Mad River Road (24 page)

“Come on, Jamie. Where’s that free spirit I fell in love with?”

The question tugged at Jamie’s heart. “Please, Brad, this isn’t right.”

“You think what
she
did was right?”

“No. But you know what they say about two wrongs.”

Brad laughed. “It’s what your mother would say.”

Jamie bristled, although he was right. It was exactly what her mother would say.

“And your sister,” he added for good measure. “I thought you weren’t like them.”

“I’m not.”

“Looks like the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree after all.”

“Brad, I’m serious.”

“You think I’m not?”

“I don’t think you’ve thought this through.”

“Thought what through exactly?”

“This whole thing,” Jamie said, watching the smile slowly seep from Brad’s face, leaving only a cold, hard mask in the spotlight of the moon. “It isn’t a game.”

“ ’Course it is. It’s an adventure.”

“No, it isn’t. It’s a
crime
to break into somebody’s house.”

“Only if you get caught.” The beginnings of a smile began creeping back onto his face. “And we aren’t going to get caught. I promise. Now, are you ready?”

Jamie hesitated.
Are you ready?
The question she’d been hearing all her life. Was she? For what exactly? Who was this man? What had she gotten herself into?

“You gotta have faith, Jamie. You gotta decide—are you your mother’s daughter, or the woman I thought I fell in love with?”

The woman he
thought
he fell in love with. “Brad, wait. Please …”

“I’m counting on you, Jamie.” He cut across the lawn. “I’m doing this for you, babe,” he called back.

He’s the devil, Buddy
, she heard the radio announcer intone.
Get out while you still can
.

Yet how could she let him walk into that house alone? Even if he succeeded in getting inside, he didn’t know the code, he wouldn’t be able to turn off the alarm, and he’d be caught, end up spending years in jail. For what? Because he was determined to retrieve a pair of gold-and-pearl earrings he felt were rightfully hers? Because he was grandstanding, trying to impress her? Because his pride wouldn’t let him back down?

Besides, where was she going without him? The keys to her car were in his pocket, and she wasn’t about to start wandering the streets of Atlanta alone at three o’clock in
the morning. Nor could she just stand here, hoping for him to come back. She might not have finished law school, but she understood enough about the law to know she’d still be considered an accomplice.

Are you your mother’s daughter or the woman I thought I fell in love with?

I
am
her. I am the woman you fell in love with.

He’s the devil. Get out while you still can
.

He’s the man I love, Jamie thought. He’s the man I love, and he’s giving me the choice: I’m either my mother’s daughter or the woman he fell in love with. This is a test. That’s all it is. He’s testing you. He has no real intention of breaking into Laura Dennison’s house. He’s just waiting to see who you really are.

Are you ready?

Jamie cut across the interlacing red bricks after him. “Brad,” she cried, his name a whisper that raced through the warm darkness, slicing through elusive shadows, chasing after playful ghosts. Where was he? Was he waiting behind the nearest tree, preparing to jump out at her?

She stopped in the middle of the long driveway, glancing over both shoulders to make sure no one was watching her from nearby windows. But the houses on the wide street were all dark, save for the lights over their front doors. She glanced toward the second floor, checked the curtains in Laura Dennison’s bedroom for the slightest sign of movement, but all was still. In the background, crickets chirped, traffic reverberated, the night hummed. Jamie held her breath as she stared at the house, remembering the first time she’d seen it, how impressed she’d been, how full of hope. She’d been so young, she thought, although it was only a few years ago. When did I start
feeling so damn old? she wondered, proceeding cautiously. Where had all that optimism gone?

“Brad?” she called again, cringing at the sound, although she’d been careful to keep her voice low. She looked toward the front door, but he wasn’t there. Had he already slipped around the back? Or had he simply taken off on foot, left her to her own devices, when she’d failed his test? “Brad?” she called again, approaching the side door.

And suddenly someone was at her back, and a hand was reaching around her neck to cover her mouth and nose. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t move. Somebody help me, her insides screamed, although the only sound to emerge was a stifled cry.

“Jamie, it’s okay,” Brad was whispering in her ear. “It’s me.” He released her, and she spun around, buried herself in his arms. “I couldn’t have you waking up the neighborhood.”

