I was about to leave when I saw her. Still dressed in her Catholic school uniform and matching box coat, Shannon wore a pleated skirt, gray knee socks and patent leather shoes. It was a crisp fall day of sixty degrees. A temperature that, after the blazing day before, felt colder than an Antarctic winter.
Leaves danced mini funnels over the grass. The sun had just begun to set and a thin, golden arc crowned the autumn-colored treetops and hills.
Shannon sat on the gazebo’s whitewashed steps, tossing rocks at nothing in particular. Her quiet sniffles didn’t register until I’d gotten closer. The step creaked when I eased next to her.
“I’m about to head home.” I eyed her face. “Somethin’ wrong?”
She leaned over to pull one of her shoes off. The sock went next. A thin red line creased deep where the strap had been. The dainty little toenails on her exposed foot were painted bubble-gum pink. She wiggled them experimentally.
“Shoes too tight?”
She nodded and I noticed how still she kept her left arm. She’d used one hand to remove her shoe and sock. I moved around and squatted on the step in front of her, cupping her jaw to force her to look at me. Her eyes were puffy.
“What happened to your arm?”
She tucked it tighter against her body. “I fell.”
“You’re lying. Let me see it.”
Teary eyed, she gazed back at me in silence.
“Aw, jeez,” I said, my soul aching for her. “C’mere.”
She fell into my arms the second I opened them. When she finally finished crying, my shirt was drenched. I snatched a bandana from my pocket and mopped her face as best I could, then I examined her arm. She didn’t protest, just stared off, sniffling as I thrust the sleeve to her elbow. Hot, swollen skin had bloomed angry shades of purple, green, and red.
My gaze leapt to hers. “Who did this?”
Her eyes shuttered.
That’s when I knew she’d already dug the moat, bought the alligators, and yanked up the drawbridge. I’d get nothing out of her.
“You’re never gonna admit it, are you?”
Her lips tightened into a tiny pink button. Even now she refused to indict her mama. None of the staff had lifted a finger to help. Their silence, like my own, had been bought and paid for with Lilith Bradford’s money.
I reached behind my neck and unclasped a silver chain with a charm. Leaning over her, I fastened the catch around her neck. “My great-granddaddy on Mama’s side—Bisabuelo—sent me this for Christmas a long time ago. Spent some of my summers on his farm in Puerto Rico when I was a boy. It was the best time of my life. All I did was eat, feed the animals, laugh, and dance. Hell, everybody in the family danced. God, I miss that place.”
“You’re Puerto Rican?”
“Only a quarter—but it’s my favorite quarter.” I gazed at the sky and my lips slid into a sad smile. “The greatest lesson I learned from that old man was to do what’s right, no matter the cost.”
She squinted at the Spanish on the back. “What’s it mean?”
“Somethin’ you better not forget. It says, ‘A life lived in fear is a life half lived.’ It’s an old Spanish proverb.”
Her lips trembled. “But what does that have to do with—”
“I’m gonna fix it, okay?” I said in a soft voice. “I’m gonna make it so you never have to be afraid again.”
She sniffed, blinked her teary eyes. “H-how?”
I tipped her face to the sun and gently brushed her tears away with my thumbs. Closing my eyes, I pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “Te quiero, Sombra.”
“Huh?”
I smiled. “Just remember what I said at the pond. I’m always gonna care about you. No matter what. Now stay put.” I shoved to a stand and headed for the main house. When she shot up after me, I yelled, “Stay put!” over my shoulder.
I cut across the lawn, my feet thundering on the ground. I could see much of myself in Shannon. When I was nine, I’d hidden under the covers in fear of Daddy’s rage. Too scared to take a piss, I’d wet the bed, or sometimes, I’d stash a mop bucket in my closet before I left for school. That way I wouldn’t have to venture down the hall late at night. Primetime for Gary’s binge drinking. Squeaky floorboards, rusty hinges, and a flushed toilet made noise, but peeing in a bucket didn’t. Even so, the bed-wetting, and makeshift urinals just led to more beatings and missed school days.
Lilith and Gary—two halves of the same evil coin. As a child, I wore fear like a second skin. Bisabuelo had sensed it during those summer visits, even though I never said a word. The old man knew lots of things without ever being told.
Growing up, I always dreaded going home. Which father would I get? The cold hermit who favored TV and silence over family, or the bully who stank of whores and booze? Stuff changed when I turned fifteen. By then, I towered over Gary’s five-feet-six inches. By then, I was big enough to hit back. That’s when a new father emerged. This one was a defeated foe whose reign of terror had ended with a whimper.
I threw the doors open to the mansion, ignoring the wide-eyed stares and swept past the knot of servants in the foyer. In six angry strides, I’d cleared the staircase to check the second floor, but Mommie Dearest was MIA. Lilith’s personal maid stood at the landing, a scowl sandblasted on her pale face. Her bony arms were wrapped around a tower of linen. She glowered at me as if I were a fly on a cake.
“Where is she?” I asked, barreling down the steps.
The woman moved her judgmental gaze over me. “Busy.”
Witch.
I was already stalking down the narrow corridor to the kitchen. I found Mrs. Campbell hard at work on the evening meal. The smell of baked ham and cinnamon perfumed the air.
Out of breath, I said, “Where’s Miz Bradford?”
Mrs. Campbell’s apple-cheeked face scrunched into a frown at my noisy intrusion, but her steel-gray head remained bent in concentration. Her chubby hands worked a thick knot of dough. “In the pool room—where she always is this time of day,” she snapped, not missing a beat as she kneaded the yellow blob. Her voice held a warning when I stormed off. “The lady’s in a devil mood tonight, Tracemore. Best leave her be. Um-hmm.”
I cocked my head to listen. All I had to do was follow the sound. That fucking song she played all the time, “Come Live With Me” was blaring from the indoor pool. I stalked out and cut down a side hallway to the back of the house.
Lilith had just climbed out of the pool when I got there. She wore a string bikini that hid nothing. Water cascaded down her skin as she toweled herself dry. Long, sable hair shimmered along her graceful back like a midnight waterfall.
Whether her eyes were bloodshot from chlorine or liquor, I couldn’t tell. I just wondered which Lilith I’d have to deal with. Had her bitch switch been flipped, or would she try and ram her tongue into my mouth again?
I cleared my throat. “Shannon’s got bruises.”
She tossed the towel and snagged a wineglass from the mini bar. “Good evening, Mister Dawson,” she trilled.