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“This is the place,” said Maude. “I don’t like lots of people coming and going. My husband and I keep to ourselves. We don’t mind nobody else’s business and they don’t mind ours.”
“That sounds fair enough,” said Victoria. She inhaled sharply, gathering her courage. “I’ll take the room, Mrs. Hewlett.”
“All right. If your references check out, you can move in first of the week.”
When Victoria finally left the Hewlett home and climbed back into Phillip’s waiting automobile, she felt stunned, emotionally drained. She was trembling and her legs were unsteady. She had held back her feelings with such fierce resolve that now the dam of tears threatened to break. She collapsed into the seat beside Phillip and covered her face with her hands. The anguish tore from her throat in dry, racking sobs.
For an instant Phillip stared helplessly at her, then instinctively he gathered her into his arms. “Victoria, talk to me. Are you okay? What happened?”
She swallowed her sobs and pulled away from him. “I can’t talk yet. Just go. Drive. Get out of here “
Phillip started the car, merged with late-afternoon traffic and drove in silence for several miles, the pulse in his jaw throbbing with tension. Finally he pulled off at a rest stop and parked. “We’ve got to talk, Victoria,” he said, swiveling in the seat to face her. “You were gone so long, I was about to come in after you I never should have let you go in there alone.”
She found a tissue in her purse and blew her nose. “No, Phillip, I had to do it. I—I just didn’t know how hard it would be.”
He slapped his palm against the steering wheel. “I let you down. I’m sorry. I’ve seen enough in this business to know when things aren’t what they should be I was a jerk sending a woman in to do a man’s job.”
“No, Phillip, you did the right thing.”
He grimaced. “Do you feel like talking now? Can you tell me what you found out?”
Her tears started again. “Mrs. Hewlett—she told me—oh, Phillip, she said my son is dead!”
He slipped his arm around her shoulders and gently massaged the back of her neck “She came right out and said it?” he asked with a catch in his voice. “You mean, she knew you were Joshua’s mother? How could she—?”
“No, she didn’t know. But I saw a picture of Joshua, and Mrs. Hewlett noticed me looking at it. Out of the blue she came right out and told me about the accident. She said her grandson died in the crash.”
“To tell a complete stranger such a thing—that’s strange.”
“She seemed like a strange woman. But she was fairly blunt about everything,” Victoria told him “Phillip, is it possible your sources made a mistake? Do you suppose my son really is dead?”
“It’s possible, Victoria, but not likely. My gut feeling is that the Hewletts are hiding something “
“I have that feeling, too,” she said, finally regaining a measure of composure. “That’s why I took the room, Phillip.”
He stopped rubbing her neck. “You did what?”
“There was a room-for-rent sign on the door It seemed like the perfect excuse for my being there. Then when Mrs. Hewlett told me Joshua was dead, I knew I had to stay. I have to find out what happened to my son, Phillip.”
“That’s my job, Victoria.” His expression took on a stony grimness. “There are a lot of crazies in this world. I’m prepared to handle them. You’re not.”
“What are you saying, Phillip?”
“I’m saying I want you to telephone Mrs. Hewlett and tell her you’ve changed your mind about the room.”
“I can’t. I won’t.”
“You must,” Phillip said levelly. “I’ll continue the investigation. I’ll keep you apprised of every detail. But I can’t let you get personally involved like this.”
“I’m already involved,” she protested “I won’t give up the room. Don’t you understand, Phillip? The Hewletts are my only link with my son. I’ve got to find out what they’re hiding, no matter what it costs”
“It could cost you everything,” he warned, his tone edgy, almost accusing With a nervous energy he drummed his fingertips along her neck to her shoulder. Then he pulled her against him and pressed her head against his. Neither of them spoke for a long time. His breathing was ragged, perhaps hers was, too—she couldn’t tell. She could smell the spicy fragrance of his after-shave and the tangy, masculine aroma of his skin. His chin was already showing the faint stubble of a fiveo’clock shadow.
