A Whisper in Time (26 page)

What Mark said sounded quite sensible. I needed to take his claims into my mind and allow them to replace the evil things Mr. Pratt had planted.

I nodded at Mark, grateful for his presence. Grateful for
him
.

“Hey.” His fingertip caught a tear as it glided down my cheek. “You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever known. Really.”

It was an outrageous statement, yet the intensity in his voice and eyes proclaimed that he believed it. He’d unshackled me again, as surely as he had two months ago when he broke the chains binding my legs. “You are beautiful too,” I said, unable to contain a smile.

“Susanna?” His tone was most earnest.

“What?”

“For the record…I like plump breasts.”

I didn’t know whether to blush or giggle at the absurdity—yet I could see he meant to please me, however clumsily. “You are sure about this?”

“Completely.”

“Then mine will not be a problem for you.”

His gaze remained determinedly on my face. “They’re a problem all right, just a good kind of problem to have.” He yawned, stretched, and sat up. “I’d better be going.”

I rose beside him, wishing he could hold me longer, knowing he was right. “Thank you, Mark.”

He kissed me and then straightened with a groan. “I can’t stand what happened to you, Susanna.”

“It is past. We shall talk of it no more.”

There was a loud rap at the door. Before either of us could react, the door to the apartment banged completely open.

Sherri stood there, framed in the threshold. “What are you doing?”

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY
-F
OUR

H
ARD
AND
F
AST

Ten minutes later, I was perched on the edge of the recliner in our family room, head in hands, breathing in and out through my mouth.

Footsteps approached, the light, fast swoosh of my mother in slippers, the heavier tread of my dad in running shoes.

I was too mad to even look at them. Instead I mentally tracked them across the room. The soft squeak of the couch let me know they were in here, staring at the top of my head. Well, they’d better get used to it, because that was all they were going to see for a while.

“Gran and Granddad are taking Susanna in.” Mom’s voice was tight.

A long, hard breath hissed through my teeth as I struggled to dam the flood of words that would land me in worse trouble than I already was. “Does she know?”

“Yes, she’s packing. Your dad will drive her out to the lake house in a few minutes.”

“How long will she be gone?”

“We told you from the beginning, Mark. Sleepovers are deal-breakers.”

Holy shit. I catapulted from the chair and forced my fists into the pockets of my jeans, anything to keep them from hitting something. “It wasn’t a sleepover—not the way you mean. You saw us, Mom. We had our clothes on. We didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Except violate a hard and fast rule.”

Why the hell couldn’t my father have been the one to find us? I shifted my gaze to him. “It was innocent, Dad.”

“Sorry, son. Your mother and I are united on this one.”

Rage balled in my chest, threatening to explode in a scream. I turned my back on them, anything to get myself under control. “Don’t you guys get how stupid that rule is? Telling us ‘no sleepovers in the apartment’ doesn’t stop a thing. It just changes the location.” I threw back my head in frustration. “Parental controls are not what keeps us straight. It’s her.”

Dad’s voice rumbled. “Then why did she put this privilege in danger?”

I couldn’t tell him the real reason. That was Susanna’s secret. “It was an emotional night for her. She was… homesick.”

“She’s been homesick before.”

“It was really bad this time. She told me private things—things that aren’t my right to tell you.” I faced them, with a feeling in my gut that nothing I could say would make a difference. “She’s been abused for years. She’s been through stuff that most of us can’t even imagine. Whenever she asks me to hold her, I’m not going to check the clock to see if it’s convenient for my parents.” I watched them. Had I gotten through?

When Mom slipped her fingers around my father’s wrist, he gave a slight nod. “It was a rule, Mark. You broke it. You have to live with the consequences.”

“Great. Thanks.” I stalked into the foyer, wrenched open the front door, and then looked at them over my shoulder. “You guys raised me to do the right thing. Either you trust me. Or you don’t.”

The door slammed behind me.

* * *

I wandered through the neighborhood mindlessly, too pissed off to go home. It was a gorgeous Sunday morning. A lot of people were sitting on their back terraces, drinking coffee and being lazy.

