The Still of Night (10 page)

“What was she like at seventeen?”

He clunked the bottle to the table. “You don’t want to hear this.” She sat back down and took his hand before he could wrap it around the bottleneck again. “Tell me, Morgan.”

“She was every guy’s dream. Cheerleader with brains, accelerated a full year, even. Great sense of humor and class. She danced—as well as you, only looser, not so trained. Her smile …” He sighed. “Her smile sank in like syrup.” He shook his head, then squeezed his temples with his free hand. “She killed my kid. Did you know that part?”

“Yes.”

He made a fist inside her palms. He was babbling, too drunk to stay unemotional. He would never bare himself like this otherwise.

“She was very young, Morgan. You don’t realize the kind of pressure …”

“I was young, too, Noelle.” Too young to know anything about anything. Though he’d thought he had all the answers.

“But you weren’t the one with the immediate problem. You could have walked away.”

He jerked his hand out of hers. “I didn’t walk away. I would have taken care of her.”

“She was a minor. It wasn’t up to you or to Jill.”

He closed his eyes and hung his head back. “They acted like I was the arch fiend.”

“It was their daughter.”

“They wouldn’t let me see her. Wouldn’t let me talk to her even once. It all came down the week we graduated, and then she was gone. She never even tried.” She could have found him. His parents would have told her he was at Wharton. One phone call. But she’d never made it. Sure they were kids, and they’d screwed up. Rick would say they had violated God’s law. Morgan knew that, and maybe that was why he actively courted hell.

He sat in morose silence, then said, “She had her hair all cut short.

It used to be long like yours, and I liked it that way. But she looked even better with it short. All kind of puffed and feathery around her face like Meg Ryan on a good day.”

“Is it blond?”

He nodded slowly. “Kind of silvery, not golden like yours. Gray eyes. She’s kept her figure, too, not like some of them. But then, they’ve had kids.” The words tasted bitter.

She didn’t let him stay there. “Did you speak with her?”

“Not very nicely.” He said it with regret. What if he could have been civil? Would he be sitting now with Jill instead of his brother’s wife?

“Don’t blame yourself, Morgan.”

He slumped. “Who else is there?”

Rick was awake when Noelle crept back into bed in the dark. He’d heard their voices but stayed where he was. He raised the covers, drew Noelle close, and said, “Morgan?”

She nodded against his neck. “He saw Jill.”

Rick released a slow breath. Maybe he shouldn’t have pushed it, but he’d really thought the Lord would provide some closure so Morgan could quit punishing himself. “How bad is he?”

“He passed out the minute he hit the bed.”

No surprise there.

“He once accused me of hiding inside a shell. Alcohol is his.”

“How long were you downstairs?”

She tucked her head into the hollow of his neck. “Long enough for him to vent instead of drowning it. I wish I knew how to help.”

“He’s too successful to hit bottom and get real help.”

“Why can’t God—”

“It doesn’t work that way. We pray for him. Mom’s worn her knees out, and Dad, too. But God doesn’t force the cure. Morgan has to want it.”

“Then what’s the point in praying?”

Rick shifted her in his arms. Noelle’s faith was new and as fragile as her emotions. He felt the responsibility of nurturing and protecting her. “Lots of points we don’t see.” He stroked the hair back from her temples. “Like keeping him alive long enough to find his way. How many curves did he take tonight?”

She closed her eyes, probably picturing the mountain highway.

“And keeping others safe when he drives with no one to stop him. All the things we can’t see that might bring Morgan to his knees. Maybe even what happened tonight.”

“He was cruel to her.”

Rick tightened his arms around her. “Well, it’s complicated.”

“Do you blame her, too?” Noelle’s voice had the thinnest edge. He must tread carefully. Abortion was murder. He knew that in his deepest soul. Nothing would change his mind, no mitigating circumstances no matter how difficult. But Noelle wouldn’t necessarily understand, having been victimized. Maybe Jill had been victimized by Morgan’s advances. Certainly Morgan should have known better. But to kill the baby … what that had done to Morgan and the pain it had caused his own family …

He released a hard breath. “I can’t judge her.”

“But you blame her.” Her voice had a tremor. Some part of her own woundedness had been triggered. “You have no idea what fragility forced her decision.”

