Mending Places (36 page)

When Hanna woke, she saw the snow had stopped sometime during the night. The white powder whipped through the air, driven by the vigorous wind. A thick pile of snow crowded the end of the drive, evidence that a plow had attempted to clear the road. Everything was once again covered, and judging by the forecast, it would be a couple of days before travel would be possible.

Physically, Hanna felt better, but Micah’s words from the night before cast a shadow of fear over her heart. She had to convince him he was wrong, but first she had to find out what he was thinking. And that was proving to be as difficult today as it had been yesterday. Between his evasiveness and Gram’s presence, it was after lunch before an opportunity arose.

Gram took her plate to the kitchen and returned for the other dishes.

“I’ll get them,” Hanna said.

Gram nudged her glasses up onto the bridge of her nose. “Well, all right. I think I might go take a nap.”

Hanna’s stomach stirred as she realized the moment had arrived.

Immediately after Gram left, Micah rose and carried his plate through the swinging doors.

Oh no, you don’t. You’re not getting away that easily.
She swallowed the last bite of chicken salad and followed. Her knees weakened. What if he wouldn’t listen? What if she lost him?

She came through the door just as he was leaving.

He stepped aside. “Sorry.”

She remained still, blocking his escape. “Micah, we need to talk.”

He leaned back against the counter and sighed. Twin commas formed between his brows.

She crossed her arms. “What’s going on with you?” She searched his face for a clue to his thoughts. His lashes hung at half-mast; his gaze skated across the linoleum. He gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. “It’s like I said. I need out. I can’t do this.”

“We were doing fine.” She hated the wobble in her voice. “What happened?”

“I told you a long time ago. I can’t get involved with you—with anyone; it’s all wrong.” He looked everywhere but Hanna’s face.

Was it fear? Had the intensity of his feelings frightened him? She grabbed at the thought. “You’re scared. You’re developing feelings, and sometimes it’s—”

“No. That’s not it.” His jaw twitched.

“Then what?” Her pulse raced; her head pounded.

He looked away, finding the dishtowel hanging on the oven door. “It’s like I said. It’s over, that’s all. I’m sorry.”

The finality of the words, his deep voice, sent quivers of dread over her. It didn’t make sense. Everything was fine until the night Devon had attacked her. She shook her head slowly, suspicion crawling up her spine. “There’s something you’re not telling me. You’re not even looking at me.”

His eyes swung to hers and clung. Tiny red veins squiggled through the whites of his eyes as if a toddler had taken a red ink pen to them. “I don’t want to hurt you, Hanna.”

She resisted the impulse to stamp her foot. “What do you think you’re doing now?” She pleaded with her eyes. “Micah, don’t you know, I love—”

“Don’t! You don’t know who I am. You don’t know.”

“Tell me then.”

“I can’t!” He pivoted away, clutching the edge of the steel sink, his wide shoulders tense. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

She stepped closer to him and grasped his arm, turning him around. Pain glazed his eyes. When she saw the film of tears, her heart caught. She wanted to soothe his fears. She wanted to love him. She lifted a hand to his jaw. His skin was rough with stubble, and his jaw flexed.

“Tell me,” she said.

Something—she wasn’t sure what—shadowed his eyes.

“You don’t know what you’re asking,” he whispered.

“Tell me.” Her hand fell away.

He stared at her without blinking. She saw love flicker in his eyes. Her heart thrilled for just a moment.

He opened his mouth to speak.

She waited for the words that would explain, wished she could pull them from him. His mouth closed again.
Tell me.
She telegraphed the message with her eyes.

“It was me,” he rasped.

Confusion ricocheted through her mind while the adrenaline of dread coursed through her veins. His behavior, more than his words, terrified her. “What was you?”

Suddenly she recognized the emotion she saw in his eyes. It was remorse.

“That night. All those years ago …”

His intensity scared her, and her heart lurched. She couldn’t breathe. Fear kindled a fire in her midsection.

“I was leaving the bar. It was late. I’d had too much to drink.” His voice droned on as though he was in another place, another time.

“It was dark. I saw someone walking beside the road.”

Comprehension ignited the fuse of shock.
No! It can’t be!

“She looked like my mother. And suddenly—I wanted to hurt her. For all the times she—I wasn’t thinking straight.”

Hanna felt her teeth chatter. Her stomach rolled. Through a veil of tears, she saw his eyes narrow with fervor.

“I followed her. Attacked her.” He blinked, and a tear rolled down his face.

She shook her head.
No! Please, God, no!
Her stomach clenched. Bile rose in her throat.

“It was me.” His eyes closed. He turned his face from her.

The nightmare slashed like a dagger through her mind. The darkness. The terror. The monster. Revulsion burned like acid in her stomach.

It was him.

Micah, whom she’d confided in.

Micah, whom she’d kissed.

Micah, whom she’d loved.

White noise exploded inside her. A great roar, like a jet on takeoff. He was the monster who’d hurt her, left her terrified of the dark, left her terrified of men. Anger boiled, hot and furious. The man she’d feared, the man who’d shamed her and stolen her body, was standing in front of her.

Her hand lashed out, striking him across the face. The harsh crack seemed magnified.

Slowly, he lifted his hollow eyes to hers.
Do it again,
they seemed to beg.

Something in her shattered like glass, a thousand fragments piercing her soul. The force of it left her dizzy. Blackness closed in around her. The room swam. Her stomach heaved, setting her feet in motion.

