A Kiss in Winter Page 13

  When it was over, she could do no more than turn around and slide to the floor with the cabinets at her back.

  As she slowly regained her breath, her sweat cooled. She stripped off her T-shirt on her way upstairs to the shower. Once she was naked, she stepped onto the scales. She always weighed herself before she drank any water. She knew it was just a mind game, but hey, it was working.

  She’d been staying after school to work in the weight room three days a week, too. At first it had been a drag, but the more she did it the more she wanted to. Next week, she planned on going every day.

  Her guidance counselor had suggested Macie take up a sport, even if it was intramural—again, to round out her “high school experience.” She didn’t know who was worse, her counselor or Caroline. The best colleges and scholarship committees look for a well-rounded individual. It was beginning to bounce around in her head day and night like a chant.

  If she was going out for a sport, it wasn’t going to be some dorky intramural thing. She’d always been pretty good at volleyball, and tryouts for the team were next week. She hadn’t told Caroline; that would just give her one more thing to nag about.

  Her cell phone rang.

  She shut off the shower and picked it up, hoping to see Caleb’s number on the caller ID. It was Sam. She grabbed a towel and wrapped it around herself.

  “Hey, Picasso.” She’d started calling him that in junior high to yank his chain after the first time he’d been caught spray-painting public property. For some reason it had stuck.

  “Hey, Presh.”

  Presh. Short for Precious—as in the perfect child. Sam’s dig at her rule-following nature.

  He said, “Caroline around?”

  “No.” Sam had called Macie once a week since he’d been at college, but he never asked to talk to Caroline. In fact, he’d checked up on Caroline’s schedule with Macie, timing his calls to their sister when he knew she’d be shooting a wedding or something.

  “So,” she said as she combed her hair, “how’s the college life? Bad as ever?” She couldn’t imagine what he could possibly have to complain about. Living on his own, doing what he wanted when he wanted, no curfews, nobody to nag at him about studying or picking up his room. Sounded like heaven.

  He responded with a noncommittal grunt. She wasn’t sure if he really didn’t like it, or if he just wanted everybody to think he was miserable.

  He said, “Broken any more Ferris wheels?”

  “Haven’t been any in town lately.”

  “How’s Laurel?”

  Laurel? Since when does Sam give a crap about Laurel? “Okaaay,” she said slowly, suspicion lacing her voice.

  “We’ve been talking some online.”

  “How come?” Funny. Laurel never mentioned it.

  “What do you mean, ‘How come?’ It’s no big deal; she instant-messaged me and we started talking; that’s all.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “She’s asking about campus. I guess trying to decide where to go next year.”

  “Really?” As far as Macie knew, Laurel had about as much interest in going to college as Sam had. When he didn’t say any more, she asked, “Are you coming back for homecoming?”

  He gave a bitter bark of a laugh. “How am I supposed to get there, hitchhike?”

  “I’m sure Caroline would come and get you, if you asked.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not asking.”

  “Whatever.”

  Suddenly there was a lot of racket in the background.

  “Hey, I’ve gotta go,” he said quickly. “I’ll call next week.”

  “Sure. Bye.” Macie hung up wondering what in the hell was going on with her brother.

  Caroline sat staring at Mick in the darkness, his strong profile gray against the star-spattered sky. She waited for him to finish what he was telling her, but he just sat there with the words hanging like a noxious cloud between them. I killed three people.

  When it finally became clear no explanation was forthcoming, she said, “All doctors lose patients.” Surely that’s what he meant; he’d had a string of patient deaths and it bothered him too much to continue to practice.

  He turned and looked at her. His skin looked waxy in the starlight, his normally bright eyes were two dark smudges in his face. “I didn’t lose patients. Psychiatrists don’t lose patients, Caroline.” His voice was as sharp as two baseball-size rocks smacking against each other. “It was a gun, not disease.” After a pause he added, in a voice that slithered like a snake over her skin, “And they weren’t my patients.”

  They sat there for several minutes. He went back to looking at the sky.

