More than a feeling, p.12
More Than a Feeling, page 12
She sighed. The warm glow from their lovemaking was fading now, and reality was creeping under the covers, slipping into the small space between their two bodies.
If she hadn’t opened her door to him this afternoon, Spencer would be sleeping in his own bed tonight. A bed that happened to be in Boston. Where he had ties much stronger than her. In a world much different than hers.
She could easily picture him in a suit, talking confidently and convincingly to a jury. In a tux at a fancy gala. Casual and elegant at the country club on the weekend. She’d never asked him if he golfed. She bet he did. This was a man who was at home in all the elite business and social circles of Boston.
Yet, he was also down–to–earth, someone who didn’t mind getting his hands dirty or letting his mind drift in the clouds of beautiful poetry. Or was she just fooling herself? Maybe the man he’d been here, in Carol Falls, had been like a character in a play. A role he’d slipped into for a change of pace. But not who he really was.
She’d known all this before she’d asked him to sleep with her.
Still, she didn’t regret that they’d had this night together. It had been worth it.
Robin closed her eyes. Willed herself to relax and enjoy these last few hours...
The next time she awoke, the bedroom was bathed in sunlight and Spencer was gone.
She called out his name, and when he didn’t answer, dragged her butt out of the bed. It was almost noon. Her throat hurt. So did her head.
She headed to the bathroom and turned on the shower. She could see signs that Spencer had been in here last. One of the extra towels was still damp. And the shampoo was on a higher shelf than she normally left it.
She put away her clothing from last night. It reeked of smoke. Not nice, campfire–type smoke, but a pungent, vile smoke that reminded her the awful events of last night had not been a nightmare.
For a long time she let the water pound down on her, lathering her hair once, twice and a third time. Even then, when she got out of the shower, the smell of the fire still lingered in her nostrils.
As she walked down the stairs, she called for Spence again. It didn’t occur to her that he might not be there. He hadn’t made any promises, but surely after last night he wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye.
But when she saw the note by the coffeemaker, she realized he had.
“Coffee is ready to go, just press the button.”
Seriously? That was his opening? Despite her disdain for his priorities, she turned on the machine, because she had to take something for this headache. And caffeine seemed like a good drug of first resort.
She took his note to the island, perched on a stool and kept reading.
“Sorry to have taken off this way. I had a message from my mom. Dad was really sick last night, so she called emergency. He was admitted to the hospital and I’m on my way there now. I wish I didn’t have to leave you. I hope you understand.”
She read the note again, wondering when he’d written it. Had he managed to get enough sleep before he left? She hated to think of him making that long drive feeling fatigued.
But she couldn’t blame him for going. Of course she couldn’t
She thought about calling him, but decided she should wait. He had his own problems to deal with right now—he didn’t need to be worrying about her. In the meantime she would pray for his father. Have some coffee. Then find Joey Frost and see how she’d fared with Allan last night.
Spencer had done so much for her yesterday. Been there for her in ways she would always appreciate. Sometimes it took a real emergency to show you what a person was made of. What she’d learned about Spencer had been amazing.
He was strong and brave, yet also tender and caring.
She loved him so much. Could he really feel the same way about her? She had a feeling that once he was back with his family in Boston, immersed in his job and his busy social life, he’d forget all about her.
She and Carol Falls and even the maple syrup farm—they’d only been diversions.
* * *
Spencer was enroute when his mother called to let him know his dad had been released from hospital. “It was just a bad reaction to one of his meds,” his mom said, still sounding worried. “They’ve changed his prescription and he seems much better.”
“Glad to hear it, Mom. I’ll be at the house in about thirty minutes.”
“I’m so glad. We’ll wait to have our lunch when you get here.”
He tried to tell her not to bother, but she’d already disconnected. He hit the button to close down the Bluetooth on his end, as well.
He considered calling Robin to give her an update, but didn’t want to disturb her. Hopefully she was still sleeping. She’d looked beyond exhausted by the time they’d gotten home last night.
More like shattered.
The only bright spot in all of this, was at least she’d been vindicated. She’d felt something was off, and it had been. Even Joey believed her now.
His parents’ home was in Brookline, a five–thousand square foot luxury home on a gracious lot that included a swimming pool and tennis court. Spencer had grown up in this house, and often took for granted the luxurious furnishings and expensive art and sculpture pieces within.
Today, though, as he walked in the marble–floored foyer, passed by the table with a five–foot tall fresh floral arrangement, then along the wide corridor lined with framed prints from American masters, he couldn’t help contrasting it all with the Vermont farmhouse where he’d been staying for the past month.
Sylvia and Harold’s home was very spacious too, and it sat on a beautiful piece of land. But it felt so homey and warm compared to this place. His mother had excellent taste, but it was very formal and sophisticated.
Did it make him a bad son if he preferred Sylvia’s style to his own mother’s?
He found his parents sitting in the small covered terrace off the dining room. Propane heaters were keeping the chill out of the spring air. His relief that his father had been released from the hospital evaporated the moment he saw his dad.
