Burning Darkness (16 page)

Some posters featured the woman who was walking up to the register with her gaze on him. “No wonder you’re staying away. Who’s this?”

Fonda’s eyes widened when she realized she’d have to identify his role in her life. “Uh, this is Eric. He’s a . . . coworker. Eric, this is Marion, the shop’s owner, and Natalie, one of the employees.”

Natalie, with black, straight hair that fell past her shoulders and eyes just as dark took his hand. “Pleasure to meet you.” Those eyes took him in, head-to-toe, drawing out the words, “You’re big.” That didn’t seem to bother her at all, not by the naughty smile on her face.

Fonda was watching, her eyes narrowed. “Not dating Chuck anymore, Nat?”

“Nope.” She still hadn’t looked at Fonda.

“You have a customer.” Fonda nodded toward another young woman who was standing by one of the round racks holding a dress and watching them.

Damn, he hadn’t been out among people in so long, he forgot the female attention he sometimes got. Normally he liked it, but he didn’t care much now.

Marion looked at the posters with a smile. “I’ve had four customers who don’t know you think those are pictures of Edie Sedgwick.”

Fonda smiled. “I’ll take that as a supreme compliment.”

Marion drew Fonda’s attention as she walked to a door behind the register. “I have some clothes for you, put them back in case you came by. They have your name written all over them.”

“Oh, you shouldn’t have,” she said, but her smile returned as she focused on Marion, who was coming back with hangers of clothing. She hung them on a rack near the register.

Fonda’s face glowed as she looked through the outfits, the hangers clacking together. “Groovage. Thanks, Marion.”

Marion looked at Eric. “Fonda went from a customer who spent more time here than at home, I think, to an employee, to manager. She knew how to sell, and the customers love her. Everybody misses her, so hurry up and finish that assignment of yours so she can come back to us.”

“I miss it here,” Fonda said, trying to hide her reaction to Marion’s praise. As though she wasn’t used to getting it. Well, she probably wasn’t, and he knew why she spent more time here than at home. He doubted Marion did.

He felt that tightness in his chest again, picturing Fonda as a teenager, basically on her own. He couldn’t wait to meet her father. His fingers flexed at the thought of it, and of what he wanted to do to the man.

Fonda zoomed over to a rack of earrings like a nail to a magnet. She was a kid again, enraptured by big plastic earrings, a huge smile on her face. He felt a tickle in his chest and coughed to dislodge it.

“I need some pajamas, too,” Fonda said, setting three pairs of earrings on the counter.

The women wandered over to a rack in the back, and Natalie went with them, peppering Fonda with questions. He could hear her rapid whispers as he grabbed a couple of pairs of jeans from a rack in the men’s section. “Hot damn, Fonda, you
work
with him? Is he a spy or something?”

“Or something,” Fonda replied, glancing toward him. “Something else is more like it.”

“Is he single?”

“I guess.”

“You two . . . you’re not . . .”

“No.”

“Good.” And Natalie made a beeline for him, a predatory smile on her face. “Let’s see what we have for you, maybe something from the eighties.”

She showed him different shirts, then took his arm, as though they were going onto the dance floor, and led him to the dressing rooms, carrying three shirts for him to try on.

“I don’t need to try—”

“Nonsense. Let’s see how they look on you.”

Fonda took one look at the two of them and disappeared into one of the dressing rooms, closing the door with a loud thump.

Natalie was touching him, her fingers squeezing his upper arm. Funny, it didn’t have the same effect as when Fonda put the salve on his back. This woman was clearly interested, which should have awakened his hungry body. It didn’t normally take much.

Like when Fonda came out of the dressing room in a form-fitting dark red bodysuit. She twirled around, looking at her reflection in the three-way mirror. “It’s dreamy. I love it!”

“Me, too,” he said before he could think better of it. Soft velvet clung to her breasts, over her flat stomach, and hugged her hips.

She met his heated gaze but quickly turned away. “Do you have any ankle boots?”

Natalie took Fonda’s arm this time, yanking her toward the back where racks of shoes covered the rear wall. “You are so lying!” she whispered beneath her breath.

“What are you talking about?”

“You, him . . . Puh-leeze.”

Marion walked up to him, so he couldn’t keep listening while pretending not to. He gave her a smile. “Ring everything up.” He pulled out his wallet.

