Betrayed Hearts (12 page)

 

****

 

Apprehension marred Lily's enjoyment of the glorious morning sunshine. She'd put off this unpleasant chore long enough, but if she wanted answers to her past, visiting her childhood home was the best place to start. Now, with a rare day off from the salon, she had no excuse to prevent her from going.

As she walked down Elm Street, Lily drank in the charming atmosphere of the neighborhood where she must have played as a child. She admired the Victorian-style houses, the white-washed fences, and the tall mountain ash trees that shaded the sidewalk. Farther down the street, the manicured residences gave way to a large lot with overgrown hedges. Lily's steps slowed as she neared the old house on the property. She didn't need to check the number hanging askew on the porch post to know it was the right address. Something deep inside her had quivered in recognition the moment she saw it—the brick walkway now obscured by weeds, the old wrap-around porch, the carved oak door.

After scanning the street to make sure no one was watching, she climbed the rickety steps and reached out to try the door, expecting it to be locked. When the knob turned under her hand, she jumped. The hinges groaned in noisy protest as she pushed inward. Her heart pounded in her ears, blocking out all other sounds. On the other side of the threshold, Lily hesitated, the musty smell of an unused residence assaulting her senses. She found herself in the middle of a tiled foyer with an enormous staircase leading up to the second story. Her eyes followed the stairs upward, but courage failed her at the thought of facing the bedrooms.

Instead, she headed toward the back of the house where the huge kitchen spanned the entire width of the building. Snatches of sunlight slipped past the grime on the window, illuminating the once homey room. With a start, Lily found she could picture it exactly as it had looked eighteen years ago. A glimpse of a pretty woman in a white apron stirring something on the stove skirted across her memory.

She crossed to the kitchen counter where a ceramic cookie jar sat covered in dust. She lifted the lid and looked inside. The years vanished and suddenly she was a child reaching into that container for a cookie. A ball of emotion rose in her throat as memories crashed over each other like waves against a rocky shore. Memories of fighting with her brothers over the cookies in this very jar. Memories of her mother stepping in to smooth the waters. The lid slipped from her nerveless fingers and clattered onto the counter, cracking in two. She stared at the broken crockery overcome by the fact that, for the first time, she'd remembered her two younger brothers. They'd been mischievous imps, always teasing her and fighting with her.

She clutched her necklace with shaking fingers and turned to focus on the kitchen table. A strong impulse compelled her to run her hand over the grimy surface. She remembered breakfasts at this table, milk being spilled and a dark-haired baby in the high chair, banging a spoon.

That baby was Chloe.

Lily bit down hard on her lip to stop the quivering. The dusty air became suffocating. She tightened her grip on her purse and headed back to the entry where the stairs loomed ahead of her. Reaching out, she steadied herself on the newel post. Could she face going up there? If she'd already started to remember her family, would she also remember the devastation that occurred in those rooms?

She closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the wooden rail. Though terror threatened to overwhelm her, she refused to let it take hold. This could be her chance to find out what had really happened that day so long ago. She took a deep breath, stiffened her spine and started up the steps.

 

****

 

Nick was halfway home when his cell phone went off.

What now?
He pulled his truck to the shoulder of the road and flipped open the device.

“Logan.”

“Nick? It's Peg Hanley. Sorry to bother you.”

He frowned. It wasn't often Peg called him. “What's up?”

“You keep an eye on the old Strickland house for your aunt, don't you?”

“Yes. Why?”

“I just drove by there, and I think the front door's open. I would've stopped to check, but I'm late for an appointment.”

Nick scrubbed a hand over his face. “Thanks for letting me know. Probably teenagers but I'll swing by and see.”

He pocketed his phone, checked his mirrors, and pulled a U-turn, heading the truck toward the outskirts of town. He hadn't been by the property in a while. He usually liked to drive by every few weeks to keep his goal at the forefront of his agenda, as well as to save Aunt Sonia from having to worry about it.

