The One Safe Place (13 page)

“Oh, we're not looking for Reed. We're looking for you!”

“For me?”

“Yes, you're Faith, aren't you? Well, I'm Natalie Quinn. Mrs. Matthew Quinn.” She grinned. “Sorry. I just like to say that. I've only been married about fifteen minutes, and I can't quite believe it yet myself. I've been meaning to come by and welcome you to the Glen, but I'm practically a newlywed—you know how that is—and my house is falling apart, and it's just been crazy. Wonderful, but crazy.”

Faith smiled. “That's okay,” she said. “We haven't been here long. Come on in.”

Natalie wrinkled her nose, hesitating. “Maybe first I'd better tell you why I'm really here, just in case you don't really want us to come in after all. You see,
I am a good friend of Boxer Barnes. He's out there in the car, I drove him here so that he could say he's sorry about yesterday. He's afraid to come in, because he's sober, and he's pretty much afraid of everything when he's sober, that's why the poor man drinks so much. But I told him I'd come first and make sure you wouldn't hit him over the head with a spatula or anything.”

She smiled again. “You won't, will you?”

Faith felt a little light-headed. Natalie Quinn had such an amazing life force that she seemed to burn up all the air in the vicinity. But how could anyone resist that smile?

“Of course not,” Faith said. “I don't even know what a spatula is.”

Natalie laughed. “Yeah, Theo told me. That's okay. I'm pretty good in the kitchen, maybe I can show you some stuff.” She took a couple of steps toward the drive and waved merrily at the man who sat in her car. “Come on, Boxer. She doesn't bite.”

Slowly the car door opened, and the old man stepped out. He wasn't quite as imposing as the other men of his generation she'd met, the robust Ward or the roguish Granville, but he was appealing in his own way, with his dapper tweed suit, his long, wavy white hair and his sad blue eyes.

He looked a bit like an elderly poet, which apparently was a deliberate effect. He walked stiffly up to the door, put his hand to his heart and cleared his throat.

“Ms. Constable, I can't begin to tell you how grieved I am that I put your life in danger,” he announced. “It was wicked of me, and I will be punished for it, both by the law and by my own guilty conscience. All I ask is that someday perhaps you may find it in your heart to forgive me.”

Natalie put her arm through his and chuckled. “He talks like this when he's sober. When he drinks, he's considerably less flowery.” She looked inside the door. “It's kind of cold out here. May we come in?”

Faith stood back. “Of course.” As she moved back into the center of the kitchen, she smelled the now-familiar stench of burning food. “Oh, heck, the hamburgers!”

Natalie raced over to the stove, slipped on a mitt and whisked the tray of grilling burgers—now grilling lumps of charcoal—out of the oven. “I'm so sorry,” she said. “This is my fault. We came at a bad time. We distracted you.”

Faith shook her head sadly. “No, I do this all the time. To tell you the truth, I'm hopeless. I simply can't cook.”

Natalie surveyed the kitchen. She set the tray down across the sink and looked carefully at every bowl and bottle of spice Faith had used.

“Nonsense,” she pronounced finally. “Cooking's easy. It's like sex, everyone can do it, you don't need to be taught. And the difference between a good cook and a lousy cook is like the difference between a good lover and a lousy lover. If it's going to turn out right,
you have to give it all your attention. You can't keep letting your mind wander off to other things.”

Faith stared at her, trying to decide whether she was kidding. From the table, where Boxer had sat down the minute he entered the room, the old man made an offended noise.

“Don't you start talking like that, Natalie Granville. Sex, indeed. It doesn't become you.”

“Oh, Boxer. I'm not twelve anymore.” She smiled at Faith. “Boxer was one of my grandfather's best friends. He hasn't accepted that I'm a grown woman yet.” She held up her left hand and wiggled her ring so that it would twinkle in the light. “A grown, married woman. Isn't that lovely? You'll have to meet Matthew. He's the sexiest man in Firefly Glen, and you may have noticed that's saying quite a bit.”

