In the Midnight Rain (38 page)

"I'm sure. Hardly even hailed over there."

Blue looked over his shoulder once more at the destroyed cabin, thinking about the box he'd seen in the bathroom, and his eye caught on the bed again. He looked away quickly. One thing at time.

* * *

It was close to midnight before Blue and Marcus finished at the main greenhouse. The damage within had been minor—some broken glass, some plants with hail trauma, but nothing that should interfere with the experiments. The reinforced glass had paid itself off with one storm.

Hail had not been as kind to the other two, and the bulk of the work they did was moving tender baby plants from the cold greenhouses to the big one. Some of those experiments would have to be started again, but they'd been talking about rebuilding the smaller houses, anyway. They were old and needed replacing. He might even put in a lab.

Lanie had taken the chicken out of the oven and left it on the table, covered with a thin white dishtowel. "Eat," said the note she'd scrawled. But he had no appetite. To keep her off his back, he took a breast from the plate, tore pieces of meat from it, and fed it to the dogs, who waited with polite, bright eyes at his feet. Even Piwacket got a teeny bit. He threw the bones in the trash and thought about having a deep slug of bourbon, but his stomach rejected the idea.

He went upstairs, the dogs trailing behind. At his bedroom door, he stopped, his heart suddenly pounding with something very like terror, and the nausea rolled in his belly again. With his hand on the door, he paused, resting his forehead on the door for a minute. His body settled, and he went in quietly. In the light from the door, he could see Ellie's form. One calf hung off the bed.

A waft of scent enveloped him, not a perfume, but the essence of Ellie herself, her skin and soap and hair, all of her, and it struck him in the solar plexus with a sensation like pain.

She lay on her belly, arms and legs flung out, hair scattered in dark ringlets across one cheek and the curve of her shoulder. She wore not a stitch, and her flesh was more beautiful than any sight he'd ever seen, smooth as pale butter—her curved back and finely made limbs, and the lush, perfect roundness of her buttocks. A dewiness lay over the swoop of her spine, and it was there that Blue put his mouth, unable to resist. He knelt beside the low bed and began at the nape of her neck, brushing aside the small soft scatters of hair so he could kiss that first set of bones. Lightly, closing his eyes, breathing in the smell of her skin, he followed the line downward, to the hollow just above her perfect rear.

She stirred slightly as he traded his fingers over the round of those hips, down the backs of her thighs. Stirred and shifted, turning in sleepy confusion, not anywhere close to awake, but her hand moved to his hair, then went lax, a gesture of purest trust. Blue stared at her a long time, drinking in the angle of her chin, the moon of a breast, and he gave in to the need rising from some deep place inside of him. He slid out of his shirt and his jeans and lay down next to her, flesh to flesh. Ellie stirred, awakened, startled a little. "Blue?"

"Sshhh," he said. "Go back to sleep."

And she did. He simply lay with her, holding her, and wanted to weep.

* * *

Ellie did not know what time it was when she finally awoke. It was dark and still beyond the windows, and for a long moment, she simply stayed where she was, content in the comfort of the bed. She rolled over and stretched hard—then everything rushed in again—everything. She sighed.

A noise in the other room brought back a vague memory. "Blue?"

He came from the bathroom, clad only in jeans. His hair was tousled, as if he, too, had slept, and she felt a soft rush of yearning to have him close by her. "How you doing?" she asked sleepily.

He lifted a shoulder, and there was still that same dullness about him that she'd noticed yesterday. Shell-shocked. "All right. You?"

"Wasn't anything wrong with me a good night's sleep wouldn't cure." She held out a hand. "Come here. You look awful."

But instead, he only sat on the edge of the bed. "Ellie, do you have something to tell me?"

She frowned, thinking there was a lot she needed to tell him. "What do you mean?"

"I saw the box in your bathroom yesterday when I went to get April. Well, I went to get you, but—" He sighed, wiped his face. Weariness lay on his back, in his face, like a shroud.

"Box?" Memory dawned. The pregnancy test.
That
damned box. She sat up, bringing the covers with her, and touched his back. "That'll wait, Blue. It's been a rough couple of days. Why don't we just let everything alone for right now?"

