Trust in Me (18 page)

If you’d try to get over your hang-up about religion and put some trust in God, maybe we’d have a chance.

Like hell, she thought, lying back down but leaving the light on.

Linc was wrong. There was no God.

o0o

“YOU look like you just lost your best friend, big brother.”

Linc peered up at his sister from the turkey soup he’d been stirring, staring at, and occasionally sipping. “I think I have.”

Beth wiped her hands on the towel around her waist and leaned over the counter of her diner. The bright lights were dimmed to a pleasant glow in deference to the late hour. “Margo?”

“Give the lady a cigar.”

“Something happen?”

“Yeah, we had a whopper of a fight on the phone last night.”

“A fight? You two? That’s headline news.”

He grunted. He’d been an ass. He’d tried to call her at work and apologize, but she’d been in a meeting and never called him back.

The meeting was probably with Pretty Boy. Was she with him right now?

He misread the signals.

Beth gave him a quick squeeze on the arm. “I’m sorry. I know this is hard for you.” There were few secrets between sister and brother. There never had been.

With uncustomary vehemence, Linc slapped the countertop. “You know, just when I think I’ve accepted not being able to have her like I want, it starts again.”

“You’ve seen a lot of her lately.” Beth bit her lip. “Because of this thing with Ronny. Maybe that’s why.”

“Maybe.” Proximity had never been good for them. Sometimes, when she was in touching distance, Linc remembered vividly what it was like to be inside her. They both knew it and limited their contact as much as they could. “You miss sex, Bethy?”

“Yeah, I do.” She glanced toward the end of the counter. “Lately, especially.”

“Me, too.” He studied his sister. “Sorry you gave up on Roman Becker?”

“No.” She grabbed a cup of coffee and circled around to sit next to him. Facing sideways, she hooked her feet on the rungs of his stool. He was reminded of the time they spent at their grandparents’ home after their parents died. They were forced to share a room because of the tiny house. Sometimes, at night when she was scared, she’d crawl into his bed and they’d sleep back to back. “He isn’t my type.”

Linc glanced at the wall of pictures. “Just Danny, huh?”

Thoughtful, his sister shook her head. “I could love again, Linc. It’s been a long time since Danny died. It’s just that nobody in Glen Oaks has pushed any buttons for me.” She nudged his boot with her toe. “What about you?”

“Me either. I wish...” He didn’t finish. Verbalizing it made it worse.

“You need a good woman, Reverend. And kids.”

“I do.” He sighed and shook off the mood. “Until then, I’ll have to be satisfied watching out for Ronny.” He glanced at the clock. “Want me to go get him at the lake for you?”

“No, I’ll do it.”

“I’ll ride with you.”

“No, you won’t. You’re exhausted.” She stood and began to massage his shoulders. “You’re trying to take care of too many people, Linc. Annie, Margo, me, Ronny, the church women.”

He sighed as she kneaded his sore muscles. “Margo calls it my savior complex.”

“She’s right.” Beth grinned. “Sometimes I miss Jesse James—the preacher’s son.”

“Ironic, huh, what he was?” To break the pall, he swiveled off his seat, stood, spread his legs and pretended to pull guns from an imaginary holster. “Jesse’s still around, ma’am. Best you remember that.”

Rising too, Beth smiled. “Yeah, so is Bonnie.” She looked away. “Sometimes, I wish she’d surface more, though. That girl who took chances, risked...things.”

Her tone sobered him. “What would you risk, honey?”

“I’m not sure.” She ripped off the towel around her waist and tucked in her flannel shirt. “Do I look okay?”

“To go get Ronny?”

“Um, yeah. I mean, is my face clean? Do I have spinach in my teeth?”

He wondered about her self-consciousness. “You hate spinach.”

She grasped his hand. “Come on, Jess, I’ll walk you out.”

o0o

TUCKER stood outside of the back room Doc had converted to an office and watched the old man and Ron at the computer. Back-dropped by a wall of windows facing the lake, filled with a scarred desk and a couple of chairs, with stacks of racing books and magazines on the floor, the room was Doc’s favorite.

“Now, watch, boy. You ain’t gonna believe this one.”

A pause. “Holy shit, Doc, how’d you do that?”

The old coot had finally found a playmate on that thing. For years, Doc tried to interest Tucker in the design of race cars using the newest computer programs to hit the market, and some that he’d developed on his own. Tucker didn’t give a hoot about car design, computers, and especially not NASCAR websites.

