“Carl wanted there to be something more between us than friendship.”
Luke wasn’t surprised to hear that. Nor particularly pleased, either. Not that her love life mattered to him; it didn’t. But she mattered. And she wasn’t ready to have some bartender getting intimate. She had things to do, issues to resolve.
“And?” he asked, not sure he wanted to know. He might not be able to keep his mouth shut if she told him she was going to give it a try. As one of her only friends in town, he’d have to tell her what he thought about that.
“I set him straight. Gently, I hope. I told him I’d keep in touch.”
“How’d he take it?”
“Good.” The admiration in her tone rankled a bit. “I told you, he’s a nice man.”
His instant response—wondering if perhaps the man wasn’t a little too nice—he put down to base maleness and kept to himself.
“What about you?” he asked. “You’re young, beautiful, successful. There must’ve been men who wanted a part of that.”
He’d completely messed up that remark—he’d made her sound like property.
“I guess,” she said, her arm touching his as they moved slowly into the night. This end of the Strip wasn’t as brightly lit, yet still had a sense of escape. “Mostly I was too busy with my life to have time for anything to develop.”
“Why so driven?”
Her lack of immediate answer was telling. Francesca Witting had more secrets than he did. Perhaps that was why he found himself thinking about her so often.
“My talents were in a very competitive field where for every hundred who wanted in, only two or three made it.”
A surface truth, maybe, but he’d bet his month’s salary that it wasn’t the real reason she’d left no time in her life for love.
Her feet looked so small compared to his—especially in those thin strappy sandals. And they’d walked for miles. Small but mighty. Just like her.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Why’d Autumn leave home?”
She stumbled. For the first time in all those blocks. “Aside from the usual reasons,” he added.
They walked another block. Past a sign for a strip club. Then another one, with the words Strippers and Dates splashed across the front of the building. Followed by a place where one could go for marriage licenses. Only in Las Vegas.
“Her father beat her.”
Luke walked on beside her, mulling over the quiet words. “Her father would have been your stepfather?” he finally said.
“Yes.” Before, her gaze had been all over the Strip, taking in the sights, but now she was staring at the ground.
“Did he hit you, too?” The question wasn’t his to ask. And yet, it felt as if it was. They’d been through a lot together, he and this woman who’d be in and out of his life as quickly as a daydream.
She nodded. A gesture he almost missed. The way her hands were tucked beneath her arms on either side caught at him. A protective, subservient gesture from one of the strongest women he’d ever known.
Without further thought, Luke reached over and took the hand closest to him.
Nothing was said, no acknowledgement, one way or the other, of what they were or weren’t doing. They talked about other things. She told him about a man named Antonio. Not much. Just enough for him to know that the man was the only one she’d ever loved. That he’d been married, so the relationship had gone nowhere. Enough for him to know she’d been badly hurt by the experience.
He told her about his decision to adopt a son, and was a bit relieved by her lack of shock at his plan for single fatherhood. So much for his concern that people were immediately going to challenge him about the boy’s right to a mother.
“I got the call just before you came in this evening,” he heard himself saying—probably because he was still reeling from the news. “I pick him up six months from today at seven in the evening.”
“She must be having him by Caesarean section to have the time locked down like that.”
He nodded, picturing himself walking out those doors with his newborn son in his arms.
Glancing down at Francesca, he was struck by the blankness of her expression. She couldn’t have been less interested. The reaction surprised him. She’d been so nurturing with her sister, he’d expected her to be one of those women who warmed up to talk of babies and children.
He’d known a lot of women like that.
“Have you ever considered having children?” he asked now.
“That is one thing I will never consider doing,” Francesca said with such certainty he wouldn’t have dared argue. “Not ever.”
The first hands-off sign she’d ever sent him. As she’d obviously intended, it stopped him from asking any further questions—but not from thinking them. Had the abuse she’d suffered prevented her from having children?
Or maybe she felt so strongly because Antonio couldn’t father her children. It could also be the heartache she’d gone through with Autumn.
He really wanted to ask, but didn’t. He asked about her photography instead. Told her about his lack of progress uncovering any explanation for the barrage of big wins that had hit the Strip—and most damagingly, the Bonaparte. She asked about his mother. He told her about his suspicion that Arnold had a new woman friend.
