Sawyer, Meryl (41 page)

" 'I love you, Harley. I'll always love you.' I closed my
eyes and fired. When I opened them, I was on the ground— covered with Harley's
blood and bits of his fur. All that was left of him was his four paws hammered
to the barn." Mitch's voice kept dropping with each word. "And his
long ears—coated in blood—swinging from the single nail."

An explosive gasp echoed through the room, but Royce hardly
realized the sound came from her own lips. Instead, as if she'd been transported
back in time, she suffered the heartfelt torment and pure horror of an innocent
young boy, knocked flat by the force of the shot, having killed the dog he
loved so dearly.

His only birthday present. A gift from God.

"Oh, Mitch," she cried, throwing her arms around him
just as she'd longed to do. "I would have killed that farmer."

Unexpectedly, the veterinarian emerged, his greens splattered with
Jenny's blood. Royce held her breath, her arm circling Mitch. He had a much
bigger emotional investment in Jenny than she'd realized until now. Somehow the
dog represented a link with his past, a time in his life when he'd found
something to love, only to lose it so tragically.

"How's Jenny?" Mitch asked the doctor, his tone level,
but Royce detected subtle clues others might have missed. Mitch was mentally
bracing himself, dead certain he'd lost Jenny the way he'd lost Harley.

"She's going to make it," the vet announced with a
satisfied smile.

"Wonderful!" Royce hugged Mitch and he squeezed her so
hard, her breath was trapped in her lungs.

"Finally"—he smiled, a rare, unguarded smile—"
we
get a break."

We. He'd said "we" as if they were truly a couple. Now
wasn't the time to tell him that she'd been recognized. With luck no one would call
Tobias Ingeblatt. Anyway, was it a crime to be walking with your attorney on a
summer day?

"Jenny's going to have to stay here a few days. She has
several broken ribs and her leg is fractured in two places."

"But she'll recover fully, won't she?" Mitch asked.

"Yes, but she's going to need lots of care after I release
her."

"She'll get it," Royce spoke up, letting Mitch know he
could count on her to take care of Jenny while he was out of town.

They left the clinic, but Mitch didn't say anything all the way
home. Royce couldn't talk either. She couldn't shake the image of a young boy
lying in the dirt staring up at those two ears.

Having killed the thing he loved most.

At home they showered in silence, then Royce tossed their
bloodstained clothes into the washer while Mitch settled himself on the sofa in
the living room without bothering to turn on the light. Why was he so moody?
she asked herself. His initial euphoria at hearing Jenny would live had
evaporated. Was he upset that he'd told her about his past?

Perhaps. But it seemed even more likely that he was somehow
reliving that past. After talking about it, the horrible incident had brought
back a wealth of unhappy memories. Maybe he was thinking about his parents—not
just Harley.

Royce had no idea what to say and since Mitch seemed to want to be
alone, she went into the kitchen. She peered into the refrigerator.

"Not much here," she said out loud, then realized she
was automatically talking to Jenny even though she wasn't there.

She took out tomatoes and celery. Tomato soup was going to be the
best she could do tonight. Her telephone rang. It was Talia, but Royce didn't
have the energy to talk.

She should be grateful that Val and Talia called faithfully every
evening to give her moral support, but lately the strain of not being able to
discuss the case was eroding their friendship. How much small talk could she
make?

Her friends seemed to sense the change in her too. They'd pulled
inward; neither of them shared her private life with Royce the way she once
had.

Later when she called Mitch to dinner, he gazed at the bowl of
homemade tomato soup as if it had ants swimming in it.

"You should eat something." Had she really said that?
She sounded like his mother, for God's sakes.

"I hate tomato soup," he said softly. Too softly. He
didn't sound anything like himself.

"No wonder you pick the tomatoes out of the salad," she
said, trying to keep her tone upbeat. "Aren't you hungry?"

"Let's order pizza." He called Godfather's for his usual
order, then left the kitchen.

Her phone rang again, keeping her from following him, which was
just as well because she didn't know how to comfort him. This time it was Val.
There was nothing she could say to console her either. Talia had told Royce
that David was dying, but how could Royce ease Val's pain? She tried a few
platitudes and hung up, feeling shamefully inadequate.

When the phone rang for the third time, she almost screamed. She
didn't want to talk to anyone, but she answered it, hoping it was Wally. She
didn't know how to reach him and planned to call the paper to see if they knew
his number, but she wanted to wait until Mitch wasn't around.

"I tried to get you all day." This from Brent.

Royce resisted the urge to hang up. "I was over at my place
all day packing." Heavens, she was getting to be a proficient liar.
"I'm going to have to sell my house to pay for my legal fees."

"If I'd known you were there, I'd have come and helped."

Why had she opened her mouth, she asked, knowing tomorrow she
would be there, sorting and packing. She didn't need Brent to show up.
"Where are you?" She changed the subject. "I hear music."

"Mother's having a dinner party. I had to come. I just wanted
to check in and be sure you're not too lonely. Are you all by yourself?"

"Of course. I'm in a new safe house, you know." Amazing,
how good she was getting at lying. "In the Haight-Ashbury area."

"The Haight's being rehabbed a lot. Some of the places are
nice," Brent said. There was a noise in the background. "Darling,
I've got to go. Mother's about to serve dinner. Should I call you later?"

"No." Had she said that too quickly? "I'm exhausted
from all that packing. I'm going to bed soon."

He promised to call tomorrow and they hung up. She gave Mitch space
and stayed in the kitchen cleaning. When she couldn't think of another thing to
do, she took the trash and headed for the Dumpster in the alley. As she lifted
the heavy lid and tossed in the sack, headlights hit her in the face and she
quickly turned away. Why hadn't she remembered Godfather's Pizza always
delivered to Mitch's back door? There was never anyplace to park on the street.

