Sins That Haunt (30 page)

“What's going on?” he said when he'd finally found her.

She opened his door. “Get in.”

“Wait, why? Are you getting rid of me? Shannon, we need to talk.”

She rolled her eyes and got in the car herself. “Get in,” she repeated.

Assured she wasn't sending him off on his lonesome, he took the seat next to her. “Where are we going?”

“For a drive.”

“Are we going to talk?”

“No.” Wow, this evasive stuff was fun. No wonder cops enjoyed it so much.

“Shannon—”

“That's Ms. Joyce to you.” She crossed her arms and sat back with an expression that clearly told him to be quiet. She was mimicking what he'd done to her, but in all honesty, fear was her motive now. Scared to open her mouth and screw this up, scared that when they got to Tweedsmuir she'd have to say good-bye forever. What if afterward Mrs. P hated her? It was funny how facing her worst fear might be her only shot with Noah.

Luckily, Noah humored her and said nothing else. He kept his eyes on the road, trying to figure out where they were headed. When they turned onto the airport road he swung his head in her direction. “Please don't tell me you're shoving me on a plane.”

“Okay.”

“Damn it, Shannon, what's going on?”

“Don't curse.” Somehow that didn't seem right coming out of her mouth.

They stopped at Departures and she got out of the car. The driver popped the trunk and the tense lines marring Noah's face disappeared when he smiled, seeing her luggage next to his.

“You're coming home with me?” he asked, the hope in his voice warming her from the inside out.

“Thank you. We'll take it from here,” she said, ignoring him and tipping the driver as Noah grabbed their bags.

“Was this some kind of payback?”

“No, I have much worse in store for you. Look, let's not get ahead of ourselves. I have something I need to do in Tweedsmuir. I'm not promising anything until that's done.”

“But you're open to discussing us? I mean, you're coming with me.”

“I can't walk away like I did the first time. That was for you, but it was mostly for me. I didn't deserve you and I certainly wasn't good enough for you.”

“That's a load of bull.”

“I had just caused a man's death. My father had tried to whore me out and my mother was suffering serious mental health issues. Whereas your dad played pro ball before he went back to medical school. Your mom was a respected member of the community who gave up her legal practice to raise you and your sister. Yeah, I'd say I wasn't good enough for you. I knew it, the whole town knew it, and you were just too blinded by my charms to know it.” She held up her hand when he opened his gorgeous mouth to argue. “Maggie thinks I'm punishing myself.”

“What do you think?”

She motioned to the spinning doors leading into the terminal. “Walk and talk or we'll miss our plane.” She waited until they were inside before continuing. “She's right and I have to stop doing that.”

There were no lines and they were able to head right to the counter to pick up their boarding passes, then to security.

“So what's the plan?” he asked, checking his pockets for change, then removing his belt and dumping it in the plastic bin.

“I'll let you know after I talk to Mrs. P and tell her the truth.” She removed her shoes and tossed them into another bin.

“Sir,” the security guard said, pointing to the shoes in Noah's hands.

He stood there, staring at her, wide-eyed and annoying airport security. She took the shoes and placed them with his belt. Then she turned him around and pointed him in the direction of the metal detector. When she herself had gone through and they'd put on their shoes and grabbed their things, Noah snagged her elbow and hurried them off to an empty spot at one of the gates.

“You're going to tell Mrs. P? What exactly are you going to tell her?” he asked, sounding worried.

“The truth.”

“I should go with you.”

She patted his cheek. “That's nice of you, but I have to do this myself.” This was her sin and, truth be told, she didn't want anyone around should it go bad.

“Why now? I mean . . . why now? Are you doing this for us? You don't have to. When I get back I plan to look into a transfer. I want you in my life, Shannon. If Elena Santos didn't shoot her husband . . . I could've lost you, again.”

