The Past Between Us (6 page)

But she couldn’t sleep. Images of Tommy bombarded her. Damn him anyway.

She could still see him, clutching the fence and imploring her with his eyes. Did he think she was going to roll over and quit just because he asked her to? Of all people, she’d held the tiniest hope, when she’d held none for anyone else, that Tommy would understand. He knew what it felt like to lose everything. If she had half a chance to prove that Lionel was a bad man she was going to take it. Her need to prove Lionel was a liar had ceased to be about money within the first six months. Actually, the minute she realized her need went deeper than money, was a blessing of clarity. She’d always considered herself unaffected by the fact that her family was ridiculously wealthy. She’d never held herself above anyone else because they had less, but it wasn’t until she’d been thrust, penniless, onto the streets that she’d understood how foolish—no, arrogant—she’d been to think that she was like everyone else.

That first night, crouched shivering in a gas stop bathroom, using the hand blower for her stinging fingers…she’d known then how far from real life she’d been. For crap’s sake, she hadn’t even been able to work a washing machine. A maid had always whisked away her dirty clothes and replaced them—clean and folded or pressed, whatever the case may be—back in her dresser or closet. She hadn’t thought about the process or considered that she could screw up a load of laundry and end up ruining the only clothes she’d been able to grab before getting tossed out on her ear. She discovered the value of a dollar—before she’d never given price a thought. That first trip to the grocery store had been an enlightening experience. It’s hard to stretch five measly dollars, but when it’s all you have in the world, you learn real fast how to make it work. And sometimes the only way to make it work is to employ the five-finger discount.

A groan threatened to surface and she hugged the flat, slightly odd-smelling pillow to her face. Tommy had no idea what kind of guilt she suffered for the morals she’d had to compromise simply to stay alive. There were things in her mental lock-box that she’d never dare let anyone see. It was bad enough they were stashed in her head forever. There wasn’t enough cleanser on the planet to bleach the stain of what she’d done from her brain. There was nothing romantic about homelessness. Anyone who said anything different was on drugs.

But even though she was far from that scared homeless young woman, there were times when she resurfaced, frightened and vulnerable. Tonight was one of those times.

She tried to let her mind go blank, welcoming the exhaustion so that she could forget about the events of the day, but even as she slipped into dreamland, Tommy wasn’t far from her thoughts.

Even in the wispy landscape of her dreams…he followed.

She’d been slightly tipsy. A party at her house while her parents were away had gotten a little wild. Of course, Tommy had come because he rarely disappointed her by declining her requests, but the minute he’d seen the people acting like a bunch of drunken idiots, his face had darkened and her only thought had been to keep him from leaving.

For some reason it had mattered to her that he stayed.

“Stay. Have some fun, Tommy,” she’d pleaded, her voice bordering on playfulness. When had Tommy Bristol become such a cutie? Had she never noticed the firm swell of young muscle in his biceps or how the stubborn tightness of his jaw when he was pissed made him look…delicious?

“Cassi, these people aren’t your friends. They’re just using you for your money,” he’d said, raining on her buzz.

She’d frowned. “That’s not nice. Of course they’re my friends. Well, all except her.” She’d pointed not so discreetly at Monica Kriek, whom she actually scowled at. Who had invited her anyway, she started to mutter, but Tommy had grabbed her arm and pulled her to a quiet spot away from the crowd. “What are you doing? Oh, good, I needed some fresh air…”

“Cassi, I’m not staying,” he said, and she was shocked to see disappointment in his eyes. “I just came to give you this as an early birthday gift because I won’t be able to make your actual birthday.” He placed a small box in her hand, tied neatly with a simple purple bow, her favorite color. “I hope you like it.”

Curious, and delighted at the prospect of a gift, she opened the box. A silver locket lay nestled within the tissue. She lifted the fine chain and popped the little door on the locket. A picture of him and her when they were young stared back at her. She sobered as she stared at the picture. She remembered the day quite clearly. She’d taken it the first day they’d ever met. She’d been playing with her new camera and had been drawn to the boy in the park who’d looked so sad it made her heart hurt just to look at him.

“How did you get this?” she asked quietly.

“I found the original in your room and had a smaller copy made,” he admitted. “I managed to return the original before you noticed it was missing.”

Her mouth had tipped in a warm smile. “You little thief,” she murmured, though in truth she’d been inordinately touched by the gift. It was her favorite picture. “I love it.” She stepped forward to give him a hug but as his arms closed around her, she didn’t feel the comfort of familiarity. Instead, a zing of awakening awareness caused her to see Tommy with fresh eyes filled with wonder and tingles cascading through her body at the contact. Her heart hammered in her chest and her arms wound around his neck as if they were made to fit there. Her mouth angled toward his, and a wild, almost scared thought raced through her mind—
Are you really about to kiss Tommy Bristol? Your best friend in the world?
—before she closed the distance and felt his mouth move against hers. Their tongues touched in a tentative, explorative motion that sent need and desire hurtling through her body. She wasn’t prepared for what it meant and the devastation that could occur if it all went to crap. She pulled away, desperate to put space between them and her feelings. “I truly love the gift,” she said, her voice husky and raw. “But I have to get back to the party. Thank you…”

And as she melted into the crowd, eager for another beer to drown what she couldn’t deal with, she cast one last glance Tommy’s way but he was gone.

He had to find Cassi and he held little hope that he’d be able to find her without some assistance.

First, he dialed the bus station where he’d lost her. He knew she wouldn’t use her real name but perhaps she’d used the identity she’d been using in New York.

The gravelly voice of a ticket agent who wasn’t a fan of mornings picked up the line. He identified himself and he could’ve sworn he could hear the agent’s disinterest over the phone.

