Red (41 page)

A
s rehabilitation hospitals went, Oceanview Rehab was pretty, with a multitude of windows and plants, and pastel, patterned wallpaper instead of institutional green walls. Becky Lynn stepped off the elevator and smiled at the floor nurse. “Good morning, Anne. How is she today?”

The nurse returned her smile. “She's doing well this morning, Mrs. Triani. Very well. I think you'll be pleasantly surprised.”

That would be nice, Becky Lynn thought, smiling again and moving down the hall toward Zoe's room. She paused outside her friend's door and took a deep, fortifying breath. In the month since she and Jack had brought Zoe to Oceanview in the middle of the night, the woman had made progress, although painfully slow.

Zoe was a troubled young woman, so much more troubled than Becky Lynn had realized all those years ago. But she had hope for the other woman, anyway. Zoe wanted desperately to get it together, she wanted to live.

If only Carlo had been that strong.

Becky Lynn had come to see her every day. Some days, Zoe spoke to her, and some days she didn't; some days, she was angry and accusatory, other days, depressed and self-loathing.

What would it be today? Becky Lynn wondered, tapping on Zoe's half-open door. She peeked inside. Zoe
sat cross-legged on the bed, staring blankly at a magazine open in front of her. Zoe's health and appearance had been ravaged by the drugs. Even though her color had improved and she had gained a few pounds, it still hurt to look at her. Becky Lynn wasn't sure which hurt more—comparing Zoe to the way she had looked that day she discovered her in the mall, or remembering the way she had looked that night in the motel room.

Becky Lynn forced a bright smile. “Hi. Feel like some company?”

Zoe looked up but said nothing, and Becky Lynn forced another smile and walked into the room. “Look.” She held up the bright pink hydrangea plant she carried. “The market was overflowing with these, each prettier than the other. I thought you might enjoy one.”

Becky Lynn crossed the small room and set the plant on the dresser, aware of Zoe's gaze on her. She searched for something to say, wishing she was anywhere but here.

“There.” She fluffed the leaves and checked the soil, then turned to Zoe. “Did I tell you I shot an Armani ad Monday? I was terrified. Moving from in front of the camera to behind it feels so strange. To everyone, I think. The other models don't quite know how to treat me and I—”

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

Becky Lynn looked at Zoe, startled silent.

“You're even paying for this place. I mean, I don't get it.”

Becky Lynn lifted a shoulder. “There's not much to get. I care about you.”

“Why?” Zoe inched her chin up, defensive. “I don't deserve for you to care about me.”

“That's not true. You—”

“It is true,” Zoe said flatly. “I was a real bitch. I used
our friendship, I used you. I treated you like—” She clasped her hands together, so tightly her knuckles popped out white in relief. “I did a bad thing to you, the worst thing I could think of.”

She was talking about Jack, Becky Lynn knew. And although it still hurt, all these years later, she shook her head. “You were vulnerable, Zoe. You needed…so much. He shouldn't have allowed anything to happen. I don't blame you.”

“You should, you…” Zoe lowered her eyes for a moment, then returned them to Becky Lynn's, the expression in them haunted. “I lied about me and Jack. I never slept with him.” She twisted her fingers together. “Not that I didn't try. He wouldn't.”

Zoe's words rocked her, and Becky Lynn swallowed hard. She had believed Zoe without question, even when Jack had denied it years later.

She had thought Zoe more deserving of Jack's attention and affection than she herself was, Becky Lynn realized, feeling sick. She had had that low an opinion of herself.

“Why, Zoe?” she whispered. “Why did you lie like that?”

The other woman lowered her eyes to her hands once more. “Because I hated what you and Jack had. I hated that you had each other, and that I had…no one.”

“Oh, Zoe…” Becky Lynn's eyes filled. “We didn't have so much. We didn't have love.”

“Yes,” she whispered brokenly, “you did. Jack loved you. And I never…nobody ever loved me. It hurt.”

And it still did.
Becky Lynn crossed to Zoe and sat beside her on the bed. She gathered her into her arms and held her
while she cried, great, racking sobs of despair and loneliness, held her until she had too little strength to cry anymore.