“Oh, the shame of it,” Boxer moaned. He put his head between his hands. “What is this generation coming to? Talking of sex in the kitchen, as if it were the weather.”

Reed walked into the kitchen. “Who's talking of sex in the kitchen? Oh, it's you.” He reached over and gave Natalie a big, easy hug. “I should have known. You haven't talked about anything but sex since the day you met Matthew.”

“Oh, the shame of it,” Boxer groaned. “Saints in heaven. Sex in the kitchen.”

Natalie grinned. She leaned closer to Faith and whispered. “And in the dining room, and in the pool. And even on the roof. But you have to be very, very
careful on the roof.” She sighed. “Oh, heavens, marriage is wonderful. I highly recommend it to the entire world.”

Reed frowned at her, but it wasn't a real frown. “God, Nat,” he said, “are you drunk, too?”

“She certainly is not.” Boxer raised his head fiercely. “Natalie Granville is a damn fine woman, and I'll kick the ass of anyone who says otherwise.”

Natalie kissed the top of Boxer's head. “Yes, I am,” she said to Reed with a grin. “I'm delightfully drunk on love.”

“And what exactly are you two doing in my kitchen? Besides talking about sex?” Reed perched on the edge of the table and glared at Boxer. “I don't suppose you've come to apologize for mangling the hell out of my car.”

“Not your car,” Boxer said in eloquent, somber tones. “A car is merely a material possession, and as such matters little in this world. I came instead to offer my humble apologies to the exquisite Ms. Constable. I told her that if she would be so generous as to forgive me—”

“I forgive you,” Faith put in quickly. No telling how flowery this fellow could get, and she still had to think of something to feed Reed and Spencer for lunch.

Boxer bowed his head. “My endless gratitude is yours.”

“Well, that's very nice,” Reed said, “but I'm
afraid she needs something a little more concrete than gratitude.”

He held out a small black cell phone, not his own, but a new one. “I picked this up when I was in town. I figured you should have it, in case of emergencies. That way you can always call me, no matter where I am. No matter what.”

She understood what he meant. In case Doug showed up. He wanted her to know she could always call for help. But no one else was supposed to know the true circumstances of her life, so he couldn't spell it out. Everyone else in town just thought she was the new housekeeper.

She took the telephone with a polite murmur of thanks, but she looked at him warmly, hoping he could read the real gratitude in her heart.

Spencer, who had been in the living room watching television, must have heard Reed's arrival, because suddenly he appeared in the doorway with the football in his hand. He tossed it to Reed, who caught it easily.

“Oh, no,” Reed said, putting the ball behind his back. “No more football until I get some lunch. A man needs sustenance before he can endure another stomping like that.”

“Umm, Reed.” Faith sighed. “About lunch…”

He sniffed the air. He stared at her, his face falling. “No.”

“Yes.” She picked up one of the scorched burgers and held it out. “I'm sorry, but yes.”

He closed his eyes and moaned under his breath. “Must…eat…” he whispered tragically.

Spencer, who obviously could not accept that his football game had suffered a setback, scanned the room quickly, desperately searching for an answer.

Finally he found one. Pouncing, he grabbed the open bag of marshmallows and held it up with a triumphant flourish.

Reed stared at it, and then he began to laugh. He took the bag, dug out a marshmallow and popped it into his mouth.

“Clever boy,” Reed said. He grinned at Spencer, and the two of them slapped palms. “Touchdown!”

S
PENCER LATCHED ON TO
the cell phone the minute he saw it. Faith didn't know whether he liked the security of it, or whether he just thought it was a cool techno-gizmo. Spencer was all male that way. He loved anything with buttons and beeps and a digital display.

His reasons didn't really matter, anyhow. It made him happy to carry the phone around in his pocket, and that was enough for Faith. Reed didn't mind, either. He said that, as long as Spencer would fork it over whenever Faith went anywhere alone, he didn't care who played with it.

