Summer's Freedom Read online

  He looked at her.

  “My brother is an expert on both the beatings and the ways the state can protect you. He’s here, at the concert, and he can get you the help and the shelter that you need.” She faced him squarely, her voice hard. “I’ll take you to him, right now. But I swear, if you pull anything, I’ll press charges for this cut on my eye, for the vandalism to my house, and I’ll see you in court for the riot at the ticket outlet.” She let the words sink in for a moment. “What’s it going to be?”

  Cory stood, his posture exhausted. “I’ll go see your brother.”

  “Good for you.” She cocked an eyebrow. “Don’t mind if I hold your arm, do you? My legs are a little shaky after that run.”

  It was nearly an hour before they found Galen, waiting near the gates to the parking lot. In all that time, Cory docilely followed her instructions. It disturbed her in a way—the confrontation seemed to have taken everything he had. In spite of all the violence he’d perpetuated, she found herself feeling a deep sympathy for the boy. She honestly hoped he would find the help he needed, that it wasn’t too late to educate him to healthier ways of venting emotion.

  She sketched the situation to Galen quickly. He didn’t need much information, only the appeal for help. As she’d known he would, Galen took charge immediately. “You can go home now, Maggie,” he said, touching her cheek. “You need some rest.”

  * * *

  Joel’s truck was gone and his apartment windows were dark when Maggie drove up in front of the building. She was aware only of a sense of relief as she dragged herself up the steps.

  Letting herself inside her own apartment, she collapsed on the couch in the darkness. For a long time, she just sat there, feeling the emptiness of the rooms reflected in her heart. It was a loneliness as bereft of hope as any she’d ever experienced, even worse than the day Galen had run away from home.

  That thought gave rise to another. In her mind’s eye, Maggie saw herself manhandling Cory Silva on the field. She felt a fleeting wisp of the living anger that had spurred her and shook her head in bewilderment.

  Never in her life had she allowed any kind of anger to break her composure. Even when Samantha, as exasperating and exhausting as all children are, had pushed Maggie to the limit, she hadn’t given in to the furious, all-consuming rage that had engulfed her tonight.

  Its appearance terrified her. In those moments, she knew with cold certainty that if it had been necessary to knock Cory down to stop him, she would have done it. She’d have knocked him senseless if the need had arisen.

  How could her control, the control developed over a lifetime, have snapped so completely?

  She shivered, thinking of the morning’s revelations. As the full scope of Joel’s betrayal had become clear to her, she’d experienced another emotion alien to her—hatred. For a long violence of seconds, she’d hated Joel Summer with every infinitesimal piece of herself. It made her feel ill now to think of it.

  Wrapping her arms around her legs, she tried to halt the trembling of her limbs. Anger and hate had both come from love. The passionate, overwhelming love she’d allowed herself to feel for Joel.

  But it hadn’t been love that had seduced her, in the end. Joy had done that. It had been joy that had shimmered between them as they’d made love, an emotion as clear and perfect as the first morning light. Its perfection had lulled her into believing it would be safe.

  Unfortunately it was impossible to open the door to just one emotion. By removing the blocks to joy, she’d also let anger and sorrow and despair into her life. She should have known that, should have already learned this lesson.

  Before she could cry, Maggie stood up. She would close the door to all of them again. Love would become again a tenderness she felt toward Samantha and Galen, anger nothing more than mild irritation. She would allow no intrusion of Joel Summer into her thoughts until she felt nothing, not hate or sorrow or love. Until his memory brought only a mild, distant regret, she couldn’t allow him any space in her mind.

  The trick, she thought wearily, heading upstairs to her own bed, a bed she’d not slept in for weeks, was finding out how to keep herself from thinking of him.

  He made it easier, as it turned out. Sunday morning, it was apparent that he was gone. Not just out for the day, but packed up and gone. When Maggie realized it, she felt a pang for the cats, Moses and Buddy. She would miss them.

  When Galen came downstairs for breakfast, he said, “It looks like Mitchell moved.”

