Bridge to Haven

  She turned away. “You don’t listen any better than Franklin.”

  “You gave yourself to me, remember? You sold yourself to him.” He came up behind her and turned her around to face him. “I want you back.” He ran his hands up and down her arms. His touch gave her chills. She could tell by the look in his eyes he thought she was aroused. “Oh, baby, it’s been too long.” When he leaned down, she ducked under his arm and fled into the bathroom. When she locked the door, he laughed. “Are we back to that again?”

  She sat on the edge of the tub, holding her throbbing head. “Go away, Dylan.”

  “You don’t mean that, baby.” He kept talking as he moved around the bungalow. Was he pacing like a lion, waiting to pounce?

  He drummed his fingers on the door. “Come on, baby. We’ll make a great team.”

  She flashed back to the first night in San Francisco, and the second, and all the months of misery that followed. She knew better than to say a flat no. “I need some time to think, Dylan.”

  “Let me hold you. I’ll make you forget Franklin Moss.” He gave a throaty laugh. “You know I can.” When she didn’t respond, he moved away from the door. She heard him opening drawers. What was he doing? He came back. “I’ll give you time, baby. Tonight. I’ll be back in the morning to pick you up.”

  She heard the door open and close. Had he really gone? She waited another five minutes before she opened the bathroom door and came out. Dylan sat on the end of the bed. He’d taken off his jacket. That sultry smile that once melted her insides now turned her cold. “I thought you left.” Her heart pounded when he got up and walked toward her.

  “I’ll go when you say yes.” He touched her hair, stretching out one strand, rubbing it between his fingers. Was he thinking about making her a blonde? “You wanted to be free of him, and who could blame you? The guy was nuts.” He took his hands away and spread them. “If you don’t want me to touch you, I won’t. We’ll keep it strictly business between us. As to what happened between you and Moss, we can tell the press anything we want.”

  “I won’t lie, Dylan.”

  “Oh, baby, you’ve been lying for as long as I’ve known you. Now you have scruples? Don’t make me laugh.”

  How he’d always loved twisting the knife.

  “Don’t you get it, Abra? No one cares what the truth is. People just want a good story—the juicier, the better. Franklin took you pretty far; I’ll give him that. I can take you all the way to the top.”

  She’d give him the answer he wanted if it would get him out of the bungalow. “Give me the night to sleep on it. Alone. Then we can start talking about your plans tomorrow.”

  He looked surprised at her capitulation. “Good. I’ll bring the contract in the morning.” He shrugged into his jacket and cocked his head. “Eight o’clock too early for you?”

  She glanced at the clock on the bedside table. “It’s after midnight, Dylan. Let’s make it nine.”

  When he walked toward her, she lifted a hand. “Strictly business.”

  He raised his hands in surrender. “Okay.” He went to the door and opened it. “Sleep tight, baby. See you in the morning.” His smile was smug. “I don’t think you’ll go anywhere without me.”

  The moment Dylan went out the door, Abra fastened the chain. It didn’t occur to her until he was gone what he had been looking for. She got down on her hands and knees and pulled the shoulder bag out from under the bed. The money was gone.

  She sank to the floor. No wonder Dylan had left with such confidence, his expression so mocking. What now? Stay and let him take over where Franklin had left off? Or follow Franklin’s example? She rose and went into the bathroom. Digging through her toiletries, Abra found the package of Gillette razor blades. She unwrapped one and held it over the blue-green veins in her wrist. Her hand trembled. How deep would she have to cut to make sure she bled to death? Tears blurred her eyes.

  Shaking violently, Abra looked at herself in the mirror and saw a girl with big green eyes, ashen cheeks, and a mass of wavy black hair. She’d missed her regular hair appointment with Murray. Franklin wouldn’t be happy to see red roots showing. Uttering a cry, Abra grabbed a handful of black hair and sawed through it. Keening, scalp stinging, she kept at it until a pile of severed black locks lay around her bare feet on the white marble floor.

