Redemption Road (Jackson Falls #5) (17 page)

“Okay,” she said into the mic, “for our final song, we’re going to
get this room moving with a little something by the B-52’s.”

The music started, and hand in hand, with deliciously outrageous
attitude, they sang and danced their way through
Love Shack
. Halfway
through the song, she invited the audience to join in. The response was loud,
off-key, and raucous, and in the midst of the love fest, she found tears
streaming down her face. Casey glanced over, noticed the tears, and paused in
her singing long enough to embrace her with surprising strength for such a
small woman. “I love you,” she said.

Colleen’s arms went around her sister and of their own volition,
her lips spoke the words, “I love you, too.”

“Come on, Sis.” Casey stepped back, threaded fingers with hers. And
with her own tears falling, said, “Let’s bring down the house.”

And that was exactly what they did.

***

She leaned against the side of her sister’s house, filling her
lungs with crisp, cold air. Inside, the party was still going full-force. Beside
her, Harley Atkins said, “If the two of you were singing like that when you
were eight years old, I sure wish I’d been there to see it.”

 “Shut up,” she said. “Do you have a cigarette?  I need a
cigarette.”

He patted empty pockets. “Sorry. I never picked up the nasty habit.
You smoke?”

“Not since 1979. But I could use one right now. I can’t believe I
did that.”

“You were wonderful. Both of you. Who knew you had this secret
talent?”

“It’s all Rob’s fault. He tricked me into it. Come Monday morning,
I’m spiking his doughnuts with arsenic.”

“Remind me to stay on your good side.”

She eyed him levelly. “What makes you think you’re on my good
side?”

“You’re as transparent as window glass. And since I’m a free man
tonight, let’s blow this joint. Do something really radical, like pie and
coffee at the diner.”

“Do you have any idea how pathetic that sounds?  Saturday night,
and neither one of us has anything better to do than hang around the Jackson
Diner, eating pie and drinking coffee?”

“What are you talking about, Berkowitz?  We both had something pretty
damn exciting to do tonight. You were the belle of the ball. This is just a
little
après
-ball snack. A nightcap, if you will. And you won’t have to
worry about turning back into a pumpkin if you stay up past your curfew.”

His offer was tempting. Too tempting for a recently-widowed woman
who found him irresistibly attractive and who had no intention of staying
beyond the middle of April. “I really shouldn’t.”

“What are you afraid of, Colleen?”

At the sound of her name on his tongue, something happened inside
her. Like sap on a warm spring day, her juices started to rise. Had he ever called
her by her first name?  Surely, she’d remember if he had. Because she didn’t
like it, didn’t like it at all. Didn’t like the intimacy of it. Didn’t like the
way her body responded to his voice, didn’t like the goose bumps that had
popped up in some very inappropriate places. Hated the way her stomach felt all
jangly and nervous because of his nearness. She couldn’t let this happen. Irv
had only been dead for seven months. She had to give it a year. Twelve months. That
would be an acceptable mourning period. After a year, she could start dating
again. Could start thinking about scratching that itch again. Just five more
months. She could hold out that long. And by then, she’d be long gone from here.
There would be other men, men who didn’t bring out the cavewoman inside her. Men
she didn’t feel driven to touch and taste. Men who aroused only the most
civilized of feelings in her.

Men who weren’t Harley Atkins.

“I can’t,” she said. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”  And without saying
goodbye, she turned and fled, down the porch steps, down the flagstone walkway,
down the drive that led to the studio.

His voice followed her. “Colleen!  Goddamn it, Colleen, don’t run
away!”

She kept going. She didn’t have a choice. He was her kryptonite,
and everybody knew how dangerous kryptonite was. Her entire future hinged on
her ability to avoid commitment, to avoid permanence, to avoid
him
.

She thundered up the stairs to her apartment, opened the door, and
slammed it shut behind her. Turned the lock, then leaned against the door, her
chest heaving and sweat pooling beneath her arms.