Fragility? Noelle was fragile in body and spirit, broken as a child by a perverse fiend. Jill was not fragile. His memories of her were vibrant, peppered with touch football and pompons and long legs running hard. Morgan had fallen for her in pure Morganesque abandon and hadn’t stopped falling yet.

“I’m not sure he wasn’t the more fragile of the two.”

Noelle considered that for a silent moment. “He pretends nothing fazes him, but he’s not very good at it. It must have really hurt.”

Rick stroked a strand of hair from her cheek. “Partly because of how it came down. Jill was ripped out of his life with no real closure.” “Still, it was so long ago.”

“You’d understand if you’d seen them together. And he didn’t just lose Jill.” Rick spread his hand over her belly. “How do you think I’d feel if you took this life from me now? Destroyed our child and there was nothing I could do?”

She pressed her hand over his. “Don’t even say that.”

“I just want you to see why Morgan can’t let it go.”

She stroked his forearm. “That’s why you wanted him at the reunion.”

“I don’t think it was me. I think the Lord wanted him there. I have … a great unease in my spirit.”

“For Morgan?”

Rick nodded. “We don’t agree on much, but he’s been there for me in more ways than I can name. Even before you made things interesting.”

She pushed his chest softly.

He kissed her temple. “Go to sleep. Soon enough we won’t have these long, quiet nights.”

She nestled in and they both dropped into silence. Too soon he woke with a jolt to find her trembling and thrashing. He caught her tightly in his arms. “Noelle. Stop. It’s just a dream.”

She opened teary eyes and gasped, “The baby.”

Rick placed his hand there, instinctively protecting the life inside. “The baby’s fine.”

She pressed her face into his chest. “I dreamed he took her.”

“Michael?” The ex-fiancé who had battered Noelle and triggered memories of her early abuse.

She shook her head. “No. It was the other face.”

The kidnapper she had thought of as God. “He can’t hurt you.” But Rick wondered again if she would ever be free of it. If sharing Morgan’s trouble triggered her pain …“

He’s out there somewhere. They never caught him.”

Because she’d been released as soon as her father gave up prosecuting the case. No one knew then what damage had already been done. Rick rubbed his hand over her belly. “Our baby’s safe. That’s why you have me.”

She looked into his face, green eyes awash. “Hold me, Rick.”

He did. He kissed her mouth. “I love you.” It swelled up and filled him until it almost brought tears of his own.

“I love you, too,” she whispered.

And he settled her in tight to his chest. She was the Lord’s gift, no matter how painfully it had come.

CHAPTER

6

J
ill looked at the little faces, diligent in their task. The Sunday school class was balm to her soul, second-grade children of dedicated families with no problem worse than an occasional runny nose. It was especially healing after last night’s fiasco. The smell of Crayola crayons and newsprint mingled with the cheese crackers on napkins and the tart apple juice she poured into bathroom-size Dixie cups.

After today’s lesson she’d given them time to draw their favorite Bible stories. With the snack laid out and ready, she walked around to see their progress. Emily drew stick figures well below grade level, but Jill was not there to assess potential learning difficulties. She wanted these children to know their faith, to learn the Bible and all the wonderful truths it held. To know Jesus.

She felt closest to that herself when she was with them, more so than when she sat upstairs for the service or even when she prayed alone. In this class with these eager little lives she could almost remember how it had been for her before everything went wrong.

Stop it. Don’t think about it. Don’t wonder how Kelsey had looked
before the cancer, how she might have huddled over a page with crayons in
her hand
.

Jill stopped over David’s picture. She stooped down and engaged him at face level. “David, did you understand these were supposed to be pictures of your favorite Bible verse?”

He nodded. “It is.”

She looked down at the picture of bubble-eyed monsters.

“It’s what Pastor talked about today.”

Jill racked her brain to put sense to the picture in light of the youth pastor’s talk on loving everyone even when they were different. He rubbed his fist into his cheek. “The aliens. The verse said to love the aliens among you.”

Jill glanced quickly into his eyes, caught the sincerity, and contained the humor and joy that exploded within her. She barely controlled a laugh but smiled unashamedly. “It’s wonderful, David.” She stood up and continued around, full of the gift of that child’s innocence.
Thank you, Lord
. And she laughed silently.
That’s just what I
needed
. She worked with too many problems every day, and now her own had caught up with her. But there was David’s picture, and she buried it in her heart.