The woman regarded him with a smile, but not a thank-you-for-purchasing-our-clothes one. “Fonda’s a special girl. I sort of see her as a daughter, but she doesn’t let people in, not really. I can see she likes you. I may not get another chance to say this to you, and I’m probably out of line, but so be it. I didn’t get where I am by holding back in life. She may look tough on the outside, but be gentle with her. She’s not that tough on the inside. And she’s got a big heart.”

He handed her several bills. “No disrespect intended, but you’re wrong, ma’am. She doesn’t like me, not like that.” If he’d told her how they’d gotten together . . . he nearly laughed at the thought. “But I’ll do my best to protect her.”

She smiled, studying him. “I see that you will. I’m going to hold you to that.”

“To what?” Fonda said, coming up to the counter.

“Watching out for your safety.” The woman was smooth, he’d give her that.

She handed him back way too much change. “Employee discount,” she said before turning to Fonda. “Come back soon, hon. Your job will be waiting. Oh, almost forgot. I have a bag of discards for you.” She went into the room again, coming back with a big fat garbage bag.

Fonda opened it and pulled out several articles of clothing. She seemed as excited about that as about the clothing Marion had put aside for her. “Thank you! I know exactly who to give them to.” She hefted the large bag over her shoulder, like Santa Claus.

“Discards?” he asked, taking it from her.

She turned to him, and her face was glowing, a beautiful sight. Dimples creased her cheeks. “The clothes that don’t sell. I give them to women who don’t have nice clothes. It’s funny, I hated wearing old clothing I’d bought at consignment shops before I started coming here. But now that’s all I wear, though these are considered vintage.”

Sounded like a label meant to up the price, but whatever.

“You didn’t have to pay for everything,” Fonda said as they walked out.

“No big deal. She hardly charged anything anyway.” He walked over to the fast-food Asian restaurant three stores down. “Nice lady. She cares a lot about you.”

“I doubled her store’s sales.”

Funny how she didn’t acknowledge the caring part. “Let’s eat. I’m starved.”

“You just ate two big sandwiches. And three packages of Ho Hos.”

But she went in with him and ordered a bowl of wonton soup. He devoured a General Tso’s chicken. She kept hopping up, walking to the front window, then sitting down again for another spoonful.

“Natalie sure liked you,” she said after standing again.

“Who?”

“Natalie. You know, the tall, attractive, dark-haired girl. Duh.”

He pretended he couldn’t offhand think of who she was talking about by giving her a blank look. Actually, he couldn’t picture what she looked like. He could, however, picture Fonda’s sour look when Natalie had escorted him to the dressing room.

“The one at the store,” she said, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “And you call yourself oversexed. She was practically throwing herself at you.”

He tried to hide a smile. Was she jealous? “Oh, her. I just thought she was a good salesperson. I did buy all the shirts she picked out for me.”

She dropped back into the plastic seat. “You did that because you were hot for her.”

“I did that because I liked the shirts. Do you want me to like her? I could ask her out sometime—”

“No.” The word came out too firmly, and she waved it away. “You can do whatever you want.
After
this is over with.”

He gave her a toothy smile. “Gee, thanks.”

She frowned at him, looking adorable and sexy, especially because her lips were pursed. “Just don’t come in the store when you pick her up for a date. That would be awkward.”

“What about after we’re married? Won’t the kids think it’s strange that Daddy never goes to Mommy’s place of employment?”

Her mouth dropped open.

“Well, you’ve got me dating her, so might as well take the next steps. Her parents love me, but her cat only tolerates my presence. We’ll probably get a dog next spring.” He gave her a guileless smile.

“You are exasperating.”

Damn, she
was
jealous. Astonishing. So when she was probably expecting a smart-assed reply, he said, “And you’re adorable.” Before she could react to that, other than her stunned expression, he got up and dumped his empty plate into the garbage.

“Wait a minute.” She went to the counter and ordered a plate of chicken kung pow to go.

“We can eat it here,” he said.

She was big into avoidance, he noticed. He’d thrown her, and now she wouldn’t meet his eyes. “It’s not for me. It’s for George.”

His eyebrows jumped up. “Who’s George?”

“A friend.”

Now it was his turn to feel a twinge of jealousy. She paid for the order and took the plastic container the lady handed her. He grabbed the bag of discards. They walked out, and she headed down the block. He alternated his gaze on their surroundings and her small tight ass in that bodysuit. It had a diamond cutout in the back that matched the smaller one in the front at her neckline. The collar went high, with a rhinestone at the center, and even on her short frame, the outfit made her look tall and lean. What word had she used? Oh, yeah . . . groovage.

