Maggie laughed unsteadily. ‘I wondered about that. He asked if it was related to the broken camera. I didn’t say yes, but I didn’t say no. I just asked him to come out. He said he would, but that he’d have to bring Stevie and Cordelia. They promised Cordy pizza at her favorite place.’
‘I’m glad they’re coming with him. He might need them.’
Hunt Valley, Maryland,
Saturday 22 August, 4.35 P.M.
Taylor gripped her phone so tightly that it hurt her hand, waiting for her father to pick up. After a few rings, he did, and her pulse pounded harder.
‘Hey, baby,’ he said in that quiet way of his. Frederick Dawson was a level kind of man, but anyone who considered him weak was quickly re-educated. He was like a deep lake that hid an underwater river with a killer current. Strong and silent and . . . always there. Always vigilant. And always prepared to do whatever was necessary to keep her safe. ‘Are you okay?’
A hysterical laugh bubbled up, but it came out a sob. ‘Yeah, I’m okay.’
‘No,’ he said, tensing up. ‘You’re crying. What did they do to you?’
‘Nothing. Nothing. They’ve been super-nice. It’s just . . . I’m meeting him. Tonight.’
A long, long silence. ‘You told them?’ he asked carefully. ‘I thought we agreed you’d at least wait until after you’d met him. After I’d come out there and met him.’
After Clay had proven himself trustworthy was left unspoken, but her father didn’t need to say the words. He’d said them too many times as they argued about her accepting the internship.
‘I didn’t tell them. Maggie VanDorn knew.’
‘How? That background check held up, didn’t it?’
‘Of course it did. I wouldn’t have made it this far if it hadn’t. Apparently I have his eyes. And . . . Maggie overheard me talking to one of the stable hands here. Dillon’s a nice guy and he told me about Clay. I asked a few too many questions and I guess Maggie’s initial suspicions were confirmed.’
‘You need to come home, baby.’ The fear in his voice was plain as day. ‘Now. I don’t care how much the plane ticket costs. Just come home.’
Taylor shook her head, forgetting for a moment that her father couldn’t see her. ‘You know I love you, Dad,’ she said. And it was true. Frederick Dawson had been the only father she’d ever known. The sacrifices he’d made for her safety . . . The knowledge still choked her up. But Taylor also knew that he was afraid he’d lose her, that once she met Clay she’d forget her home. That she’d forget him. But nothing could be farther from the truth.
‘I know. I love you too.’ His voice cracked. ‘Come home. Please. Just come home.’
‘Daddy, listen. Please listen. I am so grateful for everything you’ve done for me. Every hug and every time you treated me like one of your own daughters.’
‘You are my own daughter,’ he insisted.
‘Of course I am. And I always will be. You’ll always be my dad. But Daddy, Mom lied. She lied about Clay. He’s been looking for me for years. Years, Dad.’
Silence.
‘Daddy? Are you still there?’
‘Yeah. I’m . . . I still can’t process any of this.’
Meaning the fact that her mother – his wife – had lied for their entire marriage about her ‘dangerous ex-husband’ who’d abused her and whom she’d fled out of desperation. Who’d stop at nothing to kill her and take her daughter away.
His wife, who’d let the lie go on, spiraling out of control. Allowing him to completely sacrifice his old life, giving up his successful law career in Oakland for that of a rancher in the middle of nowhere in Northern California. Allowing him to sacrifice his own daughters.
‘I know, Dad. I’m so sorry.’
‘It’s not your fault,’ he said fiercely. ‘You didn’t do anything wrong.’
‘I don’t think Clay did either,’ she said as gently as she could. ‘He was out there looking for me just last week.’ She sighed, trying to find the words to reassure him. ‘According to Dillon, he’s got a family now, complete with a little girl.’
‘He got married again? I thought you checked for that.’
‘I did, although I only searched the local courthouse records. Maybe they got married somewhere else. But the important thing is that his new wife has a child from a previous marriage, a little girl whose dad died. The girl is part of the program here, but I haven’t met her yet. Apparently she was threatened by a man with a gun and she still has nightmares about him.’
