Chapter 17

This was more than eating humble pie. Heidi had made a mistake, and now it was time to face the full wrath and judgment of Rhett Crawford. He’d ignored her—completely—when she’d turned her car up the Crawford drive. Ignored her when he’d helped Emma from the vehicle, when he led her into the house, and also when he helped Emma snuggle on the floor next to Ducie. Even the dog had ignored Heidi as he nosed his mistress with concern, maneuvering himself so he could lay his head in Emma’s lap, offering the sort of comfort it seemed no one else could.

But now? Now, Rhett Crawford was not ignoring her. With a jerk of his head in the direction of the kitchen, Heidi knew the clenched jaw and steel-gray eyes forecasted an ominous storm headed her way. Her insides curled and twisted. She’d tried calling Connie the moment her phone had a strong enough signal following their frantic exit from the asylum ruins. She should’ve called Connie to begin with—not texted her. Then she would have known it was a wrong number! She’d texted the wrong person for permission to take Emma out! When Heidi entered Connie’s number in her phone’s contacts, she’d made an error—off by one digit. The only option left was to call Rhett. A secondary emergency backup. And Heidi’s judge and jury.

She wished Connie were here. At the moment, facing Emma’s mother seemed far less daunting. Instead, the Hulk turned, drawing in a deep, controlled breath that testified to some very turbulent emotions. He braced his hands on the counter behind him.

Heidi crossed her arms. She could either give in to another anxiety attack or face him. She was used to facing condescension. This was still in her control. She tilted her head and waited him out. There was no way she was going to offer up the first word.

The standoff was entirely visual. Their eyes locked in a tug of war that dared the other to go first. Finally, Rhett blinked. She’d won.

“That was an idiot move.”

Or maybe she hadn’t won. She’d never let him see it, but the words were cruel, and they hurt her. Heidi shrugged, her arms still crossed over her heather-green V-neck tee.

Shrugging was an immature response, but Heidi couldn’t speak. Her throat was choked by tears. Her eyes burned as she blinked fast to push them away.

Rhett studied her for a moment, his hat jammed low over his forehead. He released the counter and matched her stance, crossing his arms. “You don’t take a special-needs person out of their comfort zone. You don’t leave without clearing it with their guardian.”

He was right. Still, she had some defense. “I texted your mom.”

“To the wrong number. And you didn’t call her? Obviously, you weren’t that concerned.” Rhett’s tone stated his doubt.

Heidi pursed her lips, straightening her shoulders. It was unfair to say she wasn’t concerned. She was—she had been—she’d no desire to hurt Emma any worse than she already had. She swallowed back those irritating and pressing tears that were an enemy to her composure. What she intended to say, I’m sorry, I never wanted to hurt Emma, did not come out from her lips. Instead, Heidi heard herself defending, building up her wall, insisting on holding her ground.

“So, when she’s home, your mom never takes Emma anywhere? They just stay here, never leave the house? That’s not a realistic expectation.”

“You’re not Emma’s mother.”

The impasse was tense. Her defense was weak and shouldn’t have been given. It was what she had always done. In lieu of the wrongs she believed her parents had bestowed on her with their legalism, she’d used that as justification for her misjudgment. She was doing it again. Only now she saw the truth of it, and it stung. She wasn’t an innocent party to the problem.

The air was saturated with both of their frustration. Rhett’s, rightfully so. Hers, born of the same anxiety a cornered, wild animal felt. Heidi tried again.

“I’m sorry. You’re right. I should have called—I should have . . . but you need to stop treating your sister like a fragile human, Rhett. She’s capable of so much more than you give her credit for.”

Rhett’s jaw muscle twitched. His eyes narrowed. “You’ve known us little more than a week. You’ve not earned the right to coach me on an entire lifetime with Emma.”

Heidi tightened her arms around herself, willing her voice not to shake with feeling. “I realize I still need to learn to understand Emma, but it’s not like her life was in danger. I put her in no danger! I care about her. I did try! And I called you. I brought her home. Give me some credit for good intentions. She even asked to go! I was trying to give her an experience she’d enjoy.”