"No. I don't want to do that."

It worried her, the dull roughness in his voice. "Blue, did you sleep?"

He dropped his hands. Shook his head. "But I didn't drown myself in a liquor bottle, either." He said it like it wasn't much of a victory.

"Lie down."

"No . .. I'm—not right now." He looked over his shoulder. "It's not you. I just don't want to sleep yet." He paused. "I want to talk about the box."

With a groan, she squeezed her eyes shut and rolled over, pulling a pillow over her head. Damn, damn, damn.

She felt his weight come down on the bed beside her. Then that big gentle hand on her back. "Ellie?"

With a sigh, she pulled the pillow from her head and looked up at him. "Fine," she said with annoyance. "But you're going to find out everything the way I did. It was one hell of a day."

"All right." He settled, and at least one whole leg was on the bed now. "Tell me."

Feeling vulnerable, she wrapped herself firmly in the covers and tossed tangles of hair from her face. "Are you ready for this?"

Still nothing was revealed in the dark smoothness of his face, or the liquid blue eyes. He nodded slowly.

"Let's see . . ." she held up her hands and enumerated the points on her fingers. "First, I found out that Mabel killed Peaches—and that she did have a child."

"You know who?"

"No, who?"

"James Gordon."

His eyes widened, showing the first glimmer of emotion she'd seen. "Holy shit."

"Exactly." She went back to her fingers, halted in sudden fear. "This is where it gets kind of hard, okay?"

"Spill it."

"I found out who my father is."

"Ellie, that's great! Who?"

Ellie raised her eyes, and a strange sense of sadness overtook her again. "Marcus came over yesterday. He brought me a picture."

Blue's eyes narrowed, realization dawning on his face. "James," he said.

She nodded slowly, watching his face to see if she saw any flickers of rejection. There was nothing, one way or the other. "How'd Marcus know?"

She lifted her shoulders. "I told him about my mother one day. He acted so strange when you and I started sleeping together that—" she broke off. "Long story, but basically, he'd put it together before that. He seems to think James and I look alike."

"You do." Blue sounded a little strained.

She bowed her head, waiting.

"Ellie," Blue said. "What about the box?"

She took a breath, couldn't find any words. Nodded.

"Oh, man."

"I don't know how. We were careful." She shrugged. "But—facts are facts. I'm pregnant."

He stared at her, dismay plain. Very slowly, he closed his eyes, and stood up, turning his back.

"Blue, don't do this. That's not fair."

"It's not you, Ellie. I swear to God it isn't."

"Oh, really!" Deeply wounded, she flung the covers from her. "I'm not asking anything from you, okay? You don't have to worry about any of that." From the floor she grabbed her shirt, and shorts, and flung them on, her hands shaking with humiliation and embarrassment. "I don't know why I thought you were different. And I don't even
want
to know if this is because you've found out that my father was black—"

"Ellie, for God's sake!" he reached for her suddenly, managing to catch an elbow that she yanked away. "You know better than that."

"I thought I did." She stared at him, wiling herself to hang on to whatever teeny bit of dignity might be left to her. "Let's just let it all go right now, Blue. My book is done. The storm took my room, and obviously whatever we had is over. So let me just get in my car and go. You don't have to ever think about any of this ever again."

"No!" He lunged, and they tumbled sideways together on to the bed. "You listen to me now." He pinned her arms when she struggled, and she glared at him, but even in her anger she saw the grief in his face. Why grief? What had he lost? She stopped struggling.

"I love you," he said, and she thought he might weep with that admission. His eyes were an unholy shade of bright blue. "That night I was going to cook, and you wanted to work, I was going to propose. I had a ring and everything."

Ellie made a sound.

"Just listen," he whispered fiercely. He let her go. "I can't do it." He swallowed hard, looked away. "I saw that cabin, and I knew I couldn't do it again. Not again. I can't."

She rose up on her knees and pressed her mouth to his lips, tasting his terror and his grief—it was Ellie he was losing, and it did matter, and he would miss her forever, just as she would miss him—and she let her tears fall on his face since he couldn't seem to get to his own. "Oh, Blue."