‘God. Poor thing.’
‘I know. Dad, Dillon told me that Cordelia doesn’t tell her mom about the nightmares because she doesn’t want to upset her, but she trusts Clay with them. Just like I trusted you with mine.’
Another long silence was followed by a huge sigh. ‘I wish I could be there when you confront him.’
‘I wish you could, too. But I’m trying not to think about it being a confrontation.’ She was trying, but it really wasn’t working. She wished she’d grabbed the saltine crackers before coming upstairs. That had been so thoughtful of Ford.
Whose experiences also sounded sadly familiar to her own. And now you’re stalling.
She forced her thoughts back to meeting Clay, trying to picture herself as a rational adult, not a terrified child. ‘I’d like to think of it as getting rid of my nightmares.’
‘And then you’ll come home?’
‘Then I’ll finish out this internship.’ She understood now why Maggie had hooked her into helping Jazzie – so that she’d feel obligated to stay whichever way things went between her and Clay Maynard. Maggie was a clever woman. Taylor would do well to remember that.
‘And then you’ll come home?’ he pressed.
Taylor smiled into the phone. ‘And then I’ll come home. For at least a while. Daddy, I want to see stuff. See the world. I’ve been so afraid for so long, but I don’t want to be. I don’t want you to be afraid for me. I want you to have a life too, especially now that Mom’s gone. I don’t want you to be lonely.’
More silence, then a shuddered sigh. He’d been crying. Her strong, quiet, loyal father had been crying and Taylor had to blink back her own tears.
‘I know you need to spread your wings.’ A sad little chuff. ‘I just hoped you’d spread them closer to home. Like, say, McKinleyville.’
She snorted a laugh. ‘Two whole hours away? Are you sure you could handle that?’
He laughed along with her and she knew they’d be okay. ‘Hell, baby, I let you go all the way to Baltimore. Not that I could have stopped you.’
‘Yeah, you could have. If you’d point-blank told me not to go, I’d have obeyed you. But you didn’t and I’ll love you forever for that alone. You’re my dad. Don’t ever worry that I’ll forget that. You are my father and I love you.’
He sniffled. ‘I guess I can’t ask for more than that, because that’s all that’s important. Go meet Clay. And then tell him that the next time he comes to California, he should come to the ranch. We’ll have a chat. Maybe a beer.’
‘What about the good whiskey that you hide from everybody?’
‘Now you’re pushing it, baby. Go. Call me later. I’ll be waiting.’
Baltimore, Maryland,
Saturday 22 August, 5.00 P.M.
‘Jazzie! Dinner!’
Jasmine snuggled a little harder under the covers and closed her eyes, focusing on the deep rhythmic breathing that seemed to fool Aunt Lilah and Grandma into believing she was asleep. They always left her alone when she was asleep.
She pretended to sleep a lot.
The door opened and she could smell dinner and lemons. Aunt Lilah always smelled like lemons. Just like Mama. Or like her mama used to. Jasmine clenched her jaw, holding back the tears. Breathe in, two, three, four. Breathe out, two, three, four.
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‘Jazzie— Oh,’ Aunt Lilah said, all hushed. ‘Jazzie?’ she whispered.
Jasmine. I’m Jasmine. She wasn’t Jazzie anymore. She’d lost Jazzie a month ago.
Aunt Lilah sighed and pulled the door closed quietly. Jasmine waited for the smell of lemons to fade away before she chanced peeking out from under the covers.
She’s gone. Jasmine knew she should feel guilty about pretending to sleep, because it was kind of lying, but . . .
Aunt Lilah meant well. Jasmine knew this, but . . . I just want to be left alone.
Because she hurt. Deep inside, she hurt. Everyone wanted her to smile. To be happy again. To get over it. But Miss Taylor had understood.
I’m allowed to hurt. Jasmine wanted to shout it out at the top of her voice, but that was never going to happen. She’d stutter and ruin it. Just once she’d love to stand in the middle of a field and scream all the words in her head so that the world would pay attention. But dramatic speeches only worked if you could speak. When people tried to finish your sentences to ‘help’ you? Not so much.