“She asked to go?” Rhett raised an eyebrow.

“Yes!” Heidi insisted, even as her memory replayed the conversation.

“Really.” He obviously didn’t believe her.

Heidi’s breath caught. Wait. No. Emma had suggested it, not asked. Heidi couldn’t help the way her eyes flew up to meet Rhett’s. “Emma offered the idea,” she corrected weakly.

“Because she knew it was what you wanted.” Rhett shook his head. “Why? Why not wait for my mom to get back to you? Why just go and hope for the best?”

“Because!” Heidi threw her hands in the air and let them fall with slaps against her jean-clad thighs.

“Because why?” Rhett insisted again.

Heidi looked away from his piercing stare. She didn’t say anything. Couldn’t say anything. A tear betrayed her and rolled down her cheek. She angrily swiped at it with her tattooed wrist.

Rhett uncrossed his arms and reached up, dragging his hat from his head. Heidi turned back toward him and was momentarily distracted by the thick mass of light brown hair that stuck up in a zillion directions. With a little grooming and that square jaw, the man would be remarkably handsome. But he intimidated her. Plain and simple. Rhett Crawford was an enigma of fierce loyalty and protection, and God save anyone who threatened his own. In a brief flash of irrational thought, Heidi wished she was his—his fiercely protected—instead of the one who threatened what he held close.

“What’s in it for you?” He ran a hand through his hair, this time in an agitated motion, as though irritated by the fact he couldn’t pinpoint Heidi’s motivation for being in the Crawford home, let alone befriending Emma.

Well, she could be honest about one thing—even if it meant leaving out the reason for why she’d wanted to visit the asylum ruins. Heidi bit the inside of her upper lip, eyeing him with an extreme amount of caution. “I really like your sister. She’s unique. I feel awful for hitting Ducie with my car. But, more than that . . .”

Was it wrong to even attempt to claim she related to Emma in a small way? Would that be insulting? That Emma’s anxiety, extreme as it might culminate, was a physical and visual reaction to what Heidi so often internally fought against? What she was warring against right now?

Rhett waited. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t look even a little bit swayed toward understanding.

Heidi drew in a short, shuddered breath. She couldn’t look the man in the eyes. She stared at the floor. “That’s—that’s it,” she muttered. “I just like your sister.”

Rhett shoved off the counter and edged past her toward the door. He opened it and gave her a piercing look. “You’re not being honest. You can leave now.”

Heidi stared at him in disbelief. Not moving. She’d earned no right to be here, to demand acceptance, and yet she knew if she walked out that door she’d never come back. For some reason, the idea sent desperation coursing through her.

“No,” she whispered.

“No?” Rhett gave her a distrustful smile. “You hurt my sister. More than once. I’ve talked to Brad and Vicki. I know about you.”

Heidi stiffened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Rhett’s hand tightened on the doorknob of the open front door. “You’re all about yourself.”

This time Heidi bit her cheek. The bad habit of biting the insides of her mouth was her war against the senselessness of panic. But this—this was worse. It was hearing the statement her parents, her sister, had drilled into her through her growing-up years as she rebelled against strong restrictions and battled against anxiety defined as lack of faith.

You’re selfish.

You’re not submissive.

You’re only concerned about yourself.

You need to just realize everything is fine and get over it.

Heidi opened her mouth to respond, but her lower lip trembled. She bit down and cleared her throat, finally able to level her gaze on the man.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she whispered.

Rhett met her eyes. “No?”

“No.” Heidi shook her head. “And you don’t deserve to know. Not any of it.”

Rhett gave his head a distinct nod toward the door. “Then you can go.”

Heidi gave a swift glance over her shoulder. Toward the room where Emma rested with Ducie.

“I don’t want to go.” Heidi’s voice shook.

