Authors: Ingrid Weaver
Tags: #mobi, #Romantic Suspense, #Paranormal Romance, #Fiction, #Shadow, #epub
Delaney's Shadow (15 page)
No, this would have been her only recourse, regardless. Delaney had been living a lie for five years. She had even less reason to tell the truth now. “All this time, your amnesia was simply a charade.”
“No. It’s real, but it’s starting to lift.”
“How convenient.”
“You did call me, Elizabeth. That particular memory came back to me a few days ago. I clearly remember hearing your voice on my phone. I want to know what we talked about.”
“Why?”
“So I can remember the rest. We need to make peace with the past.”
“You don’t really expect me to swallow that, do you?”
“I’ve always been honest with you,” she said quietly. “And I’ve always wanted peace between us. I think it would break Stanford’s heart if he saw how miserable your anger is making you.”
“Don’t presume to speak for my father. He would be proud of what I’m doing.”
“Then tell me what we spoke about. It might help me remember the rest.”
“We talked about your divorce.”
There was a silence. “I don’t believe you,” Delaney said finally. “Stanford loved me. We were making plans for a trip.”
“We also talked about his new will. He was going to cut you off. He planned to right the wrong you’d caused him to do. I was his blood and you were only a passing fancy.”
“No.”
“You tried to poison his mind against me because you knew I recognized you for what you were. It was effective for a while, but he saw reason before he died.”
“Elizabeth—”
“I was willing to compromise then, but I won’t make that mistake again. You didn’t want me to win. That’s why you killed him.”
“No!”
Elizabeth hit the disconnect and lowered her head between her knees. Her head was spinning. Her entire body was trembling from the emotion she fought to contain.
Strong feelings were counterproductive. They put a person at a disadvantage. Yet if she did choose to indulge herself enough to hate, she would have plenty of cause to hate Delaney. She would hate her for stealing everything that should have been hers. She would hate her for talking so easily about love and for making her believe, even for an instant, that love truly was possible.
But most of all, she would hate Delaney for the things she had caused her to do.
THE KETTLE SHRIEKED. HELEN SLID OFF HER STOOL BEFORE Delaney could stand. “I’ll get it.”
“I wish you wouldn’t fuss.”
“I have to. It’s in my grandmother contract.”
“How’s that?”
“Making tea is part of my job description. So is fussing. I do both extremely well.” She moved around the work island and lifted the kettle from the stove. “You wouldn’t want me kicked out of the grandma union, would you?”
Delaney quirked her cheek into a one-sided smile. Helen’s humor was so corny it was adorable. “If there were such a thing, you’d probably be running it.”
Helen struck a thoughtful pose, as if considering the possibility, then shook her head and measured tea into the pot. “No, I wouldn’t do well with all the meetings. My arthritis acts up if I have to sit still for too long.”
Delaney slid off her stool and went to the cupboard to take out a pair of mugs. In spite of the warmth of the day, iced tea wouldn’t do. Nothing was quite as comforting as a pot of warm tea. “You’re amazing.”
“Careful, or I’ll ask for a raise.”
She brushed a light kiss on Helen’s cheek. “I love you, Grandma.”
“Love you, too, Deedee. Now sit,” she ordered, pointing to the breakfast nook beneath the back window. “And tell me what that brat said this morning to make you cry.”
It had been two days since her flash of memory by the pond. She had delayed calling Elizabeth until today in the hopes that more details would have emerged, but nothing else had come. Asking for her stepdaughter’s help had been a last resort. She would have preferred not to have this conversation with her grandmother either, but it had been unavoidable. Helen had come into the kitchen just as Delaney was hanging up the phone.
She bypassed the stools and carried the mugs to the table, then waited until Helen had slid onto the bench across from her. “It’s not a big deal. I’m closer to tears these days than I used to be, that’s all.”
“Please, don’t shut me out.”
There had been a thread of hurt in her grandmother’s voice. “That’s not what I’m doing,” Delaney said.
“You might not intend to, but it’s how I feel. I’ve given in about letting you help me with the business, haven’t I? How about allowing me to do the same? Let me help you.”
“I’m sorry, Grandma. I just haven’t felt right about burdening you with my problems.”
“Don’t assume all this white hair means I can’t share your load. According to my doctor, weight training strengthens our bones, whatever our age. I’m stronger than I look.” She poured the tea. “Talk to me, honey. You’ve been here over a week now. It’s not healthy to keep everything inside.”
I don’t keep it inside. I talk to Max.
Delaney curled her hands around the mug Helen passed to her. It was delft blue, with tiny geese marching around the rim, unlike the plain white one she’d seen Max hold.
But both the man and the mug had been imaginary, she reminded herself. The very fact that she needed to remind herself was disturbing.
“Delaney?”
“Elizabeth wasn’t what I’d call cooperative.”
“Did you expect she would be? She is suing you.”
“Sure, but I’d hoped she would have been pleased that my amnesia was beginning to lift. I thought she would have wanted to help me fill in the blanks.”
“She must have said something.”
“She claimed that Stanford was going to divorce me and change his will.”
“And that’s what you were upset about?”
“Why wouldn’t I be? Stanford and I were happy. We had a good marriage.”
Helen added a spoonful of sugar to her tea. She stirred it slowly, tapped the spoon twice against the sides of the mug, and set it down. “Okay.”
“Elizabeth was being deliberately cruel.”
“Oh, very likely.”
“Stanford and I were happy.”
“Yes, you’ve said that. Several times.”
“And Elizabeth must have lied.”
“All right.”
Yes, she must have lied. Delaney should have dismissed her stepdaughter’s claim as nothing more than spite.
Then why couldn’t she?