  The sound of his real name sent a sharp, hot sword through her middle, and Maggie had to breathe deeply against it for a moment. “I know,” she finally answered, focusing her attention on the counter she was wiping.

  “That’s odd,” Galen commented as he took a seat at the table.

  Maggie shook her head. “No, he promised he would move if we found we couldn’t get along.” In spite of everything, it was no surprise to find that he’d kept that promise.

  “Do you want to talk about this, Maggie?”

  “No,” she said flatly.

  He scanned her face with a worried frown. “All right,” he said finally. “It’s your little red wagon.” He stood up. “But I can’t sit around here and watch you brood. Let’s do something.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know. We’ll think of something.”

  “You go ahead,” she said. “I don’t really feel like doing anything.”

  “I’ll stay, then. I came here to be with you.”

  “No sense in your suffering with my bad mood.”

  He settled back in his chair stubbornly. “All the same…”

  “Have it your way,” she said.

  “What happened with Cory last night?”

  “About time you got around to asking.” She shrugged listlessly. “He’s going to be evaluated and moved accordingly. By the time I got him to the shelter last night, he was blubbering like a baby, sobbing about that brother of his. It’s pretty clear he’s not stable, that he hasn’t grieved.”

  “Is there any hope for him, do you think?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Galen said with a grin. “There’s always hope. If I didn’t believe that, I wouldn’t be in the line of work I am.”

  She smiled halfheartedly.

  “Maggie.” His voice was stern.

  “Don’t, Galen,” she said in a weary voice. “Please.”

  He reached out and took her hand. “Do you remember what you used to do when Dad went crazy?”

  She frowned, wondering what this had to do with anything. “Not really.” With a droll twist to her lips, she added, “I frankly avoid thinking about him at all.”

  Galen licked his lips. “You used to hide under the stairs. It was full of spiders, but you braved your greatest terror rather than face Dad.” He stroked her fingers gently. “I would find you under there, shivering, with your hands around your knees, pale as a ghost.”

  The memory flashed on the screen of her mind, vivid and intense. A rush of hot tears filled her eyes, and she snatched her hand from her brother’s to cover the trembling of her lips. “Damn you, Galen,” she whispered. “You’re the only one who can do this to me.”

  “You’re hiding now like you did then,” he said quietly. “I’m not going to tell you what to do, one way or the other, but you have to deal with it.”

  The tears, irrepressible now, slid over her face. “I don’t know how.”

  “Find a way,” he said, standing and reaching out for her.

  Maggie collapsed in his arms, weeping. He held her while she cried, the way he had when she was seven. She let her mind go where it would as the cleansing tears flowed through her. She saw herself with Joel in the high mountain meadow, laughing with giddy pleasure as the kite tugged on the string between her fingers. She saw his great head bending to taste reverently of her breasts and saw his eyes, trained with familiarity on the sky. “God, Galen,” she said with a broken voice, “I really fell for him.”

  “I know you did.”
His hand smoothed her hair gently, calming her.

  The words seemed to provide a cork on her emotions, and wiping at her eyes, Maggie pulled away. Galen said nothing as she walked to the sink to splash cold water on her hot eyes, then dried them. Finally, she turned. “Did he do it?”

  Galen sighed, lifting his heavy blond eyebrows ruefully. “I wish I could say no. The truth is, he would never discuss it.” He paused. “What do you think?”

  Maggie shook her head slowly. “I don’t know.” She took a breath and blew a strand of hair away from her face. “That’s not even really the issue, is it?”

  “Maybe it is.”

  “He lied to me, Galen. Invented somebody. I feel now like I was the only participant in what I thought was something really good.”

  “What do you think you really would have done if he’d shown up at your door and introduced himself?”

  “That’s exactly the point,” she cried. “He didn’t trust me enough to give me the chance.”

  Galen nodded. “I see what you mean.”

  “Oh, please,” Maggie protested with irritation, “don’t play psychologist with me, counselor.”

