Secrets (32 page)

Not his problem. Not his place. His job was to do what he was told, and to find what he had come for. He was weary after the noisy and uncomfortable night, and he had a long day ahead. Now that he was in the carriage house, the need to clear the hole gripped him, but Evvy had asked that he dig her flower beds. Was she in cahoots with God to rub off his impatient lumps?

He knelt and rested his forehead on his folded hands. He was supposed to focus on the words of the Lord at the Last Supper, but instead he pondered the situation with Rese. It was wrong to hide his actions from her, but he could hardly tell her what he intended. For a while he had hoped their purposes could mesh, but he’d been fooling himself, avoiding the truth. If he found what he hoped for, he’d be pitted against her.

He received communion with a distraction he almost never experienced. There was a sense of impending storm. Was he losing his way again?
Lord
. The desire was there as always. And the commission. There was no doubt the Lord’s will meant more to him than anything. He just didn’t get it.

How can I do this without hurting her? How can I take back what was wrongfully lost without leaving Rese with nothing?
How could he undo the wrong done to Nonna and her family, when Rese would be caught in the middle?
Show me, Lord. I can’t see it
.

When he returned to the villa, he focused on digging Evvy’s flower beds and put his concerns aside. Rese was smart, determined, capable. She’d be okay. She knew how she wanted things. His concern this morning was way overblown, the shadows in her face probably exhaustion. He hadn’t meant to get her so excited that she worked all night. But that was just another example of her resilience. Rese Barrett was anything but frail.

“Have you told her yet?”

He jumped. For an old woman, Evvy could maneuver with stealth. Or else his thoughts had been more consuming than he’d realized. “Told her what?”

“That she needs Jesus.”

Oh sure. Rese didn’t want or need his advice in any area of her life. He sat back on his heels. “Not my place, Evvy. I’m just the hired help.”

“Working for whom? The King or the counterfeit.”

“I don’t really …”

“Because if you’ve got the truth and you don’t share it, you’ve buried your talents in the sand.”

But some truths had to stay buried. At least for now. “She might take it better from you.” He’d be a hypocrite to spout faith when he might become her adversary.

“You’d let a feeble old woman do your job?”

He rested the spade against his knee. “Feeble! I haven’t been bullied like this since…”
Nonna’s stroke rendered her incapable
.

“Well, I didn’t take you for a coward.”

That stung. He’d been overshadowed by a hero and still never thought himself that.

She hooked a hand his way. “The trouble is you won’t let yourself be what you’re supposed to be.”

“And how exactly would you know that?” Disrespectful maybe, but she could be sharp enough to draw blood … while he was on his knees at her flower beds no less.

“I know wasted promise when I see it.”

He swallowed. “Then why do you think I’m the one for the job?”

“Because she trusts you.”

He started to protest, but she held up her hand. “I have it from the Lord, young man. He put a finger to my lips until you’ve done your part. But in case you haven’t noticed, I don’t have all the time in the world.”

He sighed. “Evvy, I’m telling the truth. Rese does not want anything but cooking and digging from me.”

“Since when does anyone know what they want?”

“Since God made Rese.”

Evvy leaned on her cane. “You miss your chance, and you’ll regret it. God can choose another vessel, but who wants to sit on the shelf?” She turned and headed for the house.

His head ached. He had put the storm aside until Evvy blew it into a tempest. What did she think he could do? Just sit her down and say, “Rese, what you need is Jesus. Why don’t you commit your life to this invisible being, so I can stop wasting my promise?” He shook his head with a jerk, then grabbed the spade.

His concern was Nonna, and that was the Lord’s business just now. But it was as though Evvy’s claw had a grip on his brain. Maybe he’d been wrong to shut Rese out after their altercation. She wasn’t the enemy, just the obstacle.

When he went back over to the villa, he threw together an antipasti and a creamy spinach soup, ate his at the counter with no sign of Rese. The phone rang, and he snagged it in the kitchen before the extension in the office woke her. “Wayfaring Inn.”

“Rese Barrett, please.”

Lance glanced toward the door to her hallway. No sound. “She’s not available right now. Can I take a message?”

“I need to speak with her directly. It’s very important.”

“Let me take your number. She’ll get back to you.”

The woman on the line gave her name and repeated the message of urgency. She sounded very official. Lance jotted down the number. “I’ll tell her.” Maybe he should have gotten Rese up. But this way he could feed her first … in case it wasn’t good news.

Hair still damp, Rese went into the kitchen. She had heard activity and wasn’t completely surprised to see a plate of meats and cheeses, peppers and olives, and a bowl of creamy soup on the table. She was surprised by the poignant stab to her heart.

The soup in the bowl was hot, but Lance wasn’t around. She realized with a jolt it might not be for her. “Lance?”

Then she noticed the note, a phone message with
Eat first
jotted beneath.

