Dead Silence (3 page)

“Uh-oh, Grandma’s comin’,” he said and hung up.

Kennedy knew Camille would consider Teddy’s plea to escape her place a personal betrayal. She tried to please him and his brother. But it was difficult for her to be around kids five days a week after not having any for so long. And yet she needed Teddy and Heath with her. Looking after the boys helped keep her mind off his father’s diagnosis. She often tried to convince Kennedy that they loved every minute they spent with her.

Uh-oh, Grandma’s comin’….

Evidently, Teddy was learning how to avoid a confrontation with her.

Chuckling, Kennedy slipped his phone into the extra cup-holder on the console. His youngest son was a handful, all right—but in a boisterous, exuberant
way. If Camille had been younger and if she wasn’t so stressed, she’d be able to see that.

“He’ll survive another day,” Kennedy told himself. Camille’s domineering personality might not blend well with Teddy’s, but she loved both boys as much as she loved him. No one, not even Teddy, questioned that.

He glanced at the clock on the dash. He had to get going. He had a lot to do today. And thanks to his sudden glimpse of that woman in the window, he wouldn’t be able to start any of it until he went home to change.

“You weren’t going to let me know you’re in town?”

Still on her knees, Grace shifted around to see her mother standing in Evonne’s backyard. Irene came to visit Grace in Jackson about once a year, but this was the first time since Grace had graduated from high school that they were both in Stillwater.

Clearing her throat, she rose stiffly to her feet. She’d meant to garden for only a couple of hours, but the morning had gotten away from her. It was after noon. Somehow, restoring Evonne’s garden had turned into her mission for the day. Even with her clothes sticking to her, and the knowledge that she’d be sore tomorrow, it felt good to dig and pull weeds and work the earth, to save one plant after another from the neglect of the past few weeks.

Because of the muddy gloves on her hands, Grace wiped the sweat from her forehead with one arm. “I’m sorry,” she said, attempting a smile. “I meant to, Mom. I just…got busy.”

Irene motioned toward the garden. “I guess these weeds couldn’t wait?”

Obviously her mother was hurt. Drawing a deep breath, Grace crossed the lawn to give her a hug. Grace was excited to see Irene, even though she’d dreaded this moment. She admired her mother, missed her, but Irene stirred too many other emotions, as well. “They bother me,” she admitted. “I’m sure Evonne wouldn’t like it. And—” she stepped back and removed her floppy hat to check the gray sky overhead “—I thought I’d get as far as I could before the rain starts.”

Irene didn’t appear convinced that Grace’s concern over the weather had stopped her from calling. But Grace doubted her mother would push the issue. Over the years, they’d established a pattern for dealing with the strain between them, which was better ignored than confronted.

“You’re looking good,” Grace said, and meant it.

“I’m too fat,” Irene responded, but if she had any weight to lose it wasn’t more than ten or fifteen pounds. And the fact that she dressed up for even the smallest errand provided sufficient proof of her vanity.

“No, you’re just right.”

Grace’s smile grew more genuine when she saw her mother brighten at the compliment. Although Irene was only five-two, they had the same oval-shaped face and blue eyes. Grace generally pulled her dark hair into a messy knot at the back of her head and wore little makeup. Her mother went heavy on the mascara and deep-red lipstick, and backcombed her hair into a style vaguely reminiscent of Loretta Lynn.

“Molly told me you’re seeing someone,” Grace said, eager to discover whether her sister was right.

Irene waved a dismissive hand. “Not really. She and that guy she brought for Christmas are dating again, though.”

“Bo’s just a friend, and you know it. But you’re trying to change the subject, and that gives me the impression you’re hiding something.”

“Who would I be seeing? No one around here has ever liked me,” she said with a self-deprecating chuckle.

Whether or not that was the case now, it’d been true in the past. When Irene married the Reverend Barker and moved with her three children from neighboring Booneville twenty-two years ago, Grace had been only nine years old. But nine was old enough to understand that the whispers she frequently heard about her mother weren’t particularly flattering.

Look at her, walkin’ ’round with her nose in the air. I swear I’ve never seen a more uppity woman…. As if we don’t have a dozen ladies right here in Stillwater who would’ve made our good reverend twice the wife…. Why, Irene’s gotta be ten, fifteen years younga than he is. She’s afta his money, that’s what she’s afta.