Self-preservation.
It was a narrow line she was
walking, but somehow, she’d managed to catch herself. Somehow, she’d managed to
prevent herself from falling as she teetered on that line without a safety net.
She should be relieved. Should be pleased by her ability to run her own life. Should
be proud of being clever enough to avoid the pitfalls and the potholes that the
universe placed in front of her, hoping to entice her and trip her up.

She hadn’t tripped up. She should feel good about that. She should
be flipping ecstatic right now.

So why did she feel so much like crying?

Mikey

In the midst of chaos, he’d found himself a quiet spot on the back
stairs that led from Aunt Casey’s kitchen up to her second floor. This
staircase wasn’t wide and elegant and open, like her beautiful oak front stairs.
These stairs were narrow and enclosed and carpeted, the entire staircase taking
up only a small area as they climbed a third of the way, reached a landing, and
turned back on themselves. Climbed another third, reached another landing, and
turned again. They reminded him of the stairs in his dorm at Stanford, but on a
much smaller scale. Casey had insisted on them, she’d told him, for multiple
reasons. Her grandmother—which would be his great-grandmother—had owned a house
with a back staircase like this, so there was the nostalgia factor. They also
provided easy access from the master bedroom to the kitchen, and an additional
exit for the upstairs bedrooms in case of fire.

He was sitting hunched over with a Coke in his hand, contemplating
the mess that was his life, when he felt a light hand on his shoulder. He
turned, and Paige’s face swam into view. “Hey,” she said softly.

Just looking at her took his breath away. Mikey rubbed his thumb
up and down the neck of his Coke bottle to calm the sudden hammering of his
heart. “Hi,” he said.

“Mind if I sit?”

He scooted over as far as he could, and she squeezed in beside him.
She didn’t take up much room; she’d inherited her father’s tall, lanky build,
with hips so narrow they barely existed. He should know. He’d spent enough time
obsessing over those hips. Not to mention the rest of her. “That was some
performance,” she said.

“Yeah. Crazy. Who knew they could sing like that?” He turned his
head and met her green eyes, open, frank, guileless. Her body heat slowly
suffusing him with warmth, she reached out and captured his Coke, lifted it to
her mouth, and took a long drink. He watched her throat moving as she swallowed.

She handed the soda back to him. “So,” she said.

“So.”

“I’ve given this—us—some thought.”

He cleared his throat. “And?”

“And I’m ready to hear the rest of what you have to say.”

The dark cloud that had been hanging over him since the last time
they’d spoken burst like a popped balloon, and the sun came gushing through. He
tried to curb his enthusiasm, reminded himself that this didn’t necessarily
mean anything. Paige was the most unpredictable person he’d ever known. Who
knew what kind of response she’d have?  Just because she’d agreed to hear him
out didn’t mean she wouldn’t laugh in his face and ask him what he’d been
smoking.

But attempting to rein himself in was pointless. He was eighteen,
in love, and invincible. Nothing was going to stop him now. Not until he’d said
what he needed to say. “Can we talk in private?” he asked.

Paige bit her lower lip, studied him, then nodded. “Come on.” She
took his hand and led him up the stairs to her bedroom. “We have to be quiet,”
she said. “If Dad catches you up here, there’ll be hell to pay.”

He wanted to yank her into his arms, wanted to kiss her senseless.
Instead, he settled for looking around her room. It was tidy, the colors muted,
the décor classic Paige. She wasn’t a girly girl. There were no floral prints,
no frou-frou ruffles. On the wall by the window was a poster of David Bowie as
Ziggy Stardust. Her bedspread was pink, but not a pale, girly pink. Instead, it
was bright enough to knock your eyes out. Her curtains were simple and sheer. On
the window seat beneath the bay window lay her guitar, surrounded by an untidy
scatter of music paper, notes and words scribbled in pencil. On the dresser,
her cosmetics were lined up neatly. Foundation, eye liner, lipstick. A bottle
of perfume. That surprised him. He’d never known her to wear perfume. A pain
like a hot poker stabbed into his gut as he imagined her wearing it for some
other guy.