Becky Lynn cried with her, but quietly, for different reasons. She cried for the past, for her and Jack and what they had lost, for Carlo and Zoe, and the battered seventeen-year-old who had felt herself so unworthy of love.

“I'm so sorry,” Zoe said, wiping her cheeks with the backs of her hands. “I was so awful to you, but I…needed your friendship so much. After I had driven you away, I wished we… I hated what I had done.”

They talked for a long time. Becky Lynn told Zoe about her and Carlo's marriage, about his suicide and how much she missed him. She told Zoe about how she had been right about Carlo's protecting her from the worst of modeling; she told her about her photography and her plans to leave modeling for good.

They didn't talk about Jack, but he was on Becky Lynn's mind the entire time. In truth, he had been since the night he had carried Zoe out of that foul motel room.

He had been so gentle with Zoe, so kind and caring, that night and since. He had been to visit Zoe many times, Becky Lynn had seen the balloons, the teddy bear and flowers he had brought her; Zoe had mentioned his visits.

That was the Jack she had fallen in love with. The man who had treated a frightened waif from Mississippi with kindness, the man who had offered her the door to a whole new life. Carlo had seen beauty in her, but Jack had seen talent. Jack had valued her ideas and opinions, had valued her.

At times, he had been selfish, at other times, completely self-absorbed. But he hadn't been cruel. He hadn't been
the monster she had made him out to be. In the pain and shock of his betrayal with Garnet McCall, she had forgotten the good things, she had forgotten about her eighteenth birthday and sharing a too-sweet chocolate cake and dreams that had been sweeter still.

Jack hadn't lied about Zoe, and he hadn't lied about how Giovanni had learned the truth about Carlo. She'd had as much a part in that as he. She had been too angry, too hurt for Carlo, to see that then.

Or maybe she had seen, she thought, but hadn't wanted to. Placing blame was so much easier than accepting it.

She thought back to the night they had checked Zoe into Oceanview. Jack had driven her home after, and she had felt a yawning, black chasm between them, a chasm filled with the terrible image of Zoe in that motel room, the image of Carlo being hauled from the hot tub, filled with the memory of hateful words and ugly actions.

She had felt responsible; Jack had, too. She had seen the sadness in Jack's eyes, the regret. She knew he had seen the same in hers. The chasm had been too great, too risky to span, so they had said nothing to each other but goodnight.

Now, she wished she had tried. Now, she longed to take the risk, longed to reach out for him. But now, she feared it was too late.

She and Zoe talked a while longer, until finally, regretfully, Becky Lynn checked her watch and saw that she had to go. She hated having to put an end to the minutes she and Zoe had shared. It felt so good to be with her like this again, to be friends again.

“You're going to make it,” Becky Lynn whispered, hugging her. “I know you are.”

Zoe clung to her. “I don't know if I can face the past, Becky Lynn. There are things… I don't know if I can do it. I'm so scared.”

Becky Lynn tightened her arms. “You can do it, Zoe. You can face it. You're stronger than you know.”

Z
oe's whispered words about facing the past stayed with Becky Lynn for the rest of the day. They echoed through her, affecting her in strange and unexpected ways. She had been unable to shake thoughts of her own past, of her brother and father, of the girl she had been all those years ago in Bend.

Her thoughts had left her feeling fragile and edgy, but also elated. For the thoughts of her past had brought ones of Jack, of their shared past, and about the man he really was. And as she had run a myriad of errands, she had wondered whether there could be a future for them, or if it really was too late.

Becky Lynn wheeled her grocery cart to the checkout line. She had chosen the worst time to shop, the little corner market could hardly accommodate the predinner rush of shoppers, and she resigned herself to a lengthy wait in line.

She parked her basket, then crossed to the magazine rack. Even as she reached for the latest
Vogue,
the front page of one of the tabloids caught her eye. She looked closer, and her heart stopped. The image splattered across the front page was one she recognized from her darkest fears, her worst nightmares.

Becky Lynn gazed at the photo of herself at seventeen, feeling the veil of security and illusion she had erected
around herself being ripped away, leaving her naked and completely exposed. Suddenly, she was that girl again, unloved, an ugly outcast; suddenly, the people of Bend were around her, taunting her and laughing.