“I’m looking for information on a ticket purchased by a suspect possibly going by the name Trinity Moon. Do you have anything in your database with that name?”

There was a short pause and the clack of the woman’s nails on the keyboard, then, “No.”

“How about Cassi Nolan?” he tried.

Another pause, followed by a bored, “No.”

“Try Cassandra Nolan.”

“Are we going to do this all day? I’ve got a line growing,” she complained.

“We could. Or I could chat with your supervisor about your customer service skills and if that doesn’t faze you, how about I just have you brought in for obstruction of justice?”

She grumbled but snapped, “What’s the other name?”

He thought a minute. What name would Cassi use that wouldn’t be an easy connection? Something only someone close to her might guess…. His mind picked over and skimmed ideas but nothing hit him right away. He was almost ready to give up when his thoughts took a different route. “Try Amy Anderson,” he suggested, hoping the hunch panned out.

“What do you know, there is an Amy Anderson ticket purchased two months ago and used last night. Is that all?”

“Destination?”

“Newark, New Jersey.”

He smiled. “Thanks for your help.”

“Sure.” The withering response came as he hung up. Nothing like a New York public servant to brighten an early morning.

Why Newark? No matter. He had her secret name. This was likely the name she used as a blank slate before she created her next identity. He didn’t know why he didn’t think of it before. Now he could track her as easily as following a light in the dark.

She ambled outside, shivering as the winter air invaded her bones, and made quick work of grabbing an armful of wood to bring back inside.

Was it so long ago that her foster boys once ran amok in the little farmhouse? Was it even longer that her own boy died? The breath hitched in her chest for a painful moment and she waited for it to pass. Ah, Cordry, she thought on a sigh. Would he have grown to be a better man than he had been as a misled teen? Only God knew for sure. She tried not to dwell on the past but there were ghosts in the house it seemed.

She remembered his smile, fleeting though it was, and his love for strawberry pancakes. The rest of the details of his thirteen-year-old life were fading from her memory, slipping into a fuzzy void that sucked up the moments that gave her pain. And that’s how it should be, she realized. There was little that could be done to change the past. She knew that better than anyone and she tried to pass that on to her foster boys; Lord knew they needed to hold that lesson to their hearts. Bless them, each had been given a rough row to hoe.

A knock at the door interrupted her musings and revealed a man she’d never seen and would’ve figured for a salesman if not for his fine clothes and fancy wheels parked out front. Still, she had no desire for company at the moment so she attempted to shoo him along.

“Sorry, son, you’re barking up the wrong tree here. Ain’t nothing in the cookie jar but a few crumbs these days,” she said, moving to close the door. He stopped her with an apologetic expression.

“Excuse me, Ms. Bell, for intruding on this fine winter day but I obtained information that you once knew my daughter,” he said as his mouth tipped in a disarming smile that Mama Jo didn’t trust one bit. She narrowed her stare at him, and he hastened to add, “I’m Lionel Vissher. My daughter is Cassandra Nolan.”

“You mean your
stepdaughter,
don’t you, because I remember her father and you ain’t him.”

His mouth turned down. “Yes, of course. Stepdaughter. Do you by any chance know where she is? I heard at one time she used to be very close to your foster son and spent a lot of time here in your house.”

The way he said it made her feel as if she’d transgressed for allowing a young girl to find solace and companionship at her hearth. She tightened her shawl around her shoulders but didn’t invite the man in. She’d rather stand there and shiver to death than give this Lionel character any comfort. Mama Jo found him distasteful and didn’t mind letting it show in her expression. She didn’t know where Cassi was but even if she did, she doubted she’d share that information with this man. His eyes were flinty and cold even if he was going out of his way to appear harmless. “It’s been a long time since Cassi Nolan spent any time in this house,” she said, leaving it at that.

And a pity, too. She cared for that girl and hoped she came to her senses sooner rather than later, but Thomas hadn’t mentioned her name once since their big blowup all those years ago in college. Mama Jo had hoped—well, shoot, if you twisted her arm she’d admit she’d prayed—that those two were going to tie the knot someday. Alas, she thought on a private sigh, it hadn’t worked out that way.

“Yes, well, she hasn’t been home in a long time, either,” he admitted. “I just worry. I’d like to know she’s all right. You know, I’m her only family since her mother’s passing two years ago. I’d feel better if I at least knew where she was, even if she didn’t want to come home. Surely, as a mother, you understand my feelings.” She grunted something in agreement and he took that as a positive sign and handed her a business card. “If she contacts you…please let me know. I would be most appreciative, Ms. Bell. Perhaps,” he said slyly as he walked away. “I could even make it worth your while.”

’Coon poop, that’s what he was.
She recognized a bribe when she saw it. She watched as he climbed into that ridiculous-looking fancy car that was ill-suited for her country road and when he’d disappeared, she went inside and ripped the card to pieces before tossing it into the fire along with a fresh log. If he wanted to find Cassi, he could do it himself. She wasn’t about to tattle on the girl. If she wanted to come home, she would.

Mama Jo settled in her favorite chair to warm her frozen bones and her thoughts wandered to Thomas. A smile followed. The strong, silent one with the biggest heart—a heart that had only ever belonged to one person…and that girl had been too silly to notice.

Well, maybe that would change. She could only hope. An all-over fatigue wore her out, and she closed her eyes. Seemed the need to nap came more and more when before she’d managed on a handful of hours. Growing boys had needed constant supervision. A few minutes of shut-eye sounded just the thing…and then she’d make some chili, because nothing tasted better on a cold day than hot chili.