Nick slowed his speed as he neared the estate. The acreage of land sprawled around the house was dotted with trees and overgrown bushes. Yet he could picture with vivid clarity exactly how it would look when he'd transformed it into “The Logan Shelter for Women”—the manicured lawns, colorful gardens, and the children's playground he planned to build. The house itself would need extensive repairs, having been left empty for so many years. Luckily, he enjoyed that type of work.

He pulled to a stop at the curb in front of the run-down structure. Peg was right. The front door stood slightly ajar, and there was no car in sight. In all the times he'd been by to check, it had never been open. Maybe a homeless person had taken refuge inside. Or maybe kids were using it as a hangout. He turned off the engine and got out of the cab.

As a safety precaution, he pulled a crowbar from the back of his truck. With a quick prayer, he climbed the stairs, crossed the wide porch, and stepped through the front doorway.

He scanned the empty foyer, and his eyes narrowed at the distinct pattern of footprints visible in the dust on the floor. From the size of the shoe, his theory about teen intruders could be correct. He paused for a moment to listen for any movement that might give away their whereabouts—if they were still here. A muffled noise caught his attention. It seemed to come from upstairs. Senses on high alert, he crept up the staircase, one step at a time. Dust motes danced in the musty air. Cobwebs draped down from the corners above him.

When one stair creaked loudly beneath his foot, he stopped dead. Beads of sweat popped out on his forehead. Had they heard him? He stilled, holding his breath in the silence. Then an undistinguishable sound echoed through the empty structure from above.

Palms slicked with sweat, Nick continued his slow ascent. When he reached the upper hall, he turned to the left, almost tiptoeing down the carpeted hallway. One door stood wide open and sounds like muffled weeping drifted out. Shaking off unsettling thoughts of rumors that the house was haunted, he tightened his grip on the crowbar and entered a child's room. Shock halted his feet. A woman knelt huddled on the ground beside a crib, her dark head bent over her hands. She rocked back and forth, weeping softly.

Nick lowered the crowbar to his side as his brain struggled to make sense of the details. The jeans…the shoes…the familiar brown jacket… “Lily?”

She raised a tear-streaked face to him. The pupils in her brown eyes were dilated and unfocused. “Nick? What are you doing here?” She seemed dazed.

“I was about to ask you the same thing.” He leaned toward her, alarm spiking through him. “What's wrong? Why are you crying?”

She didn't answer, only lowered her head into her hands. His pulse thudded an erratic warning. He set the crowbar on a dusty dresser and went to kneel beside her.

“Lily, what is it?” He kept his voice as gentle as possible while trying to imagine what she was doing in this abandoned house that belonged to his cousin.

She wiped her face on the sleeve of her jacket and went to stand. He rose with her, steadying her with a hand under her elbow. Her eyes now appeared more focused, less hazy. She gripped his arm and looked up at him.

“This used to be my home,” she said in a shaky voice.

Nick could only stare. She wasn't making sense.

“Bad things happened here, Nick.” Her free hand flew up to grab her necklace like it was an anchor in a storm. Her eyes mirrored the same storm raging within her.

“I know,” he said in his most soothing voice. “A terrible tragedy occurred here. But that was a long time ago.” Maybe she'd been studying the history of the house. Sarah Jane said she'd been reviewing archived news articles at the library.

Her nostrils flared. “Not that long ago.”

He frowned, an uneasy sensation rising in his chest. “What do you know about it?” Dread filled him, as if he knew the answer would be inconceivable.

Life altering.

“I lived through it.”

The pain on her face revealed the truth of her words.

“My name used to be Lily Strickland.”

 

 

 

 

10

 

Lily stared out the window of Nick's truck while the scenery sped by in a blur. She couldn't stop the flood of memories crashing over her with relentless fury. Her body still shook with uncontrollable tremors. Standing in her old bedroom, she'd relived the terror she'd felt as a five-year-old girl facing a man with a gun. She re-experienced the horrific explosion of pain in her chest. Those feelings were as real to her now as the ridge of her scar. But more worrisome was her inability to recall the gunman's face. The fact that it could've been her biological father haunted her.