  Cursing Dylan, she held her head. Think, Abra. Think! Each time she’d left the room, she’d always taken a hundred-dollar bill with her. She ran back to the bed, flung her suitcase on it, and went through all her clothing, digging through every pocket. She found enough to buy a bus ticket somewhere and have a few meals, if she didn’t order steak.

  Run, Abra.

  This time she listened to the quiet voice.

  She threw her things back into the new suitcase and closed it. Heart thumping wildly, she opened the door and peered out. It was late enough for everyone to be in bed. She wove around the bungalows and snuck away in the dark shadows of the giant Moreton Bay fig tree.

  Few cars traveled the road this time of night. The surf crashed along the beach as she ran down the sidewalk. A taxi drew up to the curb, but she didn’t want to use any of her remaining cash to pay for a cab ride. Several inebriated young men came out of a club. She hid behind a shuttered hot dog stand. They came closer as another cab came toward her. Changing her mind, she waved it down and asked how much it would cost to get to the Greyhound bus station. She couldn’t afford to linger. Sliding in, she looked out the back window, wondering if she’d see Dylan’s Corvette following.

  A few passengers waited to board buses at the station. She asked where the next bus was going. “Bakersfield.” She bought a ticket just as the bus pulled in. She found a seat in the last row and hunched down so no one would see her. She didn’t look out the window until her bus pulled onto the main street. No cars followed.

  Abra ached after an hour on the bus. It had stopped half a dozen times before climbing the grade and descending into a high valley. Feeling sick, she got off the bus in Saugus and went inside a café to use the bathroom. When she came out, she didn’t see the bus outside the windows. She ran outside and down to the corner, but it was too far away to run fast enough to catch up.

  “Miss?”

  In despair, Abra turned. The waitress from the small diner set Abra’s suitcase down. “The driver left it for you.”

  “What am I going to do now?”

  “Catch the next bus, I guess.” The girl shrugged and went back inside.

  A bleached blonde in a short skirt and low-necked blouse came outside. “You going any place in particular, honey?”

  Abra shrugged. “I was heading for Bakersfield.”

  “Bakersfield! Never been there. Nice suitcase. Must have cost a bundle.”

  Abra felt the woman studying her and kept her face averted. With her hair all hacked off, surely she no longer looked like Lena Scott.

  “You look like a rich girl running away from home.” The woman sounded sympathetic and curious.

  “I’m not rich. And I don’t have a home.”

  “No one in Bakersfield?”

  “No one anywhere.”

  “Well, then, I can give you a ride, if you don’t mind ending up in Vegas by way of Mojave.”

  Las Vegas was as good as anywhere else, maybe better. Abra looked at her. “Where’s Mojave?”

  “Out thataway.” She pointed northeast. “Past Palmdale and Lancaster. I’m going to see a boyfriend stationed at Edwards Air Force Base before going on. You’re a pretty girl, even with that mop of hair. You wouldn’t have any problem finding yourself a lift with a trucker.”

  Abra thanked her. She couldn’t stay in Saugus. She didn’t have enough money left to pay for a night in even a cheap motel. The woman led her to an old car with cracked leather seats. A pillow and blankets were rolled and tossed on the floor of the backseat. “Excuse the mess.” The woman got in, tied a red scarf around her hair, and started the engine. Abra dumped her suitcase in the backseat a
nd slipped into the front.

  The woman pulled away from the curb and drove down the street, following the same route the bus had taken, and then headed east. The woman talked about car problems and horses. She’d worked from the time she was a kid on a ranch in the Central Valley. “Couldn’t wait to get away from the smell of cow manure.” She’d had hard luck for the past two years, but things were looking up now.

  “You didn’t eat, did you?” The woman glanced at her. “I should’ve let you eat something before we took off. What do you say we stop for a bite in the next town?”

  Abra still felt queasy from riding the bus. She hadn’t eaten anything since finding out Franklin had killed himself. She glanced at her watch. Less than twenty-four hours since her life had once again been turned upside down and inside out. She looked out at the desert and felt barren inside.

