That Certain Summer (10 page)

“Is your injury . . . permanent?”

The personal question was out before she could stop it, and Karen expected him to stiffen and tell her it was none of her business.

But to her surprise, he answered. “Who knows?”

“You mean there's a chance you might recover?”

“No one's ruled that out.”

“Then that's good news, isn't it?”

He gave a mirthless laugh. “Depends on your definition of good.” He stood abruptly. “I need to lock up.”

Karen searched for other words of comfort but came up empty. Besides, she doubted anything she said would alleviate Scott's pain.

So she simply walked out in silence.

And said a silent prayer for the troubled man still inside.

Val pulled into a parking place, set the brake, and looked around the small park, deserted—as she'd expected—on this Sunday morning. The last thing she wanted was a bunch of strangers witnessing her journey into the past.

Leaning back in the seat, she scanned the cloudless late-June sky. The summer was flowing by as swiftly as the river below, and she hadn't made any progress toward her goal. Simply being back in Washington, back in her childhood home, hadn't proven to be the catalyst she'd expected.

Changing her environment—to one even less comfortable than the girlhood bedroom that held physical evidence of her dark secret—had seemed like a logical next step.

Now she wasn't so certain.

Stomach knotting, she surveyed the green expanse in front of her. It didn't seem possible that eighteen years had passed since her last visit here. Yet in some ways it also felt like a lifetime ago.

If only she'd known then what she knew now.

Swallowing past the bitter taste on her tongue, Val pushed open her door and stood. Below, the winding path of the glistening river
led to the distant horizon, its serenity and peace a stark contrast to her turbulent emotions.

She shut the door and scanned the grassy knoll, where a few unoccupied picnic tables were scattered. Later, the park would be filled with family groups, but if all went according to plan, she'd be long gone by then.

Besides, the open area wasn't her destination. That lay in a small cove at the base of the bluff, down by the river. And on a Sunday morning, it would be populated only by memories.

Her pulse ratcheted up, and she tightened her grip on the door, fighting the temptation to get back in her car and drive away as fast as she could. But she'd been running away for too many years. It was time to face this and deal with it.

Or at least take the first step.

Without giving herself a chance to entertain any more second thoughts, she strode toward the edge of the woods on the far side of the knoll. At first glance, the perimeter appeared to be nothing more than dense brush. Where was the entrance? She did a second scan. Nothing . . . nothing . . . there! Some trampled undergrowth.

The path was still in use.

Pushing aside the brush, Val stepped into the shadows. Here, the path was clearer. Meaning it must still be a Saturday night gathering place for teens.

She picked her way down the sloping trail, trying to avoid the brambles that snagged at her legs. Good thing she'd worn jeans. But that didn't help her bare arms. She slowed her pace when thorny tentacles reached toward her, cautiously brushing them aside. Perhaps the path wasn't used quite as much as it had been in her day.

As she emerged from the woods onto a small, sandy beach at the river's edge, she came to an abrupt halt.

It was like passing through a time warp.

The spot was exactly the same as the day she and Corey had come down here with three other couples for an end-of-the-summer picnic. The blackened remains of a campfire were surrounded by
sturdy logs deposited by the relentless motion of the river. Driftwood lay about, and beer cans littered the sand. Cigarette butts were strewn around the logs, and small stones rimmed the water's edge.

The only thing that had changed since her first—and only—visit was her.

Dread clogging her throat, she forced her gaze to move on to the first of the tiny crescent inlets that dotted the shore on either side of this main gathering place. The secluded nooks where the kids disappeared, two by two, after they'd consumed their fill of liquor.

She and Corey among them.

She choked back her revulsion as the events of that long-ago summer night played out in her memory like one of those jerky old-fashioned home movies her dad used to take.

“See? I told you everything would be okay.” Corey scooted closer to her on the dead log and tipped back his third bottle of beer, chugging it down.

Was it? Val looked around. A lot of the kids were zoning out. Maybe, for once, Mom had been right to caution her about the rowdy parties that took place here. But Corey was leaving tomorrow to start his freshman year at Northwestern. She wouldn't see him again until Thanksgiving. After dating him all summer, how could she say no when he'd pleaded with her to attend his going-away party?

But this didn't feel right.

“Val.” He nudged her with his elbow and passed her a plastic cup. “Try this. It'll put you in a party mood.”

She squinted at the clear liquid in the dim light of the campfire. “What is it?”

“Happy juice. Trust me on this, okay?”

She took a sip. Coughed as it burned down her throat. Made a face.

He laughed. “It'll grow on you. Don't be a party pooper.”

Somehow she managed to choke it down, sip by sip. No way did she want to embarrass him in front of his friends by being a wet blanket.

By the time she drained the cup, she was feeling relaxed and a little giddy. She even took a few drags on the joint someone passed her. Smoking had never appealed to her, but this wasn't too bad. She took a few more. The conversation around her grew distant, and an odd, floaty sensation overtook her.

That was when Corey pulled her to her feet and suggested a walk.

Not a bad idea. Maybe some fresh air, away from the acrid smoke, would help clear her head.

