EVERY BREATH YOU TAKE (3 page)

Rachel, who had been quiet through the entire meeting, got to her feet with a loud commotion. “Please,” she said in a disgusted tone. “Look around, Brad. The place is falling down. How the hell are you going to save it?” She hadn’t bothered to dress this morning. She’d simply thrown a robe over her pajamas. Hollin doubted she’d even brushed her teeth. And it was obvious she hadn’t bothered to run a comb through her hair. Her face looked sallow, with a grayish-yellow tone. The word pathetic came to mind, although Hollin hated to think of her sister like that.

“Rachel,” Angela said sternly. “Please sit down and be quiet until Mr. Townsend has finished.”

Rolling her eyes, Rachel ignored her mother. “I’m out of here.”

Hollin watched Rachel’s retreating back. “She’s upset,” she said, trying to make an excuse for her sister’s irrational behavior.

“She’s a spoiled brat, is what she is,” Brad said, then quickly apologized. “I’m sorry, Angela. She just gets to me sometimes.”

After a moment, Ed tugged at his mustache and said, “You could always sell the place. Or even a few acres. In fact, someone called me this morning and expressed an interest in your property.”

Angela slapped a hand down hard on the table. “This house is not for sale, nor is any of the ten acres that goes with it.” She released a long, exhausted sigh. “I’m afraid this is all too much for me at the moment,” she said, picking up the silver bell and shaking it impatiently. Hollin fought the urge to cover her ears against the deafening sound. “I need to lie down. I’m in mourning, and I shouldn’t have to deal with all these financial matters.”

Angela’s nurse appeared at the doorway. Claudia Reynolds was a sturdy woman in her mid-fifties, with salt and pepper hair. “Mrs. MacDougal, are you all right?”

“No, dear. I’m feeling quite ill at the moment.”

Claudia came to Angela’s side and helped her to her feet, offering an arm for support. The two women were almost to the doorway when Angela stopped and turned around.

“Hollin. Brad. I would like for the two of you to work together and find a way to save this house. I was born here and I plan to die here. And not anytime soon.” She sniffed. “Do you understand?”

“Yes.” Hollin understood all right. This house meant everything to her mother. She loved it more than life itself. Maybe more than she loved her daughters and her two dead husbands.

Once Angela was out of sight, Hollin turned her attention to Ed Townsend. “I have some money in my savings. A few thousand--”

The man shook his head, shifting his gaze to Brad and then back to Hollin.

“How bad is it?” she asked.

“There are three loans on the place. It’s mortgaged to the hilt. And, to my knowledge, the taxes haven’t been paid yet this year.” He sighed. “I can probably stall the bank for a few more months, if that will help. Larry Brown is a personal friend of mine, and of John’s.”

She listened with rising dismay. “If we were to sell, how much do you think we could get?”

Brad opened his mouth to say something, then quickly snapped it shut.

“How much?” she asked again.

Ed shrugged one beefy shoulder. “If you’re lucky, about two hundred thousand for the land, maybe a million for the land
and
the house.”

Hollin nodded. “You said someone called you this morning about buying this place?”

Ed glanced down at his hands, twisting them nervously.

“Mr. Townsend? Is that true? Did someone call you this morning or not?”

He looked up. “Yes,” he said finally. “Someone called just this morning, and he seems very interested in buying any or all of your mother’s property. In fact, he made a very impressive offer.”

“Who is this man?”

His expression was one of mute wretchedness. And Hollin knew the answer before he’d spoken.

“It’s Griffin Wells.”

Hollin was relatively calm considering what Ed Townsend had just told them. If you could call her trembling hands and pounding heart being calm. She refused to let the mention of Griffin’s name get to her, beginning now. She wanted to start living her life without being afraid at every turn. And dammit, she was going to.

Looking pointedly at Ed, she said, “Tell Mr. Wells thank you for his offer, but we’re not interested in selling.”

“Sure, I understand. It was just a--” Pausing, he shook his head slightly. “It was stupid of me to bring it up.” He shifted his nervous gaze between Brad and Hollin, then closed his mouth.