So she kept the speeches in her head. Along with the whispering voice that made her want to throw up. It was always there. Always whispering.
He’s coming back. He’ll find out you were there and he’ll come back. For you. And then she’d end up just like her mama.
Jasmine curled up in a ball, trying to stop shaking. She was so scared. And tired. Watching every word that came out of Janie’s mouth was hard. Janie didn’t understand what she shouldn’t say. And she didn’t stutter. People listened to her. If Janie tells that I was there, that I was hiding . . .
Someone would tell someone else and it might end up on the news. And then people would wonder why she’d been hiding. They’d wonder if she’d seen anything and then they’d speculate. That was the word Aunt Lilah used. They’d speculate and rumors would start.
He might hear them. And come back. Part of her wished he would, because she wanted to ask him why? Why had he done it? He was supposed to love Mama. He was supposed to love me too. But he’d killed her mama and she had no doubt that he’d kill her too.
She could hear Aunt Lilah in her head along with the whispering voice. Talk to the nice policeman, Jazzie. Tell him what you saw. He’ll protect you.
Jasmine wanted to believe that. She really did. But she wasn’t stupid. She watched TV. Cops made promises just to get people to talk. To make their job easier. Detective Fitzpatrick might even mean what he promised, but it didn’t mean it would happen. The detective would have to go home sometime, and he would be waiting. And then I’ll be dead.
Somebody needed to know. Just in case he finds me. And kills me. Somebody needed to know who’d killed her mama. Janie needed to know so she could hide. So she wouldn’t trust him.
Because Janie wouldn’t know not to trust her own daddy unless somebody warned her.
Jasmine reached under her pillow and pulled out Miss Taylor’s business card. She was so nice. Jasmine really liked her. And she hadn’t told Jasmine to call. She’d made sure to tell Jasmine that it was okay to text or email because she knew how hard it was for Jasmine to say words. Jasmine didn’t have a phone yet, but she did know Grandma’s computer passwords. She could send an email and then delete the record so that Grandma would never know.
And Miss Taylor wasn’t allowed to tell anyone what Jasmine said, because Healing Hearts was therapy, right? She has to keep my secrets. It’s a law. It was something to think about.
Because somebody needed to know, in case her father came back.
Seven
Hunt Valley, Maryland,
Saturday 22 August, 5.00 P.M.
Ford was pacing in front of the living room window, watching for Clay’s truck, when he heard Taylor come downstairs. He found her in the kitchen, searching the cupboards. ‘What do you need, Taylor?’
‘I’m thinking it would be good to eat those crackers now.’
‘Sit,’ he said gently. ‘It’s going to be okay.’
Taylor sat and blew out a breath. ‘Easy for you to say.’
Ford said nothing, just got her the box of crackers and another bottle of water, then sat next to her. ‘Your mom made you afraid of him.’
It was a statement, not a question, but still she nodded. ‘Yeah.’
‘It was him who was lurking, waiting to jump out and grab you in the dark?’
‘Yeah.’ It came out a choked whisper, and Ford had to reassure her somehow.
‘Clay Maynard is a good man, Taylor. One of the best I’ve ever known.’
Taylor moistened her lips. ‘Maggie told you?’
‘No. I’d already figured it out. I, uh, was in the barn when you were talking to Dillon.’
Her temper flashed, the cracker in her hand crumbling into dust. ‘Spying again?’
‘Not at first. I didn’t come out because I was afraid you’d think I was spying again and be angry with me.’
She frowned, then laughed reluctantly. ‘You’re crazy, you know that?’
He grinned at her. ‘So I’ve been told.’ He shrugged then, his grin fading. ‘I didn’t mean to spy at first, but then all the questions you asked about Clay worried me, so I listened. He’s important to me and he’s been hurt. I know you have too. Your eyes seemed familiar to me, so I put it together and had to wonder what you were doing here, working under an assumed name.’
‘It’s not an assumed name. I am Taylor Dawson. My father is Frederick Dawson. He adopted me when I was eleven.’ Dropping her gaze, she started picking at the label on the water bottle. She flinched when Ford’s hand lightly settled on her back and began to rub lazy circles between her shoulder blades.
