Love Lies Bleeding: A Novel Part 23
I stand at the window and watch the rain sheeting down the gla.s.s. Jumping at every clap of thunder, I hug myself and turn away, but the violence occurring outside calls to me. I cover my ears, but it only m.u.f.fles the sound of the storm. I would like to run, to crawl under the bed as I did as a child. But I'm not a child-I'm a man. My hands drop and my lips twist in a bitter smile.
Take it like a man-isn't that what I've always been told? Childish tears will not be tolerated. And if I fail? If I can't control my emotions-punishment will follow. Isolation. Darkness. The cold and damp pressing down on me as I curl into a small ball and pray for rescue.
But there is no rescue. No one hears my pitiful cries for help.
My back is to the window, my gaze traveling around the room. Such a fine, upstanding family everyone says, but they don't know the secrets behind the facade. The violence hidden under the surface-more frightening than any storm nature could manufacture.
I was only six when it happened the first time. Shaking my head, I can't even remember what caused the incident. A broken toy? A temper tantrum over not being allowed another cookie? "Stop it, stop it," he screamed into my tearstained face. "Real men don't cry," he admonished.
And her? She stood by and watched him grab my thin arm and march me out the door. He pulled me toward the black, gaping gash in the side of the hill. In my innocence, I had no idea what was to follow. I'd witnessed his anger focused on her, but he had never directed it at me. I had no thought that the man who was supposed to protect me would throw me in that dark hole then leave me. How long had I lain there? Minutes? Hours? Whimpering in terror until finally he brought me out into the light, my soul forever marked.
With trembling hands, I pour a drink. I don't even care that it's the cheap stuff. Downing it in one gulp, I slam the gla.s.s on the counter and, bowing my head, try to banish my dark thoughts.
My attention steals to the window. It had been a night like this, hadn't it? My last visit to my own personal h.e.l.l. All I'd asked for was understanding and a little kindness. Wasn't that my right? Didn't I deserve it? My hands tighten into fists. Didn't she owe me?
But she'd mocked me, questioned my manhood, used the same words he'd used. As I look back, it all seems like a bad dream now. Stumbling up the hill on the rain-slick slope.
I stagger over to the window and press my palm against the cool gla.s.s. As I stare across the dark water, the tears begin to gather. It's so unfair-this dream that haunts me. Is there no escape? I wipe my eyes. Samantha was to be my ticket to freedom. I would have used her and her father to achieve the life I deserve. Lawrence Moore's patronage and all that money would've made the difference. Old scars and wounds would've been forgotten and forgiven.
But now? I feel it slipping away.
"No!" I cry above the thunder. Squaring my shoulders, I slap my hand against the window. I'm a man. A man meets his challenges head-on. A man strikes at the heart of his enemies and takes that which they value most. Divide and conquer.
I smile. No. I haven't lost yet.
I stare out the window and plan-my mind spinning ways that I can salvage the situation while in the distance a light bobs through the storm.
Chapter Twenty-three.
Tears streamed down Sam's face, indistinguishable from the raindrops pouring all around her. Above her, bolts of lightning crisscrossed the sky, while thunder pounded. In the distance, over the thunder, she heard the wind whipping the waves against the rocks lining the sh.o.r.e. What kind of man would send a defenseless animal out in a storm like this? She swiped a wet sleeve against her dripping nose. Not one she'd want to spend the rest of her life with, that's for sure. A lie-it had all been a lie. The person she thought she knew so well had been false, nothing more than a front.
Don't think about it now, she chided herself. Find Roxy.
Her flashlight beam bounced through the trees as she desperately called out the dog's name. Would Roxy hear her over the thunder? She prayed she would. The thought of losing her tightened Sam's throat and caused fresh tears to run down her cheeks. Thankfully, in her frantic search, she forgot to be afraid.