A single Polaroid photo was tucked into the mirror frame. He moved
closer to look at it. The woman was young, dark-haired, and somber. Pretty. He
tried, and failed, to find anything of Paige in her. “Your mom?” he said.

“Yeah.”  She stood, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised, waiting. A
trickle of sweat ran down his spine. He’d rehearsed his speech a million times,
but now that the time had come to give it, his mind was a complete blank.

Mikey turned away from her, back toward the mirror. Met his own
eyes, saw the fear in them. If she said no—if she turned him down—it would be
over.
Finis
. The end. If she agreed, then warm, red blood would continue
to course through his veins.

He took a deep breath. Met her eyes in the mirror. And said,
“Please, just hear me out before you say anything. Promise me that?”

“Fine. Just…please get on with it. This waiting is making me
crazy.”

He nodded. Picked up the perfume bottle and sniffed it. There was
nothing frail or flowery about it. Like Paige herself, it was bold and strong
and spicy. “I know we’re both young,” he said, putting the bottle back down. “You
haven’t even finished school. But the way we feel about each other—”  He
turned, examined every line and angle of the face that watched him without any
display of emotion. Correcting himself, he said, “The way I feel about you, and
the way I’m pretty sure you feel about me—”

She nodded for him to continue. “I tried putting a whole continent
between us. Hoping I’d forget. Hoping I’d get over you. It didn’t work.”

She rearranged the arms she held so tightly over her chest. When
she did, the sharp point of her collarbone was visible above the scooped neck
of her sweater. He swallowed hard. “I’m going away again,” he said.

“What?”

“I’m leaving soon. I don’t have much time. Paige, I want you to
come with me.”

“Jesus, Mikey, you know that’s not—”

“You promised to hear me out.”

Her mouth, agape like that of a fish, flapped shut. “I did,” she
said.

His hands were shaking, and he closed them into fists because men
didn’t shake like little girls, and he was a man who didn’t want to be lessened
in her eyes. “I love you,” he said. “I know I’ll never feel this way about
anyone else. We belong together. I know it, and I think you do, too.”

He took a step toward her, reached out to touch her cheek,
discovered that she was trembling as hard as he was. “Do you know why I came
back here?”  She shook her head. “I came for you. You’re the only reason I’d
ever come back to this lousy town. I know they’ll all want to kill me over this.
My parents. Yours. The whole damn family will be in an uproar. I’ll never dare
to face your father again. But I know what I want, and what I want is you.”

“Mikey.” His name came out softly, half word, half sob.

“Shh.” He ran a finger softly along the bow of her lip, brushed a
single tear from her cheek. Pressed a gentle kiss to her chin, that
strong-willed chin that had haunted his dreams for the last year.

And said, “Marry me, Paige.”

Casey

When her husband came into the bedroom, Casey was curled up on her
side, still fully dressed, her head resting on one arm. “Look at you,” he said,
unbuttoning his shirt. “You’re wiped out. This was too much for you tonight.”

She studied him, head to toe, this beautiful green-eyed man who
had become her love and her life, the better half of her. “The first
trimester’s always exhausting,” she said. “Once I’m past that, I’ll start to
feel better.”

He held out a hand. “Sit up, Miss Muffet. I’ll help you.”

Like a dutiful wife, she took his hand and let him pull her into a
sitting position. He crouched beside the bed and grasped one booted foot in his
hand. Unzipped the boot and gently tugged it off. She studied him in silence
while he repeated the action with her other foot. “You really don’t have to
undress me,” she said. “I’m not helpless.”

He released her foot, glanced up, and waggled his eyebrows. “You
usually like it when I undress you.”

“Brat.”  She lightly cuffed his shoulder, then slid her hand up to
touch his cheek. Leaned forward and, cradling his face in both hands, pressed a
gentle kiss to his lips. “I love you,” she said, “so very much.”

He rocked back on his heels. Playing with a strand of her hair, he
said, “I love you, too, buttercup.”

“That’s a new one, MacKenzie. Will the time ever come when you
stop calling me silly names?”

“I promise to call you silly names until one or both of us is
dead.”