  Caroline took another drink of wine to keep herself from falling into the emotional trap he’d set for her, one that she’d seen nearly too late. God help her, she wanted the details. She felt a frantic need to hear him explain what happened in a way that didn’t tarnish him. But she’d seen the darkness in his eyes herself. She’d seen it.

  The apple truly didn’t fall far from the tree. She wanted Mick to remain pure and shining in her eyes. Just like her natural mother, she was looking for excuses, the fairy tale, not reality.

  She said coolly, “Then why aren’t you in jail?”

  “Sometimes there is no justice.” He didn’t say more. He didn’t look at her. His elbows rested on his knees, his palms pressed tightly together.

  He was closed. If she wanted more she was going to have to open him. The door was there. She could grasp the knob and step inside, or turn around and walk away. For a long moment, she stood on the threshold.

  She knew there was a logical explanation that had nothing to do with Mick actually killing people. But if she wanted it, she was going to have to step through that door and ask.

  And if she asked, she knew she would be bound to him in a way that would be hard to break. She’d known it from the first minute she’d seen him with that raccoon; this man had the power to get inside her.

  She’d already ignored her good sense once tonight; she was being handed a second chance—a do-over. How could she show Macie how to make decisions with her brain and not her heart if she couldn’t control herself?

  The plan, Caroline, stick to the plan.

  She had enough emotional baggage to drag around without stopping and picking up his. And she sure as hell didn’t want to begin to depend upon someone else to help with her load at this stage of the game. She was almost free.

  Without a word, she got up off the step and headed toward her car.

  As if he understood the finality of her decision, he didn’t utter a sound to call her back.

  Chapter 11

  Much to Caroline’s surprise, Caleb showed up the night of homecoming with a flower for Macie. True, yellow pom-pom mums with maroon ribbons were traditional for the game and dance at Redbud Mill High homecoming, but nothing about Caleb Collingsworth struck Caroline as traditional.

  “Hi,” he said. “Macie ready?”

  “Almost.” Caroline stepped back so he could step inside, but then stood with her shoulder against the corner that opened into the living room, not inviting him farther or initiating chitchat. She simply stood there studying him. At least he’d donned real shoes for the occasion. Even though this was the last weekend in September, she’d never seen him in anything but flip-flops.

  His broad shoulders filled the tiny entry niche as he shifted from foot to foot. Caroline had never realized how huge this kid was. If he ever decided to force Macie physically, she didn’t stand a chance.

  Caleb looked everywhere but at Caroline, studying the top of the arch into the living room, the brass knob on the coat closet door, the flower in his hands. The silence finally drove him to speak. “Macie said you photograph the game and all for the paper.”

  “Uh-huh. Even the dance—so no sneaking away early to make out.”

  He met her gaze and asked, “How come you hate me?”

  Hate? Was she coming across that strong? “I don’t. I just worry abo
ut my sister. She’s a nice girl with a bright future ahead of her. I don’t want anyone to steal that from her.”

  He didn’t flinch. “Neither do I.”

  “Good. We understand each other then.”

  She didn’t believe it for a second. Caleb was a horny teenager with no sense of how a single moment could mess up the rest of your life. And since Caroline and Macie’s argument, the two kids had been spending more time over at the Collingsworth house than here. Who knew what was allowed over there? California people had to be so much less conservative than those here in Kentucky. She had taken to discreetly sniffing Macie every time Caleb brought her home. So far no alcohol, no smoke; but Caroline was beginning to feel like a bloodhound.

  The doorbell rang again.

  Caleb stepped aside and Caroline opened the door. Kent stood there looking like GQ-goes-to-the-football-game. He held a mum that matched the one Caleb brought for Macie, which made Caroline feel more than a little foolish. Plus, it robbed her of her parental status in Caleb’s eyes; she saw it evaporate in an instant.

  As Kent stepped in, she whispered, “I didn’t think you were serious about the mum.”

