Rachel Lee (32 page)

Witt smelled as if he'd just showered. The living room was full of the aroma of air freshener, but it didn't quite conceal the odor of alcohol. Great, thought Joni, he'd been drinking. That would make this even more enjoyable.

"Sit down," Witt said.

Joni almost obeyed, out of long training, but she caught herself. "I'd rather stand."

Witt shrugged. "I'd rather sit." He sat in his easy chair. After a moment, Hardy sat, too, on the sofa. Again Witt didn't object.

Joni stood looking at him from the center of his living room, her hands clenched until her nails bit into her palms. She couldn't find the words to begin with, didn't know where to start to express all the roiling anger and hurt inside her.

"Well?" Witt said. "I guess you're going to tell me how much I've hurt you."

"You're damn straight!" The words burst out of her, and then the rest began to follow. "Ever since Lewis died and we moved up here, you've always told me you loved me like a daughter. But you know what, Witt?

Since Karen died, you've hardly even noticed I was really here. Oh, you talk to me, and you remember my birthday, and you give me Christmas gifts, but you don't love me like a daughter. Not really. You haven't really loved anyone since Karen died!"

"Wait one minute!"

"No, I'm not going to wait. You listen to me for a change. I've been walking around for a long, long time wondering why Karen's death seemed to have crippled us all so much. Wondering why she seemed to haunt us all. People die, Witt. I loved Karen, too. But healthy people grieve and then go on. None of us has ever been able to finish grieving."

He scowled at her. "I'm never going to stop mourning Karen."

"Of course not. We'll always miss her and wish she were here. But what's been going on with us is pathological. Sick. She's affected our lives more these past twelve years than if she'd been here. We're all caught in this ... I don't know. Time warp. But I do know none of us has been able to move on. It's not healthy."

This time he didn't say a word, just looked at her from hot, angry eyes.

"So I got to wondering. What's different about us than the rest of the world? And how come we can't really heal? And it dawned on me, just this afternoon. None of us can heal because of you. Karen's death gutted me. She was my ... like my sister. But more importantly, I loved her because she was my best friend. I wept as hard as anyone did, and to this day I still miss her. But I could have moved on. I could have built my own life instead of coming back to this morass of twisted feelings and sinking back into all this anger and grief. I thought Karen was haunting us, but then I realized, it's not Karen.

You're the one haunting us."

"Joni..."

"Be quiet." She didn't want him to divert her now that it was all spilling out. And she was past caring whether she was right, wrong or just confused. She had to get it out.

"You withdrew from Hannah and me," she told him. "You stopped loving us the way you used to. That hurt me as much as Karen's death. I lost two people, but one of them was smiling at me nearly every day and pretending to still care about me when he didn't really. After a while it finally dawned on me that you had never really loved me. And that after Karen died you couldn't even keep up the pretense well enough. I saw through you, Witt. And if I had any doubt about it, you proved it when you disowned me."

Witt raised a hand but didn't say anything. Joni ignored the gesture.

"So I lost my best friend and my surrogate dad all at one time," she said bitterly. "And stupid me, I was crazy enough to come back here to live after finishing college. I kept coming back, Witt, because I kept trying to find your love again. Well, trust me, I'm through looking."

Tears were stinging her eyes now, threatening to run down her cheeks, but she didn't wipe them away. All the pain held so long in her heart was determined to spill out. "I'm going to leave, Witt. I'm going to leave Whisper Creek, and you're going to lose your only remaining

'daughter." And the only person you'll have to blame is yourself. "

His mouth moved, as if he wanted to say something but couldn't find his voice. He just looked at her, his blue eyes dimmed.

"What's more," she continued in a lower, angrier voice, "you should be ashamed of the way you've treated my mother all these years. She loved you. She's always loved you. I've seen it in the way her face brightened and her step lightened when you came by. But you've ignored it. And pardon me for asking, what the hell were you doing sleeping with her when you didn't love her? Did you even wonder if I was your child?" She paused at his look of recognition. He did know. He had known. He had known all along. How could he have treated her mother, and herself, this way? Her anger flared hotter. Enough was enough.

"If my mother wants to tolerate your treatment, that's her choice, but I'm not going to tolerate it anymore. Not ever again. I'm sick of you acting as if you're the only person who matters.

"Which brings me around to Hardy. How dare you accuse him of killing Karen? It was no more his fault than it was yours. Or maybe it was more your fault than his. All Hardy ever did was give her a place to run to when she was running away from you."

"Joni..." This time it was Hardy who spoke. "Joni, don't. He's already blaming himself enough

"Enough?" She rounded on Hardy. "He's been blaming everyone except himself. Hell, I think he's resented me for twelve years because I didn't die instead of Karen!"

"No!" The word exploded from Witt. "No. That's not true."

She turned on him again. "I doubt you have any idea at all what's true. You're so blinded by anger and bitterness, you've blighted everyone around you."

Witt stood. "Joni, let me talk."

"No. I've heard enough out of you." Turning, she pulled up her hood and stomped out into the night.

Hardy didn't follow. He stayed seated on the couch, waiting as Witt stared after Joni, watching as the man winced when the door slammed.

Slowly, moving like an old man, Witt turned and looked at Hardy. "What do you want to say? You might as well take your licks."

"Sit down, Witt. I don't want my licks."

Surprise reflected on his face, Witt returned to his easy chair. He looked shrunken now, a shadow of himself.

"You know," Hardy said, "I probably understand some of what you've been going through. I've been feeling guilty about Karen's death since the night it happened. I've lain awake more nights than I can count, running it over in my mind, trying to figure out what I could have done differently. I've gone out on empty roads in my car and practiced evasive maneuvers until I was exhausted. But I keep coming up with the same bottom line."

Witt sighed and nodded. "Tell me."