Though he’d been gone for only four weeks, his father had worsened visibly in that time. He was thinner, his complexion grayer, and when he stood to shake Spencer’s hand he honestly seemed a few inches shorter.
“Dad.” They weren’t used to hugging, but he clasped a hand on his father’s shoulder.
His mom came to kiss his cheek. “It’s so good to see you, Spencer. But you look...different.”
She frowned, so he guessed it wasn’t a better kind of different.
For their luncheon they ate spinach, goat cheese salad and toasted focaccia bread layered with roasted brie cheese and grilled eggplant. Along with the meal, his father served a chilled and brilliant 2008 Chardonnay from Sonoma. But Spencer’s appreciation of the meal—and the libations—was diminished when he noticed his father ate very little of it.
Not only that, but every time Peter Frost raised his wine glasses, his wife’s eyebrows pinched together.
So clearly the doctors had instructed his father not to drink alcohol.
His mother took care of the conversation for the first half hour, filling him in on the news of her friends as well as her efforts to raise funds for a new hospital wing.
When the meal was over, his dad chatted business for a bit, before requesting news on the Vermont side of the family.
“How is Harold doing?” he asked. “How’s his health?”
“Fine, except for some arthritis. It’s really starting to slow him down. He’s put his eldest son, Garret, in charge of the farm—and it’s quite an operation. They’re major exporters of maple syrup now with plans to expand.”
“I’d love to see Harold again. Meet his wife and children. It’s too bad how the family drifted apart after the men in your grandfather’s generation moved off the land.”
“The perfect chance might be coming up.” Spencer glanced from his father to his mother, not sure how the suggestion he was about to make was going to be received. “Two of Harold and Sylvia’s children are planning weddings this year.”
“Two!” his mom exclaimed.
“Apparently they had quite the Christmas. A surplus of mistletoe I guess.”
Both of his parents smiled at that.
“The end result is that Garret is now engaged to a lovely woman named Lily Parker. I think that wedding won’t be happening until later—maybe summer or even the fall. But Jim and April will be hosting a smaller event soon. They already asked me what dates would work for you and mother. They’d love for you to attend.”
As he’d feared, his mother’s eyebrows pinched in at that.
But his dad nodded. “You know what? I’d really like to go. If they send us an invite, Doris, we must accept.”
After he’d helped his mother clear away the dishes, Spencer joined his father in the maple–paneled study where his father liked to sit and read, or work when need be. Actually, Spencer reflected, it was all work, since anything his dad read was usually related in some way to his work.
He picked up a copy of the Harvard Law Review from the mahogany desk and began flipping through it. “Do you ever wish you’d spent more time reading novels, or poetry, Dad?”
His father settled in his favorite wingback chair. “That’s a funny question.”
“Is it?”
Peter eyed his son in a thoughtful way. “They say a man never approaches his deathbed wishing he’d spent more time at the office. And while that’s true in its way, I can honestly say I have had a love affair with the law. I never wanted to spend my life doing anything else. Could I have spent more time with your mother and you? I suppose. But we’ve been close. And with you stepping up in the firm, just as I’m moving down, I have no regrets.”
Spencer replaced the journal. Would he end up feeling the same way, if he stayed in Boston and took the partnership? Thirty years from now, would he have no regrets, either?
“Dad, I want to ask you about a case. It happened twenty years ago. The defendant was Allan McGuire.”
He wasn’t surprised when his father nodded. He had a prodigious memory, along with his other talents.
“That was a strange one. Over the years I’ve thought about it often.”
“Tell me more. “Spencer felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe he would find out something that would help the police put a case together against Alistair. To be honest, his motivation wasn’t so much justice, as giving Robin a sense of peace.
“You’re familiar with the case facts?”
Spencer nodded.
“Allan McGuire would have been recently released from prison.”
“That’s right. He moved to Carol Falls.”
“Ah—so that’s what brought the case to your attention?”
“There’s more to the story than that.” He still wasn’t sure he was ready to mention Robin to his family. Or how much to tell them about her. “But I’ll fill you in on the rest later. I’d really like to hear what struck you as strange about that case.”
“It was the mother. I’ve never forgotten her. You know, it doesn’t matter how vile a criminal is, who he’s hurt or how much he’s stolen—when his mother comes to visit, she does one of two things. She gives him a blast, or she showers him with hugs and kisses. Most often she does both. I’ve seen this over and over in my career.
“You’re right, Dad. So have I.”
“Well, that wasn’t how things were with Allan McGuire’s mother. She seemed to be almost revolted by her son. It was a reaction you could expect from almost any other person, given the vile nature of Allan’s crime. But not his mother. No—I always found that extremely odd. Especially when she practically fawned over the brother—twin brother, I believe.”
“You mean Alistair.”
“Yes. That was his name. The whole case ended up being resolved so quickly. I often wished I had delved a little deeper. The young man’s guilt couldn’t be denied. But something just felt off.”
* * *
In the end it was Joey who dropped by the chalet to talk to Robin, not the other way around. She came off duty, wearing jeans, her long blonde hair braided down her back.
Her eyes betrayed a fatigue that went beyond the physical. It was a wearing down of the soul that Robin recognized.
