Читать книгу Holding Out For A Hero - Pamela Tracy - Страница 11

CHAPTER THREE

Tell and you’ll be sorry.

SHELLEY HAD ALREADY been frantically packing when the text from her ex-husband arrived. It had only made her pack faster because—just great—after Larry had taken her life savings and left her to deal with the authorities, her first communication from him was a threat.

Sorry? She was already sorry. Sorry for making such a bad decision as marrying Larry.

Unfortunately, every decision she’d made in the hours since receiving the text had been wrong, really wrong, and downright stupid.

If she could do one thing over, she’d scream for the man with the dog to come back. She’d scream as loud as she could. Scream so loud they’d hear her in the next county. There’d been a moment when she could have brought down her husband.

The memories of what he could do when angry had stilled her voice; the memories hadn’t stilled her feet. Which was why her first instinct had been to run.

She squinted at a green sign up ahead and shook her head when she could make out the town’s name. One more small town she’d never heard of. She’d already put almost three hundred more miles on her old green Impala. She wasn’t even sure where she was heading.

She checked the rearview mirror. Ryan slept at last. She’d not handled him well, either. It was her own fault she’d wound up traveling with a tired, confused three-year-old because she’d utterly failed during the split-second packing stage. She’d correctly grabbed his worn Thomas the Train backpack and necessary box of Legos. However, she’d undervalued the beloved Winnie-the-Pooh stuffed animal.

She’d never do that again.

The only thing she’d done right, because she couldn’t leave that poor woman lying in her living room with no one knowing she was there, was stopping at a convenience store and telling the cashier that she thought she might be in labor and needed to call her husband but didn’t have a phone.

Sometimes being eight months pregnant got results.

She’d called Crime Stoppers. Then she’d headed west. That had been over four hours ago and it was time to stop for gas and check her messages. She had one.

And not from her ex-husband; she’d blocked his calls.

A nurse at her dad’s care center texted to say her dad was having a bad day and was restless and confused. Would she please come?

If not her, who else?

A new wave of guilt and worry overtook her. She couldn’t run away from Sarasota Falls. Her dad was all she had left of her old life, and there was no one else who cared as much as she did.

And, really, where was she heading to? How would she survive? Who could she turn to?

She’d been relying on herself since Larry left. She’d continue to do so. Only now she’d need to constantly look over her shoulder.

The middle of nowhere offered the perfect turnabout, and soon, she was making her way back home. Glancing in the rearview mirror again, she made sure Ryan was still asleep. Tears streaked his cheeks. Winnie-the-Pooh was the least of her worries. Returning to Sarasota Falls was not the safe or sane thing to do. But she couldn’t leave her father alone.

Soon her cheeks looked like Ryan’s.

The miles passed as one small town after another whisked by. In each, people did normal, everyday tasks. None would guess the turmoil going through her mind. She envied them, their quick trips to the store or to pick up kids. A simple day sounded heavenly.

But not for her. Her back hurt, her side had some sort of pulled muscle and all she wanted to do was walk. Maybe that wasn’t what she wanted, but what the baby wanted. Sitting still this long hadn’t been easy. Careful to check for traffic—none—she queried Siri and found out that Sarasota Falls was still miles ahead.

It would be an hour or so before she could check on her father. She’d called, and a nurse reported that her dad was in his room sleeping. Shelley needed to see for herself, first thing, before she returned to an apartment that would never again feel safe.

Eventually, the city limits shimmered ahead. There were no tall buildings, more a gentle sloping of a small business district surrounded by homes.

She stopped at the first light, feeling panic start to surface. Then the light changed to green. Shelley needed to turn right to get to the apartment. Instead she turned left. She wanted her father. It didn’t matter that he could offer her no real advice.

A few minutes later, she pulled into a fairly deserted parking lot. She gathered her purse and rounded the car to help Ryan from his car seat. She’d just put her hand on the door handle when her phone pinged.

Don’t look at it.

She took Ryan from his seat, balancing him against her. He was getting heavier, growing, and with her advancing pregnancy, she was getting bulkier. She kicked the door shut with her foot and was soon inside the building, at the front desk, saying, “Did you just call me?”

“No,” said the nurse, scooting the sign-in sheet toward Shelley.

“How’s my dad?”

