He went over to his trunk and unlocked it. He dropped the journal inside next to the box with his six-shooter. The question was, would acting be a life sentence? Was he always going to have to run every convo, every sight, sound, and scent through the fake him until the end of his days? Could he never be one person again, confident in himself—and in the reality surrounding him?
He opened the little lockbox and palmed the revolver. It was cool and heavy in his hand. He slid the cylinder open and confirmed it wasn’t loaded. Yep—the single bullet, the one with his name on it, was still in the steel box. Rocco pulled the trigger. The snap it made wasn’t even as loud as a cap gun. It was empty and useless. Like him.
Mandy came to a sharp stop in the lower level of the barn. She’d heard a mechanical snap. Just once. She’d heard it plenty of times before, when her grandfather was cleaning his guns. He often would do a dry firing when he finished.
“Rocco?” she called out, hurrying toward the stairs. “Rocco?” She heard what sounded like his trunk slam shut. As soon as she could see into the hayloft, she scanned the space. Rocco was standing next to the closed trunk, his hands at his sides. She couldn’t see a gun anywhere. Was he hiding it? She knew what she’d heard.
His face looked calm though his eyes were screaming at her. She fought tears. Now was not the time for hysteria. She walked over to him and took hold of his face. He looked down, masking his expression as a current rippled through him at her touch.
“What are you doing up here?”
“Nothing.”
She lowered her hands. “I heard a gun, Rocco.” He didn’t answer, didn’t blink or shrug or make excuses. “What’s in the trunk?”
“Nothing.”
“Open it.”
“Why?”
“Why are you keeping secrets from me?”
“What makes you think I am?”
“Because you won’t open the trunk.”
His nostrils flared, and he thrust his chin forward as if thoroughly insulted at her insinuations. He bent over and opened the lid. Inside were a square steel box and a stationery box.
“The shrink asked me to do some writing.” He lifted out the smaller box and opened it, showing her the leather journal inside.
“That’s a good idea. What about the other box?”
“Leave it, Em.”
“I can’t.”
Rocco lifted that lid, too. A single bullet rolled around the empty box. She picked it up and held it between them as she asked, “Where’s the gun?”
“There’s no gun.”
“Why a bullet without a gun?”
“Safer that way.”
Mandy’s mouth opened in a gasp. She pressed her hands to her face as she walked over to the window, trying to stave off the panic that comment shot through her.
“You said life was a choice,” Rocco reminded her.
She looked back at him. His eyes were dark and desperate. “No. No, I said how you react to life is a choice, not life itself. Rocco, is this what you do up here? Think about ending your life?”
He tore his eyes from her and looked away.
Tears spilled down her face. She glanced out the window. Trucks were pulling up her driveway. She’d come here to tell Rocco about the garden—and to ask about his visit with Dr. Kimble. Never had she expected this. She was in such shock, she didn’t know what to do, what to think. She sucked in a harsh breath, then covered her mouth so that he wouldn’t hear that involuntary sound.
The garden contractors were starting to mill about her front yard. She needed to get over there. She turned and looked at him, standing frozen by his trunk. “I just came to tell you that I’m having a small garden put in over the next few days. Greer cleared the contractors. They shouldn’t disturb you much.”
Rocco’s gaze met hers. She went to the stairs, leaving because she was a coward. She hadn’t seen a gun, so perhaps what she thought she’d heard had been something different.
She was halfway to the new garden site when she realized she still had Rocco’s bullet in her pocket.
Chapter Four
Mandy wiped her tears away before she stepped out of the barn. The project foreman waved to her. She waved back. It hadn’t taken long to find a garden center that could begin work quickly, now that the busy part of the season had passed.
When she reached her front yard, the foreman showed her the plans. The whole garden would be done in a circle about forty feet across. Pavers would encircle a large, three-tier stone fountain. On the outer edge, there would be three benches with stone seats and colorful Mediterranean tiles on the base and seat backs. Between each bench would be a large cottonwood, with room for seasonal flowers in wide beds. Enclosing the whole thing would be some dense evergreen shrubs. The foreman pointed to them on the plan.
“They’ll grow about eight feet high and wide. You’ll need to trim them every year. But once they’re mature, which will take six years or so, they’ll form a nice privacy border and windbreak, so you can enjoy this space even in winter.”
“Sounds lovely. Just what I wanted,” Mandy said.
“We’ll start this morning. We should be out of here in a few days.”