Sipping his Corona, tanged up with just the right touch of lime, he studied the two of them as they bent over the keyboard. Ronny’s face had lost its earlier starkness—because Doc had asked him about jail. Tucker had stood in the shadows listening, this time in the kitchen. The kid hadn’t said much, just that he’d been in his cell most of the time and he was bored to tears. But Tucker had heard the fear in his tone. Prison was prison.

He wondered how Beth had dealt with it. What had Ronny told her? If unspeakable things ever did happen there, would he tell his mother? Tucker hoped not. Ron should have a man to talk to about it. Beth didn’t need to know.

“Can you show me how to get on that website again, Doc?” Ron’s voice held a burgeoning affection for the old man. Tucker understood it, as he’d been about Ronny’s age when he’d met up with Doc. And like Doc, and now Ronny, he’d loved the sport, too.

Tucker turned away and sauntered into the living room, surprised he felt left out. After all, he was the one who’d made it clear to Doc that he didn’t want to be around Danny Donovan’s son. But for some reason, the sight of the two of them at the computer, with Tucker looking in, resurrected the sight of his stepfather and Mac, the old man’s
real
son, all those times when they’d excluded Tucker.

Christ, why was he going there? It had been a long time since he’d thought about Ralph Pearson, though he heard from Mac occasionally. Tucker dropped down on the couch in the early evening darkness, flicked on the TV with the remote, propped up his feet on the old chest that served as a coffee table and sipped his beer.

But instead of the candy-ass game-show host asking if you’d like to win a million bucks, Tucker pictured Pearson’s face. He saw the man the night Tucker’s mother died, and his expression which said,
Now I’m stuck with you
. He saw the man hug Mac, tell him how proud he was of his success in the baseball game, while Tucker lagged behind. He saw the man’s wallet with only Mac’s picture in it. And he saw the empty seat in an audience full of loving parents on graduation day.

An abrupt buzz startled him from his memories. At first he thought somebody had won the grand prize on TV. But when he heard it again, he realized it was the doorbell.

And knew it was Beth Donovan, coming to get Ron.

He should call the kid to answer the door. He should go upstairs and avoid her. Instead, he stood, tucked his black T-shirt into his jeans, slicked back his hair and went to the door.

From under the glow of the outside lamp, she smiled real soft at him. Her hair shone like sable. Her cheeks were rosy from the cold, and her chestnut eyes sparkled. “Hi.”

“Hi.” His gaze narrowed on her. He hadn’t realized how thick her eyelashes were.

“Is, um, Ron ready?”

“Ron?” He stared at her blankly. “Oh, yeah. Come on in.”

He stood aside and once she was in and headed to the living room, he closed the door and hit his head with his hand.
Idiot, what’s got into you?

Following her, he said, “Go on through. He’s in the back office with Doc.”

“He’s working in the office?”

Tucker noticed she looked taller tonight. Must be those boots she wore. Just like an outlaw. He grinned. “Yeah, they’re on the computer.”

“That doesn’t sound like punishment to me.”

“Punishment?”

“This community service is supposed to be...unpleasant.”

Tucker came close and squeezed her shoulder. “It was, up until about ten minutes ago. Doc had him cleanin’ out the garage. Dirtier work than diggin’ ditches; it had to be done for when the car’s chassis is delivered.”

“When is that?”

“I’m not sure.”

She glanced to the back of the house. “Is that the room?”

“Uh-huh. Go on in.” He forced himself to stay where he was.

Giving him a smile that reminded him of the ones shy girls had shot his way in high school, she headed back. He dropped down on the couch to watch the people in the audience cheer on the contestant. She was a pretty blonde—his type. Tucker had always liked his women tall and slender with breasts that could more than fill a man’s hand and long legs that could wrap around him.

“Aw, please Mom, five more minutes. I just got into this site and I wanna see...”

Tucker tuned out the rest. What the hell was the kid doing? Wanting to stay here?

In his peripheral vision, he saw Beth come up beside the couch. “He doesn’t want to leave yet.”

“So I heard.”

Glancing around nervously, she shrugged. “I...I’ll wait in the car.”

He bolted off the couch. “The hell you will. My mama’d skin me alive if I let you do that.”

She gave him a sideways glance. “I never noticed that drawl was so pronounced before.”