And when, a long time later, they arrived back at the Bonaparte for their cars, they were still holding hands.
She’d wanted him to kiss her good-night.
As she drove the few miles between her apartment and the corner near her sister’s where Autumn would be waiting, Francesca finally admitted what she’d refused to acknowledge the night before, when she’d made her way back to the Lucky Seven and the sleeping pill awaiting her.
It had to be hormones. They were still out of whack from her having given birth and then breast-feeding. And then stopping so abruptly.
Her breasts tightened and she pulled her mind back. She wasn’t going to think about those things. No exceptions. She’d done well these past few weeks. She could continue doing well. Luke’s talk of a son didn’t have to raise dead issues. Nor did the mention of Antonio. They just didn’t. People could choose what they thought about.
Autumn was waiting, as usual, jumping into the car before Francesca had come to a complete stop.
“What’s the hurry?”
“Nothing!” She glanced around. “Let’s go, I’m starved.”
Because she was relieved to see the girl with an appetite and no longer sick to her stomach, Francesca let the moment go.
But she didn’t forget.
She’d give Autumn a few more days and then, if the girl wasn’t more forthcoming, she’d have to start probing. If some pimp believed he owned Autumn, he was going to learn differently.
Beyond that, any thoughts of what her sister might actually be doing while Francesca lay in her bed in the Lucky Seven or walked the Strip, played slots and had dinner with friends, were just going to have to wait. Francesca couldn’t do everything at once.
“Where are your cameras?” Autumn asked on Sunday afternoon when she met her sister at the UNLV campus. “My whole life, I can never remember you being ten feet from a lens, but in all this time I haven’t seen you take a single picture.”
“They’re in my room.” She’d had dinner with Luke and his mother the night before. Carol Everson, too, had been surprised to learn that Francesca hadn’t taken a single picture since she’d been in Las Vegas. And later Luke had asked why—since she specialized in pictorial studies of the human condition—she hadn’t chronicled any of the people who visited the town or lived there. He hadn’t been satisfied with any of her explanations. He was getting to know her too well.
It felt like they were all ganging up on her.
“So when you’re not with me, you’re out taking pictures?” Autumn asked, turning sideways to watch Francesca as she drove.
“Not really.” The truth wasn’t up for discussion. But she couldn’t lie. “Until last week, I was looking for you every waking moment,” she reminded her. “And speaking of which, I need to talk to you about something.”
Two things, actually, but she’d deal with them one at a time.
“What?” It still didn’t take much to bring the defensiveness back to Autumn’s posture and tone.
“How about if we drive through and bring lunch back to my place?” They’d reached her car and McDonald’s was on the way. Francesca hadn’t eaten there in years, but since being in Las Vegas, it had become one of the restaurants she frequented most.
“Uh-oh, this is going to be bad.” The girl stared out the window. At least she wasn’t jumping out. Running off.
“No, I just hate how you’re always looking nervously around when we’re out anywhere around here. Like you’re afraid you’re going to see someone you know.”
“It’d be pretty weird for a young kid like me to be seen hanging out with an older woman like you,” the girl said dryly.
The reply was total bullshit. Francesca let it go, anyway.
“So? Let’s have it.”
They were back in Francesca’s room, on the bed that generally served as table, laundry basket and storage shelf. The hamburgers and French fries were spread out between them. Autumn had ordered a couple of burgers and the largest order of fries they had.
“You sure you’re going to be able to eat all that?”
“Yeah, like I said, I’m starved,” the girl said, digging in unselfconsciously. Francesca couldn’t remember ever taking a bite of food at that age without being concerned about her weight. But as sick as Autumn had been, she had some eating to make up for.
Was the fact that she was able to eat a sign that whatever had been troubling her was dealt with and gone? Had whoever was harassing her, bringing fear to her every movement, agreed to leave her alone?
Francesca wasn’t beyond hoping.
“I want to tell Mom I’ve found you.”
“No way.” The girl spoke with her mouth full, not missing a bite.
“Hear me out, Autumn, okay?”
“Whatever.”
As always, Autumn was wearing half-length shorts and a pullover shirt of the same style as all the others. One of their next outings was going to be the fashion mall just down the street from the Treasure Island hotel. The girl could do with some choices when she got up in the morning, minor though such choices were.