“Why?” Rhett asked quietly, not even frustrated anymore, just challenging her for an adequate answer that she refused to provide him.

“Because—” Heidi shook her head, catching a glimpse of strands of her blue-dipped hair. She glanced at her wrist. Fly free. She should’ve tattooed Fly Away instead. “Never mind.” She hurried to the kitchen table where she’d tossed her bag, snatched it up, and jerked the strap over her shoulder. Fleeing toward the door, she went to exit. But Rhett nudged the door just enough that there wasn’t room for her to pass through.

“Why?” That Rhett was insisting on an answer instead of letting her leave when he’d just told her to confused her. He seemed to circle around her. Cautious, a bit threatening, but almost as if he knew something that she didn’t. Something about herself.

His voice was low, calm. It tore through every part of her that lacked self-confidence. Every part that was afraid, wounded, torn apart. Rhett Crawford didn’t belong in those places, and he hadn’t earned the right to scale those walls with one word and a half-closed door.

Fine. She would give him an answer. If it would make him back away, release her from the cornered trap she was in, and let her flee.

“Because with Emma—I actually feel like I belong.” Heidi jerked the door against his grip and it opened. She slipped through the entrance and didn’t look back.

She should be used to it. The never staying in one place. The always moving on. Only, for the first time in a very long time, she ached to look back.

It was a rash decision, but then she was known for them. Heidi parallel-parked her car on the main street that ran through Pleasant Valley. Most of the buildings were attached, with only a few having narrow alleys between them. They were two-story, flat-front buildings from the turn of the century, constructed of brick or wood. Some of them had been restored to their original vintage charm, while others were covered over with siding reminiscent of the 1970s.

Heidi ignored them as she hiked down the sidewalk, swiping at her face and praying the tears she’d let fall freely in the seclusion of her car hadn’t left dried, salty trails down her cheeks. She could suck it up with the best of them, and she was doing it now. Her feelings spiraled from desperation to anger to offense because of Rhett Crawford. But, her path was clear. It was obvious—as it usually was.

There were only a few things to wrap up and then she’d leave. Leave Pleasant Valley and leave her mother, whose confusing letter seemed like a dance with an old woman’s confusion rather than anything legitimately serious. She would leave Vicki and her brother-in-law behind—gladly. There would certainly be no love lost for the mysterious messages of implied madness. She was crazy? This place was crazy. Rhett Crawford included. Emma, the major exception.

She paused in front of the antique shop and looked up its brick face to the second story and darkened windows. Heidi held the photo album to her chest, drawing her gaze back to the picture window, its display creatively stocked with an old rocking chair with a quilt draped over its back. A Victorian side table with curved legs. A doily hanging over it and a porcelain vase displayed on its center. A rag rug on the floor along with a basket filled with dried bouquets of lavender.

It was charming. It was homey. It was peaceful.

Everything Pleasant Valley wasn’t.

Heidi entered the small alcove and reached for the brass door handle. As she pulled it open, a tin bell announced her arrival.

Facing Connie Crawford would bring closure to a book Heidi had opened but barely started.

She wove through an array of old clocks, books, drawers of antique doorknobs and printing-press keys. While the room smelled a bit musty, there was a tiny hint of cinnamon wafting through the air. Something that hinted of orange and nutmeg too. Essential oils perhaps.

Connie was at the counter and lifted her head, her eyes growing serious, a slight thinning of her lips as she drew them tight.

Heidi didn’t know if that was a bad or a good thing. She approached anyway, the photo album her only shield between herself and Emma’s mother.

“Hello,” Heidi ventured. She couldn’t afford much more. Her veneer of self-confidence and proper reticence had been stretched thin and threatened to bust at any moment.

Connie’s lips softened into a smile. One of gentle empathy. Something Heidi had not expected.

“I got a call from Rhett,” Connie began.

Heidi stopped, the vintage bar counter a barrier between them. She gave a small nod. A tiny knot formed in her stomach. “I’m sure he more than filled you in. I wanted to apologize and return this.”

