Secrets (35 page)

If Nonna had done this, he should be able to undo it. But time and gravity would have worked on it too. He crouched down and wedged the crowbar in between two boards, hardly budging them at first, then managing a small amount of motion. He levered it again, this time throwing his weight into it. A small shift.

He lay down and gripped one of the boards, but it was still too tight. Again he worked the crowbar in, then took hold with his hands, scooching farther in to get a better grip. The smell that had caught him in whiffs now became a presence.

There was mystery in it, age and sorrow. Gripping the edge of the timber, he wondered.
Lord?
Purpose stirred, but it seemed muddled. Lance closed his eyes and waited, but no sound came, no sense of direction. He grabbed hold of the timber and nudged it back and forth.

Something shifted, and he jerked the timber up a little more than an inch. If he could just get at it better. He focused the pressure on upward motion now, and little by little the board slid free. He had it. One final jerk pulled it loose, and he hand-over-handed it onto the floor. One down, and a forest of them to go.

He could only do a few tonight and use them tomorrow. But as he reached for the next board his excitement awakened. There might be nothing down there but rubble. But why then go to all the trouble to block it? He reached in and took hold of another timber.
Lord, show me what’s here. Let me do what I came for
. His sense of history, of family, kicked in. This wasn’t his decision, he was certain. It had been made before him.

Rese had no idea what to tell Star. Pouring it out to Lance was one thing. He’d never known her mother, or her father for that matter. But Star had. There was all kinds of history connected to that. And frankly she didn’t have the strength to delve into it yet.

So she opened the door to Star’s soft query with a smile that would have impressed even Lance. Playing the part? Maybe she could after all. Maybe she had been all her life. Because when everyone else looked for something to be wrong with her, Star saw what she wanted to be. Star saw her strong.

Star stood in the doorway, chest heaving. “I did it.”

Rese raised her brows. “Did what?”

“Took my things and left.” Star passed into the room, opened her arms wide and leaned her head back. “I’m free.”

“What are you free from, Star?”

“Maury.”

She thought Star had left him already. Wasn’t that what they’d mourned the first time? She searched Star’s face for signs of damage. Sometimes it was a delayed reaction, but she actually looked fine.

“I took my paints, my canvases, my brushes. There is no part of my art left in his studio.”

Now she understood. Star had left part of herself behind, her least resilient part. This was a huge step. Rese smiled. “That’s great.” She had been afraid Star wouldn’t paint again, that the part of her she expressed through art would be lost because some inconsiderate bum shafted her. Now it seemed she really was going to paint something for Lance. Why else retrieve her supplies?

“You know what he did?” Star turned. “He cried.”

Rese didn’t know who this Maury was, or even if Star’s version was accurate. But it had to be healthier to have it over if there was any semblance of truth to the pieces of the situation she’d glimpsed. Star was drawn to compulsive controllers, not beefy beat-her-up sorts, but psychological abusers. His tears had probably been just that—an attempt to draw her back in.

“What did you do when he cried?”

“Well…” Star sat on the bed and drew her knees up, looking sheepish. “It was the last time. I told him that.”

“I hate when you let them do that to you.” Manipulating Star’s emotions was no different than shoving her against the wall. “He doesn’t respect you.”

Star laughed. “Why would anyone respect me?”

“Because you deserve it.”

“ ‘I shall th’effect of this good lesson keep as watchman to my heart.’ ” Star clasped her hands beneath her chin. “But I don’t want respect. I want love.”

Were the two mutually exclusive? Star found “love” with every person who took advantage of her, while Rese had fought so hard for respect people despised her. Neither seemed a worthwhile trade-off. The grudging admiration she’d gotten from the crew had not really been worth it, but then Star hardly seemed happy either. Whichever side the coin landed on left half the wager lost.

Star grabbed her shoulders. “You’re wearing earrings. You have your ears pierced!”

Rese frowned. “It’s no big deal.”

“No big deal?” Star caught her hands.

Rese scowled. “Lance … dared me.”

Star burst into laughter. “That
is
the only way you’d do it. Does it hurt?”

“No.” Only an insistent throb. She still needed to soak them in antiseptic and turn the posts.

“Red is nice with your hair and eyes.”

“Lance picked them.” At least she had changed out of the skirt into her nightshirt before Star came in. She didn’t want to answer for all the craziness she’d allowed.

Star cocked her head. “So … you’re talking again?”

Blood burned up her neck. “We’ve been talking, Star.” But not as they had today. He’d shared so much of himself, his family, his hurt. And he knew about Mom. How could things ever be as they were? She couldn’t think of him as an employee. He’d won that battle, after all.

Lance woke to an eerie, breathless wailing. Heart pounding, he sat up so suddenly he tipped off the hammock and landed on Quillan’s stone floor. Had someone, some
thing,
come up from below? What had he disturbed? He had told Rese the dead didn’t bother the living, but he had a sudden desire to pray with all his might.