Once Ed was done delivering all his bad news, Brad offered to see him to the door. “Tell Griffin Wells to take whatever offer he was thinking about making and shove it up his ass!” Hollin heard Brad say.

Elbows on the table, she pressed her fingertips to her pounding temples. Why would Griffin want to buy her childhood home? Hadn’t he taken enough from her already? And how was he able to afford such a valuable piece of property?

The man had grown up in a trailer, with only a mother to care for him. An alcoholic mother who had run off and left him before he’d even finished high school. Griffin had dropped out of school shortly thereafter and gotten a job at the hardware store in town. He’d kept the old, rundown trailer, which used to be quite the place for the high school kids to hang out when they wanted to party. She wondered if it was still sitting there, tucked back in the woods near Stoney Bridge.

“Are you all right?” Brad came up behind Hollin and began massaging her shoulders, pressing his fingers into her tense muscles.

But Hollin didn’t want him standing behind her like that, touching her, the smell of lilies permeating the air. “Please stop!”

She hadn’t meant to sound so harsh, but Brad didn’t seem to be offended. He removed his hands instantly and went around the table to sit across from her.

“You still remember that night, don’t you?” he asked.

Hollin lifted her gaze to meet his. “Of course, I remember. And I really don’t want to discuss this right now.” She slid her chair back and was about to stand when he stopped her.

“I’m sorry. Please stay a moment. I need to talk to you.” She hadn’t missed the tenderness in his expression, the sadness in his blue eyes.

She also remembered the way he’d stuck to her like glue after she’d been raped. The way he’d sat in her room and cried with her. Her mother and John were in Europe when it happened. Brad had been away at school. But as soon as Rachel had called him, he’d come home and had stayed by her side until her mother and his father had returned.

He was her friend, her brother, and she loved him dearly. Relaxing her posture a little, Hollin sucked in a long breath and released it slowly.

Brad offered her a smile. “I want to apologize for my behavior at the cemetery. The way I yelled at Sara.”

“You should be apologizing to her, not to me.”

He nodded in agreement. “It was tough yesterday. Burying Dad. His death was so unexpected, and my nerves were a little on edge.”

Reaching across the table, Hollin touched his hand briefly. Brad’s father had died Monday evening while visiting Brad at his apartment. It had to have been awful for him, watching his father die like that, and not being able to do anything to save him.

“I couldn’t believe the way Sara dressed for Dad’s funeral,” he went on. “After all the money I pay her in alimony. What the hell does she do with it all, anyway?”

Hollin lifted one shoulder slightly. “I have no idea. But didn’t you say once that she’d gone back to school?”

He waved a hand as if in dismissal of her explanation. “I mean, she got the house, a nice car, half our savings and investments. What more does she want from me?” Brad scrubbed his hands over his face.

Hollin wished she could say something that would help. “What went wrong with your marriage, if I’m not being too forward? I never really got the opportunity to know Sara very well, but she always seemed pleasant.”

“Pleasant? She’s a bitch!” he said, then laughed, dropping his hands to the table. His nails were perfectly manicured. Brad was always meticulous about his appearance. Never a hair out of place. Angela used to comment on how much he was like his father in that regard.

“It’s none of my business,” she said, glancing at her own nails. She’d never been able to grow them for any length of time. Instead, she’d chosen to wear them short, and kept them polished with a clear lacquer.

Brad pressed his shoulders back, the old dining chair squeaking in protest. “I don’t mind telling you.” He paused, studying her the way he sometimes did. As if he were going to later draw her face from memory.

“Sara wanted more than I could give her. She constantly accused me of not loving her. She was desperate, needy. I couldn’t take it any longer.”

“I thought
Sara
was the one who had filed for divorce,” she said, confused.

Shrugging, he said, “Yeah. So?”

Hollin shook her head. “I just wondered. It seems odd. If she was so desperate for you to love her, why would she want to divorce you?”

“She’s crazy. Did I mention that?”

