Broken Angels (4 page)

“You betcha.” The quiet resignation on his face, coupled with that boyish grin of his, reminded her why she’d once been so infatuated with him. “Kristen knows them all by name. She strong-arms me into taking her to a different one each day.”

She swallowed to wash away the syrupy emotion pooling in her throat. “That doesn’t surprise me. She has her mother’s memory. And her uncle’s bullheadedness.”

“Now there’s the pot calling the kettle black.”

She quirked a brow. “Are you saying I’m bullheaded?”

“I don’t think bullheaded is strong enough to describe you. You’ve got a one-track mind. Once you get fixated on something, there’s no derailing you.”

They were heading down an old, familiar path, and at the end of it only heartache dwelled. “There’s nothing wrong with being persistent.”

“There is if it slowly tears you apart.”

She eyed him steadily, accusingly. “When something’s really important to me, I’d rather die trying than give up.” She never would have quit on their marriage the way he had.

He flinched, and too late she realized her words had scratched open an old wound. “You almost did,” he said flatly.

She didn’t want to discuss that again. They’d gone over
the incident
so many times it made her head spin just thinking about it. “I told you that was an accident.”

He didn’t answer, and she was seized by the desire to shake him. Why did he refuse to believe her? “Is that why you walked out on me? Because you didn’t want to be married to a basket case?” she asked instead.

His jaw clenched. A muscle twitched below his cheekbone. “After all these months you still don’t get it.” He shook his head as if he were the injured party instead of her. “If it makes you happy to think of me as a coward and a quitter, go right ahead. I’m too tired to argue.”

She wanted to tell him that it didn’t make her happy. She hadn’t been happy in years. Happiness was as tangible as air, as evasive as water. Whenever she tried to close her fingers around it, it melted from her grasp. Maybe people weren’t really meant to hold on to it. Maybe it was simply a promise, hovering just beyond their reach, tempting and seducing them with the possibilities it offered. Just another way to keep them forging ahead, as tantalizing and as deceptive as hope.

She stood and walked to the window. The sun gilded all it touched, made the water spraying from the fountain glow silver and gold. Above, white-winged clouds floated across a yawning blue sky. “There’s nothing left to argue about,” she finally said. “Sometimes things just end. There’s no going back.”

The problem was, she still didn’t know how to move forward. For as long as she could remember, Zach had been a part of her life. She’d met Lindsay in middle school, and from that day forward Zach had been there—the embodiment of all her desires wrapped in a most seductive package.

Over time she’d grown to love him, hate him and eventually lose him. Now he was back in her life again, and she didn’t know what to do with him, didn’t know where he fit anymore. They could never be lovers again, but with any luck maybe they could learn to be friends again. They had no choice. Three kids depended on them.

The chair scraped the linoleum floor as he rose. “I think I’ll take you up on your offer.” He refused to meet her gaze. “I could use a shower. I still smell like puke.”

She watched him leave, happy to have some time to herself. Zach’s presence unsettled her. Something about him slipped past her carefully erected defenses and filled her with bitterness, a weakening sense of loss and, worst of all, the one feeling she’d sworn she’d never allow into her heart again—hope.

Chapter Four

Rebecca pulled out her laptop, tapped into the WiFi network and began searching the Web. With any luck her efforts would trigger an idea for her next story. She worked for a magazine called
Women Today
, and once a month she submitted an article dealing with issues the modern woman faced—career, family, health and so forth. She didn’t have much to say about family, but career and health she could usually gush about for pages upon pages.

Writing her last article, however, had been an ordeal. As much as she’d tried, her mind had kept drifting to Lindsay, to the unspeakable circumstances of her death. She found it no less difficult to concentrate here in her home, where reminders of her best friend were everywhere. The watercolor she’d painted back in high school hung in the hallway. Wedding pictures of her and Liam, with Rebecca and Zach standing vigil on either side of them, adorned end tables and bookcases. A small pewter frame boasted the image of Lindsay holding a newborn Noah in her arms. Rebecca hadn’t been able to bring herself to look at that photograph in years.

