"You have photographs of her, don't you?"
"No. I asked Bert a couple of times, but he said he didn't have any."
"I can't believe I didn't think to ask you!" Getting up from the bed, Phoebe went into her closet and returned a few moments later with one of the cardboard boxes she'd had sent from New York. While Molly watched, she turned out the contents on the bed to search for what she wanted. "I know it's in here somewhere. Here it is." She drew out the gold dime-store frame with a photo of Lara sitting on a deck chair by the pool holding a newborn Molly in her lap. Lara's blond hair was tied back from her face with a floral scarf and she was smiling down at Molly, who was wrapped in a pink blanket.
She held her breath as she passed the photograph over to her sister.
Molly touched it gingerly, almost as if she were afraid it would dissolve in her hands, and stared down into her mother's face. An expression of awe came over her. "She's beautiful."
"I think you have her eyes," Phoebe said softly.
"I wish I'd known her."
"I wish you had, too."
"Can I have this?"
"Of course you can. I took it with me when I ran away. I used to pretend she was my mother."
Molly stared at her, and then a sob slipped through her lips. This time it was Phoebe who held her.
"I'm sorry I've been so awful. I was so jealous of you because Bert loved you and he hated me."
Phoebe patted her sister's hair. "He didn't hate you, and he didn't love me, either."
"Yes, he did. He was always comparing me to you." She slowly drew back so that Phoebe was looking into her tear-stained face. "He said that I gave him the creeps, and that I looked like I was going to faint every time he talked to me. He told me you always stood up to him."
Phoebe drew her close again. "I didn't stand up to him until I was a grown woman. Believe me, when I was your age, all I tried to do was stay out of his way."
"You're saying that to make me feel better."
"Bert was a bully, Molly. He was a man's man, in the worst way. He had no use for any woman who wasn't either taking care of him or sleeping with him. That left out the two of us."
"I hate him."
"Of course you do. But when you're older, you may learn to pity him instead." As she spoke, she felt something let go inside her and she realized that her father's rejection had finally lost its power over her. "Bert had two of the best daughters in the world, and he didn't even care. I find that sad, don't you?"
Molly seemed to be thinking it over. "Yes, I guess it is."
As the winter moonlight made a pool on the carpet, their fingers met somewhere in the region of Pooh's topknot.
They squeezed tight.
Chapter 23
« ^ »
The pep band struck up "Ain't She Sweet?" and the Star Girl cheerleaders formed a tunnel of blue and gold pom-poms for Phoebe to walk through. As she made her way onto the field for the AFC Championship game, she sparkled in a short velvet jacket encrusted with thousands of sky blue sequins, a matching metallic gold tank top and miniskirt, shimmery stockings, and square-heeled pumps with beaded gold stars twinkling on each toe. The crowd greeted her with wolf whistles and cheers while the Star Girls shook their pom-poms and wiggled their hips.
As she waved and blew kisses, she could feel the tension-charged atmosphere in the mood of the crowd and see it in the players' grim expressions as they huddled on the sideline. She avoided looking at Dan while she made her way to the end of the bench for her pregame rituals. Many of the players believed she brought them good luck, and she had been forced by necessity into a routine of thumping helmets, slapping shoulder pads, and slipping lucky pennies into shoes. Bobby Tom, however, refused to give up his good luck kiss.
"We're gonna do it today, Phoebe." He gave her a resounding smack and set her back down on the ground.
"I know you are. Good luck."
She watched as the Sabers joined the Stars on the field. Their starting quarterback had been reinjured in the last game, making the Stars a narrow favorite, but Ron had warned her that, even injured, the Sabers were a great ball club.
As the kickoff approached, she could no longer avoid looking at Dan. She saw the strained tendons in his neck as he spoke into the headset to the coaches' box and then said a few words to Jim Biederot, who stood at his side. Only when the players were in position for the kickoff did he turn in her direction. Their eyes locked, but his expression was blank, revealing nothing of his feelings. She fumbled for his gum in her jacket pocket as he came toward her.
It hadn't taken the fans long to grow familiar with the Stars' pregame rituals, and the crowd watched for the moment when the kicker would tee the ball and Phoebe would pass over the Wrigley's. As Dan drew up next to her, she tried to sound normal.
"I didn't forget your gum."
He studied her for a moment, his mouth set in a tight, hard line. "Bobby Tom gets soul-kissed and I get a pack of gum. I don't think so."
Her eyes widened as he whipped off his headset. Before she could react, he leaned down and gave her a long, punishing kiss.
Strobes flashed and the crowd roared with laughter, hoots, and cheers. When Dan pulled away, Phoebe forced herself to smile. The crowd thought it was a joke, but she knew it wasn't. His kiss had been filled with anger and intended to hurt. He was letting her know that he hadn't forgiven her for insulting his honor.
He moved abruptly away and turned all his attention to the field as the ball soared through the air. The Sabers' return man caught it deep in the Stars' end zone.
Despite her own turbulent emotions, she was quickly wrapped up in the excitement of the game. She knew from Ron that part of Dan's strategy was to force Saber turnovers, and the defense's aggressive play did just that less than four minutes into the game, when Elvis Crenshaw knocked the ball loose from their tailback. The Stars quickly established control and by the end of the quarter, they had posted seven points and the Sabers were scoreless.
