Remember Love Page 6

  Katrina gaped at the disrepair of Sharon’s yard. Her employee usually came to work professionally dressed with neat hair and organizational skills that would put Martha Stewart to shame.

  But her yard … Katrina’s nose wrinkled at the weeds and debris littering the patches of grass, the crooked shutters in need of a paint job, the stench of rotting garbage. For all of Sharon’s years at Kat’s Korner, now Katrina knew why she’d never been invited over.

  "Is she home?" She stepped behind Rachel.

  When Rachel called this morning and announced her rescue plan, regret had thrown Katrina into sadness. She’d failed her friend. The belief hovered over her as she stared at Sharon’s cracked-paint door.

  "I should’ve urged Sharon to leave Steve sooner," she said.

  "Probably wouldn’t have made a difference." Rachel rapped again, louder.

  "But I should’ve seen the truth. I was with her almost every day." The afternoon sunlight heated the back of her neck. A warm trickle of wetness slid down her temple. She shifted, uncomfortable with seeing herself in a different light. She’d hardly noticed Sharon’s jumpiness until recently. If there’d been bruises, she’d missed them. Locked in her own grief, she’d reasoned Sharon could take care of herself. The inaction covered a cowardice Katrina only now realized ran bone deep.

  "Truth can be hidden pretty easily. Stop worrying. I told her to be packed and ready." Rachel pounded on the door this time, and it cracked open. A pair of almond-colored eyes peered out. The door swung wide and little Paul launched himself into Katrina’s arms.

  She’d watched the kids over the years so Sharon could have nights out and without fail, Paul always snuggled right up to her.

  "Auntie Kat," he whispered. She hugged his wiggly little body, inhaling the fresh scent of Johnson and Johnson before setting him down. She swallowed the catch in her throat and followed him into the dim house.

  "Sharon, where are you?" Rachel called.

  "In the bedroom," came the muffled answer. Katrina tried not to notice the stained carpet or the peeling wallpaper as they moved down the hallway.

  Sharon stood in a small bedroom, throwing clothes into a suitcase. Her blonde hair hung in greasy clumps and her clothes bagged around her as if she’d shrunken overnight. Tear streaks stained her cheeks and her eyes were puffy. Katrina winced. Sharon’s black eye looked even worse, the purple and green fading to a sickly eggplant and mud.

  Focus.

  Escape first, hug later.

  "Where are the rest of the kids?" A quick fear pulsed through Katrina, urging her to get them out of the house even though Steve had already left for work.

  "In the other bedroom." Sharon turned dull eyes away and continued packing. Katrina hurried out of the room, Paul still clutching her hand.

  She switched off the cartoon blaring on a little TV set on a crate and herded the three children out to Rachel’s SUV. Sharon owned a van but Steve drove it, dropping her off at the bookstore on days she worked before going to his construction job.

  Whispering words of comfort, she strapped the kids in and made sure they were settled before climbing out of the back seat. As she rounded the SUV to hop into the passenger side, a car caught her attention.

  Slowly it drove forward, the driver hidden behind a tinted windshield. A tremor swept through her. It couldn’t be Steve. How would he know? Paused at the back of the SUV, legs frozen, she watched as the car stopped across from her.

  She could feel her heart slamming against her ribs, pounding, yet blood wasn’t flowing to her extremities. They were cold, goose bumps rolling over her in waves.

  The window rolled down.

  The plush leather caught her attention first, then the driver’s strong chin. Blood rushed through her, and she sucked in the moist air.

  "I have something to give you." Alec didn’t yell but his words carried to her nonetheless.

  "How did you find me?"

  "Lynn." The clipped answer clued her in that he was angry.

  Back straightening, she eyed him from her stance behind the SUV. "We’ll have to talk later. I’m busy."

  "Kidnapping?"

  "None of your business." She gave him the best glare she could muster, then pivoted and hurried to the passenger side. The humid warmth inside the vehicle billowed in her face as soon as she opened the door. Leaning forward, she quickly started the engine and cranked the air conditioner.

