Take Me Home (11 page)

“No problem,” Tim said as he finished manhandling the SUV through an S curve. “Where are we headed once we get off the mountain?”

“Rolling Meadows. The new development. Holly’s on Cornsilk Lane. We need to get there fast. Evidently, Frank has hit Holly before, and Brianna is afraid it’s going to happen again. He’s shouting and throwing things.”

“I know a shortcut there, but it’s going to be bumpy.”

“As long as your car will survive, I’m good with that. Should I call the police? Oh God, Holly will hate me for dragging them into her private affairs.”

“Did Brianna say anything about Frank having a gun?”

“No, and I know my sister made him get rid of his hunting rifles when Brianna was born.”

“Then I think I can handle him, if you’re afraid it would upset your sister to have the police involved.”

Claire looked over at her companion. His gaze was locked on the road unspooling crazily back and forth in front of them. His hands seemed to envelop the steering wheel, holding the heavy SUV steady as they raced down the mountain.

Even in the roomy interior, Tim took up a lot of space. “You can certainly handle him, but the police might get there faster.”

“We’ll be there in under ten minutes. Hold on,” he said, wrenching the car off the asphalt and onto an old dirt logging road.

Claire’s teeth snapped together as they hit the first bump, so she remained silent until they made it to the blessed smoothness of pavement again.

“Just so you know, Frank asked Holly for a divorce two days ago,” she said as Tim turned into Rolling Meadows. “She hired Paul Taggart to represent her. I don’t know what Frank would be upset about, since it was his idea to split up.”

“The man’s wife is seriously ill and he can’t hold off on the divorce until she’s healthy? What a bastard! Which house?”

“Third one on the right.”

Tim was opening his door before the car had stopped rolling. Claire kicked off her high heels and followed him at a run up the front walk. He gestured her to stop as they reached the front door. He turned the knob gently and cracked the door open so they could get an idea of what was happening inside.

Holly’s voice came through the opening with horrifying clarity. “Please, Frank, no!
Please
put her down!”

C
LAIRE BOLTED INTO
the house, ignoring Tim’s protest. All she could think of was that Frank was threatening one of his daughters.

She skidded on the polished marble tiles in the tiny entry-way and felt Tim’s steadying hand on her back, but she wasn’t stopping. She burst into the living room to find Frank standing by the fireplace, brandishing one of the Royal Doulton figurines. Her knees nearly buckled with relief when she realized Holly was pleading for the china, not a child.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Frank demanded, lowering his arm and staring blearily at Claire. “You weren’t supposed to be here tonight. Holly told me you wouldn’t be. She lied to me again, that slut!”

“I’m just here to help out while she’s sick,” Claire said, inching toward where her sister cowered in an overstuffed armchair.

“Why the fuck didn’t you stay in New York with your stuck-up husband and all your stuck-up friends? I told Holly not to let you come here, but she didn’t listen to me. We don’t need you messing up our lives.”

He seemed to have forgotten that he was messing up his own life. He also seemed to have forgotten the china lady in his hand, much to Claire’s relief.

“I’m not trying to mess up anything,” she said calmly.

“The hell you aren’t, you damned bitch.” He staggered before bracing his legs wide apart. “I come home to see my children, and my wife tells me she’s already been to a lawyer. Have you fucked him yet, you whore?” he snarled, turning to address his wife. Moving his head upset his balance again, and he grabbed at the mantel with his free hand. “Then she accuses me of having a girlfriend. You ungrateful bitch, I work my ass off to put a roof over your head and food on the table, so I deserve some appreciation every now and then. I can’t get it from you, that’s for sure.”

“That’s enough of that kind of talk,” Tim said in a firm voice Claire suspected he used to deal with difficult pet owners.

“What? Who the fuck are you?” Frank asked, swaying as he turned toward Tim. “It’s a goddamned party here, ain’t it? Did you come to screw my wife too? Or are you screwing the New York bitch?” Frank’s face contorted into an ugly leer. “Or both of them together? Wait, you’re the one whose wife shot herself. You must be a real bastard to drive a woman to that.”

Claire flinched and looked at Tim. His expression didn’t waver, nor did his slow but steady progress toward Holly’s drunken husband.

Claire took advantage of Tim’s diversion to scoot over to Holly. Her sister had one hand cupped around her left cheek, and tears streaked what Claire could see of her face.

“Frank, why don’t you and I take this outside?” Tim said.

“Do you think I’m crazy?” Frank said. “You’re a goddamned giant. You stay away from me, or I’ll break this whore’s ugly statue.” He turned it upside down and squinted at the bottom. “Lauren, that’s its name. My wife loves this thing more than me. Don’t you, sweetheart?”

“No, Frank. I’ve always loved you.” Holly’s voice quavered, but she didn’t stop talking. “I’ve never looked at another man. You know that.”

“Liar!” Frank screamed, raising his arm and hurling the figurine straight at Holly and Claire.

Claire tried to push Holly out of the way, but her sister resisted, lifting her hands to catch the flying statue. It bounced off her fingers and struck Claire on the cheek before hitting the wall and shattering into pieces.

Claire bit off a cry that was as much shock as pain, and Holly shrieked, “Oh my God, no!”

“I’m okay,” Claire whispered to her sister, hoping not to provoke Frank further.

“I think it’s time for you to leave,” Tim said. His voice had swelled in volume and held an undertone of menace.

Frank seemed abashed by the havoc he had wreaked. He stood with his mouth slightly open, still braced against the fireplace.