He remained just behind her, keeping up with her brisk pace. Finally she slowed at the end of the block and looked to the left. “Hi, George!” She disappeared from view for a second. He turned the corner and saw her handing the container to a black man who was sitting on the sidewalk, an old mail cart beside him probably holding his worldly belongings.

“You a blessin’, Fonda, a God-given blessin’,” he said, taking the container with a weathered hand. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll see you later.”

She walked past Eric and toward the truck. George opened the box as though she’d given him a treasure. She’d even remembered the spork, which confirmed that this wasn’t the first time she’d done this.

“That was awfully nice of you,” he said, coming up beside her.

“He never begs, never asks for anything. He’s just happy to be alive.”

Fonda got into the driver’s side while he put the bag in the back of the truck. She took a deep, fortifying breath when he got in. “Now, on to my father’s. Let me handle him. Last time, I told him I was recovering from a friend’s death. I don’t know what I’m going to tell him this time.”

Like how she was going to explain him.

Neil walked out of Pastimes and called Malcolm. “They were here not twenty minutes ago. She doesn’t work here anymore, but she and Aruda stopped by for a visit.”

So close.

“Let me check.” A few minutes later Malcolm said, “She’s in that area east of D.C. again.”

The one he couldn’t find her in before. He’d been swamped by all of the emotions saturating the air: despair, anger, self-hatred. As much as he loved emotions, all of them, they interfered with his finding Fonda the first time.

“I’ll try again,” Neil said, disconnecting. Maybe he’d get lucky.

F
onda felt a heaviness as they neared her father’s. The neighborhood wasn’t bad, not compared to where she’d grown up. It was more of a forlornness that oozed from the small houses with peeling paint and mold, the people sitting in plastic chairs on their front lawns.

Eric was checking it out, though she couldn’t tell what he thought of the area. He looked at her. “We don’t have to come here.”

She pulled up to a small house, parking on the curb. After cutting the engine, she stared at the house. “No, it’s okay.”

“You looked completely different when we pulled up to Pastimes.”

She turned to him. “How did I look?”

“Happy. You look far from those now.”

“I was just thinking, this is the first time I’ll see my father knowing that he isn’t. I wonder if he ever suspected.”

“My father did. There was always something missing, something different in the way he treated my sister and me.”

She could see his pain, just a brief flash. She didn’t want to see that, so she opened the door and stepped out.

“I’ve got the bags,” he said, grabbing them out of the back.

She shored up her shoulders and faced the house. One night, where she might feel safe.

He came up beside her. “If you feel this way about being here, why did you come before?”

“I wanted to feel comfortably numb. Like that Pink Floyd song. That’s how I lived my life for a long time.”

“How bad was it?”

She glanced at him, and his expression was grave. “It could have been worse. But you know, I can’t really blame my father. He was needy, lost, after my mother’s suicide. I have vague memories of different women being in and out of our lives. I was ten when he met Connie. I think she kept the darker side of herself from him while they dated; at least I’d like to think he didn’t marry her knowing she was an addict. Maybe her drug use became more than occasional after they married.

“She was nice to me then, but not affectionate. They partied a lot, and then it wasn’t only on weekends but during the week. People hanging around and drinking and getting high. I got a bad feeling about them, so I hid in my room a lot. I remember coming out to ask my dad a question about my homework and caught him shooting up. It scared and disgusted me.

“Things got worse when I was about thirteen. I’d wake up and find him and Connie and sometimes other people sprawled about the living room. I had a hard time waking him up in the mornings.” She remembered the first time she’d thought he was dead. “Connie was spending money like crazy, buying clothes and shoes. I heard them fighting about it, but I still saw bags and bags. Dad lost his job. Then one day the police told us we had to leave our house. I thought it was the worst thing that had ever happened, but he didn’t even seem to care.”

She turned to him, and he was listening so intently his jaw was rigid. She continued. “The good thing that came out of that life was it helped me astral project. I was fifteen when I first ‘left’ my body. Dad and Connie were having a huge fight. I was locked in my room, lying on my bed wishing I was somewhere else. And then . . . I was. I was at Pastimes. I saw the women who worked there, but I stayed out of sight. It was so bizarre, I snapped out of it. The next time I went somewhere I’d never been before: Hollywood. That’s when I knew it was real.”

