Things Made Right (6 page)

When he emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam fifteen minutes later, no trace of the two strange odors remained. He smelled like her shampoo and soap, his hair damp.

She sat at the table with him and watched while he ate. “Oh, I didn’t get you something to drink. I’m sorry.” She started to stand, but he gently caught her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing it, staying her.

“I can get it, sweetheart.” He stood and retrieved the clean glass she’d used earlier from the drain board, a few ice cubes, and water.

When he returned to the table, he smiled. “This is good. Thank you.”

She blushed a little at the compliment, secretly thrilled by it. “Just grilled cheese and soup. Nothing fancy.”

“Is this what you ate earlier?”

She nodded.

His smile widened. “Good girl.”

Something inside her twisted in a good way. She loved the way it sounded when he said that.

He also wouldn’t let her wash his dishes for him. He did it, standing there wearing his towel and nothing else. By the time he finished with that, his clothes were ready for the dryer. She pulled the clean towels and sheets out of the dryer and dumped them on the couch to fold.

After a test sniff of the wet laundry, Ross nodded and put them into the dryer. He started to put his sneakers in with the clothes, then reconsidered.

“These will make a lot of noise. If they’re still damp in the morning, it won’t kill me.” He walked over to her bedroom door and set them inside the doorway. Then he joined her at the sofa, helping her fold the laundry.

“Can I use one of these sheets tonight?” he asked.

“Why?”

“For the couch. And do you have a spare pillow?”

“Why are you sleeping on the couch?”

He turned to her again, his arms resting on her shoulders. She wanted to drop to her knees in front of him, wrap her arms around his legs, and beg him to never leave her.

Instead, she struggled to focus on what he said.

“Sweetheart, believe me, I do want to sleep with you. But I don’t think you’re quite as ready for that as you might think you are. You and I need to have some talks before that happens.”

“We can talk tonight.”

He gently smiled, looking a little sad. “I know. But I also need to see what the next few days bring. I refuse to make you a promise I can’t keep yet.” He captured her hands again and drew them up to his bare chest.

She felt his heart beating against her hands. “Loren,” he said, “In addition to what I’ve already asked of you tonight, I need to ask one more thing.”

She nodded.

“I need you to trust me. And to understand that I have a plan I can’t talk to you about right now. I need to ask for your patience. I’m not going anywhere. Not willingly, at least.” That caveat chilled her, but he continued. “We’ll have a talk soon. But I need you to be able to wait. Can you do that for me?”

“For how long?”

“Not long, I hope. Likely before the end of the semester.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. That was just a few weeks away. “Okay.”

* * * *

Ross had apparently meant what he said. He refused all her attempts to get him to sleep in bed with her, even if just to sleep, or to let her take the couch and let him have her bed. Or even take her bed and she’d sleep in Emily’s room.

He did tuck her into bed, though. And told her she could keep her bedroom door open, if she wanted. From there, she could see him lying on the couch, the TV on, volume turned down low as he watched an old B monster movie on the late show.

At least his presence proved a comfort to her despite his absence from her bed. Knowing she was safe with him there in the apartment, she was able to quickly fall asleep.

* * * *

Early the next morning, Ross threw his sneakers into the dryer with two dirty towels to help soften the noise and turned it on high for a few minutes to try to get some of the dampness out of them. It was a little after dawn, but already the normal morning sounds on the street outside were winding up as the city awoke and started its day.

She fixed him scrambled eggs, wishing he didn’t have to go, but he needed to run home before class. When he had to leave, he pulled her close by the front door, holding her as she stood there in her bathrobe, her arms around him.

She wished he’d never let her go.

Finally, he pressed another kiss to her forehead. “When did I get here last night?” he softly asked.

“Around seven,” she said. “I made us grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup, and then we spent the rest of the evening in bed before we fell asleep. I knew Emily would be gone so that’s why I invited you over.”

“Such a good girl,” he whispered.