She regarded the patchy skin over her knuckles. “Leo says that I try to see the good in people.”
“You do. You always have.”
“But that means I also have a habit of denying the bad. I go to great lengths to avoid looking at things that bother me.”
“That’s probably my fault, Delaney.”
“You? Why?”
“When you lived with us, I wanted to protect you from the reality of Annalee’s illness. I encouraged you to ignore what hurt you and pretend that everything was fine.”
“Grandma, you did an awesome job. You stepped in to raise me when you were going through what no parent ever should. You can’t blame yourself for my bad habits. I’m a grown woman.”
“Then what is it that you think you might be denying?”
Pressure built behind Delaney’s eyes. The tears
were
close to the surface these days. “I keep insisting that Stanford and I were happy. I hear myself doing it, and even to my ears it’s starting to sound as if I’m protesting too much. Who am I trying to convince? Myself?”
were
close to the surface these days. “I keep insisting that Stanford and I were happy. I hear myself doing it, and even to my ears it’s starting to sound as if I’m protesting too much. Who am I trying to convince? Myself?”
Helen was quiet for a while. “I’ve been wondering about that, too. You feel it’s disloyal to Stanford to remember anything negative, don’t you?”
“More than disloyal. It would be petty and ungrateful. He was my husband.”
“That doesn’t mean you can’t be realistic. When we love someone, we accept both the good and the bad. It’s all part of the healing after a loss. Did I ever tell you how your grandpa used to grind his teeth in his sleep?”
“No, I don’t think you did.”
“He also had the ability to walk straight past his dirty socks and not see them. He was old-school when it came to what he thought of as women’s work. It drove me crazy. So did the way he tried to talk over me when he got going on a subject that interested him. There were other things, too, where our personalities rubbed against each other. We used to have plenty of fights.”
“But you two were a perfect pair.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Because you were a team. You shared a life. You depended on each other.”
“It’s true, we did.”
“You weren’t clones, but you were equals. You were like two halves of a larger whole.”
Helen nodded. “That’s a description of a good marriage.”
It was. It was what Delaney had hoped for when she’d said yes to Stanford. She’d wanted the stability of a loving relationship. She’d wanted a home, somewhere to belong, as if marriage had been a place. She’d still been recovering from the shock of her father’s death and had never felt more vulnerable. The loneliness was like a thing that she was running from.
Stanford had stepped in to fill the void. During the months after the funeral, he’d become more and more important to her. His presence had spread to every aspect of her life. She hadn’t been aware when her gratitude toward him had changed to love, or when his consolation had turned to romance. It had simply happened.
The age gap hadn’t mattered to either of them. He’d made her feel needed. He’d given her the emotional security she’d craved. He’d made her feel as precious as the jewelry he gave her, because that was how he showed his love. He’d never expected her to pick up after him because they’d had staff for that. He rarely had talked over her either—he was generally too well-controlled to get carried away by enthusiasm when he spoke.
But they’d never been a team. She hadn’t felt as if they were two halves of one whole. No, the only man she knew who seemed like a part of her was Max.
She gripped her mug more tightly. The mere thought of him steadied her, although he was as different from Stanford as two men could be. It wasn’t only his physical appearance, though the contrast there was considerable. For one thing, Stanford had been only a few inches taller than her. He’d felt uncomfortable looking up at anyone, so she’d limited the height of her heels to two inches. He’d had his hair trimmed weekly—no stray lock would have dared to fall over his forehead. His eyes had been brown rather than sparkling blue, so they couldn’t have gleamed quite the same way Max’s did. He’d seldom quarreled with her, either. He wouldn’t have touched her ugly hands or her scars, let alone argued that she was beautiful when she appeared as she did now.
But Max saw past her appearance because their connection arose from the inside. He was her friend. No one had ever made her feel as safe. He would never hold her wrist hard enough to hurt. Even when he blustered, in her heart she knew he did care . . .
What on earth was she thinking? Max was a fantasy. No flesh-and-blood man could measure up to that. It was fine to use him to jog her memory, but she needed to maintain her grip on reality.
No matter how unpleasant it was.
She flattened her hands on the table and looked squarely at Helen. “Stanford was tense about something the night of the accident. He hadn’t wanted me to answer my phone. I think he had guessed that Elizabeth was calling me.”
“Are you worried there was some truth to what she said?” Delaney stopped before she could make the automatic denial. She did want to remember. Cutting off her thoughts before they could fully form wasn’t the way to do that.
She attempted to reason it through. “Logic says there wasn’t. Stanford took pride in the fact we didn’t sign a prenup. He would have viewed divorce as a failure, and that’s something he never would admit to.”
“I wasn’t aware you didn’t have a prenuptial agreement. Isn’t that unusual for a man with his wealth?”
“It was at his insistence. He wanted a total commitment from both of us.” She swallowed. “ ’Til death do us part.”
Helen laid a hand gently over hers.
“So even without remembering what we talked about that final evening,” Delaney said, “I don’t see how it could have been divorce.”
THE WEEKLONG REPRIEVE FROM THE NIGHTMARE WAS over. The moment Delaney succumbed to sleep that night, the horror returned with a vengeance. She hurtled down the path to the pond. Crimson razors of pain sliced through her hands. She watched her skin peel from her flesh, then saw the fire melt the flesh from her bones, but she had no breath left to scream. Water filled her lungs. Mud clogged her throat.
No. The flames were sunshine. The water was dew. Neither could hurt her.
But they did. Over and over. She curled into a ball in the center of the mattress. Slime twined around her ankles, holding her down as flames clawed at her breast. She kicked. It grabbed her arm. It wouldn’t let her go. It wanted her all to itself.
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