  Katrina glanced back at the kids. Their quiet, subdued faces worried her. They must’ve seen everything. Anger rose sharply in her chest, burned against her breastbone. Kids didn’t deserve this. They deserved love and tender care, not a home polluted with the stench of unchecked rage.

  A door slammed, jerking her attention to the house. Rachel and Sharon scurried down the driveway. The back of the vehicle popped open and as they threw luggage in, Katrina realized Alec had parked at the curb a few feet back. Watching them.

  She felt like stealing Rachel’s penchant for growling. He could spy all he wanted. He’d caught her off guard in the restaurant, but now she was prepared for his anger. Just because she felt guilty didn’t mean he could intimidate her.

  She wasn’t a love-sick teenager anymore.

  Rachel popped into the driver’s seat and Sharon slid in back with the kids. Katrina glimpsed a jagged red cut on Sharon’s arm as she buckled in.

  Sharon was murmuring to her children as Katrina whispered to Rachel, "What happened to her arm?"

  "Steve did it." Rachel peeled out of the driveway, tires squealing. Katrina grimaced. Poor Sharon.

  Rachel glanced at the rearview mirror. "Someone’s following me."

  CHAPTER SIX

  Katrina turned and immediately recognized the sporty car behind them.

  "It’s Alec."

  Rachel’s mouth tightened. "What does he want?"

  Sneaking a peek at the back of the SUV to make sure Sharon was still talking to the kids, Katrina shrugged. "I don’t know," she said in a low voice.

  "I’ll lose him."

  But Rachel didn’t need to. Alec’s car turned left on Main and they continued on back roads. Steve’s violence convinced Katrina to have Rachel stop at the hardware store and pick up some sturdier locks. Manatee Bay was a small town and it wouldn’t be long before Steve figured out Sharon’s whereabouts. As old as Katrina’s house was, he could break in easily.

  After finagling the new locks on archaic doors and then helping Sharon put the kids to bed, Katrina took pictures of Sharon’s arm while Rachel blustered and paced.

  "Are you sure you won’t go to the hospital?" Katrina peered at the digital photos, a frisson of alarm tingling along her nerves. The cut looked more vivid onscreen.

  "No. I can’t." Sharon visibly swallowed and looked away.

  At least they would have pictures then. Pursing her lips, Katrina snapped a few more shots and then steered Rachel out the door, shoving the camera into her hands. Her friend talked the whole way out, but she left. Thank goodness. Nagging was the last thing Sharon needed. She was weary, overwhelmed and sat on the couch with a dull glaze in her stare. Katrina dropped down beside her, thankful for the plump cushions that welcomed her tired body.

  Sharon’s eyes were closed, her head leaning against the back of the couch. "He’ll know I came here."

  Katrina almost missed the softly spoken words and felt a shiver course through her when the statement registered. "You think so?"

  "I’m afraid of it."

  "We called the police." As soon as they’d been safely on the way home, Rachel phoned Sharon’s injury in. A police officer met them at Katrina’s house and took Sharon’s statement. They should be safe now, Katrina hoped, but the image of Steve getting anywhere near Sharon and the kids gave her chills.

  Just thinking about him was enough to make her second-guess bringing Sharon here.

  Sharon’s hands trembled. "He looked like he wanted to kill me."

  Katrina shifted closer to Sharon, ashamed she’d just regretted Sharon’s r
escue. With gentle fingers, she picked up her friend's injured arm. "He slashed you pretty good. Is this why you let us come get you?"

  "Pretty much. And the kids." Tears rolled down Sharon’s swollen cheeks. "They’ve seen his rages, and now this, and things just became clear. Look what I’ve done to them, trying to make this marriage work. How will they ever know what a real family is like?"

  "He could’ve killed you." Katrina shuddered. "How did you get him to stop?"

  "I locked myself and the kids in the bathroom, left the breakfast dishes in the sink. He passed out a few minutes later. I woke him up for work around four and he acted like nothing happened." Sharon’s voice broke on a thinly disguised sob.

  Katrina covered Sharon’s clammy hands with her own warm ones. "You can’t blame yourself for Steve, but I’m glad you decided to come here." Katrina stopped herself from going on. "Everything will be okay," she said instead, and hoped fervently she’d be right.