Tim took another step toward him.

“You can’t throw me out of my own house,” Frank said, straightening and pushing away from the mantel.

Fear flooded through Claire as she saw him glance at the rack of fireplace tools. She willed him not to pick one up and go after Tim.

“I wouldn’t bet on that,” Tim said, dragging Frank’s attention away from the potential weapons.

Claire watched in fascination as Tim transformed into an aggressor. He shifted his feet into a wide fighting stance, his hands curled into fists, and his head came forward. He looked ready to charge at Frank like an enraged bull. Stalking to within two feet of Holly’s husband, he slammed his clenched fist against the wall beside him, making all three of them jump.

“It’s time for you to leave,” Tim repeated.

Frank swallowed visibly before he took a few stumbling steps toward the door. “You got no call to throw me out of my own
house,” he mumbled, bouncing off the arm of the love seat and nearly falling. “I got the right to see my children.”

“You forfeited that right when you came in here drunk and violent,” Tim said.

“If you were married to a boring slut like her, you’d be drunk too,” Frank said, grabbing the doorjamb for balance. He pitched his voice in a falsetto. “She’s too sick or too tired or the children might hear.” His voice dropped to its normal register. “No wonder I looked somewhere else for a little bit of fun. You can’t blame a man for that.”

“Get out before you lose the option of leaving without my help,” Tim said.

Claire glanced down to find her sister watching the exchange with wide, frightened eyes.

“Fuck you!” Frank yelled as he scuttled out of the living room. No one moved until the front door slammed. Claire realized she’d been holding her breath and gulped in a lungful.

As she relaxed, Tim’s posture changed too. His fists uncurled, his shoulders dropped and almost seemed to decrease in breadth, while his chin came up to a nonthreatening angle.

Holly dropped her face into her hands and began to sob.

Claire was about to lean over to comfort her sister when Tim stepped in front of her. “Are you all right?” he asked, tipping her chin up and making a swift survey of her face.

“I’m fine,” Claire said, although her cheek was starting to throb. “Maybe a bruise, but that’s all.”

“Does it hurt here?” His touch was feather light, but she winced when he grazed the spot where the statue had made contact. “I see it does.”

She looked up at him. What she saw in his dark-gray eyes sent a tremor of shock rippling through her. Anger blazed in their depths with an intensity that would have been frightening had it been directed at her. She gasped, and he turned away. But she saw that his hands had clenched back into fists.

Holly was staring at Claire. “Did Lauren hit you? I’m so sorry.” She started to sob again. “Everything’s going wrong. Everything! I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, Holly. We’ll get through this.” Claire bent to touch her sister’s shoulder.

Tim knelt at Holly’s feet. “Are you hurt?” he asked. “Did he hit you?”

Holly lifted her head as her hand crept back up to the side of her face. “No...yes...I’m not hurt.”

Tim scanned her face just as he had Claire’s. When he raised his hand, Holly flinched slightly, but let him run his fingers over her cheek and jaw.

“I think you both need ice packs, but first, we should call the police.”

“No!” Holly nearly shrieked. “I don’t want anyone to know.”

Tim remained placid. “Your husband is driving in an impaired condition that’s dangerous to himself and to others. He needs to be taken off the road.”

“Oh,” Holly said. “I hadn’t thought about that. So you’ll just report him for drunk driving?”

“If that’s all you want me to say.”

Holly turned to Claire, who said, “He’s right. Frank could kill himself and anyone in his way.”

“All right,” Holly said with obvious reluctance, “but nothing else.”

“Nothing else.” Tim questioned Holly about Frank’s car and license plate before pushing up from the floor. “I’ll call from the kitchen and fix up those ice packs for both of you.”

Claire saw Holly shrink back into the chair as Tim straightened to his full height, and it made her want to cry. What had Frank done to her sister?

Claire suddenly remembered the two girls hiding in the bedroom. “I’m going to go check on the children,” she said.

Her sister rocketed up from the chair with a cry of distress. “Oh my God! Brianna! Kayleigh!”

“They’re okay. They’re in Brianna’s closet,” Claire said.

“How do you know?” Holly asked. “In fact, why are you both here?”

“Because Brianna was worried and called me.”

“Brianna overreacted,” Holly said. “Frank doesn’t mean it. He just can’t hold his liquor.”

“Holly, you have to tell me the truth,” Claire said. “How many times has Frank hit you? I know that’s where those bruises came from.”

“No, those are from the Lyme disease. He’s never hit me before tonight,” Holly said, but she was turning away as she spoke so Claire couldn’t see her face. “I have to go get the girls.”

Claire let her sister shuffle down the hallway toward Kayleigh’s bedroom.

Why was Holly still lying?

“M
AMA
! A
RE YOU
okay?” Claire heard Brianna say before Holly shut the door to the bedroom. Anger and pity roiled inside her, an unsettling stew of emotion that reminded her of her feelings about Willow’s abuser. Except she found she was angry at Holly as well as at Frank.

She turned and started toward the kitchen just as Tim emerged with a dishtowel-wrapped bag of ice in each hand. “This one’s for you,” he said, handing her one bag. “Your cheek is starting to swell.”

“Oh great,” Claire said, pressing the bag against her face and sinking onto the sofa.

“Don’t worry. The cold will take it down,” Tim said. “Where did your sister go?”

“To Brianna’s bedroom, second door on the right. That’s where I told the girls to hide.”

“Let me give this to her, and I’ll be back.”