Desperately, she clutched at him. “Please, don’t go.” An irrational fear swept through her.

She didn’t know why she suddenly worried maybe she might not ever see him again, but it rushed through her like a strong, terrifyingly nasty flood of sewage.

“I have to. But I’ll try to come back tonight around seven, if that’s okay?”

“Yes. But Emily will be here.”

“That’s okay. I’ll bring pizza for all three of us.”

“Thank you.”

He tipped her chin up so he could look her in the eyes. In the waxing morning light, his eyes looked sweet and brown, like the coffee she’d just served him, with milk and sugar.

When she thought about the odors of gasoline and booze wafting from him upon his arrival last night, she shoved them away.

That didn’t happen.

“Be my good girl today, okay?” he softly said. “Go to class. Try to have a good day. Remember, I’ll be back tonight.”

She nodded, eagerly.

Then he smiled.
That
smile.

He leaned in and pressed a tender kiss to her lips, mouth closed, before releasing her. “Lock the door after me,” he said.

She let him out and heard him waiting there for the sound of her shooting the deadbolt, locking the knob, and putting the chain back on. Only then did she hear his footsteps head down the hallway toward the stairs.

Rushing to the front window, she saw him emerge onto the front sidewalk a moment later, turning and waving to her.

She smiled, waving back, and watched as he walked down to where his car was parked on the street on the other side and halfway down the block.

Why did he park down there?

Never mind. Doesn’t matter.

Now with the apartment feeling hauntingly empty without his comforting presence, she turned on the TV, to the NBC affiliate, to listen to what was left of their morning news before the Today Show came on in about twenty minutes.

She was back in the kitchen when the reporter’s voice hit her and the plate she was washing slipped from her hands and clattered into the sink, where it shattered.

“To recap the local tragedy from overnight, authorities still haven’t officially identified the four victims in the fiery car crash late last night out on Cumberland Road, pending next of kin notification and positive ID. But initial reports say the car was registered to one George Kessling, of Pittsburgh…”

The next thing Loren realized, she was standing in front of the TV, watching, her left hand jammed in her mouth as she bit down on it to keep from screaming.

“…His son, Walter Kessling, is a registered student at UPenn. Authorities are currently trying to locate Walter…”

Loren sank to the floor as she watched, rocking herself. The reporter was on the scene, where ambulances, fire trucks, tow trucks, and Highway Patrol cars were parked next to a section of road. The footage cut away to an aerial scene that looked like it had been filmed from a traffic chopper just after daybreak, smoke still rising from the charred husk of a vehicle lying at the bottom of the hundred-foot drop and in the center of a blackened circle of burned brush.

“…And they still haven’t retrieved the bodies yet due to the hazardous conditions. Authorities needed to wait until daylight so they didn’t risk personnel…”

Another cutaway to an interview conducted with a patrolman before daylight hit. In the background could be seen the glow from down in the valley, the wrecked vehicle still burning.

“By the time someone saw it and called it in, the car was completely engulfed, as was some of the brush around it. We couldn’t get anyone down there fast enough or close enough without risking their lives. All we could do was dump water on it from a tanker truck up on the road. Still trying to put everything out, as you can see. Recovery will have to wait until daylight.”

The camera cut back to the reporter. Loren couldn’t remember her name, but suspected she’d never forget the striped blouse and dark blazer the woman wore. “Once the fire was extinguished, they sent a man down the steep embankment to check the wreckage. He found the four deceased victims in the car, which had landed on its roof. Authorities will be sending more men down within the next hour to begin the grim recovery task. Roger.”

“Kallie, do authorities know what happened yet?” the male anchor in the studio asked.

“Well, Roger, from the evidence, it would seem the car was going at a high rate of speed on this dirt road, and plunged off the road just before the guardrail started.”

“Is alcohol suspected as a contributing factor?”