  Macie came down the stairs, stopping beside Caleb. Her brow creased as she said to Caroline, “I didn’t know you had a date.” There was a hint of disbelief in her eyes.

  “You never asked.” Caroline’s response hung frosty in the air.

  Kent cleared his throat, held out his mum, and nodded to Caleb. “I think we’re supposed to pin these on.”

  Macie’s gaze remained on Caroline’s, challenging.

  Caleb stepped between them to pin the huge flower on Macie’s wool jacket. He looked back at Kent. “Like that?”

  Macie’s gaze warmed when she said, “Thank you, Caleb.”

  “Yep.” Kent moved closer to Caroline. “And now you. You wearing a coat?”

  “Yes, but I can’t wear that flower. It’ll get in the way of my work.”

  Macie’s eyes glittered. “Oh, so… Kent is more like your ride to work than your date.”

  “Oh, no,” Kent immediately said, “it’s a date. The mum proves it.”

  “It was very nice of you, but I still can’t wear it and work,” Caroline said. She’d look like a total fool in front of the entire town.

  Kent shrugged. “It’s all right, sugar. You can just wear it when we do the halftime thing.”

  “Sure,” Caroline said. To further sell the date to Macie, she stepped forward and awkwardly kissed Kent’s cheek.

  Macie said, “Let’s go, Caleb.”

  As soon as the kids left, Kent put his hands on Caroline’s shoulders and smiled. “Thought they’d never leave.” He stepped forward, pressing Caroline against the coat closet door. He was an accomplished kisser. Still, instead of this kiss filling her middle with a cloud of warmth as Mick’s had, it initiated Caroline’s instinct to flee. But she held her feet still. If she was going to continue to see Kent (which couldn’t last long, Kent never stuck with someone once the chase was over), she had to make some… allowances. She might have liked Mick’s kiss, but liking kisses led to yearning for kisses, and yearning led to… bad judgment. The very thing she was trying to instruct Macie how to avoid.

  She broke away. “I’d better get my gear. I can’t miss kickoff.”

  Shame on her. She’d been thinking of Mick while Kent kissed her. And that was only the tip of the iceberg. Often, in the deep of the night, she caught herself reliving Mick’s single kiss. He had awakened something that had been sleeping inside her, something that could easily burst into an uncontrollable flame.

  Although she was tempted to explore her attraction to Mick Larsen, she had an entire laundry list of reasons she could not do it. Not the least of which was it simply wasn’t fair to him. She would soon be leaving. He was tying himself closer to the farm every day.

  She’d made the right choice; kept her priorities.

  As she hurried around her studio gathering her equipment, she unconsciously wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

  The bleachers were packed. The Redbud Millers were playing their long-standing county rival, the Springdale Cougars. The floats were parked just beyond the goalpost at the south end of the field, awaiting halftime when they would be pulled out onto the field for the awards ceremony. Of course, the senior class float would win; that was as much a homecoming tradition as the mums.

  Caroline remembered her senior year. Just before halftime the senior float had burst into flames. All that spray paint, cardboard, and tissue paper burned fast and bright, leaving only the smoking tires and metal frame of the flatbed trailer by the time the fire department arrived. Even as a blackened skeleton, that senior float had won the competition.

  In the photo Caroline had taken for the yearbook, the senior class president held up a blue ribbon next to four melted tires and a mound of ash. By the end of halftime, the police had already discovered the arsonists—three half-drunk senior boys from Springdale High.

  Since then, Caroline had photographed the floats before the game—just in case.

  Tonight she followed her routine, first photographing the floats, then the crowning of the king and queen, followed by the team’s pregame huddle. All the while Kent stuck with her like a shadow.

  He was polite and helpful, lugging her bag from place to place. Even so, his presence irritated like a scratchy tag inside a shirt collar. She didn’t mind lugging her own equipment. She liked choosing the shots, capturing the energy of the players, the joyous surprise of the king and queen, without someone looking over her shoulder. She was sure Kent was just trying to show interest in what she did, but it was an intrusion she could do without.