“No, you didn’t.” And what did Brad mean by saying she was crazy? The few times Hollin had met the young woman, she seemed bright, pleasant. Maybe a little on the shy side. But definitely not crazy.

He shrugged and got to his feet. “Well, she is. Stay away from her. There’s no telling what she might say, or do.”

Hollin stared up at him, but didn’t ask for him to explain. What could Sara possibly do to hurt her?

Unrolling his cuffs to his wrists, Brad buttoned them. “I have to get back to the office. I have a client coming in. He’s afraid he’s going to miss the April fifteenth deadline to file.” He lifted his navy blazer from the back of the chair and shrugged into it, then walked around the table, leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Tomorrow’s Saturday. I plan to work at the office in the morning, but call me. Maybe we’ll have lunch. We can talk about what we should do about this house, and your mother.”

“Okay. Sure,” she said with a smile and watched as he headed out of the dining room and disappeared around the corner.

Having lunch with Brad sounded like a good idea. Thinking maybe she should invite her sister along, she quickly changed her mind. Rachel and Brad would only argue.

Realizing she hadn’t heard a sound coming from upstairs irked her. Had Rachel gone back to bed? It was almost noon. Hollin got to her feet and decided it was time to have a little talk with her big sister.

#

Rachel ignored the knock at her bedroom door, knowing it was Hollin. She didn’t feel like dealing with her younger sister at the moment. Hopefully, she’d go away and leave her alone.

No suck luck. The solid wood door opened with a creak. Rachel quickly shut her eyes, pretending to sleep.

“I know that face,” Hollin said, closing the door with a loud click. “And I know you’re awake.”

“What do you want?” Rachel asked, peeking up at her from one eye.

“We need to talk.”

Hollin was dressed in a simple white blouse, buttoned to the neck, and black slacks. Very tailored, crisp looking. And definitely Hollin.

Clothing could say so much about a person, and then again it could be used to hide who a person really was.

On rare occasions, Rachel dressed conservatively, masking the ugliness inside her. She’d pretend to be a princess, sometimes a snooty little rich girl, or a scholar. But most times she dressed in skin tight skirts or pants, and low cut tops, to reflect the person she really was. A slut and a drunk, who didn’t give a damn about anyone. Give her a bottle of gin and a man between her legs, and that was all that mattered. Most of the time.

Wincing, Rachel silently admitted there were actually two people in this world she cared about. One was Chelsea and the other Hollin, who was staring down at her with a look of disgust.

Knowing how determined her sister could be, Rachel pulled back the sheet with a loud groan and sat up. Adjusting the pillows to rest against the iron headboard, she leaned back into them. “If this is about trying to save this old house, give it up, Hollin.” She stuck her bottom lip out and blew her bangs away from her eyes.

“I didn’t come up here to talk about the house, although we will need to discuss it soon enough.” Hollin bit at her top lip then sat on the edge of the bed, angling her body so she could look Rachel in the eye. “Your room hasn’t been updated either, I see.”

“Thanks for pointing that out.” She yawned, growing impatient. “If you have something to say, just say it.” She was certain Hollin was going to tell her she was too thin, like she’d hinted a few days ago. Or maybe she’d ask her if she was all right, like she did every time they saw each other. “Are you eating well?” she’d ask Rachel. “Getting enough sleep? Maybe you should exercise.”

Exercise. Not on her life. And besides, she got plenty of exercise, thank you very much. Hollin had no idea how strenuous her big sister’s sex life was.

“Why didn’t you get up with Chelsea this morning?” her sister berated.

Rachel blinked, then became defiant. “Because I was sleeping. And don’t come in here with that holier than thou look and tell me how to raise my daughter.
My daughter
,” she repeated with emphasis. “Josephine got the three of us off to school most mornings when Mother was too sick or too weak to get out of bed. She can certainly handle one little six-year-old.”

“You weren’t too sick or too weak, Rachel.” Her gaze drifted toward the empty gin bottle on the nightstand and she frowned. “Maybe hung over.”

Rachel answered with a roll of her eyes.