Winking at her, he said, “Whenever necessary, ma’am. Let me have your coat.” She unzipped the tan canvas jacket she wore, revealing a simple red-and-black plaid flannel shirt that she filled out real fine, tucked into jeans that were hug-me tight.

Clearing his throat, he took her jacket. “Want a beer?”

“Sure.” She eyed his. “I like Corona.”

“A woman after my own heart.” He grinned and, feeling like he’d just qualified for a Winston Cup race, went to the fridge. When he returned with a beer, she was checking out his trophies.

He stayed across the room from her. “Here’s your beer.”

She pivoted and angled her head. “This is impressive.”

Carelessly he shrugged, set the bottle on the table and sank onto the couch. She took the hint and joined him. “You don’t like to talk about racing, do you?”

“Nope.”

She sipped her beer and gave a satisfied sigh. “You aren’t going to have a choice, though, are you? When the publicity for the exhibition starts.”

Frowning, he shook his head. “I’m lookin’ forward to that about as much as eatin’ liver and onions.”

“Ever since Danny’s death, you’ve shied away from publicity.”

He stared at the screen watching the slick host get in a few jokes. “You know, you can watch
this
show,
Jeopardy
and reruns of
The Price is Right
all at once with some careful channel surfin’.”

“Hmm.”

He could feel her eyes on him.

Finally, he met her gaze. “They were always wantin’ to know about it. How I felt.” He drew in a deep breath. “I agreed to publicity stuff for the exhibition race here
under duress
, as they say.”

“It’ll come up, about Danny, since the race is in Glen Oaks.”

He watched her face for signs of resentment. Again he saw none. “Will it hurt you?”

She shook her head. The action dislodged a strand of hair from behind her ear. His hand itched to replace it, but he gripped the bottle instead. “Not me.” She glanced toward the back room. “I’m a little worried about him, though.” Then she sighed. “So, what else is new?”

He hadn’t planned on asking. “What’d he say about this weekend? I heard him tell Doc he was bored.”

“Thank God for boredom.” She sighed heavily. “I guess it went okay.”

This time, he did reach out and squeeze her shoulder. “Let’s hope it stays that way. Murphy said it should.”

“You talked to Joe about this?”

“Um, yeah.” For a long time. “I ran into him and it came up,” he lied.

“It’s so weird. Having Joe back, in charge of Ron’s case.” She studied Tucker’s face. “Having you here, working with him. Working with the town.”

“Life’s a bitch.” He heard the bitterness in his tone.

“No, I think it’s good you’re back. And Joe, too. He’s got unresolved issues.” She frowned. “I think he’s suffered. A lot.”

Tucker had had the same impression about the solemn man with the haunted eyes. Felt some kinship with him.

“You, too,” she said softly, reading his mind.

“Nah. I don’t have any unresolved issues.” He glanced at the TV again. “Now don’t that beat all. The guy’s gonna win a million bucks tonight.”

She said nothing, so he looked at her. “Don’t feel sorry for me, Beth. I ruined your life.”

“No, Tucker, you didn’t.”

“Yeah, he did,” they heard from a few feet back.

Both turned.

Ron Donovan stood behind them, hands jammed in his jeans, the collar of his leather jacket turned up.

And pure venom in his young face.

o0o

LOOSE Anderson was a mean son-of-a-bitch. Having lived in the city most of his life, he said he needed to be mean to stay alive. Ron always thought he liked being tough.

“Scram, jerk,” Loose barked at the freshman who followed him into the boys’ john. “I got business in my office.”

The pimply kid clutched his clarinet case like it was a shield and did an about-face. Ron turned his back to wash his hands.

“How’s my man?” Loose asked as he hiked himself up to sit on one of the sinks, shook out a cigarette and lit up. His brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail. It always looked dirty.

“Your man is in deep shit, Loose. Put that thing away, will ya? If I get in any more trouble, my ass is fried.”

Loose took a long drag, then butted out on the small ledge near the mirror. His black eyes sparkled like they always did when he was excited. “Yeah, but you been to the pen. That’s awesome.”

“It’s not the pen.” Ron thought about the stark cell with its gray walls. And bars. He’d been scared shitless the first night there. The jail was minimum security, with no hardened criminals in sight, but he’d been hit with a mega-bad case of claustrophobia when the door had clanged shut. He wondered what Loose would say if he knew Ron had wished for his mother so bad it hurt. “It’s a goddamned cell, is all. I get to stare at the walls for twenty-four hours.”