She looked out and saw him crossing the garden with Baxter at his side. He’d left her food but had not stayed to share it with her. He must think she wanted that. She’d made him think it. Sharing a meal was personal to him.
“The breaking of bread signifies connection, acceptance, relationship.”
She sat down, feeling heavy again.

The soup was hot, but not scorching. He must have timed it by her shower, then ducked out just before she emerged. She lifted the spoon, then paused.
“Bless us, O Lord, and these thy gifts?”
Lance’s prayer impressed on her mind. What if it was a gift from some unseen entity, someone like Lance who gave and went away, not even waiting to see her try it?

He had burned at her ingratitude before; now he didn’t care. She could eat it or not, for all he knew. She took a spoonful of the creamy soup with a taste of spinach and buttery garlic. Not too heavy and strong, but not bland and boring either. The sliced salami and cheese with slightly biting peppers was great beside it. A perfect balance. Exactly what he didn’t have in his nature. But then, neither did she.

As she ate, she wondered briefly where Star was, but since they’d staved off a plunge last night, she was probably out somewhere being sun and rainbow. Lance might know. Or not. They had stopped communicating as a threesome. Her eyes went back to the message. Peggy Blodgett. Not a name she recognized. Lance would have taken a reservation himself. Wouldn’t he? She picked up the phone, unsure of even that much. It wasn’t really his responsibility, and she’d made his position all too clear.

He’d given her enough time to eat and call, and the sense of impending storm had not eased. Lance headed for the house. Rese had just hung up as he stepped in.

He waited for her to turn, but she didn’t. “Rese?”

“They found my mother.” Her voice was a rusty gate swinging grudgingly over the words.

“You mean her death certificate?”

“I mean my mother.” She turned, her eyes a desert. Even though he’d suspected the possibility, it still caught him off guard. Rese must be shattered, but she stood there trying to look whole. He moved closer, drawn to her trouble like a wolf ’s tongue to its wound.

Her anger ignited. “How could he?”

He? Her dad?

“He locked her up in a psycho ward and left her.”

Even with space between them Lance felt the explosion building. If what she said was true, he understood her horror, but there had to be more to it. People didn’t treat mental illness like a crime anymore. “You don’t have all the facts.”

“Facts? No wonder he said there was nothing after death.” Her clenched knuckles turned white. The air felt as though they’d used up all the oxygen. “No reason to visit a grave, is there, when there’s no grave to visit!” She drew a sharp breath, then let out a sound, half wail and half shriek.

Lance caught her upper arms as she exploded.

“I should have known! She said he’d do it. She told me he would.”

He held on as though he could stop the meltdown. “You don’t have the whole story, Rese. Wait until you know …”

Sobs burst from her. “I should have known.”

He understood that anger and guilt. He’d gone through it all with Tony’s death. No words would help. He’d pay for it later, but he pulled her to his chest. She didn’t succumb gracefully. She pinched the sides of his shirt—and a good part of his skin—in her fists and sucked shrieking breaths between her teeth.

“He lied. Why would he lie?”

“Probably to protect you.” It was all he could think of. Lance should have considered the possibilities and prepared for this, had something better to offer than speculation.

“Protect me?” she ranted, clenching his sides with a death grip. “Telling me she died would protect me? How could he think…? Why would it… ?” She looked into his face, pain deep in her eyes. “Help me.”

A sliver through his soul. How many women had said that to him, how many tearful pleas? Yet none had stabbed so deeply. He wanted to help, needed to, a need that sprang from his core and triggered a reaction too powerful to resist. He caught her face in his palms and took her mouth with his, absorbing her pain, drawing the hurt out like venom from a bite.

She clung to his waist, and he responded more ardently, training and claiming her mouth until there was nothing hard, no steel left in her. He kissed her until the sobs stilled in her chest. “It’ll be all right.” He clutched her to him, pressing his lips to her temple. “It’ll be all right.”

Rage and anguish gave way to a pain equally damaging. Lance’s arms around her, his lips on hers. She wanted … and the want hurt as much as the shock of her news. Her mother was alive.

How was it possible? All these years believing her dead. Lance’s pulse beat beneath her ear pressed to his neck, comfort and confusion. What was she doing? She’d made a fool of herself.

“Don’t.” He rubbed the nape of her neck.

“Don’t what?”

“Your spine is stiff, your neck is tight, you’re about to tell me to quit kissing the boss.”

A smile caught her unawares and she covered it with her hand.

“Ah. Reinforcements.” He stroked the fingers guarding her lips.

What was she doing? Everything was collapsing, everything she’d believed, the mother she’d lost, the dad she’d trusted. Was everything a lie? She dropped her hand and expelled her breath. “I can’t think.”

He massaged her shoulders. “Now isn’t a good time to try.”

“I have to. My mother’s in a mental health facility in San Francisco. Lance, she’s been there since I was nine. She didn’t die.” The shock of it rose up again. “The hospital’s been looking for me since Dad’s death. I need to talk to them. I need to see her.”