  The woman parked in front of a diner next to a run-down motel. The town didn’t look more than a few blocks long. “Some coffee and eggs, and we’ll be on our way.” A bell above the door rang as they entered, reminding Abra of Bessie’s Corner Café back in Haven and the booths with red vinyl seats. How many times had she and Joshua sat in one? He’d buy her a chocolate shake and fries, and they’d talk and talk. Her throat closed at the memory.

  The woman slipped into a booth by the front windows. She took a menu from the stand holding salt and pepper shakers, plastic bottles of ketchup and mustard, and a glass sugar dispenser. “You should eat hearty. You still have a ways to go.” She handed the menu across to Abra. “Order me a Danish and coffee. I forgot something in the car.”

  The waitress looked like she had entered her twilight years, but her hazel eyes had a youthful spark. “What can I get you, dearie?”

  “Scrambled eggs, toast, and orange juice, and a Danish and coffee for my friend.”

  Her brows rose slightly. “You mean the friend who’s driving away?”

  “What?” Abra turned and saw the woman backing the car out of the parking space in front of the café. Sliding quickly out of the booth, Abra raced outside. With a screech of tires, the woman changed gears and the car shot down Main Street. “Wait! You have my suitcase!” The woman honked twice and waved as she drove away. Mouth agape, Abra stared until the car was out of sight. Turning, she came back up the steps and sank onto the bench outside the diner.

  You can run, but you can’t hide from Me.

  Abra hunched over, covered her face, and wept.

  The waitress came outside and crouched next to her. “You look like you could use a real friend.”

  Abra took the napkin the waitress held out and thanked her. Blowing her nose, she mumbled, “God hates me.” He’d hunt her down and torment her until she died. And then He’d send her straight to hell.

  “Why don’t you come on back inside out of the heat and eat your breakfast?”

  Abra felt a surge of panic. “My purse!”

  “It’s in the booth, right where you left it.”

  Shoulders drooping, Abra followed the lady inside and slid into the booth again. Rummaging through the shoulder bag, she lost hope. “I’m sorry.” She shook her head. “I can’t eat this.”

  “Something wrong with it?”

  “Nothing. It looks delicious.” Her stomach growled loudly, and heat filled her already sunburned face. “I just don’t have enough money to pay for it.”

  “Well, you eat up, sweetie. It’s on the house.” The waitress headed for the counter and then retraced her steps. “If you need a job, we sure could use some help around here. I can even give you a uniform and apron.”

  “I don’t have any place to stay.”

  “Bea Taddish runs the motel next door, and she’s a good friend of ours. She’s got one room left and was just saying this morning how she could use another hand cleaning the rooms. There’s a work crew in town. The men are all out by early in the morning, but they like things nice and tidy when they come back. You could work the breakfast rush here, make up rooms for Bea, and have time for a nap before you come on back to help with the suppertime crowd.” She let her gaze move around the empty diner. “You wouldn’t know it by looking at the place now, but we’re full up when the crew is hungry.” She looked at Abra. “What do you say?”

  “Yes! Please! Thank you!”

  The lady chuckled. “Good. Funny how things work out.” She took a few steps away and looked back. “What’s your name, by the way?”

  Abra almost said Lena Scott, then remembered the note she’d left for Franklin. Lena Scott was dead—and not worth resurrecting. Abra Matthews had disappeared a long time ago. Who was she going to be now?

  “Abby Jones.” It was as good a name as any and one she’d easily remember.

  “Nice to meet you, Abby. I’m Clarice.” They shook hands.

  “Can I ask you something?” Her voice came out small and childlike.

  “Sure, sweetie. What do you want to know?”

  Abra looked out the window at the small town that sat in the middle of high desert wilderness. “Where am I?”

  “You’re in Agua Dulce.”

  CHAPTER 16

  Hope springs eternal in the human breast:

  Man never is, but always to be blest:

  The soul, uneasy and confined from home,

  Rests and expatiates in a life to come.

