At least it wouldn’t be too much of a challenge for a blind person to maneuver.
He set the suitcases in the bottom of the empty closet, then returned to the living room. She was standing, cane in one hand, the sunglasses propped on the top of her head.
“Here we go,” he said, self-consciously taking her by the elbow. “There’s a long hallway and your room is the second on the left. The bathroom is the first door on the left.”
She held herself stiffly, as if she were unaccustomed to another’s touch. Jesse could feel the tension that rippled from her, waves of nervous anxiety almost visible in its strength.
And why shouldn’t she be tense? he asked himself. Under the best of circumstances, it would be difficult to be blind. She had the added burden of knowing she was in danger, and she’d just been dropped off at a stranger’s house in an unfamiliar town.
“The bed is straight ahead, the chest of drawers to the left, the closet on the right,” Jesse explained as they turned into the bedroom doorway. “There’s a nightstand on the left of the bed, and I put your suitcases in the closet.” He hesitated a moment, unsure about her needs. “Do you want me to help you unpack?”
“No, thanks. I’m sure I can manage just fine.” Her voice was cool, as if he’d irritated her with his question. She stepped away from him, so he was no longer touching her.
“Then I’ll just leave you to rest,” he said. “Do you want the door open or closed?”
“Closed.”
Jesse shut the door, then returned to the living room. Moving to the window, he stared outside, his thoughts now focused on his new houseguest.
Cecilia was blind, beautiful and prickly as a cactus. Of course, not knowing exactly what had happened in her life, what she found herself involved in, it was difficult for him to cast stones because of her irritable mood.
Jesse rubbed his hands down the sides of his jeans, realizing his palms were damp with nervous sweat. A blind woman in his care. Was this somebody’s idea of retribution? Reparation for the unresolved trauma in his life?
Again that distant memory knocked in his brain. For an instant, he saw everything as it had been on that night so long ago. The headlights of his car shining on the black glaze of the road…the pull of the steering wheel as the car went out of control…the thick, twisted tree that loomed closer…closer until… Jesse gasped and forcefully shoved the memories away. He turned from the window.
One week. Two at the most, and then she’d be gone from his life. Surely for two weeks he could take care of her, keep her safe and not think about the past, about the man whose life he’d destroyed on a wintry slick road almost thirteen years ago.
Seven steps from the doorway to the edge of the bed. Five steps from the bed to the chest of drawers and four from the bed to the closet. Her entire world had become comprised of steps.
She sank onto the edge of the bed. “My name is Allison Welch,” she whispered to herself. “Allison Welch. Allison Welch.”
Like a mantra, she repeated it over and over again, afraid that one of these days Allison Welch would somehow cease to exist altogether.
Allison Welch had the world by the tail. She was an up-and-coming interior designer, and her shop, Comforts Of Home, was gaining more and more popularity in Chicago.
She had a fantastic apartment overlooking Lake Michigan, a full social life and a close relationship with her sister and brother-in-law.
A sob rose and she slapped a hand across her mouth to contain it. She wouldn’t think about Alicia and John and that night. If she let those horrendous visions replay, she’d lose her mind.
Unpack. Deal with the here and now. If she thought of the past, grief would overwhelm her. If she tried to anticipate the future, fear and despair would engulf her.
Four steps to the closet and she found her suitcases on the floor. She grabbed the big one and carried it back to the bed, where she clicked it open and began to unpack. There weren’t a lot of clothes inside, and everything was already on a hanger.
They all had been bought by a female officer when Allison had been released from the hospital a month ago. A dress, two pairs of jeans, a pair of dress slacks, two T-shirts, three sweatshirts and two silk blouses, all in shades of blue so she could dress herself and not worry about clashing colors.
The smaller suitcase held toiletries, underclothes and her nightgown and robe. She finished unpacking, then once again sat on the edge of the bed. At least it would be nice to be in the same place for more than three days.
The last month was a blur of motel and hotel rooms. Her knees and shins were bruised by the fact that they hadn’t been in any one room long enough for her to learn navigating the furniture. Just as she’d figured out how to walk in the room without bumping into something, they’d move to a new place.
She thought of her host. Jesse Wilder. All she knew about him was that he was sheriff of Mustang, Montana.
Well, that wasn’t exactly true. She also knew he had a deep voice as soothing as a velvet wrap on a wintry night. As he’d led her into the bedroom, she’d gotten the impression that he was tall, and smelled of the pleasant combination of soap and spice cologne.
She had no idea how old he was, what he looked like or if she could trust him. Although she assumed Kent Keller and Bob Sanford wouldn’t have placed her in his care if he couldn’t be trusted.
She frowned at thoughts of the two men who’d been in charge of her life for the past month. Blind, and reeling from what she’d experienced, it had taken a considerable amount of reassurance from Bob Sanford before she’d tell him anything about what she’d seen from the closet.
Once Sanford had been assured by her doctor that physically she was ready to be released, she’d been transferred to Keller’s care and had begun the motel room jumping that had eventually brought her here.
She pulled her glasses off the top of her head and placed them on the nightstand, then stretched out across the bed. The spread smelled of sunshine and fabric softener.
The moment she’d walked in, she’d noticed the entire house had the odor of lemon wax and cleanser. Sheriff Wilder had obviously cleaned for her arrival.
Tears pressed hot and heavy at her eyes as she thought of all she’d lost. Everything. She’d lost everything. She’d gladly accept the blindness for the rest of her life if in return she could give John and Alicia back their lives.
She squeezed her eyes tightly closed, knowing that was impossible. John and Alicia were gone forever. Murdered in their home. No sacrifice on Allison’s part, no bargaining with the devil or with God would bring them back. The best she could hope for was to bring down the men responsible for their deaths.
As she had done for the past four weeks, she consciously willed away her tears, refusing to give in to grief. Retribution. That had become her reason for being, the sum total of her existence. The guilty had to be punished.
This was the goal that kept her from sinking into the utter depths of despair, from giving up all pretense of living.
She would survive whatever fate threw her way…as long as in the end, the people responsible for John
