Whiskey Beach Part 84

When he let that hang in the air, she admitted defeat. "Yes, it's there. I don't really matter to him, and never have. I don't dwell on it, but it's there."

"You don't dwell because it's unproductive, and you like to produce."

"Interesting way to put it." Her lips curved again. "And true."

"And you don't dwell because you know it's his loss. Then there's the b.a.s.t.a.r.d who hurt you. That's letting you down big-time. You cared about him, trusted him, let him in, then he turned on you. He violated you."

"As bad as that was, if it hadn't happened, I might not be here."

"Positive att.i.tude. Kudos. But it happened. You gave someone your trust and they broke it. Why wouldn't it happen again?"

"I don't think that way. I don't live that way."

"You lead an open, energetic, satisfying life that I often find amazing. The kind that takes spine and heart. It's admirable. You don't lean easily, and that's admirable, too, until it gets to the point where you could lean, where you should, and you won't."

"I would've told you if your family hadn't been here." Then she accepted, and told the whole truth. "I probably would've put it off for a while. I might've told myself you keep getting hammered, and there was no point adding to that until I knew more or it had been resolved in some way. I might have. But that's not about trust."

"Pity?"

"Concern. And my own confidence. I don't like the word 'conceit.' I needed to take care of myself, make decisions, handle problems and, yes, maybe take on other people's problems to build up the confidence Derrick shattered. I need to know I can take care of things when there's no one to depend on but myself."

"And when there is someone else to depend on?"

Maybe he was right again, and that was where it got sticky. And maybe it was time for a little self-evaluation.

"I don't know, Eli, I just don't know the answer because I haven't given myself that choice in a long time. And still, I leaned on you that night, after I was attacked. I leaned, and you didn't let me down."

"I can't get involved again with someone who won't give as much as she takes, take as much as she gives. I found out, the hard way, if you do you end up empty-handed and bitter. I guess we both have to decide how much we can give, how much we can take."

"I hurt you because I didn't reach out."

"Yeah, you did. And you p.i.s.sed me off. And you made me think." He rose, picking up dishes. Neither of them had done justice to the meal. "I let Lindsay down."

"No, Eli."

"Yeah, I did. Our marriage might've been a mistake, but we were in it together. Neither of us got what we wanted or expected out of it. At the end, I couldn't stop what happened to her. I still don't know if she's dead because of some choice I made, choices we made together, or just some random piece of bad luck.

"I let my grandmother down, going longer and longer between times coming here, or seeing her at all. She didn't deserve that. We almost lost her, too. Would it have happened if I'd spent more time here, if I came here to stay with her after Lindsay's murder?"

"You're the center of the universe now? You want to talk conceit?"

"No, but I know, I know I'm somewhere in the center of this, and all of it's connected."

He turned to her, didn't go to her, didn't touch her, but stood with that s.p.a.ce between them.

"I'm telling you, Abra, I'm not going to let you down. I'm going to do everything, whether you like it or not, whether you sleep with me or not, to make sure nothing happens to you. And when this is done, I guess we'll see where we are, and where we go from there."

Because she felt a little boxed in, she rose. "I'll do the dishes."

"I've got it."

"Balance, or as you said, give-and-take," she reminded him. "You fixed the meal, I clean up."

"Okay. I want a copy of your schedule."

She felt, literally, p.r.i.c.kles of warning at the back of her neck. "Eli, it changes. That's the beauty of it."

"I want to know where you are when you're not here. I'm not a G.o.dd.a.m.n stalker. It's not about keeping tabs or trying to sew you in."

She put the plate she was holding on the counter, took a breath. "I want to say I didn't think that, or mean that. And I also realize something I didn't until today, until all this. I realize I brought more baggage with me from D.C. than I thought. I think-hope-it's down to a small hand tote. I hope I'll figure out how to toss that out."

"It takes time."

"I thought I'd finished the time, but apparently not quite. So ..." She lifted the plate again, slid it into the dishwasher rack. "I'm here most of the day. I have my morning cla.s.s, church bas.e.m.e.nt, and I have a ma.s.sage at four-thirty. Greta Parrish."

"Okay. Thanks."

She finished loading the dishwasher, began to wipe off the counters. "You haven't touched me, not once since you came up the steps to my cottage. Why is that? Because you're mad?"

"Maybe some, but mostly because I don't know how you feel about it."

Her eyes met his, held. "How do I know how I feel about you touching me if you don't?"

He brushed a hand down her arm first, then turned her toward him. Drew her in.

She dropped the rag on the counter, locked her arms around him.

"I'm sorry. I was holding things back, holding things in. But ... Oh G.o.d, Eli, he was in my house. He went through my things. He touched my things. Derrick went through my things. He touched my things, broke things while he waited for me to come home."

"He won't hurt you." Eli pressed his lips to her temple. "I won't let him hurt you."

"I have to get past it. I have to."

"You will." But not alone. Not without him.

When she left the next morning, he told himself not to worry. Not only was the church less than two miles away, but he couldn't think of a single reason for anyone to harm her.

She'd be back by mid-morning, and once he knew she was safely in the house, he could work. With his mind too busy to slide into the story, he went down to the bas.e.m.e.nt, spent nearly an hour unloading the shelves, walking them back.

It took more time to open the panel from the bas.e.m.e.nt side, and once he had, he decided to oil the hinges.

The creak added interesting atmosphere, but should he want to surprise anyone, silence served. Armed with a flashlight and a box of lightbulbs, he worked his way through the pa.s.sage, testing each light, moving on, until he'd reached the third floor.

Once he'd oiled those hinges, he considered, then angled a chair in front of the panel, checked to make sure he could open and close it again, then backtracked.

He repositioned the shelves, again tested so he could easily move around them, in or out of the panel. Then he reloaded them.