She gripped his chin, tugging until he opened his eyes and looked at her. ‘But you didn’t, right?’
‘No, I didn’t.’ Thank God. He still shuddered at the dread of what might have happened. ‘I knew the kid. He lives in my neighborhood. Ironically enough, he was as drunk as I was. He grabbed his bike, begged me not to tell his mother he’d been drinking. I was kind of stupefied, you know? In shock and reeling. I said okay and put his bike in the back of my Jeep and drove him home. He said he was just going to tell his mom he fell off his bike. When I got home, I collapsed in my bed and didn’t wake up for almost twenty-four hours.’ He’d been a physical mess. His own stench had woken him. And that lovely little detail he was keeping to himself. ‘I was completely sober, for the first time since Paula. I looked in the mirror and realized what I’d become. My mother might have died. And that kid . . . God. So I gathered all my bottles and poured them all out. Then I found an AA meeting.’
‘I’m so glad you did. Shh,’ she soothed. ‘It’s all right.’
Because he was shaking and hadn’t even realized it. ‘You shouldn’t be looking at me like that.’ Softly. With compassion.
Her lips curved sadly. ‘Then how should I look at you?’
‘With contempt.’ Like I look at me.
She shook her head. ‘Adam, you saw something horrific and you self-medicated your trauma. It’s not an unusual reaction. But it wasn’t good for you. You realized that, and now you’re not doing it anymore. You shouldn’t be ashamed. You should be proud. You know how few people can bring themselves back like that.’
‘And if I fall off the wagon?’
‘Then you get back on. Do you plan to fall off?’
‘No.’ He shuddered at the pictures his mind always conjured, his mother, on the floor, having died alone. And that kid dead on the side of the road, his bike wheels spinning. That wasn’t what had happened. The kid was just fine.
His mother though . . . Her arm and head had healed, but her heart was even weaker than it had been. Her next heart attack might be her last. And whenever that happened, he was going to have to live with the fact that he’d hastened it.
‘I can’t be that person again,’ he whispered hoarsely. ‘I’m not that person.’
And maybe, just maybe, he might believe that someday.
A brush of her thumb over his lips. ‘Good. I’m glad.’
And that was the worst of it, he realized, briefly stunned. Those were the worst secrets and she was still here, her words, her touch still gentle. ‘That night last summer, when I came to see you? When we colored?’
‘I remember.’
He did too. He remembered every single second, because he’d been sober as a judge. Leaving her that night had been one of the hardest things he’d ever done and that included giving up the booze. ‘I left your house and called my sponsor. Found a midnight meeting even though I’d just gone to one that morning. I sat in that midnight meeting and promised myself I wouldn’t have any more contact with you until I’d earned my year coin.’
Her hand cupped his cheek and he turned into her touch. ‘Were you ever going to tell me all of this?’ she asked.
‘Yes.’ He winced. ‘Maybe? I don’t know. Sorry.’
‘Don’t be sorry. I might not have believed the “yes.”’ She was quiet for a long moment. ‘If you need to walk away from me until you get that coin, I’ll understand.’
‘I don’t know if I can,’ he whispered. ‘I need you too much.’
She sagged into him, shuddering out a relieved breath. ‘Good. Because I need you too. I mean, I can get through the next few weeks without you if I must. Papa is here and my cousin Alex is coming from Atlanta for Christmas. Bailey, Hope, and Ryan will be with me too. I wouldn’t be completely alone.’
And why her family was about to gather ranks around her was a question he wanted answered. But that could wait, at least until they’d slept.
She rubbed her cheek against his chest. ‘It’s so much nicer to have you, though.’
And suddenly it was that simple. He could get through the next two weeks without her too. He’d made it eleven months and fourteen days on his own. If he had to, he could finish out the year. But for the next few hours, at least, he wasn’t leaving her alone.
Because she needed him too.
Cincinnati, Ohio,
Sunday 20 December, 9.45 A.M.
Heart thundering, Linnea tugged at the scarf that Sister Angela had wound around her head and face, allowing her to hide in plain sight. The pay phone was outside an old corner store with bars on the windows, but the neighborhood wasn’t all that scary. Linnea had seen far, far worse. Having a nun at her back certainly didn’t hurt.
She lifted the receiver and frowned. ‘No dial tone,’ she said to Sister Angela.
‘Try putting a quarter in first. You should get it back once you hang up.’
Linnea obeyed, but wiped the quarter clean first. She’d have to wipe the whole phone clean when she was finished. Inserting the quarter, she was relieved to hear the dial tone. Fingers trembling, she dialed 911.
‘This is 911. What is the nature of your emergency?’ the operator asked.
Linnea’s throat closed.
‘Hello? Are you there?’ the operator said.
Linnea’s breath wheezed out of her chest and then she felt a hand on her back. Sister Angela, patting her gently. ‘You want me to talk to them, child?’
‘No,’ Linnea managed. ‘I can do it. I need to do it.’ I need to be a nice person. She waited until the nun had stepped far enough away that her whispered words couldn’t be overheard. ‘I’m, um . . . Can I talk to somebody about the shooting yesterday? The one downtown? I have . . . information.’
‘I see.’ The operator’s voice gentled. ‘Let me transfer you.’
‘No,’ Linnea cried out. That would take a while and she didn’t want to stand out here, a sitting duck if the wrong person saw her. She knew her fear was illogical. He couldn’t be everywhere, but . . . he always seemed to be. She dropped her voice back to a whisper. ‘Just tell them that the SUV used in the shooting can be found at Clyde’s Place, at 275 and Beechmont. Tell them . . . to be careful. The person who left it there . . . they bled and they’re positive. For, you know, HIV. Tell the cops to wear gloves. That’s all.’
‘Wait!’ the operator insisted, but Linnea replaced the receiver. The quarter came jingling down and she removed it.
She used her sleeve to wipe down all the parts of the phone that she’d touched, then returned to the nun and handed her the quarter. ‘Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome, child.’ The nun’s smile was . . . sweet. Linnea hadn’t seen sweetness there at first.
But I was wrong. I was wrong about so many things. I have to make them right. ‘Can we go back now?’ She had cramps from hell and all she wanted was to lie down and curl into a fetal position.
‘Of course.’ In an unexpected move, Sister Angela crooked her elbow, like she wanted Linnea to take it. So she did. And she and the nun walked back to the shelter arm-in-arm. It was . . . nice. And when they got to the church she didn’t feel quite as much panic as she had the night before. In fact, she felt a spurt of something that felt remarkably like hope. Like maybe, just maybe she’d be able to sit in one of those pews. Someday.
It was a nice dream anyway.
Cincinnati, Ohio,
Sunday 20 December, 9.45 A.M.
Butch rubbed his huge hands over his face. ‘Tell me again why we’re doin’ this?’ He dropped into the shabby hotel chair. ‘The girls make us a shit-ton of money. None of them has even seen you. None of the ones still alive, anyway.’
No, none of them had except for Linnea, and it was really eating at him that she was still out there somewhere, presumably alive. It was like she’d vanished into nowhere.
Even if she were dead somewhere, she was still a major liability.