She carried the joy home with her after the service, but it faded when she walked inside to change clothes. Her black sheath lay across the chair where she’d tossed it after running home like a scared Cinderella. But Morgan had been no prince. She pulled on Lycra shorts and a baggy T-shirt, socks and running shoes, and walked over to Shelly’s. Together they headed for the running paths through the woods behind the complex.

“I don’t know why I agreed to walk with you.” Shelly panted, holding her side. “You have track legs that hurdle everything in your path and make my poor stumps into jelly.”

“I’m sorry.” Jill slowed her pace. Frustrated not to be running, she’d unconsciously strode out.

“Synonyms for walk are words like
amble, stroll, saunter
.”

Shelly was not Dan. “Sorry, Shell.”

Shelly sucked air into her lungs in two long draws. “I’ll forgive you if you tell me about last night.”

Jill did not want to talk about it. She was ashamed of leaving in tears just because Morgan Spencer snubbed her. If Morgan chose to hate her, that was his business. It was the other emotional pressure: fear for Kelsey and having her daughter suddenly in her life at all. And maybe a little bit of Dan. Those were a lot of stress factors. Any test would say so.

“Hello? I’m the short, chubby friend you’re walking with?”

“You’re not chubby.” She wasn’t, just solid.

“About last night …”

Jill sighed. “It was all right. I didn’t stay long.” She’d agreed to walk after church with Shelly instead of running or biking with Dan. Now she wondered if Dan wouldn’t have been an easier choice. But she did not want to miss church. She needed grounding right now. Shelly slept in late on Sundays and was just about rallied by the time Jill’s service ended.

“Are you going to the picnic today?”

Jill shook her head, unconsciously picking up her pace, then realized Shelly was dragging. She slowed down again.

“Why not?”

“It’s just not important to me, Shelly.” Why give Morgan a fresh target and Babs more ammunition? What had once been precious was broken past repair.

“You need a social life.”

“I have friends.” Though none as close as Shelly. The members of her team at school were not kindred spirits, and they clashed so much professionally that Jill spent most of her time trying to keep peace between one faction or another.

“You need a love life. If you won’t accept Dan …”

Jill turned, caught Shelly’s hand. “Let’s make a pact. You don’t nag about my love life, I won’t nag about your weight.”

“I’m working on my weight.”

Jill didn’t have a ready reply. “Well, good.” She started walking again.

“Was he there?”

Jill’s breath shortened. “Who?”

“Morgan Spencer.”

“Yes.” She picked up her pace. It would do Shelly good to work a little.

“Bald?”

“He looked terrific. Want to jog the downhill?”

“Want to do CPR?”

Jill laughed.

“Did you talk to him?”

“Briefly.” So briefly her head still reeled.
“You’ve satisfied appearances. Don’t let me keep you.”
In other words, get lost; I can’t stand the sight of you. It shouldn’t matter, but it did. She didn’t hate him. She had as much cause, didn’t she? Why would he bear her such malice all these years?

“Come on, Jill. What did he say?”

“We didn’t really talk. We were interrupted.” By too much pain.

“Then go to the picnic and get reacquainted.”

“There’s no point, Shelly. He doesn’t live here anymore.” The memory book listed a P. O. box in Santa Barbara.

“You never know.”

Oh, but she did.

Morgan cracked his eyelids open, and pain from the sunlight sliced into his brain. A shadow moved across the window and settled in front of his face. He risked a quick peek again. Rick’s chest and a steaming mug that smelled like coffee. Morgan groaned. “That better be spiked.”

“Try it this way.” Rick held out the mug.

Morgan rolled and raised himself up on one elbow. He took the mug and slurped. Not bad, even if it would do nothing for the pounding in his head.

“Starbucks fresh ground.” Rick studied his face.

Morgan could guess what he saw. He sucked in another swallow and tried to sit up. What was Rick doing in his bedroom? He usually left him to sleep it off and went about his morning chores like the responsible citizen he was. As far as Morgan knew, he had induced the only hangover Rick had ever experienced.