“You scared me half to death.”

“How many burglars do you think are working this street?” he asked playfully.

Jamie might have laughed had she not been so terrified. Then suddenly he pulled away, reached into his pocket. Was he reaching for the car keys or the switchblade? Jamie wondered, taking an involuntary step back. Instead, he withdrew his wallet and extricated his credit card. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“Damn thing should be good for something.” Immediately he began maneuvering the card around the lock in the door.

“Come on, Brad. The joke’s gone on long enough. Besides, that only works on TV,” she advised as the lock
clicked and the door fell open. “Oh, God,” she said as a piercing sound signaled the alarm had been activated and they had exactly thirty seconds to tap in the code before the sirens began their sickening wail. “Oh, God,” she said again.

Brad grabbed her and kissed her full on the mouth, his face radiating excitement. “I love you, Jamie-girl,” he said.

E
mma awoke to the sound of screaming.

She jumped out of bed, her eyes shooting toward the clock on the end table before she realized there
was
no clock on the end table. It took a few seconds to orient herself to her surroundings: she wasn’t in her room; she was in Dylan’s room, in Dylan’s bed; her son was sleeping in her room, with Lily’s son, Michael, tucked in beside him. Or at least, he’d
been
asleep. At the moment, however, he was screaming his little head off, which meant he was having another one of his nightmares, which meant it was approximately three o’clock in the morning. You could set your watch by those damn nightmares. And if she didn’t get at least one night of uninterrupted sleep soon, she thought as her bare feet padded across the hall,
she’d
be the one screaming.

Emma quickly checked to make sure she’d remembered to put on a pair of pajamas before climbing into Dylan’s tiny bed last night. Wouldn’t do to go bursting in on two five-year-old boys when she was naked. Talk about giving the poor kid nightmares, she thought, her head pounding, which meant she was in for one hell of a
hangover come morning. That was assuming she’d be able to get back to sleep tonight. “It’s okay, Dylan,” she said, snapping on the overhead light and gathering her sobbing son in her arms. Beside him in her bed, Michael slept soundly, his blond hair spiraling against the white pillowcase like a series of delicate quotation marks. “Ssh. It’s okay, Dylan. Mommy’s here. Ssh. You don’t want to wake up Michael, do you?” Emma stared at Lily’s son, wondering how anyone could sleep so soundly with someone caterwauling beside him.

“I had a nightmare,” Dylan cried, hugging her tightly.

“I know, baby. But it’s over. I’m here, and everything’s fine now.”

“There was this man,” Dylan began.

This was a new wrinkle, Emma thought. Before this, Dylan had never actually remembered any of his dreams. “A man? Did you recognize him?”

Dylan shook his head vigorously. “I couldn’t see his face. He was wearing a hat.”

“A hat?”

“A baseball cap. You know, like Daddy has. Except it wasn’t Daddy,” he added quickly, as if to reassure her. Emma shuddered, trying not to picture her former husband, although it was already too late. He stood grinning at her from the other side of the room.

“He was standing at the end of the bed, watching me.”

“Well, you can see there’s nobody there now.” Emma extricated herself from her son’s clinging arms and walked to the window, peered down at the street below.

The ghost of her former husband stared up at her from beside a nearby streetlamp.
You can run
, the apparition warned.
But you can’t hide
.

Dylan ran to her side, burying himself between her legs and digging his fingers into the soft cotton of her pajamas, his nails scratching at her thighs. “Mommy, no! Don’t look. Don’t look!”

“Nobody’s there, sweetheart.” She picked him up in her arms, held him up to the window. “See? Just a bunch of insects flying around the streetlamps.”

“Why do they do that?”

“Because they’re attracted to the light.”

“Why?”

Oh, God, not now, Emma thought, too exhausted to play the “why” game at three o’clock in the morning. She should know things like this, she thought. “I don’t know, sweetheart.” Because they can see better? Because they like the warmth? Because they have a death wish?

“The man said he was going to carve me up into a thousand little pieces and feed me to the sharks,” Dylan said.

Sharks in Ohio, Emma thought. No wonder the kid wakes up screaming. “I would never let him do that,” she assured her son. “You know that, don’t you?”