She reached for the tabloid, her hand shaking.
Her father had found her.
She drew a ragged breath.
He had told the world who she really was.

Only he had lied, too.
She scanned the article, tears burning her eyes. He had told the world that she had been promiscuous and willful, that she had stolen his paycheck and run off, not a thought for her hungry family. He said that she owed him now.

Becky Lynn thought of the night she had run away, of how she had dragged herself home, bloody and battered, only to be battered more by her own family. She remembered her desperation, remembered her certainty that if she stayed in Bend, she would die.

She had taken twenty dollars, far less than he had taken of her Cut ‘n Curl earnings, week in and week out. Far less than he spent on booze, never a thought for his hungry wife and children.

How could he have said these things about her? she wondered, the type blurring before her eyes. How could her own father lie this way? How could he think so little of her?

Choking back a sob, she slipped the magazine back into the rack and left the store. She found her car and then her way home, though she couldn't have said how.

Jack was there, waiting for her on her front steps. With a cry of relief, she swung out of the car and ran to him. He folded her into his arms, holding her tightly.

“I'm sorry, baby,” he murmured. “So sorry.”

She clung to him, pressing her cheek to his chest, to the
place where his heart beat, sure and steady. She drew a shuddering breath. “Why did he have to find me?” she whispered. “Why couldn't he just leave me alone?”

“I don't know, sweetheart.” He stroked her hair. “The past just has a way of catching up with us.”

“I was happy being Valentine.” She pressed closer to him. “My life has nothing to do with him. I don't want to go back.”

“You don't have to go anywhere.” Jack leaned away from her so he could meet her eyes. “But you can't let him get away with this. You have to fight him.”

“With what?” She drew out of his arms and fumbled in her purse for her house keys. “I have nothing to fight with.”

“You have the truth, Red. That's a powerful weapon.”

“You don't understand.” She found the keys, but her hands shook so badly, she couldn't get the key fitted into the lock.

“Let me.” He took them from her and after a moment, swung the door open.

She stumbled inside, going through the foyer to the living room, going to the couch. She sank onto it and dropped her face into her hands. “What am I going to do?” she whispered, then lifted her gaze to his. “What should I do?”

“Call a press conference.” He crossed to her. “Tell your side of the story. Tell the truth.”

“A press conference?” She shook her head. “I don't think so.”

“You can't run from this. It's not going to go away.”

Her father's image filled her head, his voice with it, and she shuddered. “I could give him money. He would disappear, that's all he wants.”

“But he would come back, leeches like him always do.”
Jack crouched in front of her. He touched her cheek lightly, tenderly. “Becky Lynn, Red, you have to face this.”

She met his gaze, her vision swimming with tears. “Now everybody knows. I'll never be…Valentine again. I'll be Becky Lynn Lee, the girl who was too ugly to look at while being raped.” Her breath caught on a sob. “I'll be nothing again.”

Jack muttered an oath and tightened his fingers over hers. “You were never nothing, Becky Lynn. You were always special, always beautiful.”

He brought her hands to his mouth. “You're the kindest person I've ever known. The most generous. The strongest.”

She opened her mouth to protest, he stopped her. “The strongest,” he repeated. “You came through hell, and you not only survived it, you conquered it. Do you know how special that is? Do you know how unusual?”

She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, eyes brimming with tears. “Then why don't I feel strong? Why am I so…scared?”

“Come here.” He drew her to her feet. “I want you to see something.”

She followed him to the foyer, stopping when they reached it. She looked at him in confusion. “What do you want me to—”

He turned her to face the mirror above the entryway table. Her reflection stared back at her.

“Do you remember,” he murmured, standing behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders, “a long time ago, when you asked me why I called you Red? You remember that I said I didn't know, but that it just seemed to fit you?”

He tightened his hands on her shoulders. “Now, I know why. You're strong, Becky Lynn, just like the color. And
you're vibrant, full of passion and life. Look at yourself in the mirror, babe. I see a strong, confident woman, a woman who has faced the worst life has to offer and beaten it. I see Becky Lynn Lee, smart and talented and kind. Beautiful.” He brought his head close to hers. “Everybody else pales in comparison. You have to see it, too.”