She had no choice but to march ahead of the young man delivering
the pizza and hope he hadn't recognized her. He didn't look like the type who'd
read a paper—even the
Evening Outrage.

"Mitch," she called, opening the back door. Oliver
lunged toward the opening; she pounced on the tubby tabby before he escaped.
But not before she'd stood nose to nose with the delivery boy.

"I know you. You're—"

"We're working," she said with as much authority as she
could muster, considering she was standing barefoot in shorts holding a fat cat
bent on scratching her eyes out. She spun around and saw Mitch coming toward
them.

What else could go wrong today? she asked herself as Mitch paid
the delivery boy. Mitch didn't mention the incident but he had to have heard
what the delivery boy said. She didn't have the heart to tell him that several
people had recognized her today. Undoubtedly Tobias Ingeblatt would get wind of
this and do his best to smear Mitch's reputation.

Mitch ate part of one slice of pizza before returning to the dark
living room. She put the pizza away before Oliver could help himself and joined
Mitch on the sofa. She scooted close and lifted his arm, draping it across her
shoulders.

More than anything she wanted him to tell her all about his past.
She wanted him to trust her enough to share things wither her.
"Mitch," she said and he turned to her. "You did the right
thing. You had to kill Harley."

There was a long silence. Finally, he said, "When you love
something enough, you'll destroy it before you let it suffer."

She wanted to say more, but couldn't find the words. Snuggling
closer, she tried to physically telegraph her support; Mitch didn't seem to
notice. His eyes were on the twinkling lights of the bay, but she'd bet
anything his mind was preoccupied with memories of his youth.

And the dog for whom there had been no happy ending.

She looked up at him, his distinct profile shadowed by the dim
light, and she realized, she'd never met anyone remotely like him. His
lone-wolf mentality concealed layer after layer of his personality, aspects of
him she'd yet to uncover. But she had to wait. No matter how much she longed to
ask him about his past, he'd tell her when the time was right.

It was almost one o'clock and they were still in the dark living
room watching the lights on the bay, when Royce heard pounding on the back
door. The police, she thought with a surge of panic. Couldn't be. She hadn't
done anything wrong.

Mitch expelled a sharp breath, ruffling the dark hair across his
forehead. "It's Jason."

"How do you know?"

He rose. "The kid got home today. His mother has a new baby.
That'll mean a hyper daddy and more rules."

"I'll go upstairs."

"What's the point? Jason already knows about you."

A minute later Mitch escorted a very sullen Jason into the living
room. Despite his own problems Mitch was listening intently as Jason
complained. It took Mitch almost an hour to explain why heavy metal music
wasn't good for babies.

Did she really want kids? she asked herself. Would she be this
patient with a selfish teenager? She wasn't certain, but she wanted the chance
to try. And she wasn't going to get it in prison.

"You'd better spend the night here," Mitch said, his
exhaustion now showing in his voice. "I'll call your mother and
explain."

"No!" Jason shouted as Mitch stood.

Royce spoke up. "Your mother will worry, won't she?"

"Yeah," Jason sullenly conceded.

Royce encouraged him with a smile. "Let's call her."

"The man won't let me spend the night."

"Who? Your stepfather?"

"Yeah, he's got shit for brains." There was something in
his voice that told Royce there was more to this than Jason was telling.
"He's always dissin' everyone."

She leaned closer. "What do you mean?"

"He hates Mitch." Jason directed this bombshell to his
half-laced tennis shoes.

Royce glanced at Mitch but couldn't tell what he was thinking. She
almost screamed that Mitch had done so damn much for Jason that his stepfather
should be grateful, but somehow she kept her voice level. "Why?"

For a moment she didn't think he was going to answer, but he
finally whispered, "He thinks—he says Mitch must be a fag"—now his
confession was coming out in a breathless rush—"to want to spend time with
me."

"That's ridiculous." She ventured a glance at Mitch; as
usual his face was expressionless. "He's trying to give you the help he
never got at your age."

"I know," Jason sheepishly acknowledged. "Try'n
tell that to the man."

Royce stood up. "I'm going to fix your stepfather. I'm
calling your mother and telling her that I'm Mitch's girlfriend." Mitch
started to interrupt, but Royce raised her hand to silence him. "I'm not
giving my name, but I'll say that I'm spending the night here and we're putting
Jason on the sofa. That way she won't worry—and your stepfather can eat his
words."

While Mitch went upstairs for linens, she called Jason's mother,
then hung up, satisfied she'd done the right thing. The telephone rang and she
reached for the wall phone she'd just used before she realized it was her
portable telephone ringing.

She checked the kitchen clock. Two thirty-three. Not even Brent
called this late.

"Hello?" She hoped she sounded groggy, as if the call
had awakened her.

There was a strange noise that might have been a cough or someone
placing his hand over his mouth to cover a laugh.

Obviously a prank. Obviously a wrong number.

Royce hesitated, standing in the entrance of the Starlight Bistro
and seeing Val and Talia had already arrived and were waiting for her at a
table on the terrace overlooking the bay. Their favorite café—scene of
countless happy lunches to celebrate birthdays or just to get together—was
sheltered from the summer sun by a leafy canopy of English ivy. Multihued
impatiens grew in huge clay pots around the perimeter of the terrace.

How would this reunion go? It was the first time she'd seen them
since the day of her hearing when they'd come to the courthouse. They'd been
friends for years but doubts had subtly edged their way into Royce's mind.