She made her way back up to the skybox, where the atmosphere was as tense as it had been on the field. The Stars were building momentum while the Sabers struggled to get into the game, but it was still far too early to relax. Ten minutes later, when the Stars intercepted a thirty-yard pass, Phoebe knew she couldn't stand the tension any longer. They were playing brilliantly, but what if they fell apart?
Muttering to Ron that she was going to take a walk, she slipped the chain of her purse over her shoulder and left the skybox. She nodded at the security officer outside, then began to pace in the otherwise deserted hallway. As another gale of cheers came from behind the closed doors, she rounded the bend at the end of the hall.
She wished Molly were with her instead of sitting outside with her friends. The last few days had been magic between the two of them as Molly had chattered away nonstop, determined to fill her older sister in on every detail of her life. Phoebe smiled. No matter what else she might regret about these past few months, she would never regret her decision to keep Molly with her.
She was so preoccupied with her thoughts that she barely noticed how far she'd walked until the door of one of the nearby skyboxes flew open, amplifying another round of cheers. Her fingers tightened over her purse as Reed came out. The last thing she wanted at this moment was to meet up with him, but he had already spotted her, so she couldn't retreat.
The Stars' last victory had put an end to his pretended affability, and now there was nothing left but hostility. When he reached her, he lit a cigarette with a gold lighter and squinted against the smoke.
"Bored with the game already?"
She had no desire for another confrontation, and she gave a casual shrug. "No. Just nervous. What about you?"
"I came out for a cigarette, that's all."
The cloud of smoke that had wafted into the hallway when he'd opened the skybox door still hadn't entirely dissipated. "You couldn't stand to watch either."
She immediately wished she'd kept her mouth shut. Although sh
e hadn't meant her statement to be a challenge, that was how he took it.
"It's not even halftime. I wouldn't start celebrating yet."
"I'm not."
They heard another round of cheers, and he drew a quick, angry drag. "You've been lucky all your life. You're the only person I've ever met who could step into a pile of shit and have it turn into gold."
"I've always thought you were the lucky one."
He gave a snort.
She gripped the strap of her purse. "After all these years, you still hate me, don't you? When I was a kid, I could never figure out why. You had everything that I wanted."
"Sure I did," he scoffed. "I grew up in a run-down apartment with a neurotic mother and no father."
"You had a father. You had mine."
His lips drew tight in a sneer. "That's right, I did. Bert cared more about me than he ever cared about you, right up until the day he died. He just wanted to teach you a lesson. He kept saying that you were his only failure, and he thought you'd settle down if he could get you away from those faggots you were always running with." Reed jabbed his cigarette into one of the sand-filled ashtrays that stood against the wall. "Bert didn't mean for it to turn out like this. No one could have predicted all the flukes that happened this season. The Sabers lose Simpson and McGuire, the Chargers lose Wyzak, the Bills and the Dolphins fall apart. Christ, if he'd had any idea the Stars would make it to the playoffs, he never would have let you get near the team, not even for a day!"
"The Stars did make it to the playoffs. And from the sound of the cheers, they're winning."
His face darkened with rage. The successful businessman had disappeared, leaving the cruel bully of her childhood in his place. "Goddammit, you're gloating, aren't you?"
"I'm not—"
But her denial came too late because he jammed her against the wall with his body. She winced as her shoulders hit and her purse dropped to the ground.
"You ruined everything for me! You always have!"
Frightened, she pushed against his chest with the heels of her hands. "Let me go or I'll scream!"
"Go ahead! If anybody sees us, they'll think you're coming on to me like you come on to everybody else."
"I mean it, Reed! Let me go."
She froze as she felt his hand move to her breast. He squeezed. "You were a hot little piece when you were eighteen, and you still are."
Shock held her immobile. "Get your hands off me."
"When I'm ready."
She struggled to back away from his obscene touch, but she was pinioned by his body. The expression on his face frightened her. She expected to see lust, but instead she saw something more dangerous. She saw hatred and the need to exert his power over her just as he always had.
"You may end up with the Stars, but before you start believing you've got the last laugh, there's something you should know."
The triumph in his expression made dread creep through her like poison. She was a child again, watching him hold a photograph of her mother just out of her reach. They might have been surrounded by eighty thousand people, but she had never felt more alone.
His lip curled. "That night in the pool shed…"
"No! I don't want to hear this!" All the old nightmares came rushing back. She could hear the thunder, feel the hot, sticky heat. Once again, she tried to pull away from him, but he wouldn't release her.
"Remember the storm? How dark it was?"
"Stop it!" She had begun to sob. He squeezed her breast tighter.
"So dark you couldn't see your hand in front of your face…"
"Don't do this!"
"That night when Craig fucked you…"
"Please…"
"It wasn't Craig."
Her stomach heaved, and a whimper slipped through her lips as his words hit her like a blow. Her lungs felt as if they had collapsed and she was suffocating to death.
"I'm the one who found you in that shed."