  “Okay,” he said, straightening. “I’ll talk like your brother. That man is crazy in love with you. He lied. I understand why that upsets you. I can also see, knowing you, why he did it.” He pursed his lips in consideration, “About his killing his wife’s lover—I don’t think it matters. He’s done his time and he’s not a crazed killer.”

  “Nobody ever thought Ted Bundy was a killer, either.”

  “Maggie, I’ve been on the inside, and believe me, I’m glad they built prisons. Mitchell—or Joel—didn’t belong there from the first minute he walked through the gates.”

  Maggie looked at her brother. If only she could see it so clearly, without the weight of her obligations and the burden of the past. She shook her head. “If it were just me, I might take the chance. But not as long as I’ve got Samantha.”

  He shrugged. “You do whatever you think you have to. I do think you ought to know one more thing.”

  “What?”

  “Even in prison, he never allowed his dignity to be insulted. If you decide you want him, you’re going to have to make the first move. He never will.”

  Maggie looked at her hands. If that was the case, it was over.

  She wondered why it felt so unfinished.

  Chapter 13

  On Thursday, just after Anna had shown up with double her usual amount of doughnuts, a pale gray car pulled up in front of the building. It was an older model Maggie didn’t recognize, loaded with suitcases. “Must be the new tenants,” she said from the window. Her voice was calm, but underneath, she felt the never-distant needle of sorrow. It was final, she thought. Joel was gone for good.

  Galen glanced over her shoulder. “Put your glasses on, babe,” he said, teasing.

  Maggie squinted, a habit she’d found herself falling back on again recently. “Maybe it’s time for contacts,” she commented when even squinting wouldn’t bring the figures climbing out of the car into focus. “Who is it?”

  “One cute blonde, definitely too young,” Galen said.

  “What?” She hurried toward the door, and finally the blurry figure melded into one recognizable to her strained eyes. “Samantha!” she said as she ran out the door, the screen slamming hard behind her.

  Sam dropped her bags to throw herself into her mother’s arms. “Hi!” She squeezed Maggie’s neck hard, rocking. “I’ve missed you.”

  “Oh, honey, I’ve missed you, too.” She pulled back to view the array of suitcases. “What’s going on? You aren’t due home for weeks.”

  She grinned impishly. “Dad got a plummy assignment. I just happened to overhear him refusing it, and I talked him into letting me come home early.”

  “I’m glad,” Maggie said, giving Sam one more quick hug. “Come on in. Gram’s just brought a bunch of pastries.”

  David, who’d driven, hung close to the car. “I’ll let you guys visit,” he said. “Sam, I’ll see you later, okay?”

  “Oh, no you don’t.” She grabbed his arm firmly. “You come inside with the rest of us.”

  With a touching blush, he glanced at Maggie. “I’ve seen you,” he said. “Your mom hasn’t.”

  “She doesn’t care,” Sam insisted, and glanced at her mother. “Do you?”

  Maggie laughed. The sound was a little rusty in her throat, but it qualified as the real thing. “Of course I don’t. Come on, David.”

  On the way up the steps, Samantha looped her arm through Maggie’s. “Guess what I got?”

  “No telling.” Paul often sent Samantha home with wildly expensive gifts.

  “A black-and-white enlarger of my very own. Dad said I’m good enough that I need to start practicing all the time.” The glitter in her eyes told Maggie that Sam knew the gift had been a balm to Paul’s guilty conscience—and that she didn’t mind in the least. “Do you think we might be able to rig up a darkroom someplace in the house?”

  “I’m sure we can.”

  As they went inside, Samantha hugged and kissed the others, chattering about her trip and the things she’d done. Her presence, Maggie thought, was refreshing. Even her appearance was cheerful—bright blue shorts and crisp white blouse. Her hair was fastened in a blue-and-white clip shaped like a butterfly. As she talked, she moved and bounced and laughed. For the first time in a week, Maggie felt the stirrings of life within her.

  “So, how’s Joel?” Sam asked.

  “He moved,” Maggie said.

