Since You've Been Gone (18 page)

Dormaine gave her a sickly smile. “Yes, well, these things happen,” he said in a voice that told her these things did
not
happen, especially in his restaurant. “I hope you feel better,” he added limply.

“Yes.” Rebecca pushed damp hair behind her ears. “I'm fine.”

People gaped at her as if she was a lunatic. She thought she might cry or faint. Clay pulled her close to him and she relaxed against the strength of his body. He looked calmly at the flustered Mr. Dormaine. “We
will
take care of the damage, Peter. Good night.”

Clay had not apologized for her. In fact, he acted completely oblivious to the chaos, making Rebecca feel better, as if she hadn't humiliated him. That would have been the final blow she couldn't have stood.

Outside the night air was cool and fresh, the sky clear and star-studded. Rebecca drew a deep breath. “Clay, I'm so sorry—”

“I don't want to hear any of that. You have nothing to be sorry for. But I do insist on one thing.”

“What's that?”

“You're coming home with me, have a drink or a tranquilizer or whatever you need, and you'll stay until you calm down. Gypsy and I are going to take excellent care of you. All right?”

“That sounds wonderful,” Rebecca said gratefully. “Absolutely wonderful.”

An hour later Rebecca sat on Clay's couch wrapped in his terry-cloth robe. Her own clothes were ruined and she'd had to take a shower to rinse away all the food and wine. He'd insisted she take a mild tranquilizer and by now the tension had flowed out of her body. Gypsy had cuddled close to her and Rebecca sipped a club soda and stroked the dog's silky ears.

She'd already related everything she'd seen in her vision to Clay. All during her teenage years, when she was supposed to have “seen” so much, he'd been slightly skeptical. His rational mind wanted to find other explanations for her so-called ESP. This evening had shattered the last of that skepticism. Saturday night she'd known the details of Todd's abduction without being told. Tonight he'd seen the torture on her face as she experienced what the terrified
little boy must be experiencing. She wasn't acting. It wasn't all a coincidence.

“So what do we do now, Clay?” she asked. “We've talked to Bill, not that I had anything helpful to tell him.”

“Don't be so hard on yourself. It's more information than we had this afternoon. Especially the fact that Todd's alive, Rebecca. After they found the blood on that stuffed dog, they weren't sure.”

She sighed. “If only I'd seen more.”

“You will.”

“Not tonight. My brain is fried. I have to go home.” She started to stand, then swayed. “Goodness. How strong was that tranquilizer?”

“Extremely weak. You're just worn out after the last few days. I have a proposition for you. Why don't you spend the night here?”

“Frank said I had to be home at eleven.”

Clay grinned. “You're already past curfew. And over twenty-one, although I promise not to take advantage of that fact.”

“Gorgeous
and
gallant. You're too good to be true, Clay Bellamy.” Immediately Rebecca's face flamed. Her tongue had become entirely too loose. “I'll have to call home.”

“You go in the bedroom. Lucky for you I changed the sheets yesterday. Climb in bed and I'll do the calling. You just rest.”

Rebecca hesitated. How well did she know Clay? Oh, she wasn't afraid of being taken advantage of. She just wondered if he didn't think this whole situation was ludicrous, if she wouldn't be the object of fun tomorrow. Then she looked at him. His gray-blue gaze was kind, concerned, his smile gentle. No, Clay would not make fun of her. For some reason he was going far out of his way to take care of her.

Gypsy followed her to the bedroom. Clay didn't look like the type for pajamas, but she found an oversized sweatshirt lying on top of a laundry basket full of folded clothes. She shed the terry-cloth robe and slipped on the sweatshirt,
then slid between the sheets, turning on her right side. Immediately Gypsy jumped on the bed, positioning herself close to Rebecca's chest in exactly the same position where Sean always lay. Rebecca fondled her ears.

In a moment Clay appeared in the doorway. “Gypsy! For heaven's sake, it's okay to sleep with me, but not with guests!”

The dog looked at him but did not move. “It's all right.” Rebecca laughed. “I'm used to sleeping with Sean. And to tell you the truth, after the experience tonight, it feels reassuring to have a warm body beside me.”