He was holding her almost too tight, but it wasn’t a romantic embrace; it was as if he wanted desperately to protect her but wasn’t sure he could. “I won’t risk losing you,” he said at last, his voice raw with feeling
She didn’t reply, didn’t ask what he meant by such a cryptic statement, but she understood now that a powerful connection was growing between them that went beyond their professional relationship. Perhaps even beyond friendship.
Chapter Six (#ulink_dce52b8e-17e4-5fc5-8bc5-693de3dd42a8)
Monday, May 18, 2:00 p.m.
Believe it or not, I’m packed and ready for the drive to Middleton—ready outwardly, but inside I’m filled with doubts, terrified of facing Mrs. Hewlett again. I keep wondering what horrible secrets she’s keeping. And what if she guesses the truth about me? Could I make matters worse for Joshua by blundering into his life like this, by playing this bizarre charade?
I’ve always been such a cautious person, conscientious to a fault, never stepping outside my boundaries, never testing the limits, except once, of course, with Rick Lancer—and look at the trouble that got me into! But I can’t compare this situation with that one. I’m doing what I have to do to find my son. I must keep reminding myself of that. I can’t rest until I know what happened to him.
The thought that he might be dead haunts me. What kind of mother was I to let him go without knowing what kind of life he would have and what kind of people would raise him? How could I have trusted others so completely to do what was best for my son? And how could I have had so little faith in my own ability—and right—to care for him?
Not that I have great reserves of faith in myself even now. When my parents were alive my life was so simple and straightforward I tried relentlessly to be their obedient daughter, to make them proud of me; and even though I often failed, I was consumed with trying.
Now that I’m alone, my life is in chaos. I don’t know who to try to please, except God—and all too often He has my father’s voice, so that I can’t distinguish between the two; I can’t tell what God wants for me and what my father would have wanted I don’t want to hear my father’s voice anymore, but it’s there; I can’t get it out of my head.
I know I ought to think about pleasing myself for a change, but even that idea is distressing, because I don’t know what I want. I’ve spent too many years denying my desires. I want my son, but I have no idea where my search for him will lead me, nor what it will cost—not in dollars, but the emotional drain.
And to complicate matters even further, there’s Phillip. Without meaning to, he’s turned my life upside down and thrown my mind into the worst sort of turmoil and confusion. Even as I value his help and friendship, I find myself longing for more from him—yearning for him to see me as a woman, to cherish and caress me and make me feel loved And at the same time, the idea of a romantic relationship strikes terror in my heart. In the very same breath I want to pull him close and push him away. How can I give my love to another man after what Rick Lancer did to me? How can I trust him? Or myself?
Even though I’m filled with doubts, I can’t let Phillip see my misgivings, or he’d never let me drive to Middleton alone. When he comes to say goodbye this afternoon, I must put on a brave, smiling face and pretend that I have every confidence in the world.
Dear God, help me to put my confidence in You!
“I still don’t like you going,” Phillip told Victoria shortly after four o’clock as he carried her suitcases out to her car. “It’s just too risky.”
Victoria followed with her pillow, makeup case and a sack of crackers and cheese. “Really, Phillip, you’re thinking like a detective now. What risk is there in spending a few weeks with an elderly couple who just happen to be my son’s grandparents?” Now if only she felt as brave as she sounded! She prayed Phillip wouldn’t see through her bravado; if he guessed how frightened she was, he’d never let her go.
“It’s not that simple and you know it,” he told her, his dark umber eyes shadowed as he looked at her.
Victoria felt warmed by his concern. If only he were going with her! She had known him for such a short time and already she felt lost without him. “I’ll be fine, Phillip, believe me,” she assured him. And if he believed that, she was a better actress than she thought. “I’ll keep in touch, I promise. And if I find out anything at all, I’ll let you know.”
He pulled her into his arms. “I—lI can’t let you go.”
Softly she said, “You can’t stop me, Phillip.”
His brows furrowed. “I wish I could go with you.”