“Better now. He was very agitated, awake several times and roaming the halls more than usual.”

Shelley wrote down her name and the time of arrival on the sign-in sheet before heading down the hall. Music came from the piano room. Wheelchairs were in the hallways. Most of their owners were elderly, but not all. Alzheimer’s wasn’t limited to those in their twilight years.

Her dad was in his room, sitting on the edge of the bed, just staring at the closet. He had a shirt on, plus a tie, but no pants. Laying Ryan on the couch, she placed protective cushions on the floor and then—glad for something to do, something to take her mind off her troubles even for a moment—turned to help her dad with his pants.

When she finished, her dad went back to staring at the closet. On the couch, Ryan continued sleeping. She sat down next to her father, thinking about decisions she didn’t know how to make.

Maybe a minute passed, maybe twenty, before her dad finally moved. He stood, rounded the bed and picked up the newspaper that waited on the bedside table. She noted how the bottom half of his shirt was unbuttoned and how he put the paper down, picked it up again and then did the same three more times until she gently removed it from his hand.

“Dad, how are you doing today?” She didn’t really expect an answer. “Would you like me to read some of the articles to you?” Immediately she decided that was a bad idea. There might be something in there about the murder. Information she needed to know but couldn’t stomach just ten minutes after returning to Sarasota Falls.

He sat down on the couch, one of his hands going out to pat Ryan’s foot. She checked her phone. A message from her service provider, but nothing from Larry. Could he get to her father, and what should she say to the front desk to warn them? One thing was for sure—she’d made the right choice returning. It wasn’t just herself and Ryan she had to consider. It was her father, too.

“So, Dad, did you hear that Abigail Simms’s son got a new job? He’s working at the car wash.”

Her dad wasn’t listening, but Ryan stirred, looked at her, turned over and went back to sleep.

Shelley kept talking, more to fill the silence than anything else. “When I picked up Ryan from preschool the other day, everyone was talking about whether or not all-day kindergarten would be offered next year at the elementary school. Guess I should be thinking about all that, huh, for the future?”

If she had a future...

Her dad started nodding at her every word—as she’d jabbered on about the weather, politics, TV shows—but he offered no response for over an hour. Just when she was about to say her goodbyes and figure out her next move, he spoke up. “I have a daughter named Shelley. She’s a little younger than you.”

She sat back down. “I am your daughter, Shelley. I’m here visiting you, Dad. I brought you some peppermints for your candy bowl.” At a convenience store halfway home, she’d spent money she didn’t have for candy he shouldn’t have. Because...because she might have to leave, disappear, figure out how to keep her children safe from their father.

And in the process she’d lose contact with her own father when he needed her most.

“Shelley’s in college. She’s studying finance,” Dad said.

“I graduated a few years ago, Dad. With a major in English and a minor in finance.” Those were happier days, when she believed everyone was a friend and the world was for the taking.

He continued, “She’ll finish school in a month.”

Shelley shook her head. She’d worked her way through college as a bank teller. Once she had her diploma in hand, she’d moved back to Sarasota Falls and intended to apply at the local branch. Her mother’s illness, followed by her father’s Alzheimer’s, had changed all that.

“We’re hoping she moves back home for a while,” her dad said. “I wonder where my wife is. Martha? Martha!” After a moment, he surmised, “She must have gone to the grocery store.”

Shelley smiled, playing along.

“You will stop by again?” her father asked. “When Martha’s here. She can probably answer your questions better than I can.”

Shelley wanted to tell him she’d be by again and soon. Instead, she bit back tears and patted his hand. She hadn’t asked any questions. Today she’d merely filled his candy dish, watched Ryan sleep peacefully on the living room couch, chattered aimlessly and stayed close to her father, wishing more than anything that he could put his arms around her and say, “We’ll get through this. Larry Wagner’s not gonna touch you. Somewhere out there, someone will see to it that justice is done.”

The baby kicked.

“Ow.” Shelley couldn’t stop the sharp intake of breath.

“Martha, we need you,” her father called, waking Ryan up.

“Want Pooh,” Ryan wailed.

“If Martha were here, she’d give you Pooh,” Shelley’s dad said.

Shelley fled the room. Right now, all she wanted was someone to help her get from today to tomorrow.

But that person didn’t exist.