Dawn's Light (8 page)

Doug shot her a glance. “We sure do. We can baptize you in the lake during tomorrow's service. I'd be honored.”

Kay tried not to look bitter, but she felt like a child fighting the urge to stick her finger down her throat. This guy was a piece of work! Using Christianity—one of the main things that had made Deni break up with him—to win her back.

Craig was no fool, but he clearly thought the Brannings were. And Deni seemed to be buying it. If only Mark had already put that ring on her finger.

sixteen

M
ARK STAYED AT THE
B
RANNINGS
'
WELL INTO THE EVE
ning, though he barely said a word. As Craig ate too much of the Brannings' food, he talked about the reconstruction. The family crowded around him as if he were the conquering hero. As he talked to them about the Alabama Recovery Team, Mark slid his hand into his pocket. His index finger found the ring. He wished he could get alone with Deni.

But the magic he'd expected for the evening was gone. He wanted her undivided attention when he proposed. Tonight clearly wasn't the night.

He sat on the couch next to her, channeling all of his angry energy into his shaking foot. Now and then, Deni would touch his knee to stop him. He'd quit for a while, but within minutes, his leg went at it again.

Finally, when it was pushing ten, he realized that he needed to go. He couldn't very well stay all night, just to keep Craig away from Deni.

Deni walked him out onto the porch and closed the door behind them. “Mark, I'm so sorry,” she whispered. “But please don't worry.”

Mark breathed a silent laugh and looked out into the darkness.

“Seriously,” she said, “this is no big deal. He'll be here a couple of days and then move into his own place. That'll be the end of it.”

“Deni, you can't be serious. He's here to sweep you off your feet. He won't give up after a couple of days.”

“He'll have to. I'm not in love with him.”

Mark's heart softened, and he felt a little hope again.

She stepped toward him and slid her arms around his neck. “I'm in love with you.”

Mark's fears melted as he kissed her, and his heart ached for the words to tell her what she meant to him. But there weren't any—the ring said it all. Maybe now was the time to pull it out of his pocket, drop down on one knee, and ask her to marry him. But how would it be when she went inside and couldn't celebrate with her parents out of sensitivity for Craig's feelings? How would it be when Mark went home, leaving Craig there to tamp her joy and put doubts in her mind?

No, this wasn't the time.

Their kiss broke, and she looked up at him. “I don't want you getting all insecure over this. I didn't ask him to come.”

“I know.”

“And it's a good thing that he's a Christian now, right?”

“Yeah, if he's sincere.”

Her arms slid down to his chest. “You don't think he is?”

Mark didn't want to say that straight out. “I'm just saying it's possible that he's telling you what you want to hear. Removing the obstacles you had about marrying him.”

“Yes, it's possible. But what if it's true?”

“Then that's great. The angels are celebrating.”

“Will you?”

Mark looked away from her into the night. Could he celebrate having
this
brother in the kingdom of God? Maybe, if Craig left Deni alone.

His thoughts disturbed him. “I hope so,” he said. “What kind of Christian would I be if I couldn't?”

That seemed to satisfy her. “Are you coming to church in the morning?”

“Have I missed a Sunday yet?”

“No. I just thought …”

“I'll be there.” His tone was a little too sharp, but he wasn't sure what she wanted from him.

Her brown eyes were so pretty, so deep … Did Craig know her depths, or did he think of her simply as the potential trophy wife he'd wanted her to be before?

“I'm sorry we missed the boat ride,” she said. “Maybe we can do it soon.”

“Tomorrow night?”

She thought for a moment. “Maybe we should see how it goes.”

So that was how it was going to be. Craig's presence would dictate when she could go out with him. He let her go and slid his hands back into his pockets. “I hate this,” he said. “I won't lie to you.”

“I know,” she said. “But you're going to have to trust me.”

seventeen

“C
AN
I
STAY HOME FROM CHURCH TODAY
?” B
ETH'S QUES
tion stopped the breakfast conversation about Craig and his baptism.

Her parents exchanged a look.

“Why?” her dad asked.

She pushed the egg around on her plate. “I don't feel good. It's hot and I want to stay home.”

