Retribution (7 page)

“I told you there was something strange about her,” Bill mumbled, pushing the swing back and forth. “She has secrets, and they're weighing her down.”

For the first time, Roger wondered what Lillian had been doing for the past two years while he had been busy planning her death. Was there more at stake than he knew?

He made his excuses and left. Things had suddenly become complicated.

~*~

Lillian's behavior hung heavy on Trina and Ted's minds, but they hadn't talked about it. Shocked glances passed between them had sufficed.

Even when the three of them had moved to the parlor, and the news on the television had dragged on, no one had mentioned their new guest and her unexpected behavior.

Looking back, Bill could see that the whole day felt strange, as though something was not quite in synch. When had it started? God had gifted him with the ability to pick out vibrations in the environment that others might miss, little nuances, perhaps changes in molecular chemistry of the air around him, who knew? Something had been different today, and most obvious had been Lillian, especially her behavior when Trina got home. Finally, he broached the subject. “So what are you going to do about her?” he asked, resting back on the leather recliner.

Trina sat in the middle of the floor encircled by gift bags decorated with bears and blocks, white boxes laying open, revealing green and yellow sleepers, blankets, and packs of diapers. She glanced at her father, and then returned to the task of feeling, sorting and re-sorting the piles.

“She seemed fine until she saw Trina.” Ted's brows knit together. “Babe, have you ever met her before?”

“What?”

“Have you ever met Lillian before? She seemed surprised to see you.”

“Not that I remember. I mean, in Ohio we only lived sixty miles apart, but she didn't look familiar to me.”

Bill had hoped they might come to the same conclusion he had. “Maybe it wasn't your face that upset her.”

“What else could it be? My big belly?” Trina chuckled and patted her round abdomen.

Bill shrugged his shoulders. “It seemed that way to me.”

“What do you mean?” Ted asked. “Lillian's upset because Trina's pregnant?”

“Look, guys,” Trina said as she grabbed the edge of the sofa and struggled to her feet, “I don't want to second-guess her behavior. She'll explain in the morning.”

“You have to admit, it was strange,” Bill said.

Ted turned to his father-in-law. “You don't think she's dangerous, do you?”

“Enough, you guys! The poor thing had a long drive.”

“I suppose Paul didn't help,” Ted added.

“Did Paul stop by?”

Bill chuckled. “Better than that. He escorted her here, lights flashing, the whole works. Said she needed help to find the place because of the festival.”

“Oh, no! What was he thinking?” Trina shook her head. “Poor Paul. I'm surprised he hasn't called to make sure she got into the house without his help.”

“Speaking of phone calls, Bill, did your sister call?”

“Oh, Dad, I forgot. Today was your open house!”

Bill shifted in the recliner. He had hoped they would forget. “Betsy called. Four or five couples went through the place.”

“That's good,” Trina said.

Ted stared at his father-in-law. “You don't look too excited.”

Trina lowered herself onto the couch beside Ted. “You know you don't have to sell the place.”

“I can't live here and maintain an empty house in Ohio.”

Trina pursed her mouth into a soft frown. “That's what I mean. I love having you here, but you don't have to stay if you'd rather go back home. This is my life, and Ted's life, but we understand it may not be yours.”

He stared into Trina's huge eyes. The depth of love he found there had sustained him through so many bad days. And now, with his growing relationship with Ted, and a grandchild on the way, he had fewer bad days. “I can't think of anywhere I would rather be right now than here. Besides, who'll teach my grandson to play football?”

“What if it's a girl?” Trina asked. “Besides…I thought there might be another reason you were hanging around.”

“I'm going to bed.” He pushed himself out of the recliner.

“Come on Dad, I know you like Sandra. She's a great woman.”

Trina deserved an answer; she was his daughter. Sighing deeply, he wished he could purge himself of all the confusion that rambled around in his mind as easily as he pushed out the air held within him. “Sandra's a great woman, one of the best I've had the privilege of knowing, next to your mother.”

“But…?” Trina asked.