Except the Lewises. We were drenched in drama.

How was Susanna feeling? What had my mother said to her?

Susanna clearly hadn’t told my mother any of the story. Not even Mom could’ve thrown her out after that.

Knowing Susanna, she’d listened to my mom’s lecture with a calm face and motionless body. She would’ve said nothing in her own defense. She would’ve acknowledged her understanding of the punishment and then looked for a suitcase.

What was wrong with my parents? Susanna was the best person any of us knew. Her previous world had been horrible, but she hadn’t given in. She’d sucked it up and kept her sanity and sense of humor. If it hadn’t been for Susanna, I would never have known how far I could stretch. I would never have discovered my own strength.

I wanted to be a better person for Susanna. My parents ought to throw us together
more
often, not less.

I cut through a yard to the greenway and followed it away from our house and away from the falls. There was a trickle of bike traffic, normal for this early on a Sunday morning. As I neared the main drag, I could hear the approach of a vehicle as it wound its way through the neighborhood. It braked at the gates to the neighborhood—a half-block away.

Dad was taking her in his Lexus. The bike rack held a shiny new bike. Red as cherries.

I leaned against the wooden fence at the mouth of the greenway and waited. Dad’s car pulled onto the road and slowed for the pedestrian crossing directly in front of me.

Susanna sat on the back seat, her head resting against the window. Our gazes locked and held until she was out of sight.

I checked my watch. Eight o’clock. It boggled my mind how quickly life had changed.

What I needed was a long, brutal training ride. I did an about-face and jogged home.

C
HAPTER
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HIRTY
-F
IVE

A
N
U
NNATURAL
S
TANCE

You’ll have to move out
.

The words still rang in my head hours later. Clear and angry.

Why had the specter of that rule not haunted me last night? Why had my painful memories—and the comfort I’d found in Mark’s arms—been so complete that they banished all other thoughts from my mind?

It didn’t seem fair that my master had the power to hurt me even now.

Charlie and Norah had welcomed me into their home once again. I wouldn’t be on the streets. I could be happy here at the lake house until I had my identification and could work and live on my own.

But not seeing Mark every day? Having to schedule our time together?

My heart quaked.

I had not liked the look in Sherri’s eyes. She believed something of me that was not true. She faulted me for Mark’s disobedience. His parents had been good to me. I hated to reflect on their disappointment.

Truly, I had betrayed them. They had surprised me with a wondrous party and made yesterday the best birthday of my life. They had treated me with more kindness and generosity than I had ever known. They fed me, sheltered me, drove me where I needed to go. And my only responsibility had been to follow their rules.

Why had I forgotten?

It had been sweet, so very sweet, to awaken with him next to me, to know that he had kept a vigil until I slept. But had it also been selfish?

Mark didn’t deserve their disapproval. I was the one who asked him to stay. Would it make a difference if I shared the reason he’d remained through the night? Did their rules have exceptions? Much in this world did. Yet, even as I pondered this idea, I knew I could not face them and speak the story again. It had been agonizing to tell Mark. I could not imagine telling anyone else.

Sunday became a day lost to time as these questions droned in my mind without ceasing. Thankfully, Charlie and Norah respected my privacy. They informed me of meals, made no comment when I slipped outside often to walk or practice on my bike, and carefully didn’t notice when I retired to the loft early.

A book lay on the table beside my bed.
A Whirlwind Tour of Natural History
. Science was an important part of the GED, a subject I had neglected too often to indulge my love of American history. I smiled at Charlie’s kindness, for no doubt this was his doing. I plumped up the stack of pillows against my bed and immersed myself in two centuries of wondrous scientific advances. It took no time at all to stifle the disquiet of this day.

* * *

I rose as the high round window revealed the gray light of dawn. After a quick shower, I donned a gray skirt with the peach T-shirt Sherri had given me for my birthday. Its sleeves didn’t quite reach my wrists, but my burn scar wasn’t visible.

When I’d arrived the previous morning and put away my clothes in the closet, I’d found a dress of dark blue, the color of the night sky right before the sun slipped under the horizon. The garment had been made of soft, fluid fabric. Norah had been sewing again.

