Don't Make Me Beautiful (25 page)

“Was she nosy too?”

“No.
 
She was as sharp as a tack, though.
 
I could never get away with anything around her.
 
She called me a little devil until the day she died about five years ago.”

“You’re not a devil, you’re an angel.
 
An angel of mercy and a guardian angel all rolled into one.”

Brian pulls away, looking down at her.
 
He wants her to know this about him; for some reason it seems really important.
 
“I’m no angel, Nicole.
 
Believe me.
 
I’m just a guy.”
 
Guilt rises up in him.
 
He has the strongest urge to confess something that he’s not even sure makes sense.
 
Being attracted to a woman shouldn’t be something to feel guilty about, but that doesn’t stop him from feeling like a bad guy over it.

Why does everything have to be so damn complicated?
 
Why can’t I just tell her what I’m thinking?
 
He knows the answer, and because he doesn’t want to screw things up, he lets her guide the situation.
 
Being upfront and open about how he feels will just make her run.
 
Right now all she needs or wants is a friend, so that’s what he’s going to be.

Nicole frowns.
 
“Why do you say it like that?
 
Do you have some dark past or something?”

Brian shakes his head.
 
“No, nothing like that.
 
It’s just …”
 
He backs away, running his fingers through his messy, sleep-tussled hair.
 
“… Uh, can I just walk away right now?
 
Plead the fifth?”

She reaches out and grabs the t-shirt he threw on after getting out of bed.
 
“No.
 
No fair walking away when you’re about to tell me your deepest darkest secrets.
 
You know most of mine.”

“Most of them?
 
You mean there’s more?”
 
He smiles big, meaning it as a joke, but when her face falls and tears well up in her eyes, he knows he’s pushed a dangerous button.

She backs away, bumping into the counter as she looks off into the distance and then at the floor.
 
She’s trying to rein herself in; he recognizes the expression on her face.

“Come sit with me on the couch,” Brian says, holding out a hand.
 
“I promise, I won’t bite.”

Nicole gives him a sad smile.
 
“That’s what Agnes said.”

“I’m pretty sure she’s telling the truth,” Brian says, trying to cheer her up by being goofy again.
 
“At least, she’s never bitten me.”

Nicole puts her hand out and takes his, allowing him to lead her over to the family room where they sit next to each other on the couch.

“Listen, Nicole, I know you have a lot going on inside your head, but I want you to know that no matter what it is, you can tell me about it.
 
I’m not going to judge you.”

Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes.
 
She’s staring at the coffee table, and Brian gets the distinct impression that she’s not totally there in the room with him.
 
She’s remembering something.

“That’s easy to say before you know the facts,” she mumbles.

“No, it’s easy to say because I know how I feel about you.
 
No matter what you did or saw or whatever, it was all a part of your survival over there.
 
Human beings will do outrageous things when faced with death.
 
I know that every day you were there, death was always hanging around.
 
Like the Grim Reaper was hanging out in your front hall closet.”

Her voice comes out hollow-sounding. “The Grim Reaper was sleeping in the bedroom upstairs.”
 

“Exactly.
 
That’s my point.
 
Whatever happened, it’s not your fault.”

“I feel like I could have left.
 
Like I could have prevented … things from happening.”

“But something kept you there.
 
What was it?
 
Can you tell me?
 
Do you even know?”

Nicole’s gaze drops to her lap where her fingers are busy twisting themselves into knots.
 
“Yes, I know.
 
First it was one thing, then it was another.”

“Can you tell me?”

“I’d rather not.”
 
The words barely make it out.

“Why?
 
You don’t trust me enough yet?”

Nicole sits for a long time without saying anything.
 
When she finally does, it nearly breaks his heart how sad she sounds.
 
Her voice is barely above a whisper.
 
“I trust you.
 
I do, even though it seems crazy to do it.
 
The problem is, I’m afraid if I say it out loud, I won’t be able to handle it.
 
That it will suddenly be so real that I lose my mind.”

Brian moves closer and puts his arm around her shoulders, drawing her up against him.
 
“You are a strong woman who lived through multiple tragedies at the hands of an evil man.
 
You can handle anything.
 
You hear me?
 
Anything.”

“Some things are too much,” she says, pushing away from him and standing up.
 
“Too much.”
 
She leaves the room and goes into her bedroom, shutting the door behind her without another word.

Brian sits on the couch and replays the conversation in his mind, wondering what on earth could possibly be so bad that she can’t even tell herself.

Chapter Thirty-Six

NICOLE LOOKS AT HER BEDSIDE clock.
 
Five in the morning again?
 
What the hell is wrong with me? Why can’t I sleep in for once?
 
She knows the answer.
 
The plans she’s making are filling her head, demanding attention, demanding that she fill in the details.
 
And some of those details scare the living crap out of her.

It’s the reason she keeps having that nightmare.
 
John finding her when she’s trying to hide.
 
Kitten.
 
The picture.
 
It’s all wrapped up in one big ugly fear that nearly paralyzes her.
 
But she can’t let it win.
 
She can’t let it keep her from doing what she needs to do.
 
First get over there and do what needs to be done, and then take off into the sunset.
 
Find a place, settle in, start a new life.
 
Easy as one, two, three!
 
Yeah, right
.

She gets up and puts her clothes on, wondering if Agnes might be out again today.
 
A cup of that French roast sounds really good about now.
 