“Come in. Can I get you anything?”
“I’m fine. This is for you.” Joey handed over a box. “Inside is a container of Mom’s chicken noodle soup and a loaf of sunflower and flax bread. Guaranteed to fix what ails you.”
“Thanks so much.” Robin was deeply touched that Sylvia Frost would be so thoughtful. And that Joey would take the time to come over when she wasn’t even working. She carried the food to the kitchen and after putting it away, poured herself another cup of coffee. “Sure you don’t want some? I just made a fresh pot.”
“Smells good.” Joey settled on one of the bar stools. “Maybe I will.”
Robin put out the milk and sugar, then brought the mugs of coffee to the island. “Did you get any sleep last night?”
“Not yet,” Joey admitted. “I went home to shower and change my clothes an hour ago. Once I leave here, I’ll probably crash. Where’s Spence?”
Robin didn’t think Joey and her family had been told about Peter Frost’s cancer yet, so she gave a vague answer about Spencer’s parents needing him to get home. She glanced at her watch. “He should be there by now.”
Joey sighed. “That’s too bad. I was hoping you weren’t alone. Want to come and stay at my place for a few days? I have a spare room, though it’s not as posh a place as this one.”
“That’s really kind, but I’m okay.” She couldn’t stand the suspense any longer. “How’s Allan? Were you able to talk to him?”
“He’s getting a lot stronger. And yes, he did eventually talk. But it took almost four hours for me to convince him that his brother was in jail and wouldn’t be able to hurt him anymore. Alistair had his brother totally terrorized.”
Robin sighed. “We figured that might be the case. Spencer said the basement—where he found Allan—looked like a prison.”
“According to Allan the only times he was allowed out was when he had to report to his parole officer. Alistair would drive him and keep close tabs—not that Allan was in any mental shape to ask for help.”
“I caught a quick look at Allan when they were putting him on the stretcher. He looked in pretty rough shape physically, too.”
“He was. They performed a very thorough examination at the Medical Center and found evidence of years of childhood abuse. Multiple bone fractures, scars on almost every part of his body...” Joey gripped her mug with both hands. “The worst case any of us had ever seen.”
“Were both kids abused?”
“You’re thinking of the scar on Alistair’s arm?”
“Yes.”
“The answer is no. Apparently the mother’s sick, twisted game was to fawn on Alistair while heaping mental and physical abuse on the brother. That scar you saw was the result of Alistair knocking over a pot of boiling water when he was around seven years old. Allan told me that his mother beat him and wouldn’t let him eat for two days after it happened—even though he was in a different room at the time of the accident.”
“Oh, Lord. That poor child. What would make a mother favor one child so much over the other?”
“We have a really good psychologist in town—Dr. Juliette Armstrong. I spoke to her earlier today and she’s agreed to treat Allan, as soon as he’s strong enough. She also told me that it’s not uncommon for a parent to favor one child over another. But fortunately it is uncommon for favoritism to turn into abuse. As a child, Allan suffered from epilepsy and she speculates that may have been a contributing factor. Healthy parents tend to favor, or give more attention to their sick children. But this mother was the opposite of healthy.”
Robin took a few minutes to absorb all that Joey had told her. “It’s disconcerting to go from hating someone, to feeling sorry for them.”
“I can only imagine. But now I have to tell you what I learned about your sister’s case. Are you up for it, Robin? Because you’ve already been through a lot and we could finish this discussion another time.”
“Tell me.” She’d never rest until she’d heard the truth.
“I figured you’d say that. Can’t blame you. If it was me, I couldn’t wait either. It turns out there was more than one reason why Allan was willing to take the fall for what happened to your sister. The chronic abuse, and his subsequent total lack of self–esteem was the major part of it. But he also felt guilty because after his brother kidnapped Faye and put her in the car, he forced Allan to drive with him to the family cottage.”
“So they both abused Faye? But she always said there was just one man.”
Joey reached across the island to take her hands. “They were twins, right? And Alistair made sure that she never saw them together.”
“But...Alistair was the only one to commit the...abuse?”
“He did try to coerce Allan into...taking a turn. But because they couldn’t be in the room at the same time, he had no way of knowing if Allan really did the things he told him to do. According to Allan, he simply couldn’t. Despite his fear of his brother, he never touched Faye.”
Robin groaned. None of this made her sister’s ordeal any easier to bear. But it did make her feel something she never thought she would feel. Pity for Allan McGuire.
“If he really didn’t hurt Faye, why did he confess to the crime? Why didn’t he turn his brother in?”
“I asked the same questions of Dr. Armstrong. She said you need to understand the psychology of abuse to appreciate the hold that Alistair and his mother had over Allan. Besides, Allan did feel guilty for what happened to Faye, since he’d done nothing to stop his brother. So he felt he deserved to go to prison. Maybe, in some ways, he felt prison couldn’t be worse than the life he currently led.”
Robin wanted to curl into a little ball right there on the kitchen floor. Vaguely she heard Joey leave the room, then return with a handful of tissues. Only then did she realize she was crying.