“Damn; I didn't plan on having this conversation now. Look, I can't ask you to risk a promotion you obviously wanted. And if you know me, then you know why. So let's shelve the moving cities talk until later. That's not to say I don't want to get to know the man you've become. But before I can even consider moving forward I need to put what happened with Mr. P. behind me.”

“You'd do that for me?”

“No, I'd do it for us. But no promises, Noah. I can't predict how she'll react or my reaction to her reaction. So let's be patient, okay?”

“Are you sure you want to do this? Mrs. P has moved on.”

“And maybe if I'd faced this years ago, I could have moved on too. Maybe you came back into my life for a reason.” She was getting a second chance. No way would she let it pass her because she didn't have the balls to face what she'd done. She owed it to Mrs. P. She owed it to Noah. And yes, she owed it to herself.

“I don't want to lose you because she reacts badly to what you tell her. That's not fair to me or you.”

He was right. “You're missing the point. Telling her is only the first step. The rest . . . the rest we still need to figure out.” It was all she could promise.

* * *

Shannon and Noah sat outside Mrs. Polanski's house as two deliverymen carried out the old television, after having delivered a new, sixty-two-inch flat screen. Mrs. P was cashing in on her monthly sweepstakes check. Even while dreading what needed to be done, Shannon had to smile. The woman loved her soaps, but beyond that she didn't watch much television. What was she going to do with a big-ass TV?

“It won't bring him back,” Noah said. “Maybe it's better she doesn't know.”

“Maybe, and maybe I'm being selfish, but I can't keep letting this eat away at me. I don't want to hurt her. If she forgives me, great . . . if not—” She shrugged. There wasn't much she could do about it. “Knowing you're out here will make me nervous so don't wait for me.”

She reached for the door handle when Noah yanked her back and kissed her. His mouth was warm, reassuring.

“I love you,” he said, breaking the skin-tingling kiss. “Nothing that happens in there will change that.”

She wasn't going to say it back. Before she moved into the future she had to fix the past. Because her admitting she loved him wasn't going to be followed by a
but
.

“Wish me luck,” she said and left the car.

Mrs. P's spider sense kicked in again, and by the time Shannon stepped onto the porch the front door had opened.

“Shannon,” she exclaimed, arms open wide for a hug.

She fell into the warm embrace, praying this wouldn't be their last hug. “Do you have bionic ears or something? I swear, you know when I'm here.”

“Bi-o-nic? What is that? No, no, look.” She pointed to the right corner above her door. “Camera.” She smiled. “Cool, yes?”

Shannon didn't point out that Tweedsmuir virtually had no crime and a fancy security system was a little over the top. “Very cool.” The woman was too cute, and the idea of Mrs. P hating her sliced into Shannon's heart.

“You want cake?” she asked once they were inside.

“No, thank you.” Prolonging the inevitable wouldn't make it any easier.

“Oh? You watching your girlish figure? Maybe for special man?”

“Maybe,” she said, her tone promising nothing.

“Maybe yes or maybe no? Give it up.”

“Give it up?”

“I learned on television. It means . . . it means . . .” She tapped her chin with her index finger. “I don't know what it means, but when woman told man, he spilled his guts.”

Shannon laughed. “No guts spilling.”

“You no say no so it's a yes,” she said, grabbing her hand and dragging her to the couch. “Tell me. Is he good kisser?”

“Mrs. P, what the heck?” She gave her a playful slap on the arm. Holy cow, no way was she discussing her love life with her surrogate mother.

“It worth a shot. So if you no want to talk about sex with Noah, why you say you have something important to tell me?”

It took a few minutes for Shannon to get her jaw to work, but when she did she sobered up quickly, remembering why she'd come. “It's about Mr. Polanski . . . and the way he died.”

“Frederick.” Mrs. P crossed her hands over her lap, the way she always did when conversations turned serious. “This is something I do not wish to talk about. Very painful,” she shook her head, “very painful.”

Shannon swallowed hard and took in a deep breath. She could do this. Mrs. P needed to know. “I understand. Someone you loved was taken from you in the worst way.”