That Friday afternoon, Spencer came in to the kitchen holding an empty bread bag. He'd begun to feed the ducks every day after lunch, a ritual he took very seriously. Tigger wasn't allowed to help. He'd never quite learned to keep out of the pond, so he had to stay inside, staring a hole through the kitchen door.

Today, though, Spencer seemed to be out of food. He held out the bag and shook it to emphasize how empty it was.

“Okay, sweetie,” Faith said. “I'll see if we have some more.”

She put down the cookbook she'd been studying, relieved to be able to stop struggling with foreign phrases like “deglaze with wine until it is reduced by half” and “let the fat reach the point of fragrance.”

The darn book particularly loved the phrase “bake until tender.” Well, yeah. But how long exactly
was
that?

Naturally Melissa Fairmont hadn't owned any but the most sophisticated cooking tomes. Faith needed beginner pamphlets, like “Meet Your Kitchen” and “Making Friends With Your Measuring Spoons.”

“You know,” she said, slipping a fork into the book for a marker, “I think Reed said you should occasionally give the ducks real feed. Did he tell you where he keeps that?”

Spencer shook his head. He was eyeing the apples in the bowl on the table. He'd just had lunch, but he was always hungry. Especially now that Faith was doing the cooking. Thank heaven for fresh fruit and vegetables.

“Tell you what. You have an apple, and I'll go ask Reed about it, okay? I think he's out back working on the stable.”

Spencer nodded. He pulled up a chair, shoved her cookbook out of the way, and dragged his teeth happily through the crisp skin of the apple. The cell phone was hooked to his belt, riding on a clip Reed had given him just yesterday.

She smiled as she went outside, thinking how smart Reed was. One of these days, Spencer would not be
able to resist using that beloved phone. And there was only one way to use a telephone, as Reed well knew.

You had to talk.

She made her way across the backyard, breathing in the sweet smell of someone's nearby leaf fire. The new stable was about halfway finished. Reed worked on it a little every day, before the clinic opened, or after it closed. Because the clinic closed early on Friday, she assumed he'd be out there now.

She was right. But he wasn't alone.

As she rounded the corner, she saw Justine standing with him. Gavin was sleeping on her shoulder, covered from head to toe in a blue woolen sack with a peaked hood.

And Reed, who had his wallet open, was handing Justine a rather thick stack of money. Cash money. Big bills.

Justine twitched a little when she saw Faith. She jammed the money into her shirt pocket quickly and flicked Reed an uncomfortable look.

He seemed more nonchalant. He refolded his wallet smoothly and slid it into his back pocket as he smiled a welcome to Faith.

“Hey. I hope you've come to help.” He gestured toward the pile of unused boards. “I am never going to get this darn thing finished before winter at this rate.”

She shook her head. “No, unfortunately, I'm working on dinner. This isn't one of Theo's nights, so I have to come up with something edible. I actually just
came to ask where you keep the food for the ducks. Spencer is ready to feed them.”

“Oh, we store that in the back of the clinic,” Justine put in, shifting Gavin to a more comfortable spot on her shoulder. “I'm headed back that way. I'll show you.”

In the short silence that followed, she looked at Reed, apparently realizing she might have butted in. “I mean, unless you wanted to show her, of course. I was just thinking, you know, that this way you could keep working.”

Reed laughed and picked up another long, thick board. “No, it's fine. You show her. If I stop now, I'll never be able to force myself to do any more today.”

Faith and Justine turned away, but after they'd walked just a few feet Reed called out again. “Hey, Faith!”

She looked back. He was awful cute, standing there in his dirty sweatshirt, with his jeans riding low on his narrow hips, hoisting a heavy board on one broad shoulder. “Yes?”

“If things get rough in the kitchen, there's a telephone number I want you to remember. It's 555-MAMA.”