  Galen jumped into the conversation quickly. “Why don’t you get that fancy camera and show it off? We aren’t all together like this very often.”

  “Okay.” She headed for the car, but not before flashing her mother a quizzical glance.

  Maggie shifted to place a hand on her brother’s arm, giving it an unobtrusive squeeze of thanks. He patted her hand in solace, even as he laughed at some ribald joke Gram made.

  * * *

  That night, in spite of the whirl of activities Sam’s return home had inspired, Maggie couldn’t sleep. Long after the last creaks and whispers of the house had settled behind Galen and Samantha, Maggie stared into the darkness. After twenty minutes of that, getting nowhere, she crept downstairs for potato chips and beer, then watched two episodes of Star Trek.

  None of it helped. Her mind restlessly whispered with memories and visions she couldn’t quell, no matter how hard she tried.

  She missed him—or rather, them. Mitchell, whose letters had always been a private, personal pleasure, and Joel, who had shown her the beauties of the spirit and flesh. Mind, body and soul, she thought. Between them, they’d satisfied the entire triad.

  Jumping up, she strode to the tiny office off her bedroom and yanked open a desk drawer. There, neatly filed according to postmark, was every letter Mitchell had ever written. The first day of his betrayal, she’d considered burning them in a melodramatic gesture of fury. Now she was glad her saner self had won out.

  Making a basket out of her nightgown, she grabbed chunks of letters until the drawer was empty, then carried them to her bed. There, she dumped them unceremoniously onto the quilt, scattering seven years of her life.

  The envelopes were all decorated with painstaking beauty. There were animals and seascapes and trees, boulders and tiny flowers. As she examined them, she noticed two things she’d never seen before. Always the sky was deep and blue, like the sky over the Rockies on a clear spring day. And always, swooping through the heavens, was a bird.

  Suddenly, she remembered the nightmare that had sent Joel, sweating, to the window for air. Just before he’d been torn from sleep, he’d cried out for the sky.

  The memory pricked her heart. For the first time, she understood how difficult prison had been for him, how he’d mourned the loss of the open sky.

  On impulse, she sifted through the dozens and dozens of letters to find the very first one he’d written to her. Slipping it out, she b
egan to read his well-formed thoughts in the bold, slanting hand. This was the letter outlining the restrictions he needed her to agree to before they could write to each other. Maggie had forgotten how firm he’d been about it: no personal information at all. He didn’t want to know how old she was or whether she was married or if she had children. All he needed was a place to air his thoughts, someone to share those musings with.

  The letter transported her back to the days of loneliness she’d experienced before her divorce from Paul. Mitchell’s letters had seemed a godsend at the time. He’d made her laugh with dry comments about the political scene, had made her think with sharp insights about the world. Each time the mailman had delivered one of his colorful envelopes, Maggie’s spirits, no matter how low, had lifted.

  She’d forgotten that, how precious and tenuous the relationship between them had been in the beginning. Only time had solidified their need for the other’s thoughts.

  With a pensive sigh, she refolded the letter, choosing another at random. When she finished it, she picked up another, then another and another, reading until dawn broke the night with gold fingers.

  When at last she returned the letters to their drawer, her eyes burned with the reading, but one thing was clear. Before Joel Summer had ever appeared in her life, she had loved Mitchell Gray. No other person on earth had ever known her mind as intimately as he had.

  Where that knowledge left her was less clear. In a way, she felt even angrier, for Joel had stolen Mitchell away, and Mitchell had been the most solid cornerstone in her life. The pen pal who didn’t judge, always listened to and honored her opinions in a way that no one else had in Maggie’s entire life.

  Somehow, she realized as she made a pot of morning coffee for the house that had not yet risen, she needed to synthesize the two parts of the man she loved. Only then could she make peace with his past.

  It was still so hard to imagine either side of him being capable of murder. Everything about him spoke of his respect and love of life in all its forms.

  With a start of surprise, she realized she didn’t think he had done it. Could it have been Nina who’d actually killed the man?