At Connie’s raised eyebrows, Heidi hurried to explain. “I don’t need my money back, I’m just—I don’t really want the album. And . . .” She set it on the counter and took a step back. “And I’m heading out. So . . .”

Connie nodded, placing her hands on the album’s cover. “I see.”

“Thank you for your hospitality. For allowing me to be Emma’s friend—even for a short while. I’m truly very sorry for the chaos I’ve brought to your family.” Heidi gave a chuckle that was more of a scoff—directed at herself. It was either that or cry. She was done with tears. Rhett had squeezed them all out of her. “Don’t worry. I’ll be out of everyone’s way real soon.”

Connie nodded. She ran a finger over the velveteen of the album, then looked at Heidi, holding her gaze. “Do you always run away like this?”

Heidi blinked. She cleared her throat and clutched at the leather strap of her bag that ran across her chest. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

Connie tapped the book. “You came here a little more than, what, two weeks ago? And we discovered this curious and creepy photograph in the album. When you left that day, I immediately called Rhett and told him the strangest thing had just happened. And after I shared about you and the photograph, I told him that I bet you were the type to sink your teeth into something until you figured it out. You had that sense of intrigue in your eye. A bit of the devil-may-care about you.”

“It’s the hair and tattoos. An age-old stereotype.” Heidi flicked her colored hair and offered a fake laugh, her lame attempt at dissolving the tension with humor.

Connie leaned forward, her arms cradling either side of the album, her palms pressed down on the counter. She tilted her head as if to study Heidi. “But you’re afraid, aren’t you?”

Connie’s words of truth sliced through Heidi with the clean edge of a well-sharpened blade. She blinked, took another step back and toward the door. Yet if she excused herself now, it’d be a fulfillment of Connie’s astute observation. That she ran. Ran away from things.

Well, yes, Connie Crawford. Yes. That was what she did. It was either that or be completely and totally enveloped in the belief that she was an unwanted afterthought, a disappointment, and a failure. It was either that or be consumed by a darkness—a weight—no one could understand or comprehend, because it was the demon that lived inside of her.

“Why did you take to my Emma so?” Connie’s gentle question broke into Heidi’s thoughts. “Circumstances haven’t been particularly conducive to building an attachment, and yet even she has been drawn to you. I’m just curious. Why?”

Hadn’t she just had a similar conversation with Rhett? The big Why question just wouldn’t go away.

Heidi gave Connie a sad smile. “Your daughter is kind—she’s a breath of fresh air. And, I like playing Risk,” she added with a laugh.

“And that’s all?”

Heidi winced and eyed the ceiling with desperation. It wasn’t any help, so she looked back at Connie. “I’m sorry. I really am. I’ve always messed up since I was a kid. Nothing earth-shattering, just—you know—D’s and C’s in school. I didn’t like church, and my dad was a pastor. I listened to Fall Out Boy when my parents wanted me to listen to Steven Curtis Chapman. That type of thing.”

Her answer had nothing to do with Emma.

Connie seemed to understand that. “And . . . ?”

Heidi glanced at the front door again.

“Listen to me, dear.” Connie drew back from the counter and came around it. She then leaned back against the counter, like Rhett had in the Crawford kitchen just a few hours before. Connie’s understanding smile was still there. Her graying hair framed her cheeks and her gray eyes—very much like Rhett’s, only warmer—more sincere.

“Rhett is extremely protective of Emma. Sometimes more than he should be, really. But when you grow up in a small town with a special-needs sister, it can get claustrophobic. You hear everything everyone says and maybe what they think. That’s made Rhett very sensitive.”

Heidi blinked. Sensitive was not the word she would ascribe to the Incredible Hulk.