“Okay.” She wrinkled her brows. “And that number would be for…”

He grinned. “Pizza.”

She scowled at him playfully, Justine laughed, and then they headed once again toward the clinic.

In a minute or so they heard the low whine of Reed's circular saw. The noise seemed to wake Gavin up. Justine patted his back and murmured something soothing—and that seemed to break the ice between them.

“You know, I'm sure glad it was you who came around that corner just now,” she said, glancing at Faith with a sheepish expression. “If my mother had seen him giving me money like that, she would have thrown a fit. God only knows what she would have thought.”

Faith wasn't sure how to respond. She couldn't help being curious herself. Why had Reed been shelling out large sums of cash to Justine behind the clinic?

Justine wasn't stupid. She gave Faith one considering look, and then she smiled tightly. “You're not sure what to think, either, are you?”

Faith smiled back. “No, but the difference is it's none of my business.”

“It's none of my mother's business, either.” Justine's mood seemed to sour abruptly. She tightened the hood around Gavin's little face with tense, jerky movements.

“I mean, why should it be? They're not supporting me and Gavin. My father won't even speak to me. I don't owe them answers. I don't owe them a damn thing.”

Faith didn't say anything. Clearly a lot of volatile emotions lay just under the surface in this young
woman. It was hard to be sure what might make her explode.

“Reed is nice to me. Sometimes he helps me, okay? He's the only person in this town who would give me a job. He's the only one who isn't afraid of my father. And now he's loaning me some money to get my car fixed. That's all. I don't know why anyone would read anything dirty into that.”

Faith kept her tone level. “I can't imagine that anyone would.”

Justine snorted. Gavin lifted his head and looked at her curiously. “You don't know my father, then. He thinks everything is dirty. Do you know he even asked me if Reed was Gavin's father?”

She looked at Faith with bloodshot eyes. “He told my mother he thinks maybe Reed got drunk one night, and was all horny because his wife was dead, and so he slept with me.”

Faith took a deep breath. What a terrible man Alton Millner must be. She hoped to God he wasn't telling everyone in town this sordid fantasy of his.

“I have to agree, that sounds a bit far-fetched,” Faith said cautiously.

“It's more than far-fetched. It's completely whacked. My father is disgusting. I hate him. I'll never tell him who Gavin's father is now. He doesn't deserve to know.”

Faith had vowed to stay out of this. But suddenly she just couldn't stop herself. Justine was very young
and very emotional. It was possible she hadn't thought this through.

“I can understand how upset you must be. But this seems a little rough on Reed, doesn't it?”

Justine sniffed loudly, ran her finger under her nose and shot Faith a frown. “Why? Reed doesn't give a flip what my father says.”

“Maybe not.” Faith chose her words carefully. “But other people might. What if your father tells everyone his theory? It's a shame for Reed's reputation to be ruined, don't you think?”

“No one would believe him. They know Reed's not like that. Everybody likes Reed. Nobody likes my father.”

Faith shrugged. “Maybe you're right. I'm sure you understand the situation better than I do.”

They walked in silence the rest of the way back to the clinic. Now and then a fat duck would waddle right up to them, clearly aware that it ought to be dinnertime. Faith apologized, holding out her empty hands and promising that Spencer would be out soon, though that didn't seem to impress any of the ducks much.

Justine stepped around them, as if they weren't there.

It was obvious that Faith's words had made Justine think. She sighed heavily a couple of times, and then she nuzzled Gavin's ear with a lost, needy gesture that was somehow extremely poignant.

While her lips were pressed against the flannel, she
made a small sound that was half frustration, half distress. Faith thought she might be crying, and she regretted having upset her. This was all so horribly unfair to Reed, though. Surely Justine would see that sooner or later.

As they reached the door, Justine finally turned to Faith. Her blue eyes were full of tears and defiance.