The motion of the truck stopped. Nick shifted into park and turned off the engine. “Come on. I know a place we can talk.”

Lily allowed him to help her out of the vehicle. He kept an arm under her elbow as they walked. After a few minutes, the sound of rushing water penetrated her consciousness. As if coming out of a fog, Lily realized they were walking across a grassy area toward the river.

“I thought I'd show you our town's namesake,” Nick said. “The falls are beautiful, even without the rainbow.”

They followed the river until they rounded a bend, and the sheer majesty of Rainbow Falls hit her full force. She stopped to take in the sight, allowing the wonder of the cascading water to banish all the bad memories for the moment. The smell of the evergreen trees, the soothing gurgle of the water as it flowed, the sunlight glinting off the river, all acted as a gentle tonic to her soul.

“There's a log we can sit on over there.” Nick pointed to a fallen tree near the water's edge.

After they sat, Nick pulled a bottle of water from the pocket of his jacket and handed it to her. She thanked him and took a long swallow to ease her parched throat.

“This is my favorite spot,” he said. “I come here when I need to think or pray, to feel closer to God.”

Lily concentrated on each minute detail of the landscape, hoping the numbness inside would last a little longer. Because if it didn't—if she allowed one hint of emotion to leak out—the floodgates would open, and she'd fall apart completely.

They sat in silence for a long time, until her muscles stiffened from her rigid posture. Nick must have a million questions, but he'd respected her privacy enough not to pry, to wait until she was ready to open up. The problem was she didn't have a clue how to begin.

“If you want to talk, I'm a good listener,” Nick said quietly.

When she looked into his sincere blue eyes, every instinct told her she could trust him. She needed to tell someone about her past, about this horrific discovery. She'd borne the burden alone since that fateful night at her father's.

She licked her dry lips and exhaled. “I always knew I was adopted. My parents told me my family had died in a fire, and I'd been the only survivor. I found out a few weeks ago that wasn't entirely true. A tragedy took the lives of my family, but it wasn't an accident. They were murdered.”

“How did you find out?”

She frowned. Why didn't he seem more shocked? “I found a newspaper clipping about the Rainbow Falls murders at my father's house. I didn't understand the connection until I found my birth certificate underneath.” She took another quick swallow of water before twisting the cap back on. “When I realized I had a sister, I knew I had to find her.”

She glanced over at Nick, his face a mask of resignation.

“Chloe's your sister,” he whispered. “That's why you've taken such an interest in her.”

She nodded. The sadness oozing out of him made her wish the answer could be different. “Did you know your cousin was adopted?”

“Yes. Chloe knows, too. She just doesn't know the details of her past.” Alarm leapt into his eyes. “You're not going to tell her, are you?”

Lily jerked to her feet and moved to the edge of the river. The water cascaded into the pool below, the churning water mirroring her inner turmoil. Nick's simple question summed up her whole conflict. How could she rip Chloe's world apart with a story so horrific? Yet how could she remain silent?

“I'm not planning to say anything yet.” She kept her back to him and sensed him rise from his perch on the log.

“But you will at some point?”

She wouldn't lie to him, not even to ease his mind. “When the time is right, yes.” After several minutes of silence, she turned to face him. “Did you know Chloe had a sister?” The breeze pushed a strand of hair across her face, catching in her eyelashes. She reached up to pull it away as she waited for Nick's reply.

He came toward her, stopping inches from where she stood. “No, I didn't. I remember hearing pieces of the story as a child. But from what I understood, the whole family had died—except for Chloe.”

Lily's life had always been shadowed by half-truths, secrets, and hypocrisy. Yet, in the core of her being, she knew he spoke the truth. She wanted to trust him—she just wasn't certain she could yet.

Nick must have seen the struggle playing across her face. He scrubbed a hand over his chin. “My aunt may know more about it than she's told me. But right now she's very ill. I don't want to upset her by bringing up that painful time.”