“It’s not a dream. I’m going to make it happen.”
“Would this trip to Paris have anything to do with what happened yesterday?”
He always did get straight to the point. Last night, he’d found me bawling my eyes out in the tree house he’d built for me. The Washington Wizards had drafted his best friend Cholly, and Trace had been about to leave for the farewell party, but he ended up going late. He’d stayed behind to coax the truth out of me, yet the truth was too ugly for words.
“Come on, Shadow. Spill it.”
Gosh, he was handsome. Stubble darkened his jaw and thick brown fans framed his hazel eyes. Even the lashes Mother glued on every day weren’t as silky. “May I ask you something first?” When he nodded, I gathered my courage. “If I broke your radio….” I paused to swallow. “Would you hate me?”
His eyes slid closed. “I could never hate you, girl.”
I set my chin against my knees and stared across the pond at the one thing dearest to his heart. He’d parked it where he always did, beneath the cool shade of a giant maple.
Blessed Mother, please let him answer right. “Trace?”
“Mmm hmm.”
“What-what if I broke your motorcycle?”
He blinked his eyes open and glanced at his Harley. “Now why would you do somethin’ like that?”
“Would you forgive me or not?”
He rewarded me with a lazy grin. “Yeah. Eventually.”
I sat up straight. “Really?”
The grin ebbed while he watched me. He eased forward, lifted my chin, and brushed my cheek with the rough pad of his thumb. “Have I ever lied to you, sweet pea?” I gave my head a slow wag, and he said, “So why do you keep doubting me?” One of his brows arched. “Didn’t I say I’ll always care?”
I lowered my eyes to escape his. Every time I looked at him, I got butterflies.
“Tell me.”
Getting the words out took some effort. “It was Mother,” I whispered, bottom lip quivering.
“Go on.”
My eyes started welling. “Sh-she said….” Tears streamed down my face as the words stumbled out of me. “I was running, and I broke her favorite vase yesterday—by accident. The flowers. The purple ones she likes. They fell and broke too. That made her mad. Then she…she said she h-hated me and—and she wished I was never b-born. And that it was my fault she had to get breast lift surgery.” I shouldered a tear. “If I ever break something of yours, you won’t hate me, will you?”
He searched my eyes as incredulity darkened his. “This why you been asking all these—” He muttered a curse and gathered me into his arms. I forced myself not to cry out, not to flinch because of the pain reverberating around my bruised ribs. Out of nowhere he asked, “Your mama ever hit you?”
“No,” I lied as a breeze ruffled my hair.
“That the truth? ’Cause if she did—”
“She didn’t, okay?”
A minute passed before he responded. His voice was quiet. Reflective. “Daddy used extension cords. Bev’s jump rope. His fist. Beat me with some jumper cables one time, too.” He wiped my tears with care. “It’s ninety degrees out here. Why the long sleeves?”
“Because.” I served up another lie. “I’ve got … um, poison ivy.”
He paused in ominous silence. When he finally spoke, there was an intensity in his voice I’d never heard before. “Listen, you’re one of the best things that ever happened to this fucked up world. Remember that.” Hugging me close, he dropped a peck atop my head. “And there’s nothin’ you could do that would make me hate you.”
“You say that now, but….”
“What?”
“Mother. She says she loves me all the time.”
“Shadow?” He jiggled my hand. “I’ll never lie to you.”
My hopeful gaze clung to his. “Promise to goodness?”
“Promise to goodness.” He drew an X over his heart. “Believe me now?”
I recalled something he’d said he’d done with Cole, his baby brother. “Yes, but can we…spit on it?”
He considered me for a moment. “You know somethin’? You’re right,” he said with mock seriousness. “A promise isn’t truly bona fide ‘til it’s sealed with spit.”
I beamed a smile, but caution weakened it. “About the spitting. You…you mustn’t tell Mother. All right?”
He managed to look insulted. “What kind of friend would I be if I did that?”
“Not a very good one.”
“You got that right.” He bared his callused palm, spat, then winked at me to do the same. My efforts barely produced a dollop, but it was enough to close the deal. “No lies?”
“No lies,” I repeated once his big hand swallowed mine.
CHAPTER TWELVE
It’s On
SHANNON
____________________________
I pulled into the carriage house at Briar and spoke into the handless cell phone receiver. “Didn’t you get the message I left with Kate?”
“Uh-no, sorry,” Darien mumbled. It was the same distracted tone I’d grown accustomed to. One I’d heard too many times before. His footsteps echoed in the background. “I just got out of court. We’re meeting with the prosecutor in a few minutes. What’s going on?”
In other words, I’m busy. Again.
“Everything is going on,” I said.
My throat was still raw from yelling. Not that Darien noticed the rasp in my voice. An hour had passed since Trace had stormed out of my office, and my fried nerves had yet to recover. Why hadn’t I taken him at his word about Mother?
He’d never lied to me.
“That’s right,” Darien said. “The luncheon is tomorrow.”
“What? Oh, yeah.” I tried to remember why I’d called him, but couldn’t. “Ah, I guess I’m just feeling a little overwhelmed. Between that and the wedding planning—”
“Oops, I’ve got another incoming. I’ll only be a second.” The phone clicked. “Darien Montgomery.”
“It’s still me.” My voice bordered on snippy. Not that he noticed that either. “Try again.”
“Sorry. New phone. Hold on.”
I yanked my keys from the ignition. Of course the phone was new. He probably burned the other one out from overuse! With Trace still on my mind, I’d needed to reconnect with Darien, but this long distance garbage was driving me crazy.
“Okay, I’m back,” he said. “Are you all right?”
Not if feeling confused, frustrated, and angry counted. I couldn’t tell him the truth. If I did, he’d know I’d broken my promise. “I just miss you.”
“Me too. So what time do the festivities begin tomorrow?”
“Twelve noon.”
“Did Granny Mae do the guest list again?”
I grabbed my things and wrenched the car door open. “No, she swore off party planning after the last one. If you’ll recall, Auntie accused her of turning the place into a trailer park who’s who.”
He laughed the same polite laugh he gave clients…and strangers. “Honey, we’re trying to wrap things up here, so….”