“I still don’t understand why you’d want to come back here. I wouldn’t go to my father, not if his house was the only safe place in the world.”

“See, we are different.” She forced a smile. She hadn’t told him everything, but some part of her wanted him to know. “Connie won’t be here, thank God. And it’s only for a night.”

She walked to the front door and rang the bell. Her dad had fixed the house up some since he’d been clean. He had a job. It was a start, but not one she was counting on sticking. He’d failed too many times.

To her surprise, Connie opened the door, her long, narrow face made even longer by thick, dirty-blond hair. She wrinkled her nose. “What are you doing back?” Of course she’d heard about Fonda’s stay. She looked back into the house. “Bruce, the slut’s back! And she’s got a friend.”

Eric took a step forward, leaning down into Connie’s face even though he was one step lower than she. “Don’t talk about her like that.”

Fonda put her hand on his arm. “It’s no big deal. That’s just the way she is.”

Anger flared in his eyes, and he kept that gaze on Connie. “It is a big deal. It’s disrespectful, mean, and says a lot more about you than her.” He raked her up and down with that fiery gaze. “Don’t let me hear you call her that again, or anything like that.”

Connie’s eyes widened. She wasn’t much bigger than Fonda, and was stick thin, and Eric towered over her. “I didn’t mean it.”

“Then don’t say it,” he ground out.

Her father, Bruce, walked up to the scene, looking confused. “What’s going on?” He took Fonda in and then Eric. “Who are you?”

“You let this woman call your daughter ugly names?”

Bruce bristled, but a shadow of guilt crossed his face. “It’s her way of joking around. She does that to everyone.” He even managed a nervous laugh. “That’s just Connie.”

“Well, Connie needs to learn manners, and you need to stand up for your daughter.”

Fonda’s face flushed, but not in embarrassment. What Eric was saying, doing . . . in the place where she always felt so small and inconsequential, he was standing up for her.

Her father’s expression told her he knew Eric was right, but his ego clicked into place and his shame hardened. He looked at Fonda. “Who is this?”

“This is Eric. He’s my boyfriend.” She linked her arm around his, as she’d seen Natalie do earlier. “We’re heading east, and I wanted him to meet you.” She shifted her gaze to Connie, narrowing her eyes. “I didn’t know you were out of jail.”

“I got out a couple of days early,” she said with a sneer.

Okay, it was awkward as hell, and Eric’s bluster had thrown her off her course. “Eric, this is my father, Bruce Raine. And my stepmother, Connie.”

She
hmphed
and stepped back. “I do not want them in my home.”

Fonda was about to back down, to leave, but stopped herself. Eric had stood up for her. She could damn well stand up for herself. She looked at her father. “We need to stay the night.”

Would he take Connie’s side, as he had from the beginning? Normally he was too cowardly to take a side. He’d always ignored Connie’s vicious barbs, and anything else he didn’t want to deal with.

Her father looked at Eric and then at her. “All right.”

She released a breath, feeling warmth flow through her.

“Bruce!” Connie whined. “Did you hear how her boyfriend talked to me?”

“It’s just a night, Connie. Let it go.”

“Some guy who’s only authority is screwing your daughter bullies me, and that’s all you have to say?”

Eric shook his head, his mouth in a snarl. “I’m not sleeping with her, you clueless b—” He took a deep breath, pulling back the word with every bit of his strength. Oh, how wonderful it would have been to hear him call her that!

He nailed her with a look. “It’s about respecting people, especially your family. By blood or not, she is your family. Show some decency. And some self-respect.”

Connie looked at Bruce, who shrugged. “Please, let’s put this aside,” he said. “Fonda, I told you if you needed to come back, you could.” He turned to Connie. “Let’s not burn the house down.”

Fonda gave Eric a knowing smile at that turn of phrasing. She stepped inside, ignoring Connie but feeling her hatred as though it were a laser beam. She looked at her father and mouthed
Thank you.
His eyes were still clear. He wasn’t using yet.

“Did you get my message?” he asked her. “I called after you left.”

She nodded. “I’ve been kind of busy.”

He flicked a glance to Eric and gave her a tentative smile. “Well, you look more alive than the last time I saw you.”

She wanted to laugh at the irony of that but tempered it into a smile.

“Do you want something to eat? We’ve already had dinner, but I can throw something together.”