  Finally, after kickoff, he struck up a conversation with Greg Handelman, one of the assistant coaches. Kent’s attention diverted, Caroline went about her business much more relaxed.

  In the student section, a group of guys stood shirtless in the cold, damp night, each of their skinny torsos painted with a single letter. It was supposed to say MILLERS, but two of the guys were out of place and it said LIMLERS. With arms raised over their heads, they were yelling as if their lives depended on winning this game.

  As Caroline took their picture, she envied their unabashed passion, their unbridled joy in something as simple as a football game. Then she turned back to the game.

  When one of the players came out of the game, Caroline turned to take a “coaching” photo. Greg grabbed the player by the shoulder pads. “You have to be ready to move! You’re acting like you’re afraid of their linemen!”

  The kid pulled out his mouth guard. “Shit, Coach, I am. Those are some big dudes.”

  Greg gave the kid an encouraging slap on the back and sent him to the bench. He said to Kent, “See what I mean? We need some size out there.”

  Caroline shifted her focus to the field again—until she heard the Collingsworth name. Her attention immediately snapped to and she stepped closer to eavesdrop more efficiently.

  “Yeah,” Greg said, “even though he wasn’t around for summer training, we’ve been trying to get the kid to come out. He’s built like a Sherman tank.”

  “Why won’t the Collingsworth kid play?” Kent asked in a way that made it clear he didn’t know they were talking about Macie’s date.

  “Parents are against it. They think football breeds ‘aggression and violence’—seems his older brother played in college, got in some fight after a game and nearly killed a guy.”

  Nearly killed a guy! My God. Caroline almost dropped her camera.

  “No shit?” Kent said.

  “No shit. Blamed the sport, can you believe it? I did hear that it could have been drugs, too, ’cause the judge really threw the book at him. He’s in some prison in California. Kicker is, Collingsworth is allowed to play baseball… as if those guys never get in a brawl.”

  Violence. Drugs. It was worse than Caroline had imagined. No more time at the Collingsworth house for Macie. Prison, Jesus Christ.

  Di
d Macie know? She’d been vague whenever Caroline had questioned about Caleb’s family, perhaps for good reason.

  She took her telephoto lens and scanned the bleachers, looking for her sister. She found her on the top row of the student section, cuddled under a blanket with Caleb—and they weren’t watching the game.

  Caroline heard the loudspeaker announce a touchdown for the Millers.

  Kent called, “Did you get that, Caroline? What a play!”

  She was neglecting her job. Reluctantly, she turned her attention back to the game. When Macie got home tonight, they were going to have a talk.

  Mick sat in the bleachers for the first time since he’d graduated from Redbud Mill High School. The smell of popcorn drifting from the concession stand under the bleachers took him back, making it seem as if the intervening years had never happened. Even the same old scoreboard stood at the end of the field.

  Looking at the crowd, the floats, smelling the popcorn, he felt… happy. It was such an unfamiliar feeling he hardly recognized it. His butt was numb from the cold, the tips of his ears stung, and his lips were chapped. He hadn’t felt this alive, this connected, in a long, long time.

  If he’d had the balls to stand up to his father fifteen years ago, he wouldn’t have missed all of those homecomings, wouldn’t have been trying to forge a life in a place as alien to him as Mars—and three innocent people would still be alive.

  The dark shadow that attached itself to every scrap of pleasure he found since his return to Redbud Mill inched closer. He pushed it away. I’m going to allow myself this one night without guilt. It was a process he’d espoused many times; breaking away from shame and regret one tiny step at a time. Sort of a mini-vacation from guilt. If those teenagers he’d counseled could do it, then by God, so could he.

  He tried to convince himself he’d earned this temporary laying down of his burden; he’d paid for it in cold sweats, restless nights, and tormented dreams. In fact, he hadn’t had a peaceful hour since he’d made his damning confession to Caroline. Now his nightmares of that fateful day in Chicago were accompanied by a new sense of loss; an aching hollowness that could have been filled by the promise he’d felt in a single kiss.