Chapter 5
The dog, Sadie, trotted ahead of them on the sidewalk, Hope happily skipping along beside her while Kay and Reese hung back, sneaking awkward glances at each other.
Actually, Kay snuck awkward glances, only to find Reese's blue eyes watching her each time she looked. Floundering for something to say—a predicament she'd found herself in since they'd crossed paths in the Book Café, Kay blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "Seriously. Sadie?"
Reese's blue eyes twinkled back at her behind the wire frames of his glasses, and a ghost of a smile touched his lips as he made his reply. "I rescued her from the shelter. She came with the name." He let Kay digest that information before he wryly inquired, "Why?"
"Just never pictured you having a dog named Sadie," Kay muttered, sipping at the iced latte Reese had refused to let her pay for back at the Book Café. She ducked her head, tucking her hair behind her ears when the smile on his lips grew exponentially. She groaned when Hope skidded to a stop in front of them, fingers releasing Sadie's collar and flying to her own tee-shirt. "Hope Bennett," she spoke warningly.
"Uh oh," Hope mumbled, bracing her small shoulders for whatever lay ahead. "I didn't mean to. Honest."
"Didn't mean to what…" Kay trailed off as the little girl slowly turned around. "Oh, Hope."
"It's okay," Hope reassured as Kay took the napkins Reese offered and dabbed ineffectually at the large blue stain that gradually expanded across the soft cotton. "I didn't like this shirt much anyway." What was left of her blue raspberry slushie dangled precariously from her right hand, dripping onto the concrete sidewalk only to disappear seconds later with greedy swipes of Sadie's tongue.
"Mom liked it," Kay reminded her with a sigh. "I knew you didn't need blue raspberry," she cut her eyes in Reese's direction.
Reese held up his hands in deflection.
"It's not Mister Reese's fault," Hope spoke up. "You said I could have anything I wanted."
"Mister Reese," Kay rolled her eyes, snatching the slushie from Hope's sticky fingers and thrusting it in Reese's general direction.
"You said she could have anything she wanted," Reese parroted Hope, making the little girl grin at him, pearly whites and lips stained blue.
"Mom's going to faint when she takes one look at you," Kay grumbled, steadfastly ignoring the fact that she was being double teamed. "You look like you're suffering from frostbite."
Planting her hands on her hips, Hope rolled her blue eyes incredulously and crinkled up her freckled nose. "You're just being silly. It's not even cold. Tell her, Mister Reese."
"It's not even…" Reese blushed under the intensity of the look of warning Kay cast him. Clearing his throat, he stammered the first random thing that came to mind. "Did you know that Baskin Robbins once made ketchup ice cream?"
A look of disgust passed over Kay's face before Hope's equally repulsed 'Eww' escaped. Crumpling up the napkins in her fist, Kay climbed to her feet, nudging Hope forward without another word. Though he had a new sort of confidence about him, Reese, it seemed, was still Reese after all—a fountain of odd bits of trivia.
Reese rubbed a hand through his hair, making the short blond strands stand on end. "Sorry," he sheepishly said.
Kay's cheeks hurt from the effort it took not to smile at the expression on his face, and she cast her eyes to the ground, studying her sneakers. She kicked at a small pebble with the toe of her shoe and resumed walking. "You don't have to walk us to the Bed and Breakfast, you know. We're not a couple of helpless maidens," she said as Reese fell in step beside her.
"What's a maiden?" Hope inquired, shuffling her feet backward as she focused on her sister's face, the palm of her hand resting on Sadie's back as the dog loped ahead.
"Like the princesses in the fairy tales Mom reads to you," Kay answered, her eyes straying once again to Reese as his pace faltered.
"I like the girls in the books Sheridan gave me better," Hope replied. "They don't whine as much."
Laughing, Kay made an apology of sorts to Reese. "Don't mind us Bennett girls. We just like our independence. Right, Hope?"
"Right," Hope chirped, though the meaning of the word wasn't altogether clear to her. Her red hair flew behind her as she took off at a sprint once the Bed and Breakfast loomed into view, the golden retriever galloping after her.
The apology seemed to work, and Reese carried on, offering Kay's latte back to her. He kept the slushie, sniffing suspiciously at its contents before sampling it himself and grimacing.
"Hope Bennett!" Kay yelled, the warning in her tone having no effect. "She's going to fall and break her neck one day," she muttered, "and there'll be a double funeral in Harmony. If something were to happen to her…"
"Nothing will happen to her. You're good with her."
Reese spoke with much more confidence in her abilities than Kay herself felt. As they neared the Bed and Breakfast, they slowed, and Kay turned to face Reese, allowing herself to finally really look into his eyes. Moved by the sincerity she found there, she swallowed convulsively and offered him a small smile. "Thanks," she indicated the latte in her hand.
"My pleasure," Reese smiled back, hooking his fingers around Sadie's collar when she dutifully returned to his side and whined. "Tell Mrs. B. I said hello," he told her with a nod of his head.
"I will," Kay promised. She watched as he traveled the stretch of concrete ahead, disappearing around the corner. She jumped when she heard the gate to the Bed and Breakfast creak open behind her, and the apology for Hope's disastrous appearance fell silent on her tongue when she whirled around and took in her mother's own appearance.