  ALEXANDER POPE

  JOSHUA WIPED SWEAT from his brow before nailing down another wooden shingle on the roof of the movie-set hotel. Hammers pounded up and down the make-believe street as other shell buildings were framed. Everything would look authentic from the outside, but inside was another story. He secured the rest of the shingles and called for another bundle to be brought up.

  The sun beat down on his back. He’d tucked a damp cloth under his baseball cap to keep his neck from burning. The air was still and stifling. He pulled a canteen of water from his tool belt and gulped half the contents. Dumping a little in his hand, he wiped his face and then went back to work. No one wanted to work any longer than necessary in the blistering heat. They’d started at four and would call it quits by two.

  “Hey, Freeman! Slow down a little, would you? You’re making the rest of us look bad.” The man standing next to Joshua’s ladder was only half-joking.

  “Just doing my job, McGillicuddy.”

  “Well, do it slower. We’re ahead of schedule. We’re not in a race.”

  “Just trying to please the Boss.”

  “I haven’t heard Herman complaining. Have you?”

  “I wasn’t talking about Herman.”

  “Yeah, yeah. That Jesus stuff again.” McGillicuddy laughed. “Does God pay you?”

  “Yep. Herman just signs the checks.”

  “Seems to me God could have given you a better job than out here in this inferno pounding nails into a roof that’ll be torn down as soon as the movie is in the can.” Shaking his head, McGillicuddy crossed the dusty street and climbed up the ladder to the roof of the set bordello.

  Joshua called after him. “I’ve been wondering about that, too.”

  An hour later, the crew came down, stowed tools, and headed back into town. McGillicuddy pulled his new GMC truck up beside Joshua’s and shouted through the open window. “What do you say to a couple of beers at Flanagan’s?”

  “I’d say thanks. I’ll see you there after a cold shower and change of clothes.”

  He joined the men at the bar and ordered a Coke. They teased him, but quickly resumed talk of work, sports, women, and politics. A small television had been set up at the end of the bar so they could watch wrestling matches. They picked favorites and shouted as though they were ringside and the opponents could hear them. Herman left his stool and took a booth, waving Joshua over. “You’re welcome to join me for dinner, unless you haven’t had enough of those yokels yet.”

  Joshua slid into the booth. “They’re a good crew.”

  “I’ve been watching you, Freeman. Good finish carpenters are hard to come by.” He sipped his beer. “Why are y
ou out here and not working with Charlie Jessup?”

  “I didn’t know you knew him.”

  The waitress came over and took their orders. Herman leaned back and looked at Joshua. “Charlie is a friend. He has a lot of respect for you, even on short acquaintance. That’s saying something.”

  “Thanks for telling me.”

  “So answer my question. Why here and not high-end projects in Beverly Hills?”

  “It’s only a short-term commitment, and then I’m going home.”

  “Where’s home?”

  “Haven.”

  “Never heard of it.”

  “You could say God shoved me here.”

  “Whatever your reasons, you sure put your all into it.”

  “Rule number one in my book.” He didn’t tell him his book was the Bible.

  “You make my job easier.” He jerked his head toward the men at the bar. “They’ve been watching you. A few grumble, but most have picked up the pace.”

  Joshua smiled slightly. “Are you telling me I’ll be out of a job sooner than expected?”

  “Maybe, but I have another ready to go. If you change your mind about Haven, let me know. You’re the top man on my long list. I need a good foreman. What do you say to that?”

  “Unless God tells me otherwise, I’m going home.”

  It was early when Joshua returned to the motel, but after a full day working in the desert, he was ready to turn in. He stripped off his clothes, fell into bed, and was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. He dreamed of Abra sitting at the piano in the front of the church, sunlight streaming through the side window and making her red hair like flame. He sat in the choir loft, arms resting on the railing, watching her. He didn’t recognize the poignant hymn. Someone patted his knee, startling him. Mitzi grinned, looking spry, radiant, and smug. “Didn’t I tell you she’d never forget?” She took his hand and squeezed. “It’s time, Joshua.”