny.
The discussion went on for another hour, during which Claire’s sentiments were echoed again and again. Mayor Duncan thanked everyone for coming and called the meeting to a close. People stood in clusters talking, Claire stepping aside to speak to some of the ladies from church.
Addy made her way to the back of the room where Culley stood waiting.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi. I didn’t know you were coming.”
“I wanted to be here at the beginning, but I had an emergency at the office.”
“Everything all right?”
“Should be. Walk you outside?”
She nodded.
The night was warm, the sky just beginning to darken. They stood by the entrance, while the crowd from the meeting streamed out. Most of them offered up friendly hellos. “Evening, Dr. Rutherford. Addy.”
“People like you here, don’t they?” Addy said.
“I like the people here, so it’s mutual.” He studied her for a moment. “Can I drive you home?”
She hesitated, debated the wisdom of it. She realized, though, that she wanted to go. “Let me just go tell Mama.”
“I’ll wait here.”
A few minutes later, they were headed out of town, down some country roads she hadn’t been on in years. They looped through the county, taking whichever turns suited them, just driving.
“Do you think the meeting went well?” she asked.
“I don’t know. Powers seems pretty determined. But there was a lot of emotion in there tonight. That has to mean something.”
“I hope so,” she said. “I believe in progress. And I know things have to change sometimes. But it’s not always worth the price.”
They ended up at the municipal baseball field, a place where all the teenagers used to hang out when they were in school. Culley parked the car, and they got out, leaning against the front of the Explorer.
“Now this brings back some memories,” Addy said.
“Can you still hit like a boy?” he asked, grinning.
She leaned back, chastising, “Chauvinistic and beneath you.”
“Well, you did hit better than most of the boys.”
“True.”
He pointed to the sky. “What a great night for a telescope.”
“You used to be into astronomy.”
“Back when I thought it would be great to live somewhere else, even another planet. Anywhere but under my dad’s roof.”
Addy heard the forced lightness in his voice, but knew there was truth behind the words. She put her hand over his, squeezed once.
He looked at her, started to speak, stopped, then said, “Liz called last night. She asked me to come see her.”
Addy blinked, not sure what to say. “Is she all right?”
“She’s going to be released soon.”
“That’s good, isn’t it?” she asked softly.
“I think so. She seems remorseful. I know she never meant to do what she did.” He drew in a deep breath, then blew it out. “I’ve wished so many times I could snap my fingers and change what happened. Roll back the tape and put her somewhere so that she was forced to give up the drinking. But I can’t do that. And now I just want it to end. This feeling responsible for her. That’s terrible, isn’t it?”
Addy reached out, put a hand on his arm. “I’d say it’s a part of who you are. An admirable part of who you are.”
“I don’t feel admirable. More like resentful. Like the ball and chain she’s tied to herself is tied to me, too.”
“What will she do when she gets out?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you think she’ll start drinking again?”
“Madeline asked me the same thing.” He looked down, let out a heavy, burdened sigh. “She had a nightmare last night. About the accident. It was the first time she’s ever talked about it. I’ve gotta tell you, it pretty much tore my heart out.”
“Was she okay?”
“After a while, yeah. And maybe it was actually good that it surfaced. I’ve worried all along that she’d put that day away and refused to look at it. Maybe now, she can start to let that part of it go. But I think she’s worried about what’s going to happen to her mother.”
They stood for a while, the silence between them comfortable in a way that Addy might have found stilted with someone else.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure,” she said.
“You think there’s a reason why we’re in each other’s life again after all these years?”
She bit her lip. “I don’t know.”
He reached out, ran a finger across her hair. “I’ve walked around these last three years feeling like there was this big hole inside me. And since that night in New York, that hole has felt like it’s getting smaller.”
She had no idea what to say. They were headed down a path she’d declared she had no intention of taking. And yet, here she was, wishing again that he would kiss her.
Which he did now. Thoroughly. The kind of kiss that melts any resolve to remain clear-headed. The kind of kiss that goes on for a while and ends with reluctance.
A half smile touched the corner of his mouth. “I always wanted to take you parking,” he said.
Addy gave him a look. “Like you could have fit me in. Your Friday and Saturday nights were booked.”
“Were not.”
“Were, too.”
“So what would it have been like? The two of us. If Mark hadn’t come into the picture, I mean.”
She’d wondered herself. Many times. “Probably never would have worked.”
“Why?”
“You dated cheerleaders.”
“And you’re going to hold that against me?”
“Just making my case.”
“I can offer evidence to the contrary, counselor.”
“Proceed.”
He leaned in, kissed her again.
She could have attempted indifference, but the performance would have fallen flat. It was pretty much out of the question when a man kissed like that.
Several minutes later, she said, “Okay, so point made.”
He smiled. “What do you think about a date tomorrow night?”
“What kind of date?”
“A real date. The kind where I come to your front door, pick you up and we go to dinner or a movie.”
“What happened to the friends thing?”
He looked at her for a long moment. “That kind of feels like it would be settling.”
She could think of a dozen reasons to say no, each of them valid. But Ellen’s voice popped into her head. You’re letting Mark win.
“Okay,” she said. “What time should I be ready?”