“Don't you want to see me get baptized?” Craig asked.

Beth started to say no, but she'd be chastised for her rudeness. Instead, she shrugged, squelching the urge to tell him to stay out of it.

Her mother sighed. “Beth, I don't know why you haven't wanted to leave the house all week, but you can't hole up in here refusing to face the world.”

Jeff finished his eggs and dropped his fork with a clank. “Yeah, it's time you got back to delivering your own papers. I have enough to do. Come clean, Sis. Did somebody make fun of you? Are you embarrassed about something?”

Beth wished it was that simple. She picked at her food, wondering if admitting that would make them let her stay home. But no, she knew better. They would lecture her about having to face her fears, not letting words get her down. Sticks and stones, and all that. They would never dream that it was an angry killer she feared and not her friends.

Now it was Deni's turn. “You have agoraphobia, you know. The fear of leaving your house. You're turning into a recluse.”

“No, I'm not. You don't know what you're talking about.” She got up from the table and took her plate to the water bowl beside the sink. “Do I have to go, Dad?”

“Yes, we're all going.”

Beth washed her plate and went upstairs, wishing Craig wasn't staying in her room. She would love to close herself in there alone. As it stood, she only had Deni's room.

She went into Deni's bathroom and stood in front of the mirror, trying to see what the killer would remember about her. If he saw her out in public, sitting at the lake in her church congregation, would he know her? She'd been wet the day of the murders, but he still could have seen that she was a blonde, and that her hair was naturally wavy. He'd seen her blue eyes, and might remember that.

Terror seized her, and her chest grew tight. If he'd followed her far enough to see her neighborhood, he
would
come to church. He would find out who her family members were. And then he would follow through on his threat.

She couldn't let that happen. If she left the house, she would have to disguise herself.

Going back into Deni's room, she dug through her sister's dresser for a pair of scissors. Finding them, she went back into the bathroom. She studied her reflection, touching her hair. It was her favorite thing about herself. Jimmy was always trying to touch it, as if he couldn't get enough of its softness. He would tell her she had a bug in it, then pick at it, trying to free it. Or he'd help her cool off her neck by lifting it up. Once he'd swept it behind her ear.

But it didn't matter. This hair could get her killed. She took a strand, lifted the scissors, and snipped. Six inches fell onto the sink.

But that wasn't enough. It would have to be really short, like a boy's. She took another strand and cut it shorter, this time above her ear. Her stomach began to burn, but she couldn't stop now.

She snipped and snipped, rounding it over her ears, whacking it off in the back. She hated bangs, because her hair was too curly to hang smoothly over her forehead. In the days before the Pulses, she could straighten it with a flatiron, making it lie down silky and smooth. Now it was just curly. She cut the strands long enough to push behind her ears. The bangs kept falling into her eyes, so she almost cut them shorter. But hiding her eyes was a good thing.

When she'd finished, she had a pile of hair clippings on the floor and in the sink. She studied the finished product. It looked awful. The blunt edges stuck out too thickly—not smooth and feathered as if a professional had cut it. But it was the best she could do. She wished she had some hair dye, so she could color it brown.

Tears came to her eyes as she gathered up the discarded hair. She pulled a makeup travel bag out of the cabinet under the sink and stuffed some of it in. She would keep it to remember. She zipped up the bag and cleaned up her mess. Then she went to her own room and stuffed the bag into her top dresser drawer.

Tears filled her eyes, but she blinked them back. Biting her lip, she went to the closet. Craig's suits and dress shirts hung there with her clothes. Since they had church outside by the lake, they didn't dress up. Still, her parents wanted her to wear something other than her everyday work clothes to set the day apart. She chose an outfit that didn't stand out—a brown pullover shirt and a pair of khakis. If anyone's eye skimmed the crowd, she wouldn't be the one who caught their attention. And if they did notice her, they'd think she was a boy.

She went back to Deni's room and dressed, then put on an old pair of sunglasses.

She gazed at herself in the mirror. She wouldn't recognize herself. Neither would the killer.

Her breathing was still shallow. She tried to slow it down, taking deeper breaths. But fear trembled through her.

