Sparked (28 page)

Perhaps he’d gotten delayed at the bank. He would have had to go to work, wouldn’t he? He’d been working so hard on all those projects lately. Maybe he could get away at lunch, or stop by after five. She would just have to be patient until then.

Halfway through the morning, Bethany came running into the clinic clutching Cora’s note in her hand.

“Oh, Cora! You look terrible,” she said. “Are you going to be all right?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“What happened to you?”

“Just a little bug. Nothing serious.”

“But Dr. Pinkerton kept you all day. The last time I had the flu he made me go home right away.”

“He’s just being overly cautious because of my getting sick before. I promise. It’s nothing to worry about, okay?”

“But you’d tell me if it was?”

“Of course I would. Now why don’t you and Ella go swimming? Today’s supposed to be beautiful.”

“But I couldn’t go swimming knowing you were in pain.”

“Don’t be silly. I’ll be good as new in no time. I really feel fine.”

She saw the young Dr. Porter pass by, and flagged him down.

“Dr. Porter, could you please tell my sister that I’m fine and that the best thing she can do for me is go out for a swim?”

A broad smile crossed his face.

“Your sister is a very smart woman, Bethany,” the doctor said to her. “And I always say that the patients usually know more than us doctors.”

Cora liked Dr. Porter. She was glad there would be such a wonderful replacement in town when Dr. Pinkerton chose to retire. Which, from the looks of him lately, she expected to be soon. Caring for all of them after the fog had seemed to drain the elder man in a way he hadn’t recovered from.

But Bethany didn’t seem quite so convinced the young Dr. Porter knew what he was talking about. She was studying him like she was trying to decide whether to punch him in the gut or merely kick him in the shins.

“She’ll be fine,” he said with a smile.

“You promise she’s not going to die?” Bethany asked.

“Bethany. For goodness sakes.”

Dr. Porter chuckled. “Not today, little lady. Now go see if you can catch that swim, okay?”

“Okay,” Bethany agreed. She gave Cora a too-big, too-long hug and seemed reluctant to let go. “I love you so much.”

“I know, little bee. I love you too.”

“Come on now,” Dr. Porter said. “The sooner we let her rest, the sooner she’ll be back home.”

“Okay. Bye, Cora.”

“See you tonight,” Cora said.

The two left the room together. Cora wondered again about Clayton. It was nearly eleven and he hadn’t even sent a note. There was a sick feeling in her heart. She wanted to see him so badly, to feel his hand on hers. Just having him here would make her feel better.

But then something occurred to her. Of course! She was worrying for nothing. Hadn’t she made him promise to keep their relationship a secret? He would find a way to see her when the coast was clear or get her a message that it wasn’t. She knew him. He would do at least that.

Still, something tickled the back of her mind. The feeling was unsettling, as though she’d left the house with the iron plugged in and the stove turned on and all the burners going full blast. Guilt. She felt guilty. But why? What had happened?

Lunchtime passed without a visit, and soon it was long past five as well. Her worry grew and grew until it was a weed growing wild and wide. When Dr. Pinkerton finally let her go at seven, Clayton hadn’t been by at all or sent her a message. And he wasn’t waiting outside or hiding in the long shadows the trees cast down Dr. Pinkerton’s street.

Despair had settled firmly into her heart. Something had happened. She’d done something—said something—to upset him. But she couldn’t remember a thing.

Instead of going home, Cora went straight to the library. She could no longer ignore the fact that Clayton hadn’t just been busy at work or respecting her wishes to keep their relationship a secret.

She reached into the bush and pulled out the tin. It felt heavier than last time—he had left her something. Perhaps there was an explanation for his absence after all. But when she pried open the lid she found a large envelope—a large envelope full of money, a smear of dirt on its flap. Her heart plummeted. What was this? What did it mean?

There was a small note tucked in with it on Clayton’s thick stationary.

Cora,

I am so sorry. After last night, I know we’ll never be able to be together. It’s too great a risk.

This is yours. I want you to have it. Please use it for your great escape. Don’t wait or try to contact me. Go now. It’s better this way for both of us.

Love,

Clayton

She felt queasy. He was finally doing it—finally getting rid of her. 

What had happened last night? Why couldn’t she remember? 

Sadness flooded her heart, threatening to drown her in its depths. She was a heartbeat away from crying on the library steps, and couldn’t bear the idea of anyone seeing her like that. She shoved the envelope into her purse and ran.

Of course he was going to do this, he was always going to do this. But he hadn’t said goodbye.

She made it through the town square, past the main road.

He hadn’t even given her a chance to argue, to fight. She hadn’t known until this moment that she would have. All he’d left was a note. A note and money to bribe her to leave town so she wouldn’t cause a scandal. Did he really believe her love had a price tag?

Her feet pounded down the old dirt trail.

The misery she felt was impossibly deep. She wasn’t prepared for the nothingness of it. The world without him was a colder place, so much colder than it had been before she had known he was there to warm it.

She collapsed on a bank near the river, finally let the tears come. She pulled out the note, looked at it again. It seemed like all she could see were two words:

Go now.

It hurt so much more than she thought it would. So much. And that envelope? There had to be a thousand dollars in there. How much had he wanted her gone if he was willing to pay that much? 

The note fluttered on her lap. The top of it curled over, and what was left was just his signature.

Love, Clayton

Love.

He’d said love. Why would he use that word? Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe he’d done it by accident. 

But no. That word. It stuck out at her.

She tried to breathe, to see through the crippling fog of her own self-doubt. She had to think about this logically, rationally. The note wasn’t like him. None of this was. Why did he use that word if he didn’t mean it? Clayton of all people would have caught the mistake, would have gone out of his way to write a new note, one that didn’t lead her on and keep her hoping. Wouldn’t he?

