Chapter 11

© Copyright 2006 by Elizabeth Delayne



The summer night was still alive with the soft light of the drowsy sun. Fireflies were beginning to dance, their sparkle still a delightful surprise for Nicole. She had joined Jason out on the porch at his request, her hair braided in two braids to deal with the summer humidity.

Of all the changes she was having to deal with, she found the heat among the hardest of all.

She stared out into the green–so much green in the trees, the grass ... everything was green. No neon signs in red and gold, no clashes of colors that came naturally from a myriad of cultures. Just green. It was another thing to get used to.

“I don’t know, Jason–it’s just so soon.”

She knew he was watching her. In his hands he absently shuffled a deck of cards. She wondered where he’d picked up the habit. Had it replaced smoking, another restless habit, or had he spent some time around the gambling tables?

Maybe a little of both.

His voice was quiet when he spoke. “For church, or for Dusty?”

She shrugged, feeling the weight of his gaze. She could almost see their mother, pretty Amelia Rossi, looking down on her with a quiet disapproval. Amelia Ross had not just been religious. Like Jason, she’d believed.

Nicole wished she could.

“Both really.”

“Reverend Lewis–you remember him, don’t you? He visited you in the hospital?”

She pictured the man with the kind eyes, gently weathered at the edges by life. “He brought me the book.”

“Yeah–his wife, she knew someone who is a boy Dusty’s age who has a brother at the school. It works. They’ve come in for the day just to help out. Dusty can go, meet them–get to know some boys, his age, who relate.”

“You and I both know it will take more then age to relate to a boy who’s been on the streets.”

“We have to start somewhere.”

“But we only just got here. Things haven’t even been settled yet.”

“He has to go to school. That much has been settled and is out of our hands. If he’s not in school by the end of the month, he goes back to New York. This is the best option. It’s not quite an hour away, and he comes home on the weekends.” Jason stopped shuffling the cards; in the silence she could hear the chirp of a lone bird. “When you came down here, what did you think we would have to do?”

“I don’t know. He goes to school in New York. It’s just there.”

“He goes to a special school in New York–when he goes. From his school records, he’d missed quite a few days anyway.” The shuffling resumed.

“We could work something out. We could. The local special services coordinator promised they would work with us to do whatever it took to make Dusty’s transition painless–or as painless as possible. But Dusty’s already behind. Getting him into school soon is important. The school system thinks this is the best option. And if we push the other issues we’d be taking support away from another area, another need for someone who doesn’t have another option.”

“What about Julie?”

“Julie understands–agrees that his options are limited–or special, hence, special services. And I told you I’ve talked with Dusty. We made a deal. I learn to sign, he goes to school.”

“He thinks no one cares for him.”

“We’re not shipping him off to sea, Nicole. Besides–that’s what a lot of tomorrow is about. Why don’t we take the steps, see how he responds to the boys–to a boy he can relate to?”

Nicole closed her eyes and wished she had something to pray to, something that would listen–that would know. There had been a girl at the women’s penitentiary had believed–as had her mother, Jason ... obviously Rev. Lewis ... and Mrs. Cambise, who’d lived next door and brought them lasagna.

How do I know?

Jason eventually left her in the silence. She sat there, stewed over the questions, the fears.

She’d jumped on a bus, come down from New York, hoping to fix things. Had she fixed things or just ... blended them? She pictured the swirling blender at Tony’s. Suddenly the pieces were all there, but in different places. Dusty needed help, Jason was still ... elusive, and her father ...

Nicole felt her skin crawl. She looked up, realized it had grown darker. Suddenly the shadows stretched, and the woods, once a hidden protection, seemed ominous.

Her father was out there somewhere waiting. Watching. Jason had checked the value of the jewelry necklace. If sold as a set it could fetch anywhere between ten and two hundred million dollars, depending on the condition.

Her father wouldn’t be far—not with that kind of stake finally within reach.

She jumped up when the screen door opened and spun around.



Gabriel stood in the shadows–watched the wave of uncertainty or guilt pass over her face. He wished he knew which.

She put a hand over her heart.

“Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“I was just ... thinking.”

“We’re keeping a lookout.”

“He’s not far.”

His eyes flashed. He didn’t trust her. He watched as she touched a hand to the wound, watched her deal again with the knowledge that it was her father who’d put it there.

“I haven’t seen him–or heard from him,” she turned, sat back down on the porch steps with a plop. “I would tell you if I did. As soon as I did.”

“Habit,” he said as he sat down next to her. He too stared into the night–wondered where her father was, where he was hiding. “Goes with the background, not just the badge.”

They’d checked the woods around the house, hadn’t been able to find any recent evidence that her father had been there.

Still–they were only banking on that he was a man of the city, not of the forest. Surely a man with limited experience would make a mistake.

He resisted putting a hand to Nicole. He wanted to–and as much as he was drawn to her, she was Jason’s sister, and just finding her own way.

But he could give her something–a new start, for the both of them.

“Let me tell you about what I found in New York.”

“Go ahead–if my father’s done something, accused me of something, its not going to surprise me.”

“You’re father has a file on him that would probably surprise him,” Gabriel said ruefully. “But that’s not what I’m talking about. I met a girl in New York–one I thought a lot of.”

“If you’re talking about my roommates, they wouldn’t be interested in you.”

Her tone was so dry, he laughed. He remembered the group of women who’d helped him pack–but couldn’t draw a clear picture of them individually. For a man used to details and to memorizing those details about people, he was a little surprised. He’d been too intent on his goal, he supposed.

“They thought a lot of you,” he said as he shook his head. “Anyway–this girl I met in New York–she’s done a lot to survive. She made it out of the system, was working hard to make things right. She knows what it’s like to be trapped–and found a way out in books, in knowledge. I was surprised by her quest for knowledge.”

Nicole smiled a little. “You can find anything out if you put your mind to it. My mama taught me that–be anything, go anywhere.”

“Yeah ... and this girl I met, she wants something better for her brother, wants to do the right thing, find the family that was stolen from her ... and here she is, feeling accused by a lost New Jersey Cop turned southerner and feeling her way through a bunch of male egos.”

Her brow wrinkled under the appraisal.

“Jason means a lot to me–we’ve both been through the worst part of our lives together, so it seems like we’ve known each other forever–“

”So you want me back in New York.”

Her voice was so flat–so accepting–that he put a hand to her arm, waited for her eyes to rise.

“I want it to work for you and Jason,” he said slowly, “and I’m trying hard, very hard, not to fall for the light I see in you. You’re going to stay clean, I know you are–but if you need something, if you feel the pressure, you can talk to me. I want you to know that.”

Her eyes, so steady and dark–beautiful, Italian brown eyes–searched his. “Why?”

“Because I don’t want you to feel alone. I’ve seen what the pressure does to people. What it did to Jason.”

“No—I meant, why do you ... understand? What happened to you in the city? What brought you ... here?“ she waved a hand toward the darkness that covered the world of green.

Gabriel frowned as the words nearly spilled out. He felt like he could tell her–felt like she was understand the urgency, the darkness–and wondered if he would finally find absolution.

Maybe she needed the connection as much as he ... the need was suddenly there, wide open and wounded.

As it had never been before.

But he couldn’t open himself. Not that way. Not yet.

Instead, he locked it down, felt his eyes grow cold as he looked at her. He pushed up–surprised to see the startled hurt on her face.

“It doesn’t matter.”

She shook her head and stared out into the night. “You’re just another cop.”

He wasn’t quite sure what she meant, or what her statement meant to him. But he couldn’t ask. Not without opening himself up.

So he left her there, in the dark, with the wood watching with quiet eyes.



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