It sat on the kitchen counter now. Sunlight poured through the window in white sheets to kiss the brushed silver. The glare of the glass taunted her, constantly pried her gaze from her computer screen until she felt compelled to stand up and walk toward it. She reached out, closed her fingers around the cold metal.

For the first time she forced herself to really look at the snapshot. She noted the exhaustion on her friend’s face, the limpness of her hair, her widened hips and bloated belly. In all the years Rebecca had known her, Lindsay had never looked worse…or happier. The way she held that baby as if he were a natural extension of herself, the tenderness soaking her features as she gazed at his dozing face, hit Rebecca like a punch to the gut. The small frame suddenly felt heavy in her palm, so she placed it back on the counter and turned away.

Decisively, she walked to the table and shut off her computer. There was no way she’d get any work done today. She was far too distracted and far too emotional. If there was one thing she’d learned, it was to write with her brain, not her heart.

Her heart was erratic, undependable, and more often than not led her down the wrong path. Her mind, on the other hand, was a compass, keeping her focused, pointing her in the right direction.

And right now it was telling her to go check on the kids. They were way too quiet for her liking.

Noah stood outside his dad’s home office, trying to find the guts to walk in. He hadn’t stepped into this room since that night—the night his parents died—and he was tired of feeling like a coward. If only he hadn’t been such a chicken that night, maybe…

A fist tightened in his throat. He was such a loser.

His aunt thought he was watching TV, but some dumb baby show had come on and the computer was here, so he figured he’d have a lot more fun playing one of his games.

If only he could open the stupid door.

He wrapped his hand around the handle. It was cold, like the weight in his chest. Slowly, he turned it, inched the door open. The hinges creaked, and he nearly lost his nerve.

Stop being such a baby. Nothing’s in there.

Nothing but the images in his head. Images he just couldn’t erase, no matter how hard he tried.

He took a deep breath, a small step forward, then another. Before he knew it, he was inside.

See, that wasn’t so bad.

The room didn’t look much different. The carpet was gone, but that was about it. It was hard to believe his parents had died here. But they had.

All his insides stung as if something was trying to rip the flesh from his bones. He hunched his shoulders to hold in the pain, to keep it from devouring him. It didn’t work. It just tied him up in knots and made his belly ache.

So he did what he always did when he wanted to forget how much life sucked—he ran to his dad’s computer. He hadn’t gone on Falcon World in weeks, ever since he and his dad had that nasty scrap and he’d forbidden him from ever logging onto his favorite site again, which was totally unfair. Still, he felt guilty for disobeying him, even though his dad wasn’t around anymore. Maybe it was because he was in this room, where his parents had been shot.

The pain returned—a sharp, burning sword slashing through him—so he turned the computer on. What did it matter if he played a game or two with one of his online friends? What was the big deal, anyway? He tossed a glance over his shoulder as he waited for the lousy machine to boot up. It seemed to take forever.

Finally, color exploded on the screen. Using his parents’ e-mail address, Noah quickly reactivated the account his dad had blocked, then went to the login page. He knew his way around a computer, and that pleased him. It was cool to be good at something, especially computers. He typed in his screen name, Raptor100, followed by his password. Anyone who signed up had to use the name of a bird. That was the way things worked at Falcon World. He didn’t recognize any of the other players, but he hung out with them for a while just the same.

Then Night-Owl came on. He always seemed to be around when Noah was there, so they’d become friends. They chatted about all sorts of things—mainly the latest games and how annoying adults were.

Noah loved the talks he had with Night-Owl. It was great to speak to someone who actually listened for a change.

“Hey, Raptor WB. WU?”
Welcome back. What’s up?

Noah didn’t feel like going into the whole ugly story, so he wrote: “Nothing much. My life blows.”

“Y?”

“NVM.”
Never mind.

“Glad you’re back. This place sucks without U.”

Warmth spread through him, numbed the hurt. It felt good to know that someone actually wanted him around. Normally, people just wanted him gone.

“Wanna play Checkers?” That was the game he and Night-Owl always played on Falcon World, so Noah suggested it, partly because he wanted to change the subject and partly because he was looking for something to help him forget.