“Yes, so enough, no more. You want cake?”

Mrs. P went to stand, but Shannon grabbed her arm to stop her. “No cake. This is hard for me. Please, I need you to sit and listen.”

She sat back down, her brow crinkled with worry. “Is this bad?”

“This is bad.”

“Okay, I listen.”

“Mr. P's death. It wasn't his fault.”

“Yes,” she said her forehead furrowed deeper. “I know, but how you know? We told no one.”

His suicide was common knowledge so she could only be referring to his using their savings for a life insurance that never panned out. “I know about his last investment.”

“Oh, yes, but his heart in right place. And see,” she turned up a palm, “I win sweepstake. If only my Fredrick had more courage,” she said regretfully. “We could have had a little more time.”

Many people saw suicide as a coward's way out, a sin even. For the person who took his own life, the profound sense of desperation needed for such a drastic decision was over, and hopefully they were at peace. It was the ones left to pick up the pieces who were then left to deal, when the victim themselves could not. And be it mental illness or something else, they
were
victims. But even if the whys were answered, it was the what ifs their loved ones were forced to suffer through, the one question with no answer. Could they have done something to prevent such a tragedy? And were they to blame?

Who knew what Mr. Polanski was thinking? But considering JJ had robbed him of much of his life's savings, she assumed the shame must have been too much for him. “It wasn't his fault,” she repeated. She couldn't undo what was done and she didn't want Mrs. P to hate her. But better to blame Shannon than herself. It was the one thing she could do for the woman.

“It was my fault he died. Partially anyway.” She could see that now. JJ had done the deed and would have with or without her help. But she still needed to own up to her part.

“Your fault?” Mrs. P said, obviously confused and wondering what the hell she was talking about. “No. I did same for many years. I blame myself because I was selfish. Who was I to make him stay? I thought he don't love me.” Tears began to pool in her eyes.

If Shannon thought she couldn't feel any worse, she was wrong.

“But later I realize he did it
because
he love me. Cancer is an awful thing.”

Cancer? “Wait . . . what?”

“My Freddy, he did not want
me
to suffer. He knew I too would die watching him die. I was very mad.” She shook her head woefully. “Then I realize I selfish. He did not want to suffer,” she placed a hand over her heart, “or make me suffer.
Stupid
man. But who am I to tell another how to die? So you see, Shannon,” she patted Shannon's knee, “it no one fault but the cancer. What could a young girl do?”

Shannon blinked. She'd listened closely to Mrs. P explain, but maybe she'd misunderstood. “Mr. Polanski had cancer?”

“Yes, I thought you know. You said—”

“Yes, it–it wasn't what I meant. So you're telling me you think he took his life because he had cancer?” Could Mr. Polanski have lied to his wife?

“No think. It is the truth. Freddy left a note. You remember the winter before? He have bad cough, very bad.”

Shannon thought back and did recall Mr. Polanski had suffered pneumonia not once but three times. Mrs. P had complained what a mistake it had been for him to refuse the shot. “I remember. You were mad because he'd been stubborn. He was afraid of needles.”

“Yes. He no have pneumonia. He had lung cancer, full of lung cancer,” she said, wiping away a tear.

“I didn't know.”

“No one knew. He very proud. Wanted no one should know.”

She believed her husband took his life because he was dying. But had the poor man expected his wife to cash in on the life insurance he thought he'd bought through JJ? But if that had been his thinking, because he didn't know about the two-year waiting time in the suicide clause, why take his life early? Sooner or later she'd collect. Maybe he did know about the clause and was afraid to leave his wife penniless. No, that didn't work. If he'd died of legitimate causes, she'd have again collected on the plan. Holy hell, she was confused.

JJ had dressed up the scam. Anyone buying in would have thought their initial investment was passed on to living relatives. So he really did take his life because of terminal cancer. Then why had he asked JJ for his money back? A hospital bill? Could he have taken his life to prevent his leaving her with a massive debt?