Becky Lynn squeezed her eyes shut. “I can't,” she whispered. “I see an ugly seventeen-year-old, an outcast. I see a girl who has nobody.”

Jack turned her to face him. He cupped her face in his hands, catching her tears with his thumbs. “You have me, Red. You always have. Even when I was too shallow and self-absorbed to see it, you had me.”

He bent and brushed his lips softly, tenderly against hers, then lifted his head once more. “You've got to face your past,” he murmured. “You have to let it go.”

She rested her hands against his chest, then her face.
She had Jack. The one she had always wanted, the only one.
She curled her fingers into his pullover, wanting to hold on to the reassuring beat of his heart, wanting to hold on to this perfect moment.

He tipped her face up to his. “You need to take care of this now, you need to jump on the story while it's still fresh news. Call Tremayne, he'll get the agency's publicist to set up a press conference.”

“I don't know if I can do it. I don't know if…I…if I'm ready.” She searched his gaze, wishing desperately to find her answers there. “I need to think. I…I just don't know.”

“Well, while you're thinking,” he murmured, his voice thick, “think about this. I love you. It's not just sex, it never has been. I need you. I believe in you. And I'm going to be with you, whatever you decide.”

He loved her? Could it be?
Wonder bloomed inside her, brilliant white and warm.
Jack loved her.

He kissed her hard, then drew away. “I'm going now. I'll be at the studio.” He started toward the door. “Call me. I won't go anywhere until I hear from you.”

“Don't go! Jack…” She folded her arms across her chest, cold suddenly, frightened. “I don't want to be alone.”

He came back to her and cupped her face once more. He gazed deeply into her eyes. “I'm here for you, babe. But you've got to make this decision alone. I can't make it for you.”

His lips lifted a fraction, curving into the cocky half smile that had always sent her blood pressure skyrocketing. “Besides, I'm selfish. If I stay, I'll want you in my arms. I'll want us in your bed. And I'll want to talk about us, about how much I love you and how much I want you by my side.”

He shook his head, his expression rueful. “That'll keep, it has this long. But this thing with your father won't.”

Becky Lynn knew he was right, and let him go. For a long time after he did, she stared at the closed door, her emotions a confused jumble.

Jack loved her. He needed her, he believed in her.

Her father, her past, had found her.

She brought a trembling hand to her forehead. She thought of Zoe, of her whispered words that morning, the ones about the past and her fear of it.

She was afraid, too, Becky Lynn acknowledged. But the time had come to face her fears.

Becky Lynn crossed to stand before the mirror. She gazed at her reflection. As she did, her mind tumbled to the past. She thought of the girl she had been and the
woman she was now. She thought of Ricky and Tommy, of their hatred. She thought of her father and mother, of her brother Randy. With the thoughts, she hurt. She wished she had been loved and cherished, she wished her life had been different back then.

It hadn't been. But that part of her life was over. The past was only a series of memories now, she realized. Ugly memories but powerless to hurt her—unless she allowed them to. Jack was right, she'd not only survived her past, she had beaten it.

She was Red.
Like the color, vibrant and strong, full of passion and life. Undeniable, unbeatable.

She had to let go of her past. She had to face it and go on. More than a decade ago she had run away from Bend, Mississippi, vowing to leave that place, her horrible life, behind forever. But instead, she had clung to her past, had clung to the image of the frightened and lonely girl she had been. She had allowed that image to color her life, dim her happiness.

She touched the mirror, her breath catching in her chest. She was Becky Lynn Lee, beautiful and strong, worthy of love. She smiled at her reflection. She hadn't pretended to be Valentine; Carlo hadn't created an illusion—he had merely seen what she already was.

Just as Jack had seen. Just as he still did.

Jack loved her. But best of all, she realized, she loved herself. A sense of freedom swept through her, sweet and dizzying. She tipped her head back and laughed, then twirled in a circle, arms out.

The journey she had begun all those years ago ended today, this moment. She'd finally found what she had been seeking.

It was called peace.