Clay sat down on the bed, reaching across Gypsy to touch Rebecca's face. He ran a finger down her cheek, then tucked a strand of her long auburn hair behind her ear. “You're cold,” he said softly. “Need another blanket?”

“I don't think that would help. The kind of cold I feel comes from being scared and helpless and being alone in all this.”

“You're not alone. I believe you completely.”

“You do? After Friday night, when you said you needed tests and statistics to convince you—”

“The other night I was scared of what I didn't understand, but I'm not scared anymore. I just want to do whatever I can to help you.”

Rebecca's throat tightened. She knew she was feeling sorry for herself, but she'd carried the load of people's expectations for so long. And she'd been alone. At least she'd felt alone, even though she knew other people believed in her. But with a few words, Clay had banished that frightening feeling of isolation. He'd made her believe that finally someone could actually help her.

“You really want to help me?” she asked shyly. He nodded, his gaze soft on her own. “Then lie down beside me.”

In a few minutes Rebecca lay drowsing, Gypsy pressed against one side of her, Clay on the other. His arm lay lightly around her waist, and his warm breath touched her temple.

And for the first time since the car wreck that had killed her father and changed her life, Rebecca did not feel alone.

TUESDAY, 7:30 A.M.

Clay Bellamy awakened with a sense of fierce purpose. When he heard about Todd Ryan he'd been shocked and saddened the way he would be hearing that
any
child had been abducted. Over the past few years he'd only seen Molly six or seven times and the boy once. An emotional distance had grown between him and the Ryan clan.

That emotional distance had been shattered last night. At dinner he'd felt more relaxed than he had for months. Over the years he'd occasionally thought of Rebecca Ryan, especially after he'd heard she'd written a book. Like most people, he'd assumed it would be about Jonnie's kidnapping, but someone told him it seemed to be pure fiction. He'd promised himself he'd read it someday and then immediately forgot it. A month later Rebecca had been brought into the emergency room.

Naturally Rebecca had changed since he last saw her, at Jonnie's funeral. He remembered her as tall and thin, looking older and younger than her years at the same time. He also remembered that Frank had hovered over a weeping Suzanne, who had never glanced at her stricken daughter. Clay had been more moved by Rebecca's silent, solitary misery than by all of Suzanne's tears. He'd known then that the girl who'd blushed and stammered in his presence, who had such an obvious crush on him, was gone. He'd felt oddly grieved by her loss.

But last night when he'd picked her up at her home he'd seen a vibrant, if worried, woman. Over dinner they'd laughed and they'd confided. Then he'd witnessed the drama of her vision. It had shaken him; although he'd tried not to show it, Clay had believed her completely.

He'd slept soundly in bed with her last night and they'd
laughed when they woke up to find that Gypsy had somehow worked her way between them without waking either. “She's jealous.” Rebecca had giggled, and Clay had thought how lovely she looked in the harsh morning light even with no makeup and two bandages on her forehead. She'd insisted on taking a cab home so he wouldn't be late for work. On her way out the door, he'd barely glanced her cheek with a kiss, not wanting the cabbie to think they'd spent a passionate night together. He wondered why he cared what the cabbie thought, then realized it was because the cabbie would blab the news all over town and Clay did care about Rebecca's reputation. Oh well, people could do no more than talk.

Now he felt refreshed and ready for a full day. He drained his coffee mug, then dropped a good-bye pat on Gypsy's golden brown head. She looked up from her food bowl with gentle eyes. “Don't get in any trouble while I'm gone today. Just watch your soap operas and take it easy.” She licked his hand, then turned back to the more important task of finishing her breakfast.

He was walking out the door when the phone rang. The answering machine picked up and he heard his mother's voice. He went back.

“Hi, Mom. I was on my way to the hospital.”

“We're having your dad's birthday next Sunday,” she'd said without a hello. “You going to be able to make it?”

“Of course I'll be there.”

“I never know.” Her voice took on a plaintive note. “You hardly ever come around.”

“I drop by every two or three weeks.”