She was going to vomit. Had she always suspected this in the deepest recesses of her subconscious or was it new knowledge? She gagged at the smell of his cologne.
He released her breast only to twist a lock of her hair around his fingers. She bit her lip to keep from crying out as he pulled hard.
"And the best part is, there's not a damned thing you can do about it, Miss High and Mighty, because it happened too long ago. It'd be your word against mine, and while you've been humping everything in pants, I've been Mister Clean. So whenever you start gloating about the Stars, know that I'll be remembering the way you screamed when I popped that sweet little cherry of yours."
"Are you all right, Miss Somerville?"
Reed jumped back as a security guard approached from the left. She pressed her fingers to her lips.
"Miss Somerville? Is everything okay here?"
She struggled to speak. "No, I…"
"See you later, Phoebe." Reed straightened his tie, then crossed the hallway to the skybox. He turned and gave her a smirk. "Thanks for that cherry pie." Opening the door, he disappeared inside.
She pressed her hand to her stomach. The security guard took her arm.
"Everything's going to be all right, Miss. Let me help you."
She moved like a robot at his side as he drew her down the hallway. The memories of that terrible night came crashing back. There had been no windows in the metal shed, and the heat trapped inside had been thick and heavy. When he'd opened the door, she'd seen only a hulking male silhouette against slick black sheets of rain. She'd assumed it was Craig, but she hadn't seen his face.
He'd been on her before she could move. He'd torn her blouse and bitten one of her breasts like an animal. She remembered the roughness of the uneven concrete floor scraping her bare buttocks as he had pushed up her skirt and ripped off her underpants. Her head had banged into a chemical drum when he'd spread her apart. He had made a guttural sound as he'd pushed into her, but after that, the only sounds she could remember were her own screams.
The floor gave out beneath her and her head shot up. For a moment she was disoriented, and then she realized the security guard had led her into an elevator. "Where are we going?"
"I'm taking you to first aid."
"I'm all right. I don't need first aid."
"You're white as a sheet. I don't know what that guy was trying to pull, but maybe you should lie down for a few minutes until you feel better."
She started to protest but realized she wasn't in any condition to go back to the skybox right then. A few minutes away from curious eyes would give her a chance to pull herself back together. "All right. Just for a bit."
As the elevator continued to descend, she smelled cigarette smoke on the guard's uniform, and another wave of nausea came over her because it reminded her of Reed. She was overcome by a sense of helplessness. He was going to get away with this. He was right. Too much time had passed for her to be able to make accusations.
The security guard began to hack. He was overweight, probably in his early fifties, with grizzled hair and a florid complexion. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead. She read his name printed in block letters on his plastic tag. "You should give up those cigarettes, Mr. Hardesty."
"Yeah."
The elevator doors slid open. She saw the pipes overhead and realized they were in some sort of subbasement. "Where are we?"
"There's a first aid station for the employees down here. It'll keep you away from the crowds."
She followed him out of the elevator into a narrow corridor, which was painted a dull, battleship gray. Pipes hissed overhead and she heard a sound that reminded her of distant thunder. She realized that she was hearing the muffled roars of the crowd in the dome above them.
They rounded a sharp bend. "In here." He caught her elbow and turned the knob on an unmarked door.
Feeling her first quiver of uneasiness, she hesitated. With a hard push, he thrust her inside.
"What are you doing?" she gasped.
Her eyes widened with horror as she
saw that he had drawn his gun and it was pointed directly at her. A sense of unreality swept over her. Reed was her enemy, not this man she had never met. Above her the crowd roared like a beast in a padded cage, while she was trapped in a nightmare where she had escaped one terror only to be ensnared by another.
He pushed the door shut. "Get over there!"
"Why are you doing this?"
"Move!"
She stumbled backward, gradually becoming aware that he had pushed her into a room that seemed to be both a janitorial office and storage space. She saw a dented gray steel case desk, a file cabinet, and a wall of metal shelving holding cartons and machine parts.
He pointed the gun toward an armless secretarial chair that had a small V-shaped tear in the black vinyl seat. "Sit down."
Her legs trembled as she lowered herself into the chair. The oval-shaped back support squeaked and gave slightly as she leaned back. She stared with grim fascination at the ugly black gun that was trained on her heart. It didn't waver as he leaned down to pull a length of clothesline from behind a packing box that sat on a metal shelving unit across from the desk.
"Who are you?" she whispered.
Instead of answering, he pushed against the chair seat with his shoe, spinning it around so that she was facing the wall. She automatically reached out to brace herself, only to have him grab her arms and pull them behind her. She gave a cry of alarm.
He wheezed as he tied her wrists and secured them to the vertical metal bar that held the chair's back support. It rocked alarmingly on its spring hinge, pulling at her arms and making her wince. When she was bound, he gave the chair another push, sending it flying into the far corner of the cramped room. She stopped it with her feet before she banged into the wall and then, panic-stricken, pushed herself around so that she was facing him.
She tried to feel grateful that he hadn't tied her legs, but the cords were cutting into her wrists, sending shafts of pain shooting upward. He picked up the gun from one of the metal shelves where he had laid it while he tied her and returned it to the leather holster on his hip.