“What are you trying to do? Kill yourself?”

“No,” Rachel insisted. “I was upset over John’s death, is all.” She ran a hand through her tangled hair. “And what business is it of yours anyway? You barely come home to visit, rarely call, and now you think you can come in here and start telling me how to live my life.”

“That’s not what this is about. I’m concerned about you.”

“Well, don’t waste your time. My life is what it is.” She scrambled to the side of the bed and reached for the pack of cigarettes and silver lighter in the nightstand drawer.

“And what is that exactly? You never finished your degree, you don’t work. I haven’t seen you spend more than a few minutes a day with your daughter.”

The anger bubbled inside her. “You think you know me so well. Well, you don’t know shit! Go back to Boston, to your safe little apartment with all the deadbolts and the steel grates on the windows. And I’ll stay here and fight off all the bogeymen.” She placed a cigarette between her lips and lit it, inhaling deeply. Turning her head in her sister’s direction, she blew a cloud of smoke her way.

“Rachel,” Hollin said, waving the smoke away from her face. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I just thought--” She coughed, getting to her feet and out of the haze of smoke. “Never mind.” She headed toward the door, then turned back around. “I’ve been thinking about quitting my job in Boston and moving back home for awhile. I’ll find a job here and--”

This time it was Rachel’s turn to cough. “Hollin, you can’t be serious,” she choked out, tossing the cigarette in the open gin bottle. The heated end made a tiny sizzle sound before dying completely. “And where do you think you’re going to find a job in Whisper Lake working with antiques?”

“I can do something else. Work in an office maybe. I’m pretty computer savvy.” She shrugged nonchalantly. “Anyway, Mother needs someone to help make decisions around here, and it’s obvious you’re not going to help her. I’m meeting Brad for lunch tomorrow, and we’re going to talk about what to do.”

“Hollin, go back to Boston,” she pleaded. “There’s nothing you can do to change things here.”

“Well, I’m going to try. I’m not going to let Mother lose this house without at least putting up a fight.”

“I don’t want you hurt again.” Tears clouded Rachel’s eyes. “You’re too fragile. Let me talk to Brad. We’ll work something out.”

Hollin shook her head back and forth. “I’m staying.” She turned and opened the door.

Rachel, feeling desperate to change her sister’s mind, asked, “What if he tries to hurt you again?”

Slowly pivoting around, Hollin swallowed noisily. She spoke quietly, but firmly. “Griffin Wells . . . is never . . . going . . . to hurt me . . . again.” With that, she left the room, closing the door behind her.

Rachel slunk back onto the mattress and closed her eyes. A stab of guilt laid buried in her heart. “Oh, Hollin, you are so naive.”

#

Hollin slept well the night before. The first good night’s sleep she’d gotten in a long time. And she hadn’t taken any of her mother’s sleeping pills last night to help her along.

Was the reason she’d been able to sleep because she’d finally decided to conquer her fears? Or was it because she’d had a dry bed, and no howling winds or rain outside her window to disturb her?

Whatever the reason, she didn’t care. She planned to take advantage of the day.

After quickly showering and dressing, she ran downstairs to grab some breakfast. She didn’t have a minute to waste. She and Brad were having lunch later. In the meantime, Hollin thought it might be advantageous, even though it was Saturday, to nose around town and get a feel for what kinds of jobs might be out there.

But she’d no sooner reached the bottom of the stairs when the doorbell rang. Glancing at her watch, she wondered who could be paying them a visit at shortly after eight in the morning.

She ran a hand over her tan trousers and opened the door. Neil Thorpe stood on the front porch, smiling nervously. He was dressed casually in khakis and a black, pullover sweater.

“Neil,” she said, trying not to sound so surprised to see him. “What are you doing here?”

“Hello, Hollin. I thought maybe I might catch you this morning.” He paused, peering over his shoulder and up at the clear blue sky. “It’s a nice day out.”

“Yes. It’s nice to see the sun for a change.”

He looked at her again, and his right eye twitched. “Would you mind if I came in?”