far-too-familiar sense of impending darkness, the dread and panic that she could never seem to escape. She thought of the blue sky outside. Of the beach in Coronado, there for her to walk any time of the day or night. She thought of cuddling up to her small son for a long afternoon nap.
“I’m—I haven’t always lived…this way.” He gestured to the room.
“What? I’m keeping the place too clean? I don’t mean to, I just…”
“No!” He grinned at her and Tricia’s heart lightened. That quickly. It was why she’d been drawn to the man in the first place. There was something special about him and something deep in her recognized it. Even if, consciously, she had no idea what it was.
“I love everything you’ve done to the place. The curtains and pillows, the rugs. I love having meals I don’t have to fix myself, and having help with the dishes. I love always being able to find what I need because it has a place, so I know where to look for it.”
Good. Okay, then. She wasn’t just using him. She was giving him a valuable service.
“Have you ever heard of McCall faucets?”
The question threw her. “Of course. They’re top of the line. In custom homes all over the country. They do shower fixtures, too.”
“And toilet hardware,” he added.
“So?” She frowned, pushed against the floor with one bare foot to set the chair in motion. “You want to replace the kitchen faucet?”
He shook his head.
She hadn’t really thought so.
“The shower?” Please let it just be that.
“No, Trish. I want to tell you that my family is McCall faucets. I am McCall faucets.”
She was going to wake up now and find out that this was a twisted dream, another way her psyche had dreamed up to torment her. She was going to wake up and find out that it was really only one in the morning and she had a whole night to get through before she could get out of bed and feel the promise of sunshine on her skin. Seven and a half hours to go before Scott got home from his shift at the station.
“Say something.” He was still sitting there, dressed in his blue uniform pants and blue T-shirt with the San Diego fire insignia on it, hands clasped. She hadn’t woken up.
“I’m confused.” It was a relief to tell the complete truth for once.
“My grandfather is the original designer and patent holder of McCall faucets. The company now belongs to my parents. My younger brother, Jason, has an MBA in business and will probably take over the vice-presidency from my uncle when he retires in a couple of years.”
Wake up. Wake up. Please wake up.
“Do you have a large family?” That seemed the smart thing to concentrate on until she could get herself out of this crazy nightmare.
Scott was one of those people? The kind she used to be? The kind her husband still was? People whose wealth and privilege instilled the belief that they were above the law? One of those people who made mistakes and knew that society would look the other way?
Scott was coming clean? When it was more important than ever that she continue with her lies?
He’d said something—about his family she presumed—and was now awaiting her response.
“I’m sorry, I missed that, I was listening to Taylor.” The lies slid out of her mouth so easily these days.
His mouth curved in that half grin that usually made her stomach turn over. Not today. She was going to miss that grin.
“I said that I have numerous aunts, uncles and cousins, both of my maternal grandparents and both parents. But Jason is my only sibling.”
“No sisters?” The ridiculous question, considering what he was telling her, proved to her that this was only a dream. Reassured her.
Scott shook his head. “Just a bevy of female cousins.”
She felt a brief curiosity about them. Would probably have liked them. If she could’ve met Scott sooner, in college maybe, before she’d made the one critical choice that had ruined the rest of her life.
Staring at the braided rug in the middle of the floor between the rocker and bed, she didn’t realize Scott had stood until she felt the warmth of his hand prying the pillow from her fingers. With gentle pressure, he pulled at her hand. Tricia didn’t resist. In his arms she came alive.
She knew her attempt at escape through fantasies of nightmares for the lie it was.
Everything Scott had just told her was true. All true.
And everything about her—including her mousy-brown hair—was false.
2
T he peace Tricia generally found in Scott’s arms was elusive that morning. She snuggled up to his warmth, buried her face in his neck, inhaling the musky scent of his aftershave—a cheap drugstore brand she’d bought him for Christmas.
A drugstore brand when he’d probably been used to several-hundred-dollar-an-ounce varieties.
He’d shaved before he’d come home that morning. The skin on his neck was smooth, soft. She kissed him. A small caress that lingered.
God, let this all go away.
Scott held on to her, saying nothing, but there was a sense of things left unsaid. Of more things coming.
She had to get a San Francisco paper. It was going to tell her that Leah had turned up, healthy and happy, though embarrassed as hell for having fallen prey to the consequences of some inane idea she’d had. Wasn’t it? She’d promised herself, sometime during the long lonely hours of the night, that it would.
“Taylor’s going to want his walk,” she said into Scott’s shoulder, making no move away from him.
It was during those morning walks that Tricia usually picked up the San Francisco Gazette from a stand at the food mart a couple of blocks away. And unless Scott was on twenty-four-hour duty at the station, she read it at the Grape Street dog park, where no one would pay attention or ask questions. And where Taylor could squeal at the four-legged creatures.
In another lifetime he’d have had a dog. Or three. In another life, her son would’ve had anything and everything his little heart desired.
“I don’t think he’ll be too upset about exchanging a walk for Blue.” Scott’s lips nuzzled her neck, sending chills down her spine. Good chills. And chills of warning, too. She’d never have believed it was possible to experience such opposing thoughts—emotions—sensations—all at the same time.
She had to take that walk. Get away from Scott. She had to buy the paper.
And she had to stand up, face what was before her, move on. Taylor’s life depended on her ability to take the next step. And the next.
Reaching up to release