Jesus, name above all names; before you every knee must bow, every tongue confess you Lord
. He’d always stood on that promise when fighting forces of darkness, and the noise seeping into his room sounded like no living being. He got to his feet and peeked out to the other room.

The darkness was only faintly illuminated by heaven through the skylights, and he kept the name of Jesus on his lips as he searched the space with his eyes. The wailing came again, but this time he could tell it was coming from outside. Was the whole place haunted?

He ducked into his room, felt through a stack of clothes, and pulled a sweatshirt over his head. Then he went out into the yard and turned toward the keening. A white shape at the base of the oak almost drove his heart to his throat, but the being was affixed to the ground and a little more substantial than smoke.

Head cocked, he started toward it. The whine subsided to agonized sighs.

Jesus,
he murmured just in case. But he made out her hair in the dim light. “Star?”

She pressed her hands to her face and wailed again. It wasn’t like Rese’s ferocious shrieks. This noise could be from another world, soft and plaintive as pain itself. Rese’s distress had a concrete cause; this seemed the voice of undefined agony.
Jesus
. He might as well be dealing with the supernatural.

“What’s the matter, Star?” He cupped her shoulder.

She took her hands from her face and found him in the darkness. “Hold me.”

Her skin felt like death as she sank into him, boneless, cold flesh absorbing the night and mist. The string-strapped fragment she wore offered neither warmth nor concealment. He hadn’t hesitated to pull Rese to his chest—at personal risk. But he hesitated now.
Lord
.

With a swift motion, he pulled his sweatshirt off, then tugged it down over her, engulfing her little limbs and adolescent frame.

She sniffled. “I just need you to hold me.”

The tug was almost irresistible. Between Star and Sybil and Rese, he had more people needing something from him than even he could stand. The villa was dark, and he hoped that meant Rese slept. She needed it, or he’d send Star to her. Rese would know how to handle this.

He said, “What’s wrong?”

She pressed into him, crying again. “ ‘It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.’ ”

He eased her back. “I’d understand better if you said it straight.”

“ ‘Oh, call back yesterday, bid time return.’ ”

Okay, she regretted something, maybe wished she could change it. Something he understood too well. But he was not the one to counsel her there, or now. “You need to go in, Star. Try to sleep.”

“ ‘Thou art all ice. Thy kindness freezes.’ ”

He was chilled, shirtless in the night, but that wasn’t what she meant. Maybe he did seem hard and cold. But she wanted something from him he couldn’t give, not after the day with Rese. Strange, when Star seemed by far the more needy.

“Come on. It’s the middle of the night. You’re going to worry people.” He walked her slowly to the house.

“ ‘She receives comfort like cold porridge.’ ”

“I can’t help that, Star.”

“Because of Rese?”

Her snap into reality caught him unprepared. He could give her lots of reasons. But he said, “Yes.” He didn’t want to think how Rese would react if anything happened between him and Star. That would be wrong when Rese had finally let down her guard.

He walked Star to the door. “Get some sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

She sniffed. “ ‘O, it is excellent to have a giant’s strength, but it is tyrannous to use it like a giant.’ ”

“Well, tyranny or not, you’ll be better off inside.” And no one had ever mistaken him for a giant.

Lance hadn’t cooked breakfast for a while, but when Rese got up, he was there in the kitchen. She’d slept only three grudging hours in the middle of the night, and when she met his eyes, she was sure he could tell. Thankfully he didn’t comment. She did not want to repeat yesterday’s meltdown. She’d wrestled enough with that humiliation.

She had two days to get through, open her business, play her part. Doubt gnawed. Last night’s thoughts and memories had left her weak, but she couldn’t show it. If she knew how to play any part, that was it. Tough, secure, dauntless. She should see herself through Star’s eyes.

Lance’s baked eggs with salami and
parmigiano
went down like silk. Not something she would ever have chosen, but it tasted better than she’d expected. “What are you making for our guests tomorrow?” She had actually said that without sounding terrified.

“Almond focaccia and sausage frittata.”

She nodded. “Sounds good. Not that this isn’t good. It’s delicious, Lance.”

He sat down and took her hands between his. “You can stop pretending.”

“I’m not. I like it. It’s a little weird, but…”

He stroked her thumbs with his, sending shock waves up her arms. “That’s not what I meant.”

She couldn’t acknowledge what he meant. She seriously regretted yesterday’s collapse. If she let down again, she’d never get through today.

“How much sleep did you get?”

“A few hours.”

His gaze was so soft she could wrap up in it.

“Lance, I…”

“How are your ears?”

“Fine.” She’d had to lie on her back all night.

He shook his head with a smile. “Nails.”

She frowned. “I need to talk to you.”

He leaned back and cocked his head. “Am I fired?”

A flush burned her cheeks. “It wasn’t your fault.” Even now she wanted him to hold her.