CHAPTER THIRTY
 

Hanna sat on the cold tile, her knees pulled up to her chest, her arms curled around them. She didn’t know how much time had passed since Micah had ceased his pleading. She’d gotten up only once. To lock the door.

“I’m sorry, Hanna. I’m so sorry.”
His words haunted her. They’d seeped through the doorjamb as though he’d had his forehead pressed against the door.
“Open the door. Please.”

Her mouth had felt thick like it was stuffed with wool. After her stomach had emptied, she’d dry-heaved until it cramped in painful knots.
“Are you all right?”
Silence met his concern. She wiped her nose on a square of toilet paper.
“Hanna? Are you all right?”

What right did he have to be concerned? He’d done this to her.
“Go away.”

And finally he had. Her buttocks had gone numb long ago, but she didn’t want to leave the safe cocoon of the bathroom. She stared at the square pattern on the floor. Each one had marbling through it and gleamed with yesterday’s fresh cleaning. Even now, the pine scent lingered, mixed with the acrid smell of regurgitated chicken salad. Her stomach rolled again.

A knock sounded at the door, startling her. “Hanna, are you all right, child?”

Gram. Had she been in here through Gram’s nap?

She pulled herself up, catching herself on the vanity when her legs trembled like leaves on a tree.

She opened the door. “I’m fine.”

Gram took her hand and tried to pull her from the room. “No, I don’t want—Micah—”

“It’s all right; he’s in his room. Come on, we’ll go to our room.”

A barrage of emotions coursed through her. She wanted to see him again so she could finish what she started. She wanted to strike out at him. To hurt him the way he’d hurt her. She wanted him to go someplace far, far away. Her pulse accelerated again, making her dizzy and lightheaded. She put her hand on the wall beside her as she walked.

The fear was still there. Hiding like a cougar, ready to overtake her when she was least aware. The man who assaulted her was here. In her home. But was it the same man? Was Micah the man who’d attacked her, or was he the man she’d grown to love? He couldn’t be both. It was a contradiction. She felt betrayed by him. As if the man he was now, the man she loved, had done this to her.

They entered the suite, and Hanna sat on the couch. How much should she tell Gram?

Gram poured her a glass of water and brought it to her. It felt good to swish the water around her mouth.

“Micah woke me. He was worried about you.”

She clenched her teeth. Gram wouldn’t feel so kindly toward Micah when she heard who he was.

“You must feel terribly shocked,” Gram said.

Hanna looked at her. Why would she say that? There was sympathy in her small, glassy eyes.

“He told me, child.” She drew Hanna into her arms.

Hanna went willingly. Grief erupted within her and manifested itself in the form of hot tears. She sobbed in wrenching jerks, crying for the pain she’d endured that night, for the fear she’d fought all these
years. The fog of anguish covered her, blinding her to everything else. Time was lost, almost standing still.

Gram’s gentle voice penetrated the haze, and Hanna realized she’d been talking all the time. Murmuring words of comfort with little meaning.

Suddenly she remembered what Gram had said. Gram knew who Micah was. Words spilled from Hanna’s mouth. Her feelings, her thoughts, in a tumble of confusion. She hopped from the past to the present and back to the past again with no coherency or order. As thoughts came to her mind, they flowed out of her mouth. The hatred and bitterness she’d buried for years revealed itself with harsh words and savage tears.

And Gram listened quietly. Just listened. And it was as soothing as salve on Hanna’s wounds.

Something stirred Micah from his sleep. He opened his eyes. Light filtered in from the night sky, bathing the room in gray.

Then he remembered.

As it had each time he’d awakened during the night, the harsh reality crashed over him like a merciless tidal wave. He closed his eyes, trying to sink back into that blissful state of oblivion called sleep. Trying to escape reality for just a little while longer.

He wondered if Hanna was sleeping. He longed to go to her. To comfort her. The urge was almost too much to resist. But truth kept him pinned to the bed. She didn’t want his comfort. She didn’t even want to see his face.

And he couldn’t blame her. He shouldn’t have told her. It would’ve been better to leave. It would’ve been better for Hanna to feel confused and rejected than this. Anything was better than this. What had he been thinking when he’d let the words spill from his mouth?

He ran a hand over his swollen eyelids and down across the bristled plane of his jaw. His stomach rumbled, protesting the fast he’d unintentionally
started the previous day. He’d wanted to stay out of Hanna’s way, so he’d holed up in his room like a badger. Dinner had been three mints he’d gotten from a restaurant where he and Hanna had eaten a few weeks ago. He distinctly remembered scooping up the mints from the bill tray on the table. He’d offered them to Hanna, but she’d winked and said, “You’re the one who had garlic.”

Never could he have imagined the disastrous turn their relationship had taken. Who could have imagined this? It was over now, of this he was certain. How could he expect her to forgive him? He couldn’t even forgive himself. And who was he to deserve someone like Hanna? What had she ever done to hurt anyone?

Unwelcome pictures from the past surged into his mind. He closed them off, unable to bear it. His bones ached when he thought about what he’d done. Could he have done anything more depraved? What kind of a person did that to a woman?

He remembered the thoughts he’d had about Devon after he’d attacked Hanna. He’d wanted to hurt him. He’d thought Devon deserved to be hurt. Deserved worse. The memory of his thoughts haunted him. Hadn’t Micah thought Devon a despicable brute?

What a hypocrite.
He’d done worse himself. And now he was paying the price. He remembered vaguely something in the Bible about the consequences of sin not being removed. He’d done something evil, and now the price was his to pay. His and Hanna’s.