"I keep coming up with the fact that any evasion I'd made, given the road we were on--and assuming I had time to do anything--would still have had the same result. There was nowhere to go. I was on the cliff side Witt. We'd have tumbled a thousand feet or more. And the other car was between me and the other side of the road. But I didn't have time to do anything. No time at all. I saw that car start to drift, and I eased over to avoid him, and he turned right into us. Right into us, Witt. Did you know that drunks steer toward lights? Neither did I, until the cops told me.

"So the bottom line is, it wasn't my fault. I didn't kill her. But it still feels like I did. Still." The last word came out on the harsh edge of pain. "I think I've forgiven myself, but I still feel guilty."

Witt nodded briefly, but it was almost the rocking of a person in severe pain. "I guess you do," he said slowly.

"So," Hardy continued, softening his voice, "I've got one person left to forgive. You. And not so much for the way you've treated me all these years. I can actually kind of understand that. What I need to forgive you for is the way you've treated Joni. She didn't deserve any of the crap. All she ever deserved was the best you had to offer.

"But you know what? I can't forgive yob. Not yet.

Not until I see you taking care of Joni. Not until I see you giving her the love that was hers by birthright. Not until you make her your daughter in your heart. "

"But she is!"

"Then act like it, Witt. Act like it. Prove it."

His piece spoken, Hardy left, too, glancing back briefly to see that Witt looked like a beaten man. He felt a qualm, but brushed it aside.

Sometimes you just had to tell the truth. For the sake of your own soul. And sometimes, bitter though it was, painful though it was, you had to hear the truth. For the sake of your soul. It was Witt's turn to hear.

Outside in the truck, he found Joni shivering, shaking all over. "I'll have you warmed up in a minute," he said as he turned the engine over.

"I'm not cold," she answered through chattering teeth. "I'm not...."

He turned toward her, gathering her as close as he could with a console between the bucket seats, feeling a sharp pang as he felt the tremors that wracked her. "What's wrong, honey?"

"I can't...! can't believe I said all those things to him. I can't believe it! I said horrible ... hurtful... things."

"Actually, I thought you were pretty restrained." He rubbed her back, but layers of nylon and polyester insulation in her jacket probably deprived the touch of most of its intended comfort.

"But ... but ... I accused him of things that might not be true."

"You felt they were true in your heart, didn't you?"

"Yes!" "Then they were true, whether any of it was what Witt intended.

They were true, and you needed to say them and he needed to hear them.

Maybe now he'll get around to trying to repair some of the rift."

"No. No." Still shaking, she pulled away from him. "He'll never speak to me again."

"If that's the kind of man he is, then that would probably be for the best."

Even in her state of upset, his words must have sounded harsh to her, because she shot him a startled look.

"Listen." he said. "I'm getting tired of comforting people that man has hurt. First Karen and now you. He needs to start thinking about what he's doing to the people he claims to love. And if he can't, then he doesn't deserve your love."

"Love shouldn't have to be earned."

He shook his head and turned around, reaching for the gearshift.

"Maybe not. But it does have to be deserved."

He let her think about that while he drove them back to his place. But he found himself thinking about Witt, too. And despite his every inclination, he found himself feeling pity for him.

* # *

Like it or not, Joni realized, she was going to have to face her thoughts at last. Alone and in the dark. She didn't relish the night ahead.

"We ought to go up, too," Hardy remarked. "It's late." A yawn escaped him, and he stretched, reminding her of the gorgeous body he had beneath his clothes. A body she had once touched and held. All of a sudden, everything inside her seemed to go into a meltdown.

She wanted him, she realized. She'd thought she'd wanted him when she'd been in high school, but that had been puppy love, a virgin's desire. Now, since the night they had made love, she had discovered what it was to feel a woman's desire.

It was a desire that made her ache to her very bones. A yearning so deep it filled her every cell. Her entire body grew heavy with need, and she felt herself throbbing at her center, throbbing as if she wanted to open herself and take him deep inside her.

And everything, everything that had been tearing her apart seemed to fade into the background, driven away by a more urgent demand.

The air in the room became so thick that she felt as if she couldn't breathe. But Hardy seemed unaware of it. He pushed Ms chair back from the table, after gathering the cards and returning them to their case.

"Come on," he said. "I'll walk you up."

He didn't feel it. But instead of crashing from her high state of tension, she seemed to be caught in it. She noticed how he smelled as they climbed the stairs. Like soap. Like man. Like Hardy.

He was close enough that his breath occasionally reached her, smelling of the cider they'd drunk while playing cards. Even the sound of his steps on the risers behind her reminded her of how big and strong he was.

At the top of the stairs, they paused outside her door. His room was at the back, above the extension he'd added when he put in his office.

"Are you going to be all right?" he asked.

No way, she thought. No way. She was going to lie awake all night trapped in an aching body, pinned by a need that was threatening to overwhelm her. A need she didn't dare act on, because he didn't seem to feel it.

Although, in her present state, she was stunned that he didn't feel it, too. The miasma must be so strong around her now. She must be making pheromones enough to pack the air to a distance of ten or even fifteen feet.

But he was oblivious.

"Look," he said after a minute as she continued to stare up at him, "if you don't want to be alone tonight, we can bundle."

"Bundle?" she repeated stupidly, even though she knew exactly what it was.

"Yeah," he said. "You can sleep in my room. We can put pillows between us, or a rolled-up blanket. You don't have to worry. I won't touch you."

He couldn't have said anything that would have cast her down more. Her hunger for him burst like a balloon, leaving her feeling . empty.

Emptier than she could remember ever having felt. It was as if something inside her died.

She almost told him she would sleep alone, but something inside her wouldn't let her say it. Maybe because she knew exactly how badly she would sleep if she started thinking about Witt and the whole mess.