Leave a Mark (15 page)

The blood drained from her face. To Wren, it felt like every drop of it left her head and filled her stomach.

“For some of the younger ones, Safe Play may be their first interaction with adults they can trust,” Lily continued, her speech sounding polished and practiced. “Would you like to fill out a volunteer application? Of course, we do have to perform a background check—”

“No,” Wren muttered, backing away. “Not today.”

“Well, just think about it. We do need volunteers every day and—”

“Yeah, sure. Thanks,” Wren called over her shoulder as she pushed open the door and caught a gust of fresh air into her lungs.

She passed up the Mustang and realized she couldn’t make herself get in. The space was too small, so she turned right and started walking up Vermillion Street instead. Wren saw trees across the street, so she sped through the crosswalk to reach them, a young willow, and a younger elderberry, not even big enough for a child to climb.

Crossing South Washington, she headed for the lawn of the federal courthouse where a row of live oaks shaded the green. They weren’t fully mature, but their branches were low enough to grab. Wren stepped into the grass, reached up to the lowest limb, and gripped it with both hands. She closed her eyes and felt the veins of bark against her fingers. The touched centered her and allowed her lungs to fill.

From the time she was six, Wren could climb up the live oak in Simon Mouton’s back yard and into his treehouse. The platform might have only been sixteen square feet, a mere five feet off the ground, but to Wren, it was a castle in the clouds. Simon and Wren and Janie Bell, who lived across the street, spent summer afternoons playing fort or sea explorers or spaceship up in that treehouse.

The first time Wren scrambled up the tree in the dark of night, her heartbeat and choked breath had drowned out the screech of cicadas in the humid air. She climbed barefoot in nothing but her nightgown…

Her panties were under a cushion in the couch where Darryl had stashed them.

It was the fifth time. The fifth time he’d left Laurie in the bedroom. The fifth time he’d anchored her down as she lay on the couch. The fifth time he’d pulled off her cotton underwear.

But this time, before his fingers could creep between her legs, Laurie made a noise that scared him. Darryl shot off her and into the bathroom faster than a lightning flash. And Wren ran. But quietly. As quietly as she could.

She padded down the wooden steps of their apartment, flew through the wet grass of Mamaw and Papaw’s backyard, and scrambled over the fence into Simon’s. Lying on her belly on the floor of the treehouse, she saw the door to the apartment open. The light from the streetlamp cast a glow over its front steps, and Darryl crept outside, His undershirt was back on, and his jeans were zipped up. She watched him peer over the edge of the railing, looking left and right for her. She watched him light a cigarette and lean against the banister, running his thumb and forefinger over his scratchy blond moustache. She watched him swat away a mosquito at his shoulder, and that’s when she felt the first bite on the back of her calf.

But Wren didn’t move.

Darryl must have thought she’d come back because, after he finished that first cigarette, he lit another. And then another. While he smoked, mosquitoes landed on her and bit. Bite after bite. When he finally went back inside, Wren slapped and slapped at her arms and legs. She tucked her feet into her nightgown, drew her hair around her face like a scarf, and pulled her arms into her sleeves.

They still bit her forehead. Her nose. Her neck.

But it was better than Darryl…

“Wren? Is that you?”

Wren opened her eyes, dropped her hands from the oak branch, and spun around.

Oh God, no.

“Wren? Are you okay?” Lee Hawthorne shouted to her from his white Jeep, which was stopped in the middle of Vermilion Street. In the next instant, he wedged the Jeep into the parking space in front of her, facing the wrong way.

She started back for her Mustang before his feet hit the pavement. But in seconds, he was in front of her on the sidewalk blocking her path. “Wren, wait.”

“Don’t. Touch. Me.” Wren pulled her pepper spray out of her bag and held it up to him. His eyes went wide, and he stepped back.

Lee’s hands flew up. “I won’t. I promise. Just give me two minutes."

She didn’t mean to, but her eyes followed the cut of his light blue dress shirt at his trim waist and the way he filled in his charcoal slacks. She forced her gaze back to his. “No. You shouldn’t be talking to me. You’re with
Marcelle.”
She spoke the name with acid, and inside she cringed at how juvenile she sounded.

What the hell is the matter with me?

“No, I’m not. We broke up two weeks ago.”

Her mouth fell open in shock, and words tumbled out. “Because you kissed me?”

One side of Lee’s mouth turned up in a smile, and his dark blue eyes glinted. He was laughing at her yet again. “No… because we were wrong for each other, and Victor helped us see that.” Then he cleared his throat and smiled wider. “And, for the record, you kissed me back.”

Wren’s eyes narrowed and she started walking again. “Your two minutes are up.”

HE CUT IN
front of her a second time, and though he wanted to, Lee didn’t touch her.

“In what universe? That was like twelve seconds." He walked backward to stay ahead of her, hoping he wouldn’t trip and fall on his ass. “I still have at least a minute and a half.”

Wren stopped and glared. She seemed angry, but the flutter in his gut told him it wasn’t really anger. She was on guard, and it was his fault. But before she’d seen him, Wren had clung to the tree branch wearing a look of torture. What the hell was wrong? And why was her Mustang parked outside the drug treatment center?

He’d noticed the unmistakable turquoise classic parked in front of ARC, and he’d slowed down on his way to lunch. He was meeting Dr. Garrett Spokes and Dr. Jem Yeng at Don’s Seafood & Steakhouse. They were going to discuss the position he’d take at the hospital after his residency ended in just three short weeks. It wasn’t the sort of meeting one could miss. But as soon as Lee saw Wren under the oaks at the courthouse, he knew the Chief of Medicine and the Chief of Obstetrics would have to wait.

