Kipp's house had a heavy feel to it--hot and stuffy--and the smell of bacon lingered from two days ago. With his free hand he pushed open the kitchen window to let the air circulate.
He dropped his bag in the living room, opened the blinds. He'd had a layover in Denver, but due to the time change, it was relatively early. Exhausted from the long flight, he lay on the couch, and with the late afternoon sun flooding the windows and warming his body, he dozed off.
Upon waking, he thought of Libby. All the way across the country, he'd thought about her. He was anxious to call her, but first a soul-reviving shower was due.
Afterward, he slipped on a robe, rubbed his hair with a towel, and wandered into the kitchen to find Libby's number. He placed the call, but no one answered. He left a message.
He checked the messages on his answering machine and cringed when he heard his editor's voice because it reminded him of his lack of progress on the article. His distractions came out of the blue, and he'd have to beg for more time.
The second message was from Tanya. She told him she loved him and encouraged him to look for their daughter but with the caustic reminder that going to a psychic was as useless as seeking the answers from a magician.
Again, Tanya's remark brought up the doubts he'd had from the beginning about enlisting Libby's help, and he wondered if it was a stupid thing to do. Already his hopes were unrealistically high.
Annoyed and restless, he dressed and went to The Fish and Ale to get a bite to eat. The parking lot was full, normal for a Friday night. He tried to avoid the crowds by frequenting the establishment on weekdays, but being alone wasn't satisfying any longer, especially since he'd met Libby.
Even if the reasons for his attraction to this oddly unique individual were unclear, he was still drawn to her. Holding a woman, even if that woman was Tanya, had awakened the need for a woman's soft gentle touch. It brought back memories of the good times: snuggling by the fireplace, walking hand in hand in the park, making love on a rainy afternoon. Was he ready to begin anew with someone like Libby?
The last two years he'd had opportunities--a caterer he'd struck up a conversation with at The Fish and Ale, who slipped him her business card with her home phone number; a friend of his editor, a sleek-looking advertising executive, who reminded him too much of Tanya--but he never pursued them. The disappearance of his daughter had tied up his emotions. He'd had no room in his heart for anything, except the memory of his little girl.
Since he'd been around Libby, he was stirred up again in more ways than one. His emotions were somehow intertwined with both his daughter and Libby; he wanted his daughter back and he wanted Libby, the woman who held the keys to finding her. Maybe he needed to separate the two--keep to the business of finding Kelly--before he launched into something he might regret. It hit him then that even contemplating a relationship with Libby was a waste of time. She'd shown no interest in him.
Inside the pub, the Eagles thundered from the jukebox, all the pool tables were in use, and every table was filled. The cool, salty air drifted in from the opened door.
Kipp eyed an empty stool at the bar next to a brunette dressed in black jeans and a halter top. She smiled at him when he sat down. He waved Sam over and ordered a draft and a hamburger.
When Sam came back with the beer, he shouted over the music, "Didn't work out with that lady friend of yours?"
"Why do you assume that?"
"You're never here on Friday nights. I figured your coming here on a Friday night is serious. You either want to talk about it, or you want to get laid."
"You sure know how to dish it out." Kipp took a swig of beer.
"So, what's up?"
Being honest with Sam had always been easy because talking to him was like talking to a friend with nothing to lose. Sam had a good ear and never spread rumors. Kipp gave him a rundown of his trip to Connecticut--particularly the part about seeing his ex-wife, even embellishing on how hard it was to keep his hands off her.
"You want my opinion?" Before Sam could dish his advice, a man hollered from the other end of the bar, and he left to take the man's order.
Kipp drank more of his beer and reached for the pretzels in front of the brunette.
She shoved the basket his way. "I couldn't help overhearing you talk about some woman, like your ex-wife. Sounds interesting. I'm a good listener if you want to talk about it."
"I've probably talked enough, but thanks."