“You can’t. You have your work. I’m sure you have lots of other clients needing your help.”
“You’re the only client on my mind right now.” He pushed her hair back gently from her face and moved his knuckles slowly over her cheekbone. He lowered his face to hers and she had the impression that he wanted to kiss her goodbye, but instead he brushed his lips against her forehead and released her. “Be careful, you hear?”
She managed a tremulous smile. “I will.”
He squeezed her hand tightly as she slipped into the driver’s seat. “Call me when you get there.”
“It’ll be late,” she warned.
“That’s all right I’m a night owl at heart.”
As she waved a last goodbye and pulled out of the driveway, she felt a disconcerting reluctance to go. She dreaded the long drive down the coast alone, but even more so she hated leaving Phillip.
“I can’t let myself feel this way,” she chided herself as she turned onto the freeway heading south. “My involvement with Phillip was supposed to remain strictly professional. All right, who am I kidding? We’ve become friends, but that’s all it’s going to be. Neither Phillip nor I are ready for an emotional entanglement. It’s the last thing either of us wants.”
She sounded so certain, so positive. Why then wasn’t her heart listening?
The drive down the coast was longer than Victoria remembered. It had seemed so short last Saturday riding with Phillip. They had been so engrossed in conversation that the miles had flown by. Now the miles dragged with a dull, grudging sameness.
The closer Victoria got to Middleton, the more her son weighed on her mind. Would she be able to solve the mystery of Joshua? Would she find him? And what would she find? Dear God, please let me find my boy, and please let him be all right Let him be alive! Give me a chance to see him, and know him, and love him!
When at last Victoria pulled into the Hewlett driveway on Blackberry Street, her head throbbed and her back ached. Was it the long drive or the anticipation of her stay with the Hewletts? In the heavy, fog-shrouded darkness, the rambling old house looked more ominous than ever. Victoria shuddered. If Phillip were with me, I wouldn’t be afraid, she thought, and immediately cast the idea aside. Forget Phillip, she scolded silently.
As she climbed out of the car, she arched her shoulders, then strode purposefully up the walk to the porch. Lights were on inside, so someone was home. She knocked soundly, her heart pounding. It was ridiculous to feel so nervous. There was nothing to fear. She had come to find the answers about her son Nothing else mattered now.
After a minute the door opened and a tall, angular man in glasses and a striped work shirt stared down at her. He was bald except for a patch of gray-black hair on each side of his head His long, thin, hangdog face merged unceremoniously with his neck. “Miss Clarkin?” he muttered.
“Carlin,” she corrected.
“In your letter you said you was arriving today. I didn’t expect you meant after dark.”
“It was a longer drive than I remembered.” She looked past him into the living room. “May I come in?”
He stepped back slowly and nodded, but his small, dark eyes remained fastened on her through his thick lenses. “Make yourself at home.” His voice was monotone.
“You must be—” she began.
“Sam Hewlett.” He looked over at the heavyset woman in the kitchen doorway. “You already met Maude.”
Victoria nodded and forced a smile. “It’s good to see you again, Mrs. Hewlett”
“You missed dinner,” snapped the woman. “It’s at six sharp. I can’t keep things sitting, getting cold.”
“I picked up a bite on my way,” Victoria told her. “I’m really very tired. I’d just like to bring my things in and go to my room.”
Maude’s expression softened. “It’s too late for dinner, but I got some herb tea brewing. It’s called Almond Pleasure. Smells real good, don’t it?”
Victoria smiled relentingly. “It smells wonderful.”
Maude gestured to Sam. “You go help her bring in her stuff. I’ll pour the tea and set out some glazed doughnuts.”
With Sam’s help, Victoria quickly transferred her belongings from her compact car to the old-fashioned bedroom that would be hers. Now, sitting across from the Hewletts in their cozy, Early American kitchen, Victoria wondered why she had felt so nervous. Although the Hewletts were rather gruff, unschooled people, they seemed like decent, unpretentious folk. Perhaps it had been nothing more than Victoria’s overactive imagination that had aroused her suspicions about them in the first place.