“You know, nobody thinks about this from my side. What if I actually have a reason for not telling people who the father is?” She took a ragged breath. “What if I'm not just being a bitch?”

Faith looked at her calmly, though her heart ached. What a horrible dilemma this was!

“What kind of reason?”

“Maybe it would ruin the father's life if the truth got out. Like, what if he's already married? Or in love with someone else? What if his family would throw a fit? Nobody ever thinks about that.”

“But, Justine, I—”

“What if it would totally mess up his life to get saddled with a kid?” Tears began to fall in earnest, and her voice was choked with misery. “What if I'm actually trying to do the right thing for once in my goddamn life?”

 

O
UT IN THE HALL
the pay phone was ringing. Doug heard it in his sleep. He shifted on the lump of stained rocks they called a mattress and tried to tune it out.

Why the hell didn't somebody answer it?

But suddenly, as the rings faded into the empty
corridor, a random, half-conscious thought flashed through his mind.

The telephone. Ringing and ringing and ringing.

In his dreams he saw a glowing number, pulsing in and out, blinking blood red, winking at him, trying to tell him something important.

And not just any number. The number of trouble, the number of fear. The number of death.

The number 13.

He bolted up, suddenly wide awake, his whole body strangely cool, as if he were made of melted ice.

Good God, he was a fool. Such a stupid, stupid fool.

The telephone.

Faith's telephone. With thirteen red messages still suspended in its mechanical bowels, recorded but unheard, fertilized but unborn. Waiting for him to come back, waiting for him to push the button that would force the machine to helplessly disgorge them all.

He'd pick through every message, every word. And somewhere in them he would find the clue he needed. He was sure of it. So sure that, for the first time in two months, he thought perhaps he could really sleep.

He wouldn't go tonight, not tonight, when all the little ants would be at home in their mound. And not tomorrow, which was a weekend. The ants would be scurrying around in the elevators and the corridors, hauling bags of groceries and cans of paint and other
made-up chores to make their pitiful lives seem less pointless.

It annoyed him to remember Monday was Halloween. Too busy. All those parties and trick-or-treaters. He couldn't go then, either.

But Tuesday, when they all marched in a line back to their offices, leaving the mound untended. On Tuesday, he would return to Faith's apartment.

And he would force that silent, overlooked machine to reveal to him every one of its thirteen secrets.

 

H
ALLOWEEN WAS
only three days away.

After dinner Friday night, while Reed and Faith did the dishes and Spencer drew pictures at the kitchen table, Reed suggested they might want to enter the scarecrow contest.

“It's fun,” he said as he dried the last of the dinner plates. “We won't win, because Suzie Strickland always wins. She's the only truly artistic person in town. But it's still fun to enter.”

Spencer looked intrigued. Reed had noticed that his freckles always seemed to get darker when he was excited, and they were practically mahogany right now. Tigger, who always mirrored Spencer's mood, lifted his head from his paws and panted enthusiastically.

Faith, on the other hand, looked downright dubious. “But if we aren't going to the Halloween festival, won't that be kind of pointless?”

Reed gave her a shocked look. “Why on earth wouldn't we go to the festival?”

Spencer opened his mouth and scowled at Faith, too. He didn't actually echo Reed's words, but his expression said it all.

Her face tightened, and she swallowed hard. Suddenly Reed knew what she was thinking—he could almost see it in her eyes. The festival would be crowded and chaotic, and people would be in costumes that cloaked their true identities. She was afraid of all that chaos, all that exposure.

But, in a few dramatic seconds, he watched her overcome that fear. She looked at Spencer's eager face. She frowned. Then she took a deep breath, blinked twice and forced her lips to smile.

“I guess you're right,” she said. “Of course we ought to go.”

For this little boy, she could do anything. She just might be the bravest woman Reed had ever seen. He thought of the two self-indulgent years he'd wasted after Melissa's death, weeping into a bottle and wishing he were dead, and he was ashamed.