He broke a little, pulling her close. His face, damp with her tears, burrowed into her neck. "I wish I was braver, Ellie. But just you alone was more than I could stand to think about losing—you and a baby. That's too much."

She clung to him, unashamed of the tears that poured down her face. "I love you," she said quietly.

"I know." His grip was so tight she almost couldn't catch her breath. "I'll make sure you don't want for anything."

"Thank you." She pulled away, wiping her face, and looked for her shoes, half-blind. He didn't move as she put them on without socks. "I'll call you and tell you where to send my stuff."

"Ellie," he said urgently as she went to the door.

She stopped, waiting, looking at that beautiful face that she'd known from the beginning had held doom in it. Doom for him. Not for her. As long as she got out of here right now, she'd get over it. What she could not do was sit here with him and watch him self-destruct.

"Don't say anything, Blue. I know where you've been. I know why you can't do this." Weakening, she put her hand on his face, kissed his beautiful mouth one more time. "In time, we'll be friends again, and you won't have to sit around waiting for that other shoe to fall."

He swallowed.

"But," she said in a stronger voice. "I'm not waiting around for you, either. Just so you know. I'm not going to pine. I'm not going to kill myself out of grief. I'm going to go home, have this baby, and cry a lot while I get over you, but I'll be looking from the corner of my eye for the man who's going to love me."

"I do love you."

"I know," she said, and felt stronger. "Just not enough."

He let her go. Let her walk down the stairs, and through the front door, and get into her car. He didn't even follow her out, or watch her go from the door. Ellie whistled for April, and managed to drive all the way through to the other side of Gideon before she had to pull the car over and let some of her grief out. April whined next to her, licked her arm on the steering wheel, and shifted foot to foot in distress. It finally made Ellie laugh a little, and she gave her face to be licked. "Thank you," she said. "Too bad men aren't as reliable as dogs."

April barked once. Ellie put the car in gear and headed east. Toward home.

* * *

Rosemary opened the container with her tacos and salted them. Connie's shop was quiet in the aftermath of the storm. None of them had been hit hard, though there were a lot of trees down, and Connie had to have four windows replaced at her house. In Rosemary's half of town, the storm had never been that bad to begin with—a lot of heavy rain and wind, which had played havoc with her roses, but not even hail to speak of. "Where's Alisha?" she asked.

"Had to run her baby to the doctor for some shots, then take him over to Marcus's mother's house." Connie picked at a burrito. "Not like we have much business today. Everybody's busy with the cleanup."

"Only be a few days, I'm sure. Not like Hector." Word had come in that Hector was hit hard. It made her sad to think of those people without their homes, but nobody had been killed, thank God. She picked at her own food—her appetite was not exactly huge either. "I think I need to make some ice cream this evening."

"Oh, now that sounds real good. And some cold watermelon."

"Mmm. And some cold fried chicken."

Connie grinned. "We're planning a picnic."

Alisha burst in the door. "Oh, my God," she said, breathlessly. "You are not going to
believe
what I have to tell you." She pushed the door closed and locked it, turned the Open sign to Closed.

"What do you think you're doing?" Connie said. "Turn that back, right now."

Alisha shook her head, waving a hand with iridescent blue nails as if to underscore the point. "No, y'all have to hear this all the way through."

"What?"

Alisha sat down. "I just came from talking to my husband. Blue's there, fit to be tied, pacing up and down one greenhouse to the other like a caged cat." She touched her throat, jumped up. "I have to have something to drink."

"Alisha!" Rosemary said. "Sit your skinny little rear in this chair and tell us what's got you so excited before we both bust."

"I am, I am." She carried a cold can of Diet Pepsi back to her chair, brushed a braid from her face and smiled. "Ellie's gone."

Connie and Rosemary spoke in the same instant.

"What?"

"Why?"

"I don't know, exactly. Marcus is
so
pissed, so it's something Blue did. They were having a big fight when I walked in, yelling like I've never heard them yell."

"About what?" Rosemary asked.

She widened her eyes. "I don't know. I didn't quite get it. But, listen, this is the good part." Her voice quieted for drama. "Ellie was here to do the book on Mabel Beauvais, right?"