Something was wrong here. She thought about the situation again—about him not showing up at the clinic. What would make him do that? She ran through a million scenarios in her mind—someone seeing them and causing trouble, her injuring him with her powers, him injuring her. Could that have been what happened? No. She had seen the cruelty of men. He wasn’t capable of it.

She looked at the envelope again and it was like a pin pricked her mind. She’d seen that envelope before.

Seen Clayton waving it at her.

His angry face.

Her terrible words.

Oh, God. The way they’d shouted at each other.

It all came flooding back. Every part. Clayton fighting so hard to help her, shoving the money into her hand, and then that terrible feeling—that awful feeling that everything lovely in the world was being sucked away from her. It made her shiver just to think about it.

She hadn’t done anything.

He had.

He’d done almost the worst thing he could do to her. But she knew instantly that he hadn’t meant to. It had clearly been an accident. A terrible accident, but an accident nonetheless. And now he was off somewhere, beating himself up, believing that she was better off without him. 

She had to find him.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Cora

She walked around town for an hour, hoping to run into him. She even walked up to Highledge and stood outside his house. But there were no lights on inside, and no cars in their long driveway. Eventually, she gave up and went home. She would have to find him the next morning. She would wait outside the bank and force him to talk to her.

But the next day, Clayton didn’t arrive with the other employees. She’d been watching from the corner as each of them had gone inside: first dour-looking Edith Applebaum, then some of the others, then Mr. Briggs. But Clayton wasn’t with him. 

She didn’t know what to do. Then she saw June Powell go inside. Clayton was good friends with June. Perhaps she’d know where he was. But to ask, she’d have to go inside. Inside Briggs Bank.

Would they even let her in? But what other options did she have?

She worked up her courage and walked through the doors. The lobby was a picture of opulence: thick green carpets, red and gold wallpaper, and a long dark cherry wood counter topped with an intricate row of teller cages cast entirely in bronze. Immediately, the memory of that awful day resurfaced and she felt the flush of shame rising to her cheeks. The last time she’d been in here was the last time she’d ever been in a bank, and that had gone horribly. What were you supposed to do? How were you supposed to act? Perhaps this was a bad idea. She was sure she was going to do something wrong, and then what if they called for Clayton’s father? What would he do?

She almost turned right back around. But she was desperate. She couldn’t leave without at least trying to find Clayton, so she continued on to the first teller’s booth where June was standing, wearing a chic green skirt suit and counting out bills in a neat stack.

When June looked up and saw who was in front of her, her jaw nearly fell open. But she said nothing. Not even hello. She only put the money away quickly and glared at Cora like she’d just been slapped in the face.

“It’s June, right?” Cora ventured.

June’s mouth set into a firm line. “Do you need something?”

Cora peered around. Edith Applebaum was at the other end of the counter staring her down from behind the gilt cage. Who knew how long it would be before she got kicked out. She decided to come right out with it.

“I’m sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if you knew where I could find Clayton?”

June huffed. “Why would I tell you that?”

“Is there any way I could speak with you in private?”

“I don’t have my break for another two hours,” June said. Then she dropped her voice. “And I’m certainly not using it to talk to you. I don’t know what you did to him, but I’ve never seen him so upset.”

“I know. I’m worried about him. And—”

Edith appeared behind June’s back. “What’s going on here?”

But before June could answer, someone else came into the bank wearing the loudest tropical-printed day dress Cora had ever seen, accompanied by so many odd-looking bracelets that it seemed impossible the woman could lift her arm. She walked straight up to June’s booth, like she didn’t even notice Cora was there.

“There you are,” Annette Powell said to her daughter. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Why you insist on spending all your time in this dreary place is beyond me.”

“I work here, Mother.”

“Well that can wait for a moment, can’t it? The fabric swatches for the tablecloths finally arrived and I need your opinion.” She pulled three small squares of fabric out of her purse and pushed them across the counter. “Coral Breeze, Mushroom Dreams, or Shamrock Holiday? Or maybe a mix of all three?”

The colors were so different, Cora couldn’t imagine them existing in the same universe, much less put together at whatever event Mrs. Powell was planning.

“Mrs. Powell,” Edith snapped, fingering the top button on her brown blouse with a sharp, bony finger. “This isn’t a tea party, it’s a place of business.”

Annette Powell looked up in complete astonishment, her eyes wide as a toddler’s.

“Kindly save your personal business with your daughter for when she’s at home, not being paid for her time by this fine establishment.”

Annette’s gaze flitted to June, but she was busy examining her shoes. 

“I’ve never been treated so rudely in all my life,” Annette said, her face coloring. “I will most certainly be reporting your behavior to my very dear friend,
Florence Briggs
.” 

“Tell her whatever you like,” Edith said. “Just tell her outside these walls.”

Annette snatched up her samples and turned to leave, but she threw one last barb at Edith before charging through the doors. “You know, you should be careful about turning people into enemies, Mrs. Applebaum. You never know who might become the boss’ wife one day.”

What did that mean? Did June have her eye on Clayton? Was that why she’d been so angry at Cora?

“Is that why you’re working here, Ms. Powell?” Edith asked, closing in on June as the front door slammed shut. “To land yourself a rich husband?”

June looked truly horrified. So horrified that any worry Cora had about her interest in Clayton immediately disappeared.

“No, ma’am. We’re old friends. That’s all. I would never—”

“Then see you keep it that way. Get back to work. I’m not running a matchmaking service here.”

“Yes, ma’am,” June said.

Edith turned her angry gaze at Cora.

“And you, Ms. Murphy. Unless you have business with the bank—and I’m certain you don’t—then I suggest you leave before I call the police.”