“Authorities at the scene declined to comment on that since they haven’t even officially identified the victims yet. That will have to await the autopsy results, but they assured me all avenues of investigation will be pursued. This is Kallie Swanson for NBC7. Back to you.”

“Thank you, Kallie. She will remain on the scene throughout the morning, and we’ll be updating our viewers with any news we receive. Stay tuned to—”

Loren shut the TV off, her left hand still jammed in her mouth.

She knew who the victims in the car were.

With certainty.

Would have known exactly who they were even if the reporter hadn’t identified the car’s owner.

What had Ross said when he arrived?

I made something right tonight.

Walter Kessling.

Charles Van Hardy.

Lawrence Busch.

David Corning.

Their beds would be empty this morning.

And remain that way.

Then the giggles started, staying with her as she walked into the bedroom, one hand still jammed in her mouth as she grabbed her clothes for her shower. She finally pulled her hand out of her mouth as she stripped to get into the shower, the giggles turning into laughter that at some point turned into relieved sobs, heaving, quiet ones as she rested her head on her arms against the cool tile of the shower wall.

Never again would she have to look over her shoulder.

Never again would she have to worry—however remote the chance—about facing them at a trial.

Never again.

He made it right.

He couldn’t fix it, but he kept his promise to make it right.

Now…

Sully slowly stirred his iced tea with his straw. No way in hell would he ever reveal what Loren had just confessed to him.

Not to mention he now respected Ross even more than before.

Was he a retired cop? Yes.

Did he blame Ross for what he did?

Nope.

Had they been friends at the time, Sully would hope he could have been the kind of friend Ross could have asked for help. Because he would have gladly helped those four asshole rapists make their way into the hereafter. Men like that used women, thought nothing of them, believed they were merely there for the taking. No better than worthless, disposable property.

They also tended to breed future generations of men who didn’t treat women any better.

“You do realize,” Sully finally said, speaking slowly and very low after a careful glance around, “that you probably were not their first victim.”

“I know I wasn’t. They told me that much, that they’d gotten away with it before. And because they were on the football team, they could pretty much do whatever they wanted. When they threatened me they said they’d do it again, even worse next time, if I didn’t let it drop. And then there was the other girl who came to me and told me they’d done it to her, too.”

“You also have no proof he had anything to do with their…accident.”

Loren arched an eyebrow at him.

“No, seriously,” he said. “It’s all circumstantial. Reasonable doubt. You don’t know what happened. Ross never admitted to you what happened.” He shrugged. “Coincidence.”

“If I refuse to talk to this woman, it’s going to look suspicious, isn’t it? If she’s dug something up that I don’t know about and confronts me with it, what am I supposed to do?”

“For starters, if there was anything, any evidence, it would have come to light long ago. Secondly, like you said, it was thirty years ago. Memories fade, change, get distorted. So what if your recollection differs? And thirdly, but most importantly, you don’t have to go talk to her. Or if you feel you must talk with her, then do it over the phone.”

“I think part of me wants to see what the sister of a monster looks like.”

“Do you want me to go with you?”

“No, that’s okay. I need to do this myself.”

“Or wait until Ross is back in town and let him go,” Sully suggested.

“I don’t want to do that, either. I promised him I’d never bring this topic up to him.”

“I’m sure he didn’t mean in a situation like this.”

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t disobey him. And I want this done as soon as possible so she goes away. I don’t want her anywhere near him.”

“Or you know he’ll say no.”

She shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Then it sounds like you’ve made up your mind. You’re not my wife, nor are you my slave. I’m not going to order you one way or the other, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

“I…” She took a deep breath. “My college roommate, Emily, she died ten years ago in a car accident. Other than Ross, and the girl who came to me after it happened to me, no one knows. Well, and the asshole campus cop who blew me off. I don’t think Emily ever told Mark what happened. I know Ross didn’t. I’ve never even talked to a counselor about it. I was afraid to, that they might report it. I needed to get it out of me to someone I trusted. I think that’s mostly why I came here today.”