She takes the red mug from the cabinet and goes to the back door, wondering if maybe she can peek over the fence that divides their yards and get the woman’s attention.
 
Perhaps the ruse of returning a mug will get her another sip of the warm caffeine-filled goodness.

She almost has a heart attack at seeing the figure on Brian’s back porch steps.
 
Only when she notices the ugly rubber shoes does she realize it’s Brian’s neighbor again.
 
Not John.
 
Thank God.

“Hi,” Nicole says, slowly pushing the door open.
 
She feels shy and silly, like a desperate little kid hoping for attention from an adult.
 
But it doesn’t stop her from leaving the safety of the house and stepping out into the yard.

“Good morning,” replies Agnes, good cheer in her voice.
 
“How’d you sleep?”

“Terrible.
 
How about you?” Nicole sits on the step next to Agnes, making sure to be far enough away that they won’t touch arms.

Agnes chuckles.
 
“I slept like a baby.
 
For about two hours.”

“That’s not very long.”

“Well, there was more sleeping going on after those two hours, but they weren’t nearly as restful.
 
I have to sleep with one eye open when Willard’s in one of his moods.”

“He has moods?”

“Yep.
 
Never did before.
 
He was always a happy-go-lucky guy.
 
For fifty years, steady as a rock.
 
Then the last couple years as his condition’s gotten worse, he’s turned into a cranky old cuss.”

“That must be hard.” Nicole pictures Brian changing into something like that and it makes her sad for Agnes.
 
She must be a strong person to stay happy through all of it.

“Look at my manners.
 
Care for a cup?”
 
She lifts up a thermos of what Nicole hopes is coffee.

“I was going to give you your mug back.”
 
Nicole holds it out, accepting some of the rich dark liquid being poured out, its steam and scent rising up to get Nicole’s mouth watering.

“You can keep it.
 
I have a hundred of ‘em or so.
 
They had a sale one year at the year-round Christmas store and I went a little nuts.
 
I always had this fantasy of a big holiday party where everyone would sit around in matching red mugs drinking spiced cider and singing Christmas carols.”

“Did you have the party?”

“Nope.
 
Never did.”
 
Agnes stares off into the yard.

Nicole watches her and then takes a sip of her drink.
 
It’s just as delicious as the last cup.
 
“I love this coffee.
 
What kind is it?”

“Oh, that’s my special blend.
 
My daughter sends it to me from Colombia.”

“Colombia?
 
Your daughter is all the way down there?”

“Yes, she is if you can believe that.
 
Married a Colombian man as a matter of fact.”

“Do you visit?”

“Nope.
 
Wish I could, but I have Willard here.
 
He can’t travel anymore.”

“Oh. That’s too bad.”
 
Nicole wonders if Agnes feels like a prisoner.
 
It makes her feel like she’s almost talking to a kindred spirit.

“Yep, it’s inconvenient, but we see her once a year when she comes back home.
 
This year it’ll be Christmas time.”

“Maybe you’ll be able to use the mugs.”

Agnes holds up her mug like she’s going to make a toast.
 
Nicole raises hers and touches the sides of them, making a soft clinking noise.

“Here’s to a roomful of matching mugs filled with spiced cider,” Agnes proposes.

“And carols sung by the fire,” Nicole adds.

“I’ll drink to that,” Agnes says, raising the cup to her lips.

A few moments of silence pass by before Agnes speaks again.
 
“So how long are you planning on staying?”

Nicole’s thrown off by the woman’s question.
 
How does she know I’m leaving at all?

She answers, only because she’s curious what the woman will come up with next.
 
“I’m not sure.”

“I guess you have a lot of plans to make.”

Nicole shrugs, not wanting Agnes to know how close she is to reading Nicole’s mind. “I have some.”

“You have a place to go?”

“Not yet.”

“Money?
 
A job?”

“I’m working on it.”
 
Nicole is starting to feel trapped.
 
Pushed into a corner.
 
It makes her want to go inside and say screw the coffee and the red Christmas mugs for a party that never happened.

“This woman who I used to go to church with works at a non-profit organization.
 
They help women and kids get back on their feet after they’ve had troubles, get a place to stay and a job.
 
Somewhere safe.”
 
She takes a sip of her coffee, acting like she didn’t just say something that’s sending Nicole’s heart and mind into a spiral of confusion and hope and pain and fear.

“Really?” is all Nicole can manage.

“Yep.
 
They have funding from a lot of big companies around town and from the government too.
 
Grants and things.
 
She told me about all the people they’ve helped.
 
Seems like they do good work.”

“That’s nice.”
 
Nicole’s hands are trembling.
 
She grips her coffee mug hard to make them stop. “That they’d do that for strangers.”

“Yes.
 
Maybe.
 
I mean, I don’t see it as people helping strangers.”

“What do you see it as?”

“I see it as people helping people who can’t help themselves at a particular moment in their lives.
 
We all have times that we fall down and hit the dirt.
 
Sometimes it’s just harder to get up than others.
 
That’s where they come in.
 
Helping hands I guess you could call it.”

Nicole nods, thinking about that.
 
Agnes makes it sound so normal, to check out of life and give up, to stay in John’s house and suffer the abuse for another week, another month, another year.
 
Just like falling down and having a hard time getting up.
 
Yeah, right.
 
Wouldn’t you like to believe that.

Nicole snorts in disgust at herself.

“What?
 
You don’t agree?”
 
Agnes turns to face her.