“You want another doughnut, Miss Carlin?” asked Maude.
“No, thank you,” said Victoria. “But I will have more tea. It’s delicious.”
“It’s just tea bags I get at the grocery. They got all kinds of fancy stuff these days.”
Sam sat back and rubbed his large hand over the fine network of bluish veins in his forehead. The pouches under his eyes puffed slightly as he worked his mouth into a curious grin. “You an authoress, Miss Clarkin? The wife says you came here to write a book or something.”
“Not exactly a book,” said Victoria. “I’m a university instructor in American literature I’m working on my doctoral thesis.”
“That sounds pretty highfalutin to me,” he replied. “What you writing about?”
Victoria hesitated. Should she tell him or get by with an evasive answer? “I’m doing a comparison study,” she said.
“Whatcha comparing?”
“The lives and works of Flannery O’Connor and Sylvia Plath “
“Never heard of them,” he scoffed.
“They were American writers who died in the early sixties,” she explained patiently
“So why bother about them?”
She felt as if she were back in her lecture hall at the university. “They both wrote intensely and perceptively about the dark side of human emotion.”
“The dark side?” Maude echoed suspiciously. “Sounds like devil talk to me.”
Victoria shrugged. “I suppose you could put it that way Both women explored the dark, disturbed or evil side of human nature. I want to demonstrate how their God-consciousness, or, in one case, lack of it, influenced their lives and work.”
“God-consciousness?” Sam grunted, as if she had said something stupid.
“Yes,” replied Victoria, wishing she hadn’t pursued this very personal subject of her thesis with the Hewletts. Her thoughts and ideas were still in an embryonic stage, fragile, vulnerable. She didn’t want to damage them by exposing them to the Hewletts’ scorn or contempt. Still, she had begun this conversation; she might as well finish it. “O’Connor embraced God heartily,” she explained, “and her faith shows in her work just as it showed in her life. In spite of a long, debilitating illness, O’Connor managed to achieve a fulfilled, abundant life.”
“So?” snapped Maude. “What was she? Some saint? We all got our crosses to bear, you know “
Victoria cleared her throat imtably and pressed on. “Plath, on the other hand, desperately longed to believe in God, but ultimately she rejected Him In spite of career success, marriage to a famous poet and two healthy children, Plath succumbed to despair and committed suicide when she was thirty.”
“That don’t mean nothing,” said Sam. “Lots of people do that. What’s your point?”
“My point is,” persisted Victona, quelling her exasperation, “a person’s God-consciousness affects and, in fact, determines his or her earthly and eternal destiny.” She considered adding a word about Christ and redemption, but witnessing about her faith was still a new and terrifying prospect for Victoria. She had already said more than she intended. She didn’t want to come across as a pious prude or a bookish, intellectual boor
“It’s all a lot of hogwash, if you ask me “ Maude snorted. “The way I see it, the devil’s the one you gotta watch out for. I learned that at my mama’s knee “
Victoria managed a smile. She carefully pushed back her chair and said, “I’m really tired. I think I’d better get to bed.”
Maude stood, too. “Suit yourself, Miss Carlin I’ll show you the way “ She led Victoria down the hall to her room and opened the door. “Everything’s ready. There’s extra bedding in the closet. Sam plugged in an extension phone for you. Of course, you pay for any long-distance calls you make.” She looked around as if trying to recall something else, then added, “The bathroom next door is yours. You get fresh towels and sheets twice a week.”
Victoria gazed appreciatively around the neat, homespun room. How inviting the bed looked with its fluffy eiderdown quilt! “Thank you, Mrs. Hewlett. I’m sure I’ll be very comfortable here.”
Maude nodded. “You should be. It’s a good, comfortable room. Belonged to my daughter when she lived at home.” She stepped back out of the doorway. “I’ll leave you be now. Breakfast is at seven sharp.”