“More like once a month. It hurts your dad.”

Clay gritted his teeth, guilt battling with anger, resentment sizzling through resolve. “Dad hardly talks to me when I do come by.”

“That's not true.”

“It is. He talks to Ben, not to me.”

“Shame on you! You sound like a little boy.” Her rebuke made him angrier than ever because it was true. “Now Clay,
be fair. You know you hurt your dad by becoming a doctor instead of a farmer. He doesn't have any particular liking for doctors and he's put his life into this farm.”

The last was an understatement. Hoyt Bellamy had inherited the lucrative 300-acre dairy farm from his father and devoted himself to caring for it above all other things. He'd worked his sons Ben and Clayton hard, teaching them all he knew, trying to instill in them his love of farming. With his older son Ben, he'd succeeded. Clay had been another matter. He'd always been more interested in diagnosing the cows than milking them. When he was eight, one of the cows got sick with an ailment Hoyt had never seen before. Clay had hung around the vet who treated the valuable Holstein, absorbing all he could of medical terminology. He'd sat up at night with the cow and cried when she died. His father had grown furious, called him a sentimental sissy, and told him he'd better start acting like a Bellamy man if he expected any respect in this family. He didn't understand Clay and he didn't care to. He just wanted Clay to be like Ben and himself and if he wouldn't conform, he could damn well suffer his father's rejection.

“Mom, I don't have time to get into this now,” Clay said, struggling to sound calm although his heart rate had increased. “Even if I had time, it's a pointless argument. I'll be there Sunday. Two o'clock lunch as usual?”

“Yes. I'll put the roast in the oven before we go to church. We still attend the Baptist, but apparently you've forgotten your way there.” Clay rolled his eyes. “Ben and Elaine and the kids will be here for dinner.” Another of the unnecessary details his mother always added. Ben and Elaine had a house on the farm. They never missed a family function. “You don't need to get a gift.”

“Okay, Mom.”

“If you were to get a gift, though, it would mean a lot to your dad.”

No, it wouldn't, Clay thought. But certainly he would buy something as a gesture. “Have to go, Mom. See you Sunday.”

Clay felt bad about rushing his mother off the phone even though he knew she had not minded. Just as his father's and brother's minds revolved around the farm, hers revolved around them. Clay had always been the outsider, certain he'd been switched at birth with some strapping, uncomplicated clone of his brother. The other boy probably lived with a family who wanted him to be a doctor when what he wanted to think about were cows and how to increase milk production. He would be as frustrated as Clay, always trying to win approval and always feeling guilty when he failed.

As he drove to the hospital, Clay semi-successfully pushed the whole family matter from his mind to concentrate again on Rebecca. Rather, on the questions Rebecca had raised about the kidnapping, he reminded himself sternly.

Clay pulled into the hospital parking lot still turning it all over in his mind. But as soon as he walked in and saw the Emergency waiting room full, he focused on work. He did not allow his thoughts to drift until he took a break for a quick lunch at one o'clock.

The hospital dining room was still pretty full. In spite of the running jokes about hospital food, Clay thought this particular cafeteria served an above-average menu. He rarely sent out for food from Village Pizza Inn like most people. At least not for lunch. He thought he was probably their most frequent dinner patron. He ran his tray down the metal rails, picking up coffee, tossed salad, chicken and noodles, and the biggest piece of coconut cream pie he saw. “You'll get fat, Doctor,” the girl at the register teased, tossing her hair and flashing her teeth.

“Never. They work me too hard. Charge it to my bill.”

“As if you have to tell me!”

She laughed loudly as if they'd had a hilarious exchange. A few people in the dining room turned to look. Her raucous flirtation with Dr. Bellamy had become a matter of minor interest.

Clay, trying to look nonchalant amid the stares, was
headed for an empty table when he spotted Myra Kessle, a middle-aged nurse who worked in the pediatrie unit and whom he'd gotten to know when his nephew was in for an appendectomy. “Mind if I sit with you, Myra?”

“I'd be honored, but what will your girlfriend at the register say?”

He shook his head and smiled. “Girl is right. She must be all of nineteen.”