Grace's blue eyes were bloodshot and visible tear tracks maligned her cheeks. A balled up piece of tissue was clutched in one hand, and the other shakily reached for Kay's hand.
"Mom?" Kay questioned as the ice-cold fingers threaded through her own. Looking over Grace's shoulder, she noticed for the first time Pilar sitting forlornly on the swing, Hope curled up in her lap, patting her hair worriedly. "Mom, tell me what's going on. Is it Dad? Did something happen to Dad, Mom? Is he okay?"
"It's not your father, Kay," Grace finally answered, pulling Kay close. She let go of Kay's hand and tucked her dark hair behind her ear with a sad but reassuring smile that quickly faded. "It's your brother."
"I don't understand," Kay's chin trembled as worry for the unknown seized her. "What happened to Noah? Why is Pilar so upset?"
"Noah's fine. It's Ethan. He was…he and Theresa were…" Grace faltered, tears beginning anew as her gaze drifted to Pilar.
"What?" Kay grew impatient. "What happened to Ethan and Theresa?"
"There was an accident," Grace admitted, expression now composed but grave.
"An accident?"
"Ethan and Theresa are dead."
Still unsettled from her run-in with Luis, Gwen had blindly wandered through the throngs of people in the mall until she'd reached the first available exit, breaking free and escaping to her car.
The silence in the vehicle was welcome, soothing to her nerves. Draping her arms across the steering wheel, she let her forehead rest against the sun-warmed leather, willing the disappointed clench of her throat to ease up and allow her to breathe normally again.
She'd known Ethan and Theresa shared a daughter. Despite years of trying, she hadn't been able to make herself blind, deaf, and dumb to the cruel world around her. Holding the distinction of being one of the town piranhas hadn't made her immune to being hurt. And that picture? Hurt like hell.
Her chest tightened painfully, and the lump in her throat worsened until she struggled to draw oxygen into her lungs. The blaring of a car horn behind her was the only thing that saved her from going into a full-blown meltdown.
Slipping her sunglasses back on, she put the car into reverse and slowly backed out of the parking space, leaving the mall for the streets of Harmony.
She crept past the idyllic home fronts and quaint little stores that made up Harmony's middle class, her thoughts wandering without her consent.
If things had worked out differently with Ethan, would she have called this section of town home? Would that be her taking a stroll down Harmony's sidewalks on a sunny day? Would there be a little girl with blond hair holding her hand? Would Ethan be following them, perhaps pushing a baby carriage, a little boy with his blue eyes cooing up at him?
The thoughts weren't new; they plagued her every second of every day.
Her mouth set in a tight line, she wished, not for the first time, that she'd never lain eyes on that stupid letter.
Shaking her head to clear it of the depressing thoughts, she made a turn, the picture-book houses and happy families passing in a blur behind her.
The patronage at the Seascape was light this time of the day, and Gwen found herself grateful. The same gossip rags that'd reported Ethan's true paternity had called her plight "The Downfall of a Debutante" and splashed photos of her drunken exploits across the fronts of their pages, but aside from the legal action her father had sought against them, she had never taken action against them herself.
Shrugging her light jacket from her shoulders to let it drape across the back of her barstool, she crossed her legs and acknowledged the bartender with a nod of her head.
"The usual?"
In the main dining area, Gwen heard the clattering of plates, the muted sounds of business carried out over a late lunch, the clinking of crystal. She acknowledged the question with another nod. She took the glass he slid across the bar to her and swallowed the burning liquid quickly, brown eyes stinging. Coughing slightly, she nudged the glass forward.
"Might want to slow things down there," the bartender remarked but filled the glass anyway. He shook his head lightly, muttering something about rich types under his breath.
A protest formed on Gwen's lips, but she took another drink to quell it, instead glaring at him with a haughty toss of her head. Following a bead of condensation across the glass with her finger, she didn't look up again until he spoke.
"Got a little company this afternoon," he commented, indicating the lone hunched figure at the opposite end of the bar.
Gwen followed his gaze, doing a double take when she recognized the man as Julian Crane. Frowning, she gathered her jacket and glass in her hand and slid from the barstool.
Julian lifted a brow at the shadow that loomed over him, raising his glass to her and causing the overfull beverage to slosh over the sides. "Gwen." Gulping another drink, he slurred slightly as he extended an invitation, "Why don't you join me?"
Sliding into the seat next to him, Gwen braced herself for the expected lecherous comment when her thigh brushed against his thigh, but none was forthcoming. With a puzzled expression on her face, she allowed him to clink their glasses together and watched him finish the drink off, hailing the bartender for another. When the bartender simply shook his head in refusal, a gesture all-too familiar to her, Gwen cast another long look Julian's way and finally made a pronouncement. "You're drunk."
Julian's dark eyes glittered not unkindly at Gwen over the top of his glass, his mouth twisting into a mockery of a smile. "You would know."
Gwen bristled at the insinuation but refrained from commenting.
"Are you going to drink that?" Julian pointed at her forgotten drink.