Connie ignored the raised eyebrow above Heidi’s left eye. “My husband is a hunter. He took the kids out bowhunting with him when they were both old enough to walk. We learned something important about Emma. Emma sees the world in blacks and whites. If you introduce grays, it’s upsetting at a minimum, catastrophic at its worst. If there was a deer, she expected Murphy—my husband—to shoot it. She had no concept of distance or a clear shot. She’d get very upset when he’d let the deer walk away. So, we learned to construct life with black-and-white in mind and prepared ourselves to help her step through the inevitable grays. Through that, growing up and being the older brother, Rhett became a rescuer of sorts.”

“A rescuer?” Heidi couldn’t hide the skepticism in her voice.

“There was a specific time when he was thirteen and went hunting with Murphy. The yardage was perfect, the line of sight unencumbered, so Murphy released the arrow and, well, it was a bad shot. There wasn’t much blood to track. It didn’t seem like the deer was fatally wounded and yet it was difficult to tell. They had to wait a bit, because in some situations, if you try to find a wounded deer, it will keep running, and putting it out of its misery is not possible. Rhett didn’t agree—he wanted to find the buck. But Murphy taught Rhett that day, that sometimes, when an animal is frightened or wounded, you need to pull back, give them space, maybe even let them go.”

“That doesn’t sound remotely like rescuing.” Heidi swallowed against empathy for the poor deer.

“That’s what Rhett thought too,” Connie said. “They went back the next day and tried to track the buck. Unfortunately they didn’t find any more signs of him or a blood trail. But here’s the funny part to the story: Murphy has trail cameras in the woods. The next spring, they checked the images and guess what they saw?”

Heidi waited. Expectantly.

“The buck. He’d survived. Now, if they’d done what Rhett had wanted, they would have pushed him too fast. He might have been injured enough where he’d have bled out and never been found. A complete waste. But by being patient, the deer was able to bed down and heal.”

Heidi nodded. “It’s a strange story, Connie, but I’m not a hunter. I don’t see—”

“We’re not going to chase you, if you want to run. But it’s always been Rhett’s instinct to push forward and rescue the wounded. He sees that in you. That frightened, hurt look in your eyes. The same thing he sees in Emma when she’s overwhelmed. It’s why he pushed you so hard today. He wants you to admit there’s more to your desire to be friends with my daughter. That it’s deeper than you taking Emma to the asylum ruins, regardless of why you did it. That every time someone comes close and maybe could help you heal, you’re skittish. You jump up and it reopens the wounds and something chaotic happens and you keep running.”

Heidi could see the parallel now. She could sense it by the tightening in her stomach. She looked out past the rocking chair and through the front window.

Connie reached out and laid her hand on Heidi’s elbow, drawing Heidi’s attention back to her. “Rhett’s a boorish, backwoods country boy with the conversational skills of a bear. But he’s also a Crawford. We can spot someone who’s been injured. We’ll let you run if you need to, because keeping you here won’t help if in your heart you don’t want to stay.”

The woman’s motherly hand raised and cupped the side of Heidi’s face. It was a foreign feeling. This nurturing gentleness. This forgiving care in spite of her horrendous error in judgment.

“Heidi,” Connie’s voice drew her in. “You love being with Emma because Emma accepts you for who you are. Just like she accepts herself. That girl has more confidence than some of us the world of science would deem ‘neurotypical.’ Without special needs. You must understand, Heidi, we’re all okay if you make mistakes. Just don’t run away. You came here to Pleasant Valley for a reason. Maybe it’s the photograph in the book. Maybe it’s whatever you thought you’d find at the asylum. Who knows? But I see purpose in you. A purpose your Creator designed in you. Let us help you find it.”

Connie removed her palm from Heidi’s cheek and stepped back. But there was pleading in her eyes.

“Please stay. We want you to stay. To try again.” Connie shrugged and gave a small, apologetic chuckle. “You don’t have to let Rhett in. Although he may kick down the door with the finesse of a lumberjack. But Emma really does have an innate judgment about people, and in an extremely brief period of time my black-and-white girl put all her black-and-white trust in you. And that, my dear”—Connie’s words wrapped around Heidi’s turbulent soul—“that’s enough for us.”