“I'm not ready to make another commitment. I'm not sure I ever will be.” He walked from the room, his heavy footsteps echoing in the hall as he headed toward the stairs.

“Dad!”

He kept walking; the discussion was over but their words filtered to him.

“Let it go, Babe.”

“But Ted…”

“Give him some space. He'll make the right decision in his own time.”

There had been one offer on the house already, and he had turned it down. True, it had not been a great offer, but the mortgage had been paid off for years. The problem wasn't money, but sentiment. The house was all he had left of his life with Nancy. They had bought the house together. Raised Trina as a couple until Nancy died. So many memories. And his commitment to one woman. How could he explain to Trina that even after fifteen years the commitment to a dead wife remained strong?

But his future had to compete for synaptic brain time with a new threat: this strange woman, Lillian Hunter. He rubbed his arms, trying to scrape off some of the tension. As the evening had progressed, like an electrical charge before a storm, the tension had grown. What was God trying to tell him?

He passed the room assigned to Lillian and hesitated. Not a sound penetrated through the door. Should he knock and check on her? What had been written on her face when Trina appeared? Shock? Pain?

The thought drifted into his mind as gently as a mother's touch, but it left him rocking as though punched. Would they find Lillian Hunter dead in the morning?

Then he knew. That's what he had been feeling all day. Death.

6

After Lillian had escaped from the porch, she had waited, expecting Ted to pound on the door of Trina's favorite room and demand that she leave. No one had come, and as the darkness outside had deepened, she had heard footsteps enter the house.

Voices, mumbled and indistinct, had flowed under her door like wisps of smoke.

Numbness had covered her in its cocoon, and eventually sleep had overtaken her.

Now, early morning sun dappled patterns on the walls, leafy, lacy designs that shifted from stout to elongated with the bend of the limbs outside the window. She blinked in the brightness. The warmth of the rays battled with her mood.

God, why here? You know how far I've come to regain my life. I shared secrets with You that I keep locked in the darkest corner of my heart. My arms ache from emptiness. The pain feels like parts of me are being ripped off my body each time I see small children. Or pregnant women, their joy just beginning. You should have stopped me…

She rolled away from the window, and tears escaped through her clenched eyes. A guttural moan rose from her throat as she pushed her face into the bedding and wrapped the edges of the pillow around her head, muffling her pain from any listening ears.

With tears purged, she dragged unsteady hands across her wet cheeks and reached blindly toward the nightstand. Breath caught in her throat as her fingertips touched wood. Launching upright in bed, she stared at the table with its small Big Ben clock and antique lamp. The Bible that she had laid there was gone.

The suitcase stood open against the wall and she collapsed back onto the bed, sighing in relief. Last night, in her anger, she had tossed all her possessions into the suitcase before throwing herself on the bed in tears.

The Bible found, but lacking the strength to cross the room to retrieve it, she rolled onto her back. Her eyes kept dropping closed. Perhaps it was the lack of sleep, or the long drive that made her unusually tired. Or the task that lay before her.

The homeowners deserved an explanation. Did she have the physical or emotional energy to share the truth with strangers? And what was the truth? Had God let her down? She had not doubted His love during the months of agony after Craig's and Susan's deaths, so why the prickling doubt now? Craig would tell her to trust, but it was so hard…

Eventually she had to go downstairs and confront the woman and her swollen belly. Dr. Widder had predicted correctly; her behavior in the past twenty-four hours had been erratic. First, the incident at the rest area, then her childish enjoyment over the handsome patrolman, and finally her reaction to the homeowner, pregnant and glowing.

She had to leave the McIverson Bed and Breakfast.

With dragging feet, she headed to the bathroom. As the water from the shower pulsed against her back, she again considered how to explain her actions. There was no excuse for her poor behavior except the truth, and she refused to dig that deeply into her shame with strangers.