“Which, according to our marriage contract, won’t happen until I’m
ninety-four. By then, I’ll probably be tired of you anyway.”

He broke into spontaneous and off-key song, a couple of lines from
a Beatles classic,
When I’m Sixty-Four
. Being his own unique self, he of
course substituted Ninety-Four for Sixty-Four. “We’ll see how that goes,” she
said. “Meanwhile, I can take it from here.”

Once they were both undressed and had found each other under the
covers of their big, soft bed, she lay her face against his chest and said,
“Thank you.”

His hand, busy stroking her hair, paused mid-stroke. “For what?”

“For tonight. I know it was all your doing. Colleen would never
have come up with an idea like that on her own. I don’t know what kind of
magic—or coercion—you employed, but I thank you from the bottom of my heart. Because
it was the exact right thing to do for my sister. It was exactly what she
needed.”

 “I might’ve lied a little. I might’ve told her that you were the
one who needed it.”

“Robert Kevin MacKenzie! You lied? I bet your nose is growing,
even as we speak.”

“It wasn’t really a lie, though. This was what you needed.”

“It was. How it is that you always know what I need?”

“I’ve told you a thousand times before. I’m a wizard. Wizards know
everything.”

“I think Colleen and I made a breakthrough tonight. A baby step,
but every journey begins with a single step. Something changed between us
tonight. I think we looked at each other and we both remembered how it used to
be, back before Mama died and everything in our lives changed. And all because
of you.” She kissed a hard, muscled bicep. “What you gave us tonight was
priceless.”

He rolled up on one hip and wrapped his arm around her. “We aim to
please.”

She lay quietly for a time. Then said, “This could just be me, acting
hopeful, but do you think there’s something going on between Colleen and
Harley? Have you noticed anything?”

“I haven’t noticed anything, but then I’m not plagued by that
infamous women’s intuition you females seem to have.”

“There’s something. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but the
vibes are very strong. If they’re not involved, they’re both thinking about
it.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“Harley’s a nice guy. I like him. My sister could do a lot worse. But
it’s not up to me. I guess we just have to wait and see how it progresses.”

For a time, there was nothing but the sound of their breathing,
the warmth of his skin against hers, the rise and fall of his chest beneath her
cheek. She let out a sigh of contentment and said drowsily, “We’ve come a long
way, you and I.”

“Mmn,” he said. “In what way?”

“He’s not there between us any more.”

From his side of the bed, there was a heavy silence. It went on
for a moment or two. “Rob?” she said.

“I heard you. I’m just digesting what you said.”

“It’s just you and me now. Sometimes, it feels as though we’ve
been together forever.”

After a moment, he said, “We have. We’ve been together since you
were eighteen and I was twenty.”

 “I suppose that’s true enough. In a sense, we were always
together, weren’t we? Right from the beginning. Sometimes, I look back at all those
years I was married to Danny, and it seems as if it happened to somebody else. As
though I’m watching a movie, and I know how it ends, and I can remember that I
loved him, but I can’t feel it anymore. Is that wrong of me?”

“It’s not wrong, babe. Time changes things.”

“It’s not just time, it’s perspective. Being with you gave that to
me. I was never really happy with him. Not after the first couple of years. I adored
him, and somehow, I convinced myself that I was happy. I didn’t know the
difference between that and real happiness. Now I do.” She paused, considered. “Sometimes,
it terrifies me, because I know now how quickly it can all be taken away. If I ever
lost you, or Emma, I’m not sure I could go on living.”

“You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met. I’ve watched life
steamroll you, more than once. But every time, you just got back up and kept on
going. If anything happened, you’d go on living. Besides, Emma and I aren’t
going anywhere.”

“Promise me that.”

“I can’t promise. I might be a wizard, but I can’t control fate. I
can promise you all my tomorrows, though, however many there are. For now,
that’ll have to do.”

She wrapped both arms around him, brushed the knuckles of one hand
up and down his back. Smiled against his chest and told him, “You always know
the right words to say.”

And tangled together like a pair of playful kittens, they slept.