“I know she let you down,” Francesca said, trying to eat and have this conversation at the same time. “She let me down, too.”
Autumn glanced up then, shared a look with Francesca that almost made Francesca cry. It hurt so badly to think of all the years Autumn had suffered alone. It should never have been that way. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t let it be that way again.
“But the thing is, Autumn, by blaming her, holding a grudge against her, we only hurt ourselves. I found that out the hard way.”
“So what.” Autumn yanked a fry out of the paper carton. “We’re just supposed to say, It’s okay, Mom, don’t worry about the fact that you let that man beat the crap out of me? It’s okay that even while she was cleaning the blood off my back she was telling me to keep things quiet because she married a prominent politician who’d only make things worse for us if I went to the cops?”
She couldn’t eat. And she couldn’t interrupt, either. She had to help her sister through this. To set her free.
“Well, sorry, it’s not okay. And I don’t care what she said, things couldn’t get any worse for me. I didn’t care about financial security nearly as much as she did.”
“I know.” Autumn’s words expressed exactly the thoughts she’d had herself. So many times. “But the thing is, hon, Mom wasn’t just worried about financial security. He had her beaten down, too. Worse, I think, because she shared such an intimate relationship with him.”
Come on, Autumn, the compassion’s inside you. It’s safe to feel it. I’m here.
“Yeah, well, bully for her, but she could’ve stopped that, too, anytime she chose. It makes me sick, you know? To think of her in bed with him, doing that, after everything he did to us.”
“She was scared. More for us than for herself. Afraid of what he’d do to us if she left him.”
“Being dead would’ve been better.”
“At the time, it sure felt that way,” Francesca agreed. “But once you get through it, once you heal, you’re glad your life was spared. There’s so much good out there, Autumn, so much love and laughter and hope and just plain joy. If he’d killed us, we wouldn’t have had the chance to know any of that.”
The girl finished off one burger. Started on the second.
“So how much love and hope and laughter you having these days?” she asked.
“More and more since I found you again.” It was a truth she could speak with her whole heart.
“Yeah.” Autumn looked up at her for a long moment, and then her gaze dropped. “Well, sorry, I still can’t pretend what she did is okay.”
Autumn didn’t have any chance of getting on with her life if she couldn’t let go of this.
“I’m not asking you to. Only asking you to let me call her and tell her you’re okay. I’ve already gotten her word that she’ll leave you in my care, so you don’t have to worry about going back or seeing her, at least not yet. But she’s human, too, Autumn. She went through a lot for both of us. She’s alone. And she’s hurting every bit as badly as you are.”
“Doubtful.”
What’s hurting you so badly, child? Francesca’s eyes asked the question she knew her half sister wouldn’t answer.
“If you hate her this badly, why’d you call her?”
Autumn’s head sank lower. “It was stupid,” she muttered. “A moment of weakness. I was scared.”
“Of what?”
She glanced up, with nothing but an unreadable glint in her eyes. “What do you think? I’m a seventeen-year-old runaway.”
God, how do I get through to her? Get her to talk to me? Tell me what she does all day? And all night?
“She’s had a hard life, Autumn. Her future isn’t stretching before her like yours and mine. The only thing she still cares anything about is the two of us. Just let me tell her you’re okay so she can at least start eating and sleeping again.”
Autumn chewed. Swallowed. Took another bite. And another. She finished the second burger. And all the fries. Sucked at her drink until she was sucking air from the bottom of her cup. And then she methodically packed up all the trash and shoved it back in the bag.
“Whatever,” she said, getting up to toss the bag. “Just keep her away from me.”
“You got it,” Francesca said, grinning inside for the first time in a long while. Whether she knew it or not, Autumn had just taken the first step toward freedom.
“I gotta get going,” Autumn said Tuesday afternoon. The two of them had made a habit of having lunch together in Francesca’s room. It seemed to be the only place Autumn ever relaxed. At least with Francesca.
Francesca, lounging against the headboard on a bed of pillows, didn’t move. “Of course I’ll take you back, but I wish you didn’t have to go.”
“Yeah, well, I do.” Autumn stood, grabbed her purse.