She'd pa.s.sed Greg's place and made it to the end of the road before she stopped. Ahead of her nothing but the churning water of the lake. Her shoulders drooped and her hand holding the flashlight sagged. It was no use. Roxy was nowhere to be found. Her only hope was that the dog could find her way home on her own. Discouraged, Sam turned and began to slog her way through the mud, back to the cabin. She'd never forgive Jackson for this, she thought, anger stiffening her spine. He'd better be gone when she arrived.
She was halfway there, when a hand on her shoulders spun her around as the smell of liquor hit her. Jackson. She raised her flashlight in defense and the hand dropped away. Shining the light upward, she was astonished to see Greg standing in front of her.
"Hey," he said, raising his hands to shield his eyes. "You don't need to blind me."
"Sorry." Sam lowered the light. "What are you doing out here?"
"I might ask the same of you, but I already know." Taking her arm, he started to lead her back toward his cabin. "I saw your flashlight from my window and figured you were out looking for your dog." He paused. "She's at my house."
Sam halted, the soles of her tennis shoes skidding in the mud. "Roxy? You found Roxy?"
Greg chuckled. "More like she found me. I was enjoying a hot toddy when I heard her over the storm, scratching at the front door." His voice lost its humor. "What happened? You didn't put her out in this, did you?"
"Of course not," Sam replied, not keeping the anger out of her voice. "Jackson did."
"Ah." He paused. "You know, Sam, since Jackson feels so strongly about her, maybe it would be better if I kept her."
"No!" Sam cried, pushing the wet hair back from her face. "You can't take her back. I won't let you."
Greg held up a hand. "Easy now. It's only a suggestion. I simply think that with Jackson-"
She spun toward him, cutting him off. "Jackson is gone."
"For now, but what about when you move-" He stopped when Sam wiggled her left hand in front of his nose.
"I mean gone as in permanently," she insisted.
"You broke up with him over Roxy?"
Sam shook her head. "What he did was mean and dirty, but there's more to it than that." She hesitated, thinking back over the relationship. "Jackson changed after I was attacked, or maybe it was that I changed. I don't know, but I wasn't the same person he'd asked to marry him." She looked down at her weak leg. "I'm not a trophy he can parade on his arm any longer."
"A trophy? You're more than just a beautiful woman."
A beautiful woman-she hadn't been called that since her attack, and her cheeks grew warm with pleasure. But before she could thank Greg for the compliment, a crack of lightning flashed overhead.
Taking her arm, Greg started toward his cabin. "Come on, let's get out of the rain."
She allowed him to guide her up the steps, and they both stopped on the porch, watching the storm roll around them. Sam let the silence lengthen.
Finally she glanced over at him and smiled. "I've learned something over the past few days-I don't want to be a princess and I don't want to be a trophy."
Greg stepped forward and braced his hands on the porch railing. "Life has a way of changing on us, doesn't it?" he asked, and Sam heard the sadness in his voice.
"It changed on you, didn't it? Anne told me you were once a veterinarian."
"That," he said, the single word speaking volumes.
"What happened?"
He jerked his shoulders. "An old story-young man falls for a gorgeous woman, only to find said woman is more interested in the money than the man. She took me for everything I had." He laughed caustically. "Last I heard-she and her boyfriend were living quite well."
"Why haven't you opened a practice up here?"
He turned and leaned against the rail, the rain running off the porch roof and forming a curtain behind him. "I discovered it's more rewarding to give animals a second chance at a home than to treat some rich woman's pampered pet." His eyes strayed beyond her to his small cabin. "I also learned I really don't need much-a warm place to live; food on the table; my saxophone; and my dogs." He clicked his tongue. "Life's good."
"You didn't mention a woman on that list."
His eyebrows shot up. "Are you kidding me?" he exclaimed. "Once bitten, twice shy."
"So you've given up?"
"Some might see it that way," he answered wryly, "but I prefer to think of it as simply using good judgment."
Sam shook her head. "Every woman isn't like your wife."
"Ex-wife," he interjected quickly.