The reverend had only a modest living and the farm. But that was still more than Irene and her children had possessed in Booneville. And it was enough to make the people of Stillwater resent them. They’d been outsiders, treated as if her mother had taken something she had no right to.

Of course it hadn’t helped that the reverend made subtle yet demeaning comments about his new wife at every opportunity—even from the pulpit. Or that the blush of excitement her mother had experienced in the beginning faded fast as Irene came to know her new husband better.

Grace had always marveled at how loyal this town had been to Barker, that such an evil man could convince so many he was a saint.

A callused hand closed over her arm, and a low, gruff voice grated in her ear, “Don’t make a sound.” When she whimpered, the man she called Daddy squeezed tighter, using the pressure to warn her of the consequences should she disobey. Madeline, his own daughter, slept in the bed directly across from her. But Grace knew he’d get his revenge if she woke her stepsister—

“Grace, what’s wrong?” her mother asked.

The memory shattered. Folding her arms tightly across her body to ward off the chill left in its wake, Grace forced a trembling smile. “Nothing.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive,” she said, but the peace and tranquility she’d enjoyed earlier eluded her now. It felt as if she’d stepped out of the sun into a cold dark cellar. The images and sensations she worked so hard to avoid seemed to bang around inside her head. “I—it’s too hot out here. We should sit on the porch,” she said and started for the house.

“After thirteen years…I can’t believe you’re back,” her mother said as she followed.

Grace spoke before she could catch herself. “I can’t believe you never left.”

“I couldn’t leave,” Irene said indignantly. “Do you think I’d abandon Clay?”

“Like I did?”

Her mother looked stricken. “No, I—I didn’t mean that.”

Grace pressed three fingers to her forehead as she sank onto the porch swing. Of course. No one who knew the truth ever blamed her. They pitied her, didn’t know what to say or how to make things better. But they didn’t
blame
her. She was the one who blamed
herself. “I’m sorry.” She willed her pulse to slow, her calm to return. “Coming here is difficult for me.”

Her mother sat next to her and took her hand. She didn’t say anything, but held on while they rocked back and forth.

Oddly enough, the tension eased. Grace wished her mother had been capable of reaching out to her eighteen years ago….

“Evonne’s place is nice, isn’t it?” Irene said at last.

“I like it here,” Grace told her.

“Will you be staying long?”

“Three months. Maybe.”

“Three months! That’s good.” Letting go, her mother stood. “I love you, Grace. I didn’t say it enough, and I…I let you down. But I do love you.”

Grace didn’t know how to respond. So she asked the question she’d wanted to ask Irene for a long time. “Does ignoring something ugly mean it doesn’t exist, Mom?”

Her mother studied her for several minutes, her eyes clouding with her own pain. “Does acknowledging it make it go away?” she countered. “I did what I had to do. Someday I hope you’ll forgive me for that.” With a final wave, she set off across the porch, her heels clacking on the wooden boards until she reached the lawn. “I’ve got an appointment. Call me later if…if you’d like to see me again.”

“I’ll call,” Grace said and watched her go.

The cool, dim interior of the Hill Country Pizza & Pasta Parlor finally brought Grace a welcome reprieve from the heat. She’d just showered, but it was the hottest part of the day and she already felt sticky again. The air had grown muggier and muggier all afternoon,
but it had yet to rain. She guessed the rain would fall tonight as a constant drizzle.

“Here’s your pizza.”

The teenage girl who’d taken her order hovered at the table with a small pie. As Grace moved her salad to the side, the door opened and a small group of men walked in.

“Thank you,” she said to the waitress and immediately averted her face. She didn’t want to make eye contact with anyone, didn’t want to be noticed or drawn into conversation. She’d only come to have an early supper and to escape the heat.

But it wasn’t three minutes later that she heard the same men talking about her.

“I swear it’s her, Tim.”

“Grinding Gracie? Nah…”

“It is! Rex Peters told me she was coming back to town.”

“What for?” someone else asked. “I thought she’d become an assistant district attorney somewhere. There was an article about her in the paper.”