“Go on, then,” Wren said, still glaring. She may have been on guard, but Lee knew he might not get this chance again, and he didn’t have time to waste.

“You’ve been on my mind,” he said, uttering the understatement of the century. Even before he and Marcelle had ended things, she’d been in the shadows of every thought. And after the breakup, trying to keep her image at bay had been pointless. No matter how much he fought it, she was there. “I don’t think two minutes is really enough. Can I call you?”

He watched her face change, like maybe her guard had slipped for a second — but just a second — before she secured it back in place. It was a ray of hope, and Lee smiled again. And then his smile triggered that same scowl, and he wanted to kiss her so bad it hurt.

“I don’t think so.” Wren said the words with force, but she didn’t try to push past him again.

“Why not? There’s something between us.” He dared to take a step closer, almost certain that if he pulled her into his arms, she’d yield. And he really wanted to pull her into his arms. “Are you saying you don’t feel it?”

Her chin tilted up in defiance. “All I feel are warnings.” And this time, she did push past him. He chased after her, feeling about eighteen years old.

“Wait, beautiful Wren, I still have one minute.” He wasn’t sure she’d stop, but she did. Still, she eyed him with caution.

“Well, if you think I’m going to let you call me, we might as well cut this short.”

Lee changed course. “But you haven’t even asked about Victor.”

There it was. The crack in her armor. A hint of a softening beneath her scowl.

“Alright. How’s Victor?”

Lee felt his smile break open. “Victor’s great. I’ve taught him how to sit and come, but we’re still working on stay.”

Her left brow, which today sported a sexy little barbell, arched with sass. “Do
you
know how to stay?”

Everything in her look referenced the kiss he took from her, the one that violated his bond with Marcelle. She thought he couldn’t stay… that he wouldn’t stay with her.

“Oh, I can stay,” he vowed, the solemn promise deep in his voice.

“Good,” she said, her own smile breaking through now. She held up her hand. “Stay.”

And then she turned and headed for her car.

Despite every urge in his body, Lee did not let himself move. “I’m staying, Wren,” he said, hoping she’d turn and come back to him. “This is me staying.”

She kept walking, her long gray skirt hugging the curve of her hips and only hinting at the shape of her lovely legs. He watched Wren look both ways — and he looked, too — before she stepped into the crosswalk.

“I’m good at staying,” Lee called, just as a woman pushed a stroller around him. Lee realized he blocked the middle of the sidewalk. “Pardon me, ma’am.”

The young mother rolled her eyes at him as she passed.

“See, Wren? Another woman came along, and I didn’t stray!”

He shouted this down the street, and he could have sworn he heard Wren’s laughter echo off the courthouse walls. Still, she unlocked the door of her Mustang and ducked inside. The engine turned over a second later.

Lee willed her to look at him before she drove past.
If she looks,
he told himself,
there’s hope.

Wren pulled away from the curb, facing straight ahead, her eyes averted. She didn’t even glance in his direction as the Mustang rolled past. Lee’s heart fell in his chest, and he turned on his heels to watch her go, feeling like a fool. And then, he saw it. Her eyes locked with his in her side mirror.

And Lee smiled.

EVEN WITH HIS
unscheduled stop, Lee made it on time to his lunch meeting. Over fried crab fingers and seafood gumbo, Spokes and Yeng went through the details of their offer: attending physician in obstetrics and gynecology, six-figure salary, supervising three residents a semester. The best part, by far, would be his new hours, four, twelve-hour shifts per week — two a.m. and two p.m. — alternating holidays with the other attendings.

He would never build the kind of career that would lead to a beach house and a new Lexus every two years, but he would be able to take care of patients and still take time for himself. And his family.

If he ever had one.

Lee knew that his father would never approve of the deal, but he had no doubt that his mother would have if she were still alive. Before she got sick, his father had missed most dinners, virtually all of his Little League games, and even a few birthdays. Lee could remember having to wait to open his Christmas presents until after his father had finished rounds, which sometimes didn’t happen until past 11:00 in the morning. All the kids on his street would be playing with their new bikes or archery sets or remote control cars, and he’d still be waiting to find out what Santa had brought him.

He didn’t want that life for himself, and he definitely wouldn’t want it for his kids.

Spokes and Yeng really didn’t have to go to the trouble of taking him to lunch. He wasn’t seriously considering his other offers, though he had a few. He would have signed their contract over a turkey sandwich in the breakroom.

Lee left the restaurant with a sense of wellbeing. He knew what he wanted, and it was there for the taking. The job was perfect for him. A satisfied smile warmed his face as he crossed Vermilion Street toward his Jeep.

He thought about Wren’s backward glance as she’d driven away. If only he could get her to go out with him — or even talk to him for half an hour. Lee knew he wasn’t wrong. There was a connection between them, and it shouldn’t be ignored. He was sure she felt it, too.

He had come off-shift at six a.m., and he’d be back at the hospital at six that night. The lunch appointment had cut his sleep time short, and Lee had intended to go home again and nap before heading back to the hospital, but as he climbed into the driver’s seat of the Jeep, another plan began to take shape.

Tapping on his phone, Lee searched for the address. If Wren was at work, he’d talk to her, and if she wasn’t, maybe he could get someone at the studio to give him her number. Worst case, he could go back to her apartment, climb the narrow stairs, and leave a note on her door.