"Okay, ex-wife, but-"
Greg's chuckle stopped her. "You sound like Anne." His face grew serious. "Maybe you're both right, but after the wringer I went through, I find it hard to trust those of the female persuasion." His smile returned as he glanced back toward the cabin. "Except Molly, of course." He left his post by the railing and crossed the porch until he stood directly in front of Sam. Looking down, his eyes questioned her. "After what's happened with your fiance, don't you feel a little betrayed? Are you going to rush into a new relationship?"
Sam's heartbeat picked up and she stepped back. "Well, ah, yes . . . a bit, and no, I don't want a new relationship tomorrow." She glanced out at the storm. "Someday I'll find someone, but first I have to figure out who Samantha Moore is."
"Not a trophy or a princess?" Greg asked, his eyes twinkling.
She chuckled in response. "Right." With a nudge to Greg's arm, she turned and headed for the door. "Now give me back my dog."
The next morning, Sam slowly turned on her back and gave a long stretch. What was that corny old saying? "Today is the first day of the rest of your life"? Sitting, she pulled her knees up to her chest and grinned. Corny or not, it described how she felt at the moment. Sure, she thought, resting her chin on her knees, there was a little bit of sadness involved whenever she thought about Jackson, and she knew there'd be more battles with her father. He wasn't one to give up easily, especially when he believed he was right. Which was most of the time, she thought, snorting inwardly. But for now, she couldn't help feeling like she'd been let out of jail. And it made her almost giddy.
Scooting to the edge of the bed, she swung her feet onto the floor and leaned back. Propped on her elbows, she lifted her right leg and held it. Now for the left leg. Her brow knitted in a frown as she began to raise her left leg. She crossed her fingers. Slowly her left leg rose until it was the same height as her right. Scrunching her eyelids shut, she waited for the spasm to hit. When it didn't, her eyes shot open and she started counting.
One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . . five. Sweat gathered on her upper lip and her belly tightened, but she felt no pain. Six . . . seven . . . eight . . . nine. Her leg began to quiver. Come on-just one more. Ten! Falling back against the mattress, she rested half in, half out of the bed.
"Yes," she cried, pumping her fist in the air. Sitting up quickly, she lifted her nightgown high enough to see the muscle in her left thigh. Maybe it was her imagination, but she could swear that it looked thicker, more toned. She threw her arms around Roxy's neck.
"Greg's right-life is good," she said to the bewildered dog.
Quickly Sam rose and crossed to the window. The lake below sparkled in the morning sun and the world looked fresh after last night's storm. A wild idea flitted through her brain. With a nod, she grabbed her jeans, a T-shirt, and a pair of st.u.r.dy shoes. Hurrying into the bathroom, she dressed, then quickly brushed her teeth and splashed water on her face. After running a comb through her hair, she was ready. She wrote a hurried note to Anne giving her the morning off, and she and Roxy took off for a leisurely stroll.
As she carefully took the steps, she spied a flash of red out of the corner of her eye. She stopped. Son of a gun-the dying bush at the corner of the porch had come to life. The buckets of rain must have revived it. Not only were the leaves now a dark green, but the stalks were covered with heavy cl.u.s.ters of bright red flowers, hanging downward like grapes. She moved toward it, but Roxy gave a tug on her leash and pulled her back.
Stepping onto the gravel in front of the cabin, Sam felt a beat of panic. Setting off alone was a little bit crazy. What if she lost her balance and fell? Her leg was stronger, but would it be enough to get her back on her feet after a fall? Or would she lie there like a turtle flipped over on its back?
Stop it, said a voice in her head. Remember the first day and all that. Did she want fear to be part of her new vocabulary-her new life? No, she didn't and she wouldn't allow it. Suddenly her spirit felt lighter. Wow, was it that easy? What other words would be banished from her life? Hmm, deadlines . . . definitely deadlines. From now on the only deadline she'd meet would be of her own making. No more having her father harangue her about meeting the client's needs. No more endless chatter about corporate goals. She'd pick out her own goals, thank you very much.