‘You want me to stop?’ he asked quietly.
‘No. I’m . . . God, I’m so scared. I’m about to jump out of my skin. I’ll take all the help I can get. So don’t stop. Please.’
‘Whatever you need, Taylor. I mean that.’
Her nod was shaky. ‘You need to understand. Frederick Dawson is my father and he’s a good man too. The best I’ve ever known. He and I were under the mistaken impression that Clay Maynard was a cross between Ted Bundy and Adolf Hitler. My mother told us that Clay had raped her and slapped her around and threatened to kill her if she told anyone.’
‘Why?’ Ford asked, keeping his voice as gentle as his touch, thrilled when she leaned into him, seeking more comfort. ‘Why would she say that, Taylor?’
‘I didn’t know then. Neither did my dad. I didn’t find out the truth until my mother was literally on her deathbed in the hospice center. She asked to speak to me alone, so everyone left the room. She whispered that she was sorry, that she’d lied. That my father was not a cruel man. At first I thought she was talking about Frederick and I was confused, but then she said she’d lied about Clay. She told me that he’d never laid a hand on her, that he’d never raped her. That she’d slept with him when they were in high school to make her ex-boyfriend jealous, but then she got pregnant with me and her parents forced her to marry him. Her boyfriend wanted her back later, but her parents were very religious. She knew they wouldn’t let her get a divorce, especially since she was pregnant. Not unless there was abuse involved.’
Ford could feel her trembling under his hand and felt so damn helpless. Her mother had lied to her. Betrayed her. Made her afraid of her own father, who was a damn good man.
‘So she lied.’
Taylor nodded miserably, her eyes glued to the label she was systematically peeling from the bottle. ‘She told my grandparents that Clay had beaten her and raped her. That he’d never let her or his baby go. So they decided to tell him that she’d had a miscarriage and she filed for divorce when he was away in the Marines and couldn’t fight it.’ She shrugged. ‘He’d only married her because of me. Or what was to become me. I guess he figured letting her go wou
ld be easiest for both of them.’
Ford wanted to scream with rage at her mother – ruining so many lives for the sake of her own convenience. But he didn’t scream. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t want to upset Taylor any more than she already was. ‘How did Clay find out that you were alive?’
‘I don’t know.’ Anxiously she glanced at the clock. ‘I guess I’ll find out soon enough.’
She peeled off the corner of the label and put it carefully on the table before starting on the next corner.
‘Clay does that,’ he murmured. ‘Peels the label and puts the pieces on the table. Are you planning to put it back together like a puzzle?’
She turned to look at him, her dark eyes devastated, glassy with tears. ‘Yes. I was.’
Ford dabbed at her eyes with a paper napkin. ‘He does that too. The puzzle thing. Go on talking if you want to. If you don’t, we can just sit here until he arrives. No pressure.’
‘Thank you. But please understand, I meant no harm in coming here. To anyone. I just wanted to meet him. If it didn’t work out, I could go home and he’d never know I was here.’
Ford thought of the sadness in Clay’s eyes when he finally got to the campsite last week. ‘Except that he’d keep searching for you. Maybe for the rest of his life.’
‘I didn’t know he was doing that. Honest.’ Her voice rose, slightly panicked. ‘Not till Dillon told me.’ The tears spilled out of her eyes and down her cheeks, and that seemed to open the floodgates. A sob rushed out and all of a sudden she was in his arms, crying like her heart was going to break. ‘I didn’t know. I swear it.’
He wrapped his arms around her, scooting his chair closer to hers so that he could rock her. ‘I believe you. Sshh, don’t cry. He’ll believe you too.’
Maggie came into the room then, a box of tissues in her hand. She slid them across the table to where they sat, and Ford tucked a few into the fist Taylor had clenched against his chest.
He rocked her until her sobs stilled, but she didn’t pull away and he liked that. Liked the way she felt in his arms. Liked that she’d had the courage to come three thousand miles to meet the man who’d sired her. And that she maintained a fierce loyalty to the man who’d raised her.