She swiveled her stool to face Kipp. "My name's Sherry. What's yours?"
"Kipp."
"Kim?" she yelled over the music.
"Kipp, with two p's."
"That's different. Would you like to play pool or something?"
"I just ordered a burger."
"After?"
"Maybe." Kipp noted how young and pretty she was. In the past that would have been an attractive combination, but now the temptation wasn't there.
Sam brought Kipp's meal. He'd just sunk his teeth into the first bite when a man in a cowboy hat and a plaid shirt stormed the bar and latched on to Sherry's wrist. "Come on, babe."
She wrenched free. "Forget it."
He grabbed for her again, but she leaned into Kipp, her hair grazing his face. He leaned away. The cowboy tossed Kipp a dirty look, his face aflame from anger and embarrassment. He tugged her hair hard. "I'll be back." He stomped out of the building.
She swiveled around and began chewing her nail.
"Can I help?" Kipp said.
Sam, who had witnessed the scene, came over to her. "You okay?"
She nodded, then shook her head, a tear finding its way down the side of her face.
"Guy's a jerk," Sam said. "If you want me to call you a cab, I will."
She shook her head again.
"Just let me know." Sam walked away to tend to another customer.
Kipp studied her profile. She couldn't have been more than twenty-two. She reminded him of Tanya in the beginning of their relationship: vulnerable, sweet, eliciting in him the need to protect. He felt the urge to reach out to this girl. "Can I give you a lift?"
She looked at him for the first time since the incident, her eyes brimmed with tears. Kipp paid the bill and told Sam he was taking her home. They walked out to the Jeep in the star-filled night.
"So, where's home?" Kipp said.
"I can't go there. He'll find me."
"Is there somewhere else I can take you? Your parents' house, a friend's?"
When she said no, the picture became very clear. He'd have to take her to his house, and he suddenly wished he hadn't offered to help. His life was complicated enough. All the way up the hill, he thought about what to do.
Once they were inside the house, she looked around the living room and ran a hand across the top of the TV. She seated herself on the couch, scanned the coffee table, and picked up one newsmagazine, then another, and tossed both aside, unsatisfied with the content. She said she was cold, so he gave her a blanket to wrap up in and made her a cup of hot chocolate.
He handed her the cup and stood nearby. "Is that guy your husband?"
"Boyfriend."
"Does he get rough with you often?"
"Yeah, I suppose. But he loves me. Even when he hits me, he always tells me he loves me."
Hearing her reply, Kipp knew what to do. He excused himself and thumbed through the community service pages of the phone book and dialed the local crisis clinic where he was given the number of a women's shelter. He made that call and returned to the living room.
She met him at the end of the couch. "Can I stay here with you?"
He wasn't sure how to interpret her meaning, but sleeping in the same bed with him was unacceptable, as was sleeping anywhere else in his house. Though he felt sorry for her, he wanted their involvement to end, as much as he'd wanted his and Tanya's to end. "I'm taking you to a shelter for the night. They'll help you figure things out."
"Please, let me stay here."
She looked frightened, but Kipp wasn't about to rescue her any further. He picked up his keys. "Let's go."
She followed him outside, quiet and sulky. On the way back to town, the only conversation they had was when she asked him to stop at The Fish and Ale so she could retrieve the jacket she'd left behind.
He swung into the parking lot, and before the Jeep came to a complete halt, she had the passenger door open and ran toward a red pickup truck. She hopped in, and the truck burned rubber swinging onto the main road.
Kipp turned around and headed home. He could never understand why women like Sherry went back for more. He hoped one day she'd wake up before it was too late.
While he cleaned up the kitchen, he thought about his daughter and how he would never want her to grow up to be like Sherry with low self-esteem, cowering at the hands of a man. He yearned to be instrumental in shaping Kelly's life. If only he could have the chance.
He reached for the phone and dialed Libby's number. No one answered. He left another message for her to return his call.
* * *