Dylan’s head bobbed up and down against her neck, his tears wet against her skin.

“You’re safe now, baby,” she told him, carrying him back to the bed. “Nothing bad can happen to you as long as you’re with me. I will always protect you and keep you safe.” She laid him back down in her bed beside Michael. “Now try to sleep, sweetie. See how soundly Michael sleeps?”

“He doesn’t have nightmares.”

“No.”

“He’s lucky.”

“Yes.” Emma kissed her son’s forehead, pushing the hair away from his eyes with the tips of her fingers. “No more nightmares for you either. Okay?”

“Stay here,” he urged.

“I can’t, sweetheart. There isn’t room for all of us.”

“Yes, there is.” Dylan scooted closer to Michael. Michael promptly rolled over on his side, as if to accommodate the new entrant. “See?”

“Okay.” Emma climbed into her bed beside Dylan. Immediately, he threw one hand over her stomach and one leg across her thigh, as if locking her in place. Great, Emma thought. Now I’m really trapped. She closed her eyes, prayed for sleep. But every time she came close, Dylan kicked or twitched or groaned, and she was jolted back into consciousness. The pounding in her head kept getting louder, and Emma knew she wouldn’t sleep again this night.

She was barely twenty when she met the man who would become Dylan’s father. He was older and more worldly, although like her, restless and confused about what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. Emma related to the lost, little boy camouflaged by the outward swagger of the man, eloping with him to Las Vegas. “Are you pregnant?” was the first question her mother had asked upon their return. Not, Are you happy? Not, Are you sure? Not even, Are you crazy? But, Are you pregnant? As if there was no other reason anyone could have for marrying her.

“Is that your way of congratulating us, Mother?” Then, although her mother hadn’t asked, “We love each other. We’re in love,” Emma repeated, as if trying to convince
herself this was the case. Which, of course, was exactly what she was trying to do. Because the truth was that she wasn’t sure if she loved her new husband or not. They had little in common, he was occasionally moody and preoccupied, and she never knew what he was thinking. But she did know that she loved the sound of his voice when he said
he
loved
her;
she loved the way he looked at her, loved the image of herself that she saw reflected in his eyes.

And while it might have been true that she didn’t know her husband very well, the bigger truth was that
he
didn’t know
her
at all.

She hadn’t meant to lie. The stories she’d told about her privileged upbringing, her scholastic accomplishments, her acceptance into Princeton—she’d just said those things to impress him. And then, when he was beyond impressed, when he was head over heels and they were husband and wife, well, what choice did she have but to continue the charade? Soon it was easier to lie than to tell the truth. And it was becoming increasingly difficult to distinguish between the two.

“Are you ashamed of me?” he asked shortly after their marriage.

“Of course not.”

“I mean, I know I’m not as smart as you are. I didn’t get accepted into Princeton.…”

“So?” Emma asked. “I didn’t go, did I?”

“Only because your mother was so sick.”

“Please don’t talk about that in front of her. She gets very upset.…”

“Don’t worry. I won’t bring it up. But why’d you have to tell her I went to Yale? I just about fell off my chair.”

“I didn’t hear you deny it.”

“I was too stunned to say anything.”

Emma shrugged off his concerns with a toss of her long, dark hair. “I told her you went to Yale because I knew it would make her happy. She’s impressed by stuff like that.”

“Well, we have to tell her the truth.”

“Why?” Emma asked.

“Because the truth will out,” he told her.

“The truth will what?”

“The truth will out,” he repeated.

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Sure it does.”

“What does it mean? That the truth’s been hiding in a closet, like it’s gay or something?”

He smiled self-consciously. “You know what it means.”

“All I know is that I married the handsomest, sexiest man in the world,” Emma said, wrapping her arms around her new husband and grinding her hips against his. He smiled and buried his head in her neck. Somehow he had no trouble swallowing that whopper, she thought. So much for outing the truth.

And the truth was that he was withdrawing more every day. He repeatedly accused her of lying to him. She countered with accusations that he was cheating on her. Their sex life dwindled, then disappeared entirely after she announced she was, indeed, pregnant. After their son was born, her husband started sleeping on the couch. On those rare nights when he bothered coming home at all.