She let him lead her down the beach, but less than a dozen yards from the party crowd he guided her into a tiny alcove. From somewhere he produced a blanket. Spread it on the sand. Pulled her down beside him.

“I'm leaving tomorrow, Val.”

“I know. I'll miss you.”

“How much?”

“A lot.”

“Show me.”

It started as a kiss . . . and grew from there. The next thing she knew, they were lying down and Corey was tugging her T-shirt out of her shorts.

Alarm bells went off somewhere in the recesses of her mind.

“Corey . . . no. I . . . I don't do the heavy stuff.”

“Even for me, babe? I love you. Don't you love me?”

“You know I do. But this is . . . it's wrong.”

“How can it be wrong if we love each other and plan to get married?”

Val tried to think through the haze in her brain. “Married?”

“Do you think I'd ask you to do this if I wasn't planning to marry you? Not now, but after we finish school.”

Val tried to sort out the sequence of intimacy and marriage. Something was out of whack here, but Corey's lips, and his urgency, were robbing her of rational thought.

“Are you sure about this?” Her words came out slightly garbled.

“Sure enough for both of us. Just go with the flow.”

His hands were all over her. Her brain froze. She couldn't think.

And so she didn't.

She followed his advice and went with the flow.

A shudder rippled through Val as the images in her mind faded to black.

So many mistakes. And for what? She'd never even seen Corey again—and when she'd sought him out in desperation, he'd left her to deal with her darkest hours alone.

Sinking to her knees in the sand, Val dropped her face into her hands. If only she could turn back the clock, live that one night over again, how different her life might have been.

But it was too late for second chances.

A sob ripped through her. Then another. The memories crashing over her were too intense. Too disturbing. Too heart-shattering.

She had to leave.

Fast.

Pushing herself to her feet, she took off running for the trail, oblivious to the brambles snagging her hair and scraping her arms as she ascended. Up, up she climbed, until at last she emerged from the shadows into the sun on the knoll.

Bending forward, hands on knees, she sucked in deep, shuddering breaths, her heart thudding as if she'd just finished a five-hundred-yard dash.

So much for finding answers in the place where it had all begun.

And if she'd fallen apart here, how would she survive a visit to the place where it had ended?

“Daddy, can I go see that butterfly up close?”

Following the direction of Victoria's finger, David spotted a monarch hovering over a nearby patch of clover. “Sure. But be very slow and quiet or you'll scare it away. And don't touch it, okay?”

“Why?”

“Because butterflies are very fragile.”

“What's fragile?”

“That means they break easily.”

Tilting her head, Victoria studied him. “Like Mommy's vase?”

A vision of the piece of Venetian glass Natalie had brought back from a business trip to Italy flashed through his mind.

He'd never cared for the ornate vase, and he wasn't sorry it had slipped from his fingers while he was unpacking and shattered into a thousand pieces. But for whatever reason, the image of the brilliant crimson shards on the white tile floor in their new kitchen was etched in his mind.

They'd reminded him of blood.

He shut out the picture as best he could. “That's right. Like Mommy's vase.”

“I'll be real careful.”

“Okay.” She took off, and David watched her approach the gossamer-winged creature. It flitted to the next flower as she drew close, and she stopped. After a brief hesitation, she started forward again. The same scenario was repeated again. And again. This game could keep Victoria amused for hours—and that was fine. Whatever made her happy.

He stretched out his legs on the blanket, leaned back on his hands, and lifted his face to the sun. It felt good to relax after all the upheaval of their move, and he intended to savor every minute of this gorgeous day.

A movement in his peripheral vision caught his eye, and he idly turned his head—then stiffened. A blonde woman had emerged from the woods, and she was bent over, holding on to a tree.

He straightened up and took a closer look. Was that a streak of blood running down her arm?

A second later she raised her head, and his heart stopped.

It was Val!

David catapulted to his feet, darting a quick glance toward Victoria. Her back was to him, and she'd bent down to examine the
butterfly, oblivious to everything else. She'd be safe and occupied for a few moments.

As David sprinted toward Val, his alarm escalated. The closer he got, the worse she looked. Her hair was tangled, and he hadn't imagined the blood. A nasty scratch ran from her elbow halfway to her wrist. When he touched her arm and felt the tremors coursing through her, his gut clenched.

“Val?” His voice came out in a hoarse croak, and he tried again. “Val, what happened?”

No response.

He gave her a slight shake. “Val!”

Slowly she raised her head. Her eyes were glazed, and there was evidence of recent tears on her colorless face. She blinked once . . . twice . . . three times before she began to focus. “David?”

“What happened?”

She pushed her hair back from her face. “What . . . do you mean?”

“You stumbled out of the woods. Your arm is bleeding. You're shaking, and I can see you've been crying.”

Val examined her arm. “It's just a scratch. From the brambles.”

David narrowed his eyes. Was she avoiding his question on purpose, or was she in shock?

“Val, something happened in there. Should I call the police?”

“No. I'm fine. I . . . took a hike and I . . . I got lost in the woods. I was s-scared for a few minutes. That's all.”

She was lying.

But if he pushed, she might shut him out completely.

“Okay.” Far from it, but he'd play along. For now. “Your arm needs attention, though.”