Into the Storm (Signal Bend #3)(39)
Except it wasn’t. The story was going to be told, and this way they could be sure it was told right. What was happening now, this horrible conversation that tore Show in seventeen different directions, this was how they made sure it got told right and made things better. He was giving them details about Daisy to protect Lilli from having to relive her own horror. Daisy didn’t have to relive hers.
He leaned on his knees, coming close to little Harrie Beck, Hollywood screenwriter. “And how I let her down. How who I am brought that down on her. How I wasn’t there. How I let her live in a house that wasn’t safe, because I wanted a house that was quiet. How what happened was on me. What do you know about what happened? More than you’ve said?”
Harrie sat back. She started to sweep her fingers around on her tablet, but then she stopped. “The real story?”
Show nodded.
“Your wife and daughter were raped in your house. Your daughter died. Your other daughters witnessed it.”
Again, he nodded. “They raped her to death.” He sat back deep into the battered leather armchair. “Let me tell you about Daisy. She was fifteen. She was tall and real skinny. Long, bony arms and legs. She wore glasses and braces, and she kept her hair real short—a pixie cut, her mom called it. She hadn’t had her monthly yet. Hadn’t gotten any kind of a body yet, no hips, and flat as a board. A late bloomer, they call it, I guess. She was gonna be beautiful, you could see it, but she wasn’t yet. She hadn’t started thinking too much about boys yet, I don’t think. A couple of little crushes—her teacher, shit like that.” He looked over at Isaac, who was listening and smiling sadly.
“She was what people call a tomboy, not interested in clothes, liked being outside, getting dirty. Or being inside and reading. She was quiet but not shy. Whip smart. She had a light. I don’t know how to say it better. Just a light, pointed outward, like she knew her life wasn’t started yet, and she was looking out ahead to when it would. She wouldn’t have stayed in town long.”
Show felt his throat begin to clench, and he swallowed and cleared it. He barely knew what was going to come out of his mouth from one word to the next, but he knew he wasn’t going to stop. He didn’t know if he even could.
“When I went back into the room she was in, after the doctor told us she was gone, that’s not who I saw. That wasn’t my girl. That was a broken, empty thing. No light. They put out her light. And I let it happen.”
He stood, surprising little Harrie, making her flinch as if he were coming for her. “That’s when I got mad. We’re done, missy. That’s all you get.” He walked around the couch and headed for the dorms. Isaac intercepted him at the head of the hallway, reaching out to grab his arm.
“Show—hold up, brother. You okay?”
He was. He was raw and hurting, but he was more okay than he would have thought. He hadn’t said that shit to anybody. Not even Isaac. Why he’d chosen to tell it to the woman who was going to make it public, he had no idea. “Yeah. But I got something I need to do.” He pulled his arm free of Isaac’s grasp, slapped him on the back, and headed back to his room to pick up his jacket.
oOo
When Show stepped through the front door of the B&B, he was regaled by the sound of women laughing. It made him smile—and then he saw Shannon at the front desk, laptop open in front of her, a smile on her face as well. She was looking at him, though, and that smile was for him. She came around the desk as he walked toward her.
She put her hands on his chest and tilted her face up for his kiss. He caught her chin in his hand, his thumb over the sweet cleft in its center, and brushed his lips over hers. He liked this ease they’d found, the way she smiled when she saw him, the way he could kiss her, touch her, and have it be right.
“Hi. Did I know you were coming over?”
“No.” More laughter—it was coming from the kitchen, and now he discerned the distinctive, rolling laugh of Marie Bakke, of Marie’s diner. “What’s going on back there?”
Shannon rolled her eyes. “It’s like the Sisterhood of the Staying-Put Aprons in there. Marie Bakke and Rose Olsen are sitting with Beth. They said they came to talk recipes, but they’ve had about ten gallons of coffee—Irish, I’m pretty sure—and all I’ve heard so far is gossip, at full volume. It’s pretty good stuff, too —they all have stories about our California friends. ”
Show knew the reference she’d made, though it came with a bittersweet taste. That movie had been in heavy rotation in the DVD player at his house a few years back. Daze had really liked it.
“I expect everybody in town has a story or two about those folks. Omen’s been popping off about dragging the camera guy all over creation, too. Like he never saw a cow up close.” He rubbed his hand over her back. His need to touch her was riding him hard this afternoon. “Can you give me some time?”
“Sure. Come on back to the office.” She started to pull him, but he pulled her back.
“No—can you take a ride with me? I’ve got the truck.” It had been raining on and off all day, right on the brink of freezing. The night would be worse. Winter had landed.
“Oh, Show. I can’t. Our friends are checking out in the morning, and since they’re the only guests, and they’ve been here so long, we’re doing the nightcap up bigger than usual. I have to stay.”