  Later that night, heavy pounding pulled Katrina from a deep sleep. She bolted from her bed and ran into the living room, heart thudding against her ribs. Sharon’s shadow hunched against a wall.

  "Steve?" Katrina crept toward her.

  Sharon nodded in reply as her husband continued rattling the front door knob and screaming for her to come out. One of the kids began crying from the back room and Katrina’s mouth tightened. "Go take care of them. I have a bat and I’m calling the police."

  "Do you have to?" Sharon’s pale face peeped out from the shadows.

  Katrina’s hands clenched. "Yes. Put your kids first. Go and comfort them."

  Sharon rushed away, and Katrina tried not to feel guilty for her harsh answer. She grabbed the softball bat from the front closet and looked for her cell. The pounding on the door grew louder, broken only by Steve’s hoarse cursing. She threw a pillow off the couch. Shoved aside a blanket. No phone. The new locks would hold the door but if he got desperate he might break a window.

  Shaking, she scanned the living room. There. A shaft of moonlight glinted off the silver phone wedged between the TV and DVD player. She lunged for the phone. Fingers trembling, she dialed 911.

  *****

  Insistent knocking on the front door roused Katrina from uneasy dreams. She clutched the bat to her chest and stumbled up from the couch, hips and legs protesting the movement. Warm sunshine spilled through her lacy curtains and covered the carpet with snowflakes of light.

  Made a house of shadows look like a warm place.

  She looked away from the offensive illusion and yawned. Steve had fled before the police pulled up. She’d spent the better part of the night making a statement and pressing charges. After everyone left, she tossed and turned on the couch, finally dozing off around dawn.

  The knocking came again, hard and sharp against the door. If Steve stood on the other side of that door, he better back up. Morning made her a whole lot braver.

  Swooping the bat up from the floor, she relished the feel of the cold metal in her hands. Let him try to mess with them today.

  It wasn’t just morning that made her brave. It was today. October 16. Not a good day to intimidate an angry and bitter woman.

  Thus bolstered, she looked through the peephole.

  And groaned.

  "You," she sputtered, flinging the door open. Slick, clean shaven, and shrewd, Alec’s eyes beheld Katrina in all her morning splendor, and she flushed. The door should’ve stayed shut.

  "You going to hit me with that?" He nodded at the bat clutched against her chest.

  With a twist of her lips, she set it against the wall.

  "You always did freshen up well in the morning." Wearing a crooked grin, Alec pushed past her into the living room. She shut the door, a little unnerved by his presence. Despite their parting yesterday afternoon, he didn’t look angry.

  He studied her living room with the same intensity he’d shown in Kat’s Korner. Almost caressing the frames on the walls yet not allowing his fingers to make contact. He looked at her, his eyes dark with some unnamed emotion. The stare scared her a little. And yet, a tiny thrill raced through her like a shot of caffeine to the bloodstream.

  She rubbed her face and smoothed her hair. It figured she’d look like a wreck.

  "You could’ve called." She walked into the kitchen, aware his presence was doing something strange to her emotions. The thrum of excitement humming through her veins made her wary. Attraction was better ignored. It led to complications. And so she kept her distance, finding a spot near the fridge to huddle.

  "Thought I’d drop this by in person. You left it in the car the other night." He plopped the black purse she’d carried to the reunion on the kitchen counter.

  "You’re just now returning it?"

  The smile left his face. "Did you expect me to come see you right after you confessed to hiding my son from me?"

  "No. I’m sorry." Flushing again, she moved away from the fridge and plucked at the purse. "Thank you for bringing it by. I’d thought I left it at the restaurant."

  Alec’s gaze dropped to her fiddling fingers. "Do you always drive without a license or wallet?"

  "I keep my license in my car so it doesn’t get lost. That isn’t my everyday purse but thank you for bringing it back." She picked it up and held it in front of her like a shield. His gaze lifted to her face. Her hair must be sticking out in a dozen directions. Like a rat’s nest. She grimaced.

  "If you’d like to stay a few minutes, I’ll be right out." And then she’d give him Joey’s box of letters, pictures and videos so he could leave for good.

  "Mind if I grab some coffee?"