Committee meetings should be nixed, too. She thought back on the endless ones her mother had made her attend. Talk, talk, talk, but no action. Sitting with people whose idea of charity was writing a big check to ease their conscience so that they could go about their business. Well, not her. She needed to be careful with her money-at least until she knew how successful her career as an artist would be-but it didn't mean that she couldn't do charitable things. She looked down at Roxy, trotting happily at her side. Such an excellent dog and look at the difference Roxy had made in her life. Here she was, strolling down the road, without a care, no anxiety, no panic. Roxy had given her back a measure of confidence, but without Greg, the dog probably would have been euthanized. That's what she'd do-she'd give her time and volunteer at a rescue shelter. Help other dogs-and people-get a second chance at life.
Sam lifted her head and was shocked. She'd been so lost in planning her new life that she hadn't realized how far she'd walked. She was halfway around the lake. Moving to retrace her steps, she halted when the sound of music drifted through the trees. So beautiful, but Sam didn't recognize it. She walked a few yards toward the sound and stepped into a clearing. Fritz's cabin sat a short distance away. He must be listening to his stereo.
Sam stood quietly for a moment, letting the lilting notes wash over her, but before she could turn away, Fritz stepped out onto his porch with a garbage bag in hand. Seeing her, he called out.
"Samantha, have you come for a visit?" he asked in a delighted voice.
Caught, Sam faltered. "Ah, it's a lovely morning, so I decided to take a walk."
Dropping the bag, Fritz lifted his face to the sun filtering through the trees. "It is, isn't it? A storm always seems to clear things." Returning his attention to her, he peered past her. "Where's your chaperone?"
"Anne?" Sam shook her head. "Roxy's my only companion today."
"Good for you. A little independence never hurt anyone." He waved her forward. "Come in. Join me for coffee."
"That's kind, but I wouldn't want to disturb you."
"You're not disturbing me," he said, nudging the bag with his foot. "You're rescuing me from mundane housework."
Sam gave Roxy's leash a light tug and joined Fritz. After ushering her into the cabin, he moved toward the stereo. Sam stopped him.
"No need to turn it off. It's lovely, but I don't recognize the composer. Who is it?"
Fritz placed a hand over his heart and bowed slightly. "Me."
Sam's eyes widened. "You composed that?"
"Yes," he answered, his face wreathed in pleasure. "For that reaction to my music, you deserve more than coffee. A b.l.o.o.d.y Mary perhaps?"
"No thanks," Sam said, waving her hands. "Too early in the day for me, but don't let that stop you."
"We'll both have coffee," he replied with a wink, and went to the cupboard. After removing two cups and saucers, he had started to pour when a knock interrupted him. "My, my, today is my day for visitors."
Fritz crossed to the door and opened. Edward Dunlap stood on the other side of the threshold.
Grabbing his arm, Fritz drew him inside. "Edward, join us for coffee," he said as he led him into the kitchen.
Spying Sam, Edward hesitated. "I can come back later."
"Nonsense." Fritz dropped Edward's arm and quickly filled one of the cups and handed it to him.
Edward stared at the full cup as if he didn't know what to do with it. Setting it on the counter, he glanced down at Roxy, curled up by Sam's feet. "I heard that you adopted one of Greg's strays."
Sam smiled down at her dog. "Yes, she's become a great companion."
"I always wanted a dog," Edward said wistfully, "but Mother's allergic."
"That's too bad."
Edward's attention shifted and he c.o.c.ked his head as if suddenly hearing the music. He placed his uninjured hand on the counter, and his fingers began to play along with the invisible pianist. His eyes took on a dreamy look while his lips curled in a half smile.
"Edward, do you-" Sam began, but stopped when Fritz rushed past her.
He strode over to the stereo and with one quick, angry movement shut it off.
As if stunned by the abrupt silence, Edward shook his head, dazed. His eyes flew to Fritz, still standing by the stereo.
"I-I-have to go. Excuse me." Edward whirled and headed for the door.