Grace couldn’t decipher the response. She told herself to block them out and finish her food. But a moment later, someone gave a low whistle and said something about how good she looked, and she couldn’t help glancing over.

One of the men stood at the front counter. He had his back to her as he ordered, but the other four were the jocks she’d admired so much in high school. Seeing them made her skin crawl. She no longer wanted to be here, didn’t want to acknowledge them. She wasn’t the person she used to be.

“Maybe we don’t recognize her with her clothes on,” Joe Vincelli said. The meaningful snicker that
went with those words brought his name back to Grace right away. He was the reverend’s beloved nephew. He’d also coined the humiliating nickname that had been written on her locker and echoed after her in the halls.

“Shut up, she’ll hear you,” someone growled. Was it Buzz Harte? She couldn’t be sure. He seemed to have changed the most; he’d certainly lost a lot of hair.

More murmuring and a few muffled guffaws made Grace’s ears burn. Heart pounding, she stared down at her plate. Fourteen or fifteen years ago, she’d had sex with at least three of these men in fumbling back-seat trysts or behind a building. Obviously, they remembered those encounters with far more relish than she did. She didn’t know how she could’ve allowed anyone to use her so terribly, especially the boys who’d attended high school with her.

Except that she’d been searching for something she couldn’t find….

Feeling faint, she wiped off the sweat beading on her upper lip, and wondered if she could slip out of the restaurant without having to pass right by them.

Then Joe’s voice carried to her again, louder than the others, and it was as if no time had passed at all. “She was one hell of an easy lay, wasn’t she? All you had to do was crook your finger, and she’d spread her legs. I did her once behind the bleachers with my parents sitting about ten feet away.”

Grace’s chest constricted as they laughed, which made it difficult to breathe. With Joe, it had been even more complicated than wanting so desperately to be liked. She’d felt she owed him some type of compensation for the loss of his uncle.

“She once asked me if she could be my girlfriend
for a few weeks,” Tim said. His voice was much lower than Joe’s, but she heard enough words to be able to string them together. “I told her yes before I screwed her, then broke up with her right after.” His subsequent laugh was a bark of disbelief. “It’s amazing how anyone that stupid could get into Georgetown.”

Someone—Buzz?—must’ve smacked him because he groaned.

“
Stupid?
Come on. She’s definitely not stupid. She was—” his voice dropped, but she managed to cull the meaning “—screwed-up…something weird going on in that house….”

“There wasn’t anything weird going on until they killed my uncle,” Joe said defensively.

“You don’t know what happened to your uncle,” Tim said, a little more clearly. Joe started to argue, but Tim raised a hand. “And, trust me, they were weird from the beginning.”

“Because of her bitch of a mother,” Joe grumbled.

After that, there were several whispered remarks. But Grace wasn’t listening; she was struggling to hang on to her composure.

Unfortunately, her stomach wasn’t cooperating. It churned and ached as her mind painted pictures of what she’d done with these men when they were boys.

She’d tried to make up for those mistakes ever since. But it wasn’t enough, was it? It was never enough.

“Go say hi to her, Joe,” Tim said. “Maybe you can do her right here. If you make her squeal, maybe she’ll tell you what happened to your uncle.”

Joe’s response was a muted snarl as the man who’d been ordering now joined the others at the table. “What’re you guys talking about?” he asked, his words resonating clearly.

Grace hadn’t seen this guy’s face, but she didn’t need to. It was Kennedy Archer—the most handsome, the most athletic, the most admired of them all. She knew him instantly but couldn’t stop herself from looking up to confirm it.

He hadn’t gotten fat. Nor had he gone bald, like some of his friends. He was still tall and broad-shouldered, with dark-blond hair and dimples on either side of his poster-boy smile. And, according to the campaign signs all over town, he was running for mayor, hoping to take the seat his father had occupied for so long.

Their eyes met. Surprise lit his face as recognition dawned, and he quit yanking on the tie he’d been trying to loosen.

Grace turned immediately away. In the restaurant business, four o’clock was the slowest part of the day. What were the chances that Kennedy Archer and his bunch would gather at the pizza joint while she was here, just like they used to when she worked behind the counter at sixteen?