  "Not at all." If he could find some. But she didn’t stay to find out if he did.

  She escaped into the hallway, leaving Alec to clink around her kitchen. She passed the closed bedroom doors and sighed. Not a peep could be heard. That was good. Sharon and the kids needed rest.

  Putting on makeup was a temptation that, in the end, Katrina resisted. Alec had shown up at her door without calling. What did it matter if she looked ugly to him? It wasn’t as if she was still a teenager, head over heels in love with Manatee Bay’s wild child. And they had nothing in common anymore.

  Except Joey.

  She banished the thought and finished pulling her hair into a ponytail before heading to the kitchen. Alec stood near the fridge holding one of her picture frames. His face twisted oddly, a pained grimace. He looked up when she walked in and she caught the raw emotion shadowing his eyes before they shuttered.

  Once again the enormity of what she’d done rushed in on her. She gripped the kitchen table, legs weak, chest heaving. The naked sorrow on his face . . . She took a deep breath and forced herself to sit in a chair. She couldn’t cry. Not now. Thoughts raced, jumbled.

  "Why are you here, Alec?" she asked, unsure why the question tumbled out but suddenly needing to know.

  "The million-dollar question. But do you mean in town or in your house?"

  "My house."

  "Had to return your purse."

  Her face heated as she remembered. Somehow, it didn’t seem like it should be the only reason. "That’s right," she whispered, throat parched.

  Alec eyed her, then sat down across from her. "I’m also here to see those videos. I want to know Joey. I need to see everything there is."

  Water. If she could only have a sip, maybe it would ease the stiffness of her tongue. "I have them ready for you."

  "How convenient. Almost as if you planned to tell me I had a son."

  It was probably lack of sleep, but her hackles rose at his tone. "You should’ve answered the letters I sent."

  His eyebrows shot up. "Letters?" Then his eyes narrowed. "You mean your sporadic e-mails the first year or so?"

  "No, I mean paper. Real letters."

  "I have no clue what you’re talking about."

  "Your post office box in New York?"

  The scorn on his face drained away, leaving his mouth soft. "I’ve never had a box in New York, Kitty." His f
ingers drummed the table. "But my mother did."

  Idiot. Why hadn’t she suspected? She gnawed her lower lip. That his mother, a junkie and an alcoholic, had the presence of mind to thwart her letters was beyond strange. Yet it had to be true because they’d been sent back. She saw the anger simmering in Alec’s eyes at the realization of his mother’s interference.

  Shame smoothed away any lingering defensiveness. "I’m so sorry. When the letters were returned unopened, I assumed it was you. Just like you ignored my other attempts at contact."

  "There weren’t many, and I only ignored you for awhile."

  "More than a year."

  He inclined his head, surrendering to the fact that he had left her alone. Deserted her.

  But he hadn’t sent the letters back. This changed things, if only a little. Maybe if she’d tried harder to reach him, through some other means . . .

  "Mom and I rarely saw each other in New York." Alec spoke slowly, as though he struggled to form each word.

  "She told me she moved there for you."

  "And you believed her?" His fingers slid together, resting on the table in a clasp. "There were other ways to tell me."

  Katrina winced. The truth was that trying to reach him hadn’t topped her list of priorities. In the beginning, perhaps, before she’d known she was pregnant, when she’d just wanted him to come back to her. But he ignored her calls and e-mails. His actions hurt and she stopped trying to contact him, not even bothering to tell him about the pregnancy.

  After Joey’s first birthday, however, she’d changed her mind, but then he’d been so hard to find. Her efforts became half-hearted.

  She swallowed hard. No way could she tell Alec that.

  "I filled the box for you after Joey died." As if that made up for her avoidance.

  "Really?" His brow arched, a haughty curve that said nothing was forgiven, despite his mother’s intrusion.

  "I was going to mail it to you once you came back to the States."

  "I’ve been back for a year."

  "Yes, I know." Her fingers laced together, their grip so tight her knuckles ached. "Things have been busy at the shop." A pathetic excuse. But Joey was dead, and she hadn’t been able to work up the nerve to contact Alec. Why bother, when he could never meet his son?