Francesca wondered how long this could continue. Seeing Autumn for lunch was great, but at some point she had to get on with her life. Sleep somewhere other than the Lucky Seven. Do something besides eat with her sister, worry and try not to read too much into whatever time she spent with Luke Everson. “I think tomorrow we should go shopping. Buy you some new clothes.”
“No!” Autumn spun around, the fear back in her eyes. “I mean, why? What’s wrong with my clothes?” Her belligerence was a second too late.
“Nothing. What’s wrong with buying new ones?”
“I…can’t afford it and I…don’t want you spending your money on me. I can take care of myself.” The words gained momentum as though Autumn was starting to believe an excuse she was creating as she spoke.
Francesca straightened. Much as she wanted to, she couldn’t put this off any longer.
“Sit down.”
“I gotta go.”
“In a minute.”
Looking past her sister, Autumn sat. “All right, but make it quick. I really have to go.”
“One question, one answer and we’re out of here,” Francesca said, hating the wild, wide-eyed look in her little sister’s eyes.
“What?”
Francesca opened her mouth but couldn’t make the horrible words come out. “You’ve left me no choice here, Autumn.” She wanted to take the girl’s hand, tell her it was okay, to remove that haunted look from her eyes. Take her home. Do whatever Autumn wanted that would make her happy. Give her all the space she needed. Stay away from her home, her life. Allow the girl her secrets.
“You won’t tell me what you do when you’re away from here. Won’t tell me where you work. I’ve met none of your friends, or anyone you know in this town, and I’m not allowed in your apartment. You give me nothing.”
“I’m here. Every day.”
“Yes, I know, but—”
“I’ve told you things no one else knows….”
She swallowed, tried not to cry. She’d made it through most of her adult life, not to mention some pretty brutal beatings during her teenage years, without tears. And now, with this child/woman, she was crying all the time.
“I know, honey, I understand. But you’re in trouble. I think you need my help. I know I need to help you. But I’m in the dark here. How can I do anything if I don’t know what you’re hiding from? Or hiding from me? What has you so frightened?”
Autumn’s gaze darted to the door, her eyes alight with pain. “You said one question,” she said in a clipped voice. “Which one?”
The girl wasn’t giving her any other choice. If she only got one…
“Are you a prostitute?” Her eyes flooded with tears as she asked. It felt wrong, sordid, a sacrilege to all she knew Autumn to be, and to the unconditional love she had for her sister. The girl was only seventeen years old. Still a child in so many ways.
Autumn’s face slowly rose, her eyes, which met Francesca’s, clear and strong. “No.”
No? No? “Did you say no?”
“Yes.”
Was Autumn’s calm response a front for unspeakable things? Or the truth it seemed? She wished she had some of Carol Everson’s assurance that stepping into others’ shoes was possible. How did she know if she was there, inside that other person’s life? Or merely standing in a version of her own?
“You’re sure?”
“Cesca.” Autumn actually smiled. “I think I’d know if I was doing something like that.”
“But…”
“I promise you.” The girl leaned forward, grabbed Francesca’s hand in both of hers and reached up to dry the tears that had fallen to her cheeks. “On this one issue, I can tell you everything because there’s absolutely nothing to tell.” She moved to Francesca’s bed, slid an arm around her back.
That young arm felt fabulous.
Autumn turned, her eyes wide open as they gazed into Francesca’s. Francesca couldn’t have looked away if the whole place had been burning down around them.
“I am not making money, nor have I ever made money, sleeping with a man. Or a woman. Or an animal or any other sick thing you hear about here in Vegas. I’m a virgin, Cesca! Hard to believe, I know, considering that I’m seventeen and have been on my own for two years. I guess you can put it down to what Daddy did to me, but I just couldn’t let that happen. Sex, I mean. Not at any cost.”
Francesca didn’t even try to stop the tears that poured from her eyes. She couldn’t seem to speak, to form a coherent thought. She could only feel relief. So much love. And gratitude greater than she’d known herself capable of feeling.
“So we have something to thank him for, after all, don’t we, Cesca?” The girl’s soft words touched her deeply.
“I guess so, honey.” Francesca pulled the girl into her arms while they both cried away more stored-up pain and shame and loneliness.