Gwen pushed the glass across the bar to him, ears protesting at the scraping sound, and watched in disbelief as Julian downed it too, meeting her eyes when the last drop had been drained with desolate eyes of his own. Concern licked at the edges of her consciousness with the recognition of that look and compelled her to place an uncertain hand on his arm. Over the years, she'd borne witness to several times in which Julian Crane had had too much to drink. This was different somehow in a way she couldn't quite explain. "Julian," she ventured quietly. "Did something happen?"
"Order another drink," he evaded her question.
"No," she refused. "You've had too much already."
"I haven't had enough."
"I'm not ordering another drink until you answer my question." Gwen snatched the glass from Julian's hand. "Julian," she spoke warningly when he suddenly stood, stumbling on unsteady feet. "You're in no condition to go anywhere. Julian," she said, grabbing him by the arm and not letting go. "Something happened." She searched his haggard face, wondering how it came to be that he'd aged so. In a low whisper, she told him, "I'm not letting you leave here until you tell me." She watched as, before her very eyes, the life went out of him, and his eyes shone wet and bright. His response left her cold and wishing she'd never asked the truth.
"Ethan's dead."
Luis muttered a curse under his breath as he pulled his jeep in the driveway, parking it behind the convertible that could only belong to one person. He wasn't in the mood to deal with her, especially not today.
The door opened under the slight weight of his hand, the lock already disengaged, and the aroma of coffee, strong and black, permeated the small kitchen. At the table she sat, blond head bowed and slim shoulders slumped, graceful hands wrapped around a chipped blue coffee mug.
Luis stiffened further as Hank stepped into his line of sight. The scowl already present on his face deepened as he watched his old friend squeeze Sheridan's shoulders lightly before leaning down to press a kiss to her cheek. Before he could protest Hank's presence in his house, tell him to get the hell out of there, he had excused himself to the living room, leaving Luis more puzzled than ever. "Decide to try your hand at breaking and entering?" The question came out more than a little harsh. "I could arrest you. Take you down to the station," he said, withdrawing a carton of milk from one of the plastic bags he'd set on the kitchen counter and placing it on the top shelf of the refrigerator.
"I believe you've already done that," Sheridan murmured, fingernail scratching at the chip on her mug. "Besides," she continued, "it isn't breaking and entering when you have a key."
Hank, Luis realized with a sigh. Withdrawing a loaf of bread from one bag, he placed it on the counter next to the jar of peanut butter he'd already set aside. Three fat, shiny red apples joined the oranges in the fruit basket, and a new container of coffee creamer sat next to the small pink box. Picking up the creamer, Luis set it on the table in front of Sheridan and continued to put away the meager supply of groceries he'd picked up on his way home. Arching a dark brow at her when she failed to sweeten the steaming brew, he glanced at the clock on the opposite wall and frowned. "Shouldn't you be at the Youth Center? There's a game in less than half an hour."
"The game's canceled," Sheridan said, blowing cool air gently across her coffee.
"Canceled?" Luis was incredulous. The team and games had been a compromise they'd agreed upon—after much (sometimes irate) discussion—to bring in revenue and donations to keep the Youth Center afloat without the aid of Crane blood money.
"Canceled," Sheridan repeated calmly. "I canceled it. Something," her voice shook slightly on the word, "something came up."
"Oh, I get it," Luis's smile was dark. "Your partner in crime dropped into town, and you had to catch up because he's more important than the kids. Right?"
Sheridan's chair scraped loudly against the floor as she pushed it back roughly. "I didn't come here to pick a fight with you, Luis."
"Really?" Luis stepped closer to her, noting how she tensed at their close proximity but didn't look up. In fact, he realized, from the moment he'd walked into the kitchen to find her sitting there, she hadn't met his eyes once. "Then why the hell are you here?"
Sheridan winced visibly at his heated tone, stepping around him. Bracing her hands on the kitchen counter, she also braced herself for the devastating words she didn't know how to deliver. She gasped when she felt Luis's hand close around her upper arm, just above her elbow.
"Look at me, dammit," Luis demanded as he whirled her around to face him, "and tell me what's going on." The angry clench of his jaw relaxed marginally when she lifted red, tear-swollen blue eyes to his face and placed distancing hands upon his chest. "Sheridan," his voice softened.
"I can't. I can't," Sheridan repeated as her face crumpled before him and her fingers dug painfully into his sides. Like a dam that had been broken, tears sprung from her eyes, slipping down her cheeks as his big palm cupped her jaw, the touch more intimate and caring than anything they'd shared in years.
"Hank," Luis wondered questioningly as he saw his longtime friend re-enter the room out of the corner of his eye, "Buddy…somebody give me a clue here." His hand kept the contact with Sheridan's soft skin, and his eyes never strayed from hers as he sought his answers, a growing pit of worry expanding in his belly.
"It's Theresa," Hank answered.
"Theresa?" Luis's brows furrowed in confusion. "What about her? Sheridan?" he asked, feeling the truth creep up on him, degree by horrifying degree, his gut never lying to him.
"Luis," Sheridan covered his hand with her own. "Luis, there was an accident."
And the news about Ethan and Theresa reaches more of their loved ones and family.
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