“K.”

When the game came on, all Noah could see was the gun, that long barrel with the squares carved into it. It blurred his vision, made his brain go blank. He tried to push the images aside and focus on the game, but they refused to go away.

So much for forgetting.

After Night-Owl beat him three times, Noah decided to give up. “EIE!”
Enough is enough.

Night-Owl sent him a laughing face. “ROFL. Sore loser.”

“BM.”
Bite me.

“Wait till we meet F2F.” Then, “Why didn’t you show up last time?”

Embarrassment singed his cheeks. “My dad grounded me.”

“IDGI. Y?”

Noah didn’t get it, either, so he wasn’t sure how to explain it to Night-Owl. “Long story,” he typed.

“Wanna come over tomorrow? I got DSI.”

Excitement shot through Noah. DSI had cooler games than his Game Boy. It would be awesome to play some of them with Night-Owl, but his dad would be royally pissed. Then it hit him again, like a hammer to the brain. His dad was dead. Uncle Zach and Aunt Becca were in charge now.

Maybe they wouldn’t mind letting him visit his buddy. Night-Owl was all right. He was twelve and lived in Boston. He loved video games, just like him. He had a crazy cat named Ralph. He couldn’t see why Uncle Zach and Aunt Becca would have a problem letting him meet Ralph.

Then again, maybe they would. He couldn’t chance telling them.

From the kitchen came the sound of footsteps. His aunt was up and about. Noah’s heart pounded a ferocious beat against his ribs. “PAH. BBL.”
Parent at home
, he typed.
Be back later.

He quickly shut off the computer, then raced back to the living room. Kristen was nowhere in sight. An episode of
Dora the Explorer
flashed on the television screen. Backpack was singing a silly song about having everything you need.

He flipped the channel and popped in a PlayStation game. Then, settling himself on the couch, he grabbed the controller and adopted his bored, innocent, couldn’t-care-less expression.

Noah slumped on the couch, playing some animated video game when Rebecca entered the living room. He was alone. An unsettling hush hung in the air, disrupted only by the occasional beep of Noah’s game.

“Where’s your sister?”

“Don’t know.” The boy’s eyes refused to stray from the screen.

“How can you not know? She was sitting right next to you a few minutes ago.”

He shrugged evasively. The television set let out a victorious jingle, and Noah howled in triumph.

Realizing she was getting nowhere, she decided to search the house. The girl couldn’t have gone far. She was probably upstairs in her room playing.

Rebecca mounted the steps. The pitter-patter of the shower echoed from across the hall. The image of Zach standing naked beneath the jets, surrounded by steam, his skin glistening as water sluiced over him, flashed in her mind. There was a time she would have shed her clothing and joined him. Now she just tamped down the thick lump of yearning clogging her windpipe and kept walking.

She stopped to check on Will. He lay in his crib, fast asleep, his tiny hand clutching a yellow blanket. An aura of peace enveloped him. For a moment she stood in the doorway, absorbing the sight of his little face slackened by sleep as blades of light knifed through the horizontal blinds and streaked his skin gold. A different kind of yearning gripped her, and again she walked away.

Kristen’s room was at the end of the hall. She thought back to the day Lindsay had first shown it to her. Her friend had been so excited energy had rippled from her and made the air around her pulse. All Rebecca had managed in response was a stiff smile and the words: “It’s nice. Very…girlie.”

The room hadn’t changed. Gauzy white curtains with pink ribbons hung from the windows. Framed pictures of various Disney princesses adorned the walls. A white canopy bed with pastel-pink linens stretched over a joyful rug sprinkled with tiny flowers. A fuzzy brown teddy bear sat in a miniature wooden rocking chair, surrounded by a slew of stuffed animals of every size, shape and color.

But one thing—or more precisely, person—was missing. Kristen.

Alarm and self-disgust leapt through her. She’d barely been here two hours and she’d already lost one of the children. Where could the girl have gone?

Urgency nipping at her heels, she bolted from the room and scrambled down the stairs. Seconds later she burst into the living room, where Noah still sat, thoroughly enthralled by his game.