He was trying. She’d give him that. “We’ve eaten, thank you.” She’d planned that on purpose, not wanting to sit through a meal and answer awkward questions. “Mostly we’re just beat. I’m going to get a shower.” She swung a look at Eric as she led him down the short hall to the bedroom she’d slept in before and whispered, “Dare I leave you alone with them?”

His mouth quirked. “Probably.”

She pulled out the pajamas she’d bought at the store, new panties, and the bottle of shampoo.

“I noticed your father didn’t ask where I was sleeping. Considering I’m your boyfriend and all.”

“It was easier to call you that than explain the situation. And I’m sure he assumes we’ll be sleeping together, despite your claim.”

“I’ll sleep on the floor. It’s not right to share a bed”—he glanced at the bed, which was only a double—“in your father’s house. I’d sleep on the couch, except it’s too far away from you. Sayre, Westerfield, we just don’t know when they’ll turn up next.”

He kept surprising her, and she didn’t like it. She wanted him to be what she’d been told he was. He’d stood up for her. Defended her. Now he was showing respect. Dammit, he’d made her like him a little.

“Thanks,” she said, unable to say anything more because her throat felt tight.
Don’t make a big deal out of it.
She went into the bathroom and took a quick shower.

The pajamas clung to her body, but they weren’t tight or risqué. That’s the last thing she needed, to give Connie ammunition. Then again, Connie had been calling her a whore before she was even kissed.

It hit her then, that those words were empty. As Eric had said, they reflected Connie, not her. They had nothing to do with her. Even though she’d never been promiscuous, she had felt, deep in her cells, that she was a whore. With a rush of relief, she released that old belief, one she didn’t even know she’d held.

Here, with her father and Connie, she had always been the mouse. It was outside in the ’hood that she was tough. Now, for the first time, she felt strong here. She walked out, finding the bedroom empty. Uh-oh. Voices drew her to the kitchen, where she heard Eric and her father talking. She slowed, curious about what they were saying.

Her father: “Connie would kill me if she heard me say this, but . . . I appreciate what you said. You’re right. I never said what needed to be said.”

“My father was the same way,” Eric said. “I guess a man gets so lonely, he’ll put up with anything just to have company. Even at the expense of his children.”

She knew he spoke from his own pain, but she heard no bitterness in his voice. No judgment. Just the facts. His stepmother wanted to ship him and his sister away. It hit her then that they’d both grown up with men who weren’t their biological fathers, stepmothers who resented them, and the legacy of a mother who’d died too young. They had so much in common.

“It says a lot about you . . . that you had the balls to say that to both of us,” her father said. “My daughter, she deserves a lot more than she’s ever gotten. I hope you’re that man.”

Her eyes prickled, a sure sign she was going to cry.
No, not here.

Eric’s voice: “Yes, she does. I’ll take care of your daughter. She’s safe with me.”

Holy crap. She felt the first tear well up, slide down her cheek.
Dummy, he’s only playing the role of your boyfriend.
She swiped it away but couldn’t erase how those words made her feel.

“I need to know something.” Eric’s voice had an edge to it. “She’s got scars from cuts on her arms and legs. Did you make those cuts? Did you or Connie hurt her?”

She opened her mouth to stop the conversation, but her father said, “Fonda did it. She cut herself.”

She uprooted herself from her spot and walked into the kitchen, feeling heat sting her cheeks.
Her father knew.
“Excuse us for a minute.” She grabbed Eric’s arm and pulled him back to their bedroom.

As soon as the door closed, she turned and jabbed her finger at his chest, which only hurt her finger. “You don’t get to ask personal questions about me! You are not my boyfriend. My scars are none of your business.”

He leaned down into her face and in the same fierce whisper as hers said, “Yes, they are.”

She blinked in surprise. “And what makes you think that?”

“Because when I saw them . . .” He took her wrist and pushed up the sleeve, running his fingers over those old, faint scars. His voice changed, going hoarse and low. “All I could think about was someone cutting you, over and over. That thought made me crazy. Since you wouldn’t answer me, I had to ask someone else.” His fingers stilled against her skin, and he pinned her with his icy blue gaze. “What the f— Why would you cut yourself?”

Everything was all tight inside her, and she yanked her arm out of his grasp. “You wouldn’t understand.”

He ran his hand through his hair, shaking his head. “I’m trying to understand.”

“Why? You know someone else didn’t do it, and wasn’t that your big concern? What are you going to do, beat me up for it?”