Finally, she forced herself to go downstairs and get this over with. Deni was on her way up. She froze, midstep. “Beth! What … have … you … done?”

Beth pushed past her.

“What is it?” her mother asked, coming to the stairs. She looked up and sucked in a breath.

Beth managed a weak smile. “Like it?”

“
Beth
!” Her mother took a step up and grabbed her shoulders. “Why did you do this?”

She held her eyes wide to fight the tears. “It's hot. I wanted something different.”

“But Beth, why didn't you ask me?”

“It's
my
hair,” she said. “I didn't think you'd care.”

Now the whole family was there, standing around the stairs, looking up at her like she was a freak.

Logan laughed. “Oh, man, that's bad.”

Jeff chimed in. “You look like you got tangled in a lawn mower.”

It was true. She felt the corners of her mouth shaking. Tears rimmed her eyes.

Her mother's face softened. “Honey, it just needs a little work. Let's go see if we can fix it.”

“Come on, guys,” Doug said. “Let's let the girls work.”

Beth returned to the bathroom, and Deni and her mother followed.

“Mom, she needs a professional,” Deni said under her breath.

Kay tried to smile, but she wasn't pulling it off. “I've been cutting the boys' hair. I can feather it a little. Make it a little thinner at the bottom.”

A tear rolled down Beth's face. She wiped it with the heel of her hand, sniffed. “I'm sorry, Mom.”

“It's okay, honey. The main thing is that you like it.”

It didn't really matter if she liked it. That wasn't the point. Her hair was a small price to pay to protect herself and her family.

eighteen

“W
HAT IS WRONG WITH HER
?” D
ENI WHISPERED WHEN
she and her mother returned to the kitchen. Craig was still eating. Doug was washing his plate in the bowl of water on the counter.

“I don't know, but I'm getting concerned,” her mother said. “I was talking to Judith, and she thinks Beth might be showing signs of post-traumatic stress disorder.”

Deni shook her head. “If anyone had that it would be us, not her. She's just been an observer. She hasn't actually had anything happen to her.”

“Everything that's happened to us has happened to her too,” Doug said, glancing toward the living room. “She's young and takes things hard. Remember how she got after Mark was beaten?”

Craig set down his water. “Mark was beaten?”

“Don't look so gleeful,” Deni said.

“I'm not gleeful. Who did it?”

“It's a long story. It doesn't matter. The point is that Beth was really upset by it.”

“Mark too, I'll bet,” Craig said. “Is that where he got that scar on his forehead?”

“And a broken arm and collarbone,” Jeff said.

Craig's eyes narrowed. “No kidding? I'd think he could defend himself better than that.”

“He did,” Doug clipped. “Otherwise he'd be dead.”

Deni jerked Craig's glass out of his hand and went to wash it. “You know, I really don't want to talk about this.”

He got up and followed her around the counter. His contemplative look rattled her. He was probably fantasizing about Mark getting lynched.

He leaned against the counter, crossing his arms. “When I was working for Senator Crawford, we worked on a bill about PTSD for veterans who fought in Iraq. I know a few things about it. If I can help—”

Deni drew in a long-suffering breath and looked at her mother. She was wiping the counter, practically ignoring him.

“Thanks, Craig,” Kay said. “I think we'll go with a counselor.”

It was rude, but it put him in his place, and Deni almost couldn't blame her mother. Still, when she saw the flush on Craig's face, she felt a little sorry for him.

nineteen

M
ARK HAD NO INTENTION OF GIVING UP HIS SEAT NEXT
to Deni when they assembled for church that morning. But neither did Craig. So they both stood nearby, waiting for her to sit so they could grab the seat next to her.

Mark had to admit what he was doing was lame, like some love-struck high school kid, but what else could he do? No way was he going to let people think Deni was back together with Craig. Already, neighbors who'd heard of his work on the recovery team were treating him like a celebrity.

Chris Horton, Deni's best friend, came through the small crowd and greeted Craig as if he were a long-lost friend. She and Deni talked for a moment, then Chris caught Mark's eye, puckered her lip in a mock pout, and slipped away from Craig's fan club.