Standing in front of the mirror, she examined her beige slacks and hunter-green silk blouse. Folds of fabric that her body once had filled sagged around her. As she patted the loose material, hoping to minimize the gaps, strawberry blonde curls, still damp from the shower, sprang around her face. She shoved part of the unruly hair behind her ear, knowing the effort was futile; the curls would eventually form childish ringlets around her face.

Now, she needed to settle the bill and put this behind her. She tossed her brush into the suitcase, closed the zipper, and grabbed her checkbook. Standing tall, she took one last look around the room that had been home for twelve hours. It would have been the perfect place to start a new life.
God, if You're still listening to me, help me through this day.

Clenching her jaw, she descended the stairs.

Guided by voices, she stood at the kitchen door.

The morning sun streamed through the large window, filling the kitchen with light. To the left, Ted and Bill sat on opposite sides of an oak harvest table, while Trina worked across the kitchen at the counter, her back to the men. Plates were stacked in the middle of the table, glasses and juice on the near end, and a basket with silverware and napkins on the other. Bill and Ted clutched mugs in their hands.

The scent of eggs and sausage taunted Lillian's empty stomach.

“Dad, it's chicken salad today for your lunch,” Trina said. “Hope that's OK.”

“Sounds great, honey.”

Digging for her determined spirit, that legendary streak of stubbornness that she could always count on during hard situations, Lillian found only an empty hole. Here she was, in the south, starting her new life, and already giving up after the first uncomfortable situation.

When Trina turned and locked gazes with her, she tightened her spine, ready for whatever came next. Would the woman offer a piece of her mind on a breakfast platter? Or maybe her style was more the famed southern hospitality, and she would stoically perform her duties as hostess.

Sweat dampened Lillian's underarms.
Be polite
.

Trina's face broke into a smile “Lillian, I didn't hear you come down. Come. Join us, unless you would rather eat in the dining room. Since you're alone, I thought maybe you would prefer company.”

Definitely southern hospitality.

Ted pulled out the chair at the end of the table. His smile was welcoming, not like the daggers she had expected.

What kind of people let one insult them at night, and then shared their food the next morning? Maybe her hostess had mixed arsenic in the muffins…or some of those chocolate laxative wafers. She had heard of a person doctoring a birthday cake, and all the guests ended up with diarrhea.

Three pair of eyes stared at her.

“I'll just grab something in town.”

“Nonsense.” Trina put her hands on her hips. “You're paying for a bed
and
a breakfast, so have a seat.” A huge grin followed the command.

Hesitantly, Lillian walked toward the chair Ted had pulled out. Even though all her instincts told her to leave, she sat. Whatever the agenda, at least she wasn't being greeted with the flat side of a frying pan. But anything with chocolate, no matter how good it looked, was off-limits.

Icy fingers went up her back as Bill sipped his coffee and stared at her. With his blank expression, it was impossible to read his thoughts. Was he preparing to drag her out of the room if she misbehaved?

Her throat tightened. This was a mistake.

“Did you sleep all right?” Trina wiped her hands on a towel. “I worried after you…”

Her chest heaved, almost filling out the silk blouse. The dreaded time had come. “I apologize—”

“It's all right,” Trina replied, her eyes softening.

How dare she minimize my behavior? I know when I'm out of line. Is she trying to replace my parents as the boss of my life? When will people let me own my feelings?
She gritted her teeth. “No, it isn't. I behaved poorly.” She worked her fingers against the wood of the table, trying to keep her anger in check. “It won't happen again.”

Trina's hand rested on her arm. The woman's touch felt soft and gentle, like Beth's. “I understand, and it
is
all right. Now, what would you like for breakfast?”

Ted cleared his throat. “I recommend the egg casserole.”

Bill's eyes burned against her face. Even though Trina had said to forget the incident, Bill didn't seem as willing.

“What can I get you to drink?” Trina asked. “I have coffee ready, but if you prefer, I can make you hot chocolate.”

“No chocolate!” The words spat out with more force than she had intended. “Coffee is fine. Where are the cups?” she asked, rising from her chair. “I can help myself and save you a few steps.”
And keep you from adding arsenic.