I held the surprisingly heavy dress against my body. The sleeves would fall to my mid-forearms and the hem to my knees. It was a garment modest by today’s standards but more than I could tolerate.

Norah knew better than anyone the state of my legs. She’d seen the scars and understood my determination never to show them. Why was she pushing me so?

Curiosity prickled. I wouldn’t wear this dress, beautiful as it was, but I was intrigued that she should have made it for me.

I crept quietly down the stairs to find Norah already in the kitchen, preparing biscuit dough. I paused to watch her in concern. Her movements seemed plodding. I had never seen her act so frail.

“Good morning, Norah. How may I help?”

“I have this under control.” She poured me a cup of coffee and picked up her own. “What happened with Mark, Susanna?”

I took a sip before responding, unhappy at the topic but grateful that she’d waited to ask. “We broke a rule.”

“That’s Sherri’s explanation. What’s yours?”

“I was assailed by sad memories. I needed Mark’s comfort and…” How could I word this correctly?

“And the comfort lasted all night long.”

“Yes.”

“So my daughter suspects you and Mark have become sexually active.”

I blushed at such candor. “It isn’t true.”

“Doesn’t matter whether it is or isn’t. It’s none of her business.”

“Mark and I agreed to follow the rules.”

“Maybe they should have picked rules that were more respectful of your maturity.” Norah set her mug down hard, sloshing coffee onto the counter. “Sherri’ll get over it after Bruce talks some sense into to her.”

“He is distressed as well.”

“Bruce doesn’t like his applecart upset, and he doesn’t know what really happened. Once it’s righted itself, things’ll get better.” She coughed into her apron, dabbed a bit of sweat from her lips, and then leaned heavily on the counter. “Listen to what I’m about to say, and think about it hard. You’re eighteen now, Susanna. An adult in the eyes of the law. From what I can tell, you’ve been an adult in reality for more years than are fair. Don’t let Sherri bulldoze over you. She’s my daughter, and I love her. But right now, she’s just a mother scared about losing her baby. Instead of getting worked up and over-protective, she needs to be thanking her lucky stars that she’s losing Mark to you.”

Norah bent her head over the biscuit dough. I stared at the top of her head, at the thin, precise part in her snow-white hair, and blinked back the moisture in my eyes.

She coughed again and then stepped to the sink to wash her hands. “The Lord knew what he was doing when he created grandparents. We get to have all the fun.”

Smiling, I walked around the bar and began to transfer biscuits to a baking sheet. “Thank you.”

“For what, hon?”

I nodded in comprehension. The subject of Mark and Sherri was closed. “Thank you for the dress. It is beautiful, but I do not understand why you made it.”

“For the winter. It’ll give you variety.”

“Would not my legs grow cold?”

“Oh, honey, didn’t you wear stockings in that crazy place you used to live?”

“Yes, but they were never seen.”

She grunted, grabbed a magazine from the bar, and flipped through it to a well-worn page. “This is what I had in mind for you.”

The photograph showed a pretty girl in an unnatural stance on a city street. She wore a white dress of similar style to Norah’s gift, although the hem stopped closer to her bottom than her knees. Yet it was her legs that had me riveted. They were dark green with tiny white stars sprinkled about. “Are they warm enough for winter?”

“Sure are.”

“Do they itch?”

She shook her head. “Mostly, they’re silky soft, and we can get them in all sorts of colors and patterns.”

I handed the magazine back. “Where do the girl’s stockings stop?”

“At her waist.”

“Truly?” I tried to imagine how that would work and could not.

“Just a sec.” Norah disappeared into the laundry room and emerged immediately. “Here. The stockings are attached to panties.”

“Very clever.” I studied Norah’s stockings thoughtfully, not ready to concede them as a possibility for me but interested nonetheless. “My scars wouldn’t show through such a covering.”

“Nope. They would not.”

“They appear quite snug.” I felt the heat of color in my cheeks. “Every muscle and sinew of my legs would be discernible.”