“What I want to know is what you’ve discovered in that attic, so I can figure out how to make our plan work,” he said evenly. “You’ve had plenty of time to find the stuff we’re looking for.” He drew his lips together like a petulant child and glared at her, waiting for her answer.
“Jem, I can’t just go rummaging around in there, even if I knew exactly what to look for. It’s just not that simple.” She squirmed out of his grasp. “I have to go to work. I’m going to be late.”
“What are you doing that’s so important?” He made no move to touch her but leaned back against a tree, facing her. He folded his arms across his chest and looked at her through heavy-lidded eyes.
“I’m making some money the way people are supposed to make it. I’m working.” Jem had held a number of jobs, none of which lasted long. It was always someone else’s fault when he was let go. Why couldn’t he just settle down instead of thinking up new schemes to get quick money? She thought about Wally, how carefully he set about his work, how much Annie appreciated him. How could two boys who’d grown up together be so different? She drew in a quick breath. “Annie got me this job, and I’m not going to mess it up.”
“So, it’s ‘Annie’ is it? You’ve gotten pretty cozy with the rich lady, haven’t you?” His lip curled in scorn but quickly turned into a sly smile. “But that’s good. Cozy is good. You just keep it up. Stay on her good side.” He leaned toward her, dark hair falling over one eye. “Once we get our hands on those canvases, we’ll have some real money, and we can go away together—you and me.”
She kept her eyes down. She didn’t want to be moved by that little-boy posture that always got to her. She was tired of the pretense, of wishing and hoping. She let out a long breath. “Jem, we don’t need to do this. I’ll have some money on Friday. You can have it—all of it. I just don’t want to do this anymore. I don’t want …” Her throat ached, and she felt the tears gathering. He would try to take her in his arms, comforting her like he always did, and she would crumble like a house of cards. If only she were strong like Annie.
Annie had survived many losses in her life—her parents, her beloved husband, her grandparents. She’d struck out on her own in a new town with people she didn’t know. And she had remained strong through it all. Tara thought about the cross-stitched lighthouse she had washed and pressed. The design showed dark waves cresting a rocky shoal, and from the lighthouse, yellow light radiated in a steel gray sky.
“A person can stay strong through trouble by doing what’s right, Tara … and by opening your heart to others.” Annie had smiled gently with those words and looked off into some distance that Tara couldn’t see.
But knowing what was right wasn’t always that easy. And opening your heart could be dangerous. Tara swallowed, realizing that Jem had gone very quiet. No cajoling; no attempt to embrace her.
It was silent in the little grove except for the rain, still gentle, whispering through the leafy boughs above them. Jem remained with his back against the tree, arms folded. They were so close she could see the little black hairs in the hollow of his throat quivering with the rising and falling of his breath. Her own breath seemed to have stopped.
She looked up to see him studying her, the expression in his deep-set eyes hard to read. His pupils were dark, and his mouth rigid. From far away a gull cried. Jem suddenly dropped his arms, turned away, and disappeared into the trees.
She listened for his retreating footfalls, but she heard only silence. The rain, too, had stopped, as though it had been startled back into the heavens from which it came.
A terrible emptiness gaped inside her. She was alone, more deeply alone than she had ever felt. She stepped away from the tree and moved out of the woods, putting one foot in front of the other. But the ground beneath her seemed without substance. She began to run … faster and faster. This was how an empty person moved. She cleared the distance to the animal shelter in what seemed seconds. Perhaps she was, in fact, without substance herself—a ghost.
The barking of the dogs grew louder and more insistent as she approached the large farmhouse. They always made a racket, but the sounds were different—sharp, urgent. She could see them pacing and jumping in their pens. The closer she came, the more boisterous their complaints. It was Vanessa’s day off, but in her absence Carla would have fed and watered her charges long ago.
Drawing alongside the pens, she realized that the metal water pans on the concrete slabs were empty. Food dishes had been scattered, some of them turned upside down. She stood still, listening and scanning the area, but there was no sign of Carla. Chilled by the brief rain and Jem’s dismissal, Tara shivered.