Alyssa again, p.10
Alyssa Again, page 10
“Oh, she’s in rare form tonight!” Stephanie made Brooke sit down, plumping the flowered decorative pillows around her as if she were about to keel over. “Welcome back, sweetie.”
“Better get Tony to fix that step before someone falls and sues you,” Tim said as he and Trish made themselves at home in the living room.
The evening was awkward at first. Plates, napkins, forks, the pizza and salad were laid out on the coffee table in the center of the living room. The conversation started slow, and it seemed as if everyone was trying hard to avoid the obvious subject of Alyssa and her miraculous recovery.
Tim sat in the corner straight chair, simply observing her with a narrowed gaze. What was he seeing? Was he comparing features and discovering anomalies? Would he expose her secret through his newspaper for all the world to see rather than keeping it in the small circle of their friends?
From his perch in the recliner, Cullen commandeered the conversation and filled it with boisterous stories about the charm he’d oozed on clients to whom he’d shown houses today, and about the sale he’d closed on an overpriced lakefront chalet. Had he noticed Alyssa’s return—or that she’d even left? Was his indifference on purpose, or was this part of his character? His cover?
“Speaking of sale, when are you going to get around to updating my home page, Trish?” Cullen asked, picking out the jalapeños from a slice of pizza. “I gave you the information weeks ago.”
“I’m getting there,” Trish answered curtly. “There’s only one of me.”
Trish flitted from place to place as if she were trying to see Brooke from every angle. Did something about “Alyssa” seem out of place? Brooke resisted the urge to fiddle with her shortened hair.
“If you’re that busy, maybe you should hire some help,” Cullen said.
“Maybe you should mind your own business. From what I hear, if you did more minding and less meddling, you’d have more success.”
“Children, children,” Stephanie tsked as she returned from the kitchen with a glass of iced tea. “This is supposed to be a celebration of Alyssa’s return. Do we really need to hear this bickering?”
There was a mumble of agreement.
“Speaking of celebrations,” Trish said. “I hear congratulations are in order, Tim.”
He blushed and dabbed a napkin at his mouth. “Yeah, I guess they are. One of my reporters is up for ‘Writer of the Year’ in the New Hampshire Press Association’s Better Newspaper Contest.”
Congratulations abounded.
“Oh, come on, Tim,” Trish pressed. “Don’t be shy. Tell them about your nomination for ‘Best Editorial.”’
Everyone fussed over Tim’s nomination, then the conversation changed to Adventure Club business.
None of them was acting the least bit guilty. Maybe Jack was wrong and Alyssa’s accident was just an accident.
Juvenile, she told herself, was the way they were acting. It was as if none of them had graduated from high school. They still teased and pestered each other like…like siblings. A touch of envy ate at Brooke as she watched them interact.
Alyssa might not have had her father’s undivided attention, but she’d had family. A cloak of loneliness draped itself over Brooke’s shoulders.
Jack’s piercing gaze caught her attention. He glanced at her hands and gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. She looked down at her plate. She was cutting her slice of pizza with a knife and fork, and Jack was letting her know Alyssa wouldn’t do that. She should have remembered from the constant grilling at the hunting cabin that Alyssa’s table manners left much to be desired. Putting down her utensils, Brooke pretended absorption in the conversation and took hold of the slice with her left hand, remembered Alyssa was right-handed and shifted it to the right, despite the cast, then awkwardly took a bite.
One slight, sharp nod from Jack told her she’d gotten the right message. His approval shouldn’t have sent a small wave of pleasure through her, but it did. He was playing her like a puppet, she reminded herself—the way her mother had. A lump formed in her stomach. She put the slice down on the plate and pushed it away.
She didn’t belong in San Diego where the crush of people and traffic made her long for wide-open spaces. She didn’t fit in here, either. The shadows of the dark woods were too claustrophobic, too reminiscent of a fairy tale gone wrong. Jack’s constant monitoring of her every move made her too conscious of her failings. And sitting on the outside looking in, the feeling of being alien increased.
Instead of dwelling on the growing dark cloud in her mind, she decided to focus on the assembled group once more.
Could one of these gregarious people really want her sister dead?
Periodically Stephanie filled plates and poured drinks and otherwise made herself the unofficial hostess. She was stuffing a moundful of salad into her mouth when the ring on Brooke’s hand caught her attention.
“Oh. My. God. She’s wearing a ring!” Pounding her plate on the lamp table, Stephanie tumbled out of the rocker and lunged to Brooke’s side. “Would you look at that rock! When did this happen?”
The whole room exploded with a buzz of disbelief. She sought out Jack and relief sighed through her when she found his reassuring gaze.
“Engaged? To whom?” Tim straightened and leaned forward, adjusting his glasses to peer at the ring.
“To me.”
Cullen nearly choked on a piece of pizza. “To Jack?”
“You two are engaged?” Trish looked from one to the other with a stunned expression on her face.
“I can’t believe this,” Stephanie said, still examining the ring on Brooke’s finger. “Who’d have thought!”
In the sudden crush of their disbelief, a shaft of panic went through Brooke. Had she done something wrong? Had she said something that had given her away?
“These things happen.” Jack stepped to Brooke’s side and put a hand on her shoulder. Standing by. Standing guard. She wasn’t alone in this.
“Not to you, Jack. Not with Alyssa.” Cullen guffawed. “She’s not your type.”
“What’s my type?”
“He’s blushing. Stop it, Cullen, you’re making Jack blush.” Stephanie rose and batted Cullen on the arm. “And Alyssa, too. Look, she’s beet-red.”
“Well, don’t keep us in suspense, man. Give us the details.” Sensing time-sensitive news, Tim probably wanted to break the story of their engagement in tomorrow’s paper before anyone had time to spread the rumor through town and beat him to the scoop. “When’s the big day?”
The next time a blue moon falls on a Thursday, Brooke wanted to say.
“We haven’t set a date yet.” Jack stood solidly by her, a mountain of confidence.
“We’re taking our time.” Until one of you makes a fatal error, she couldn’t help thinking.
“So what brought this on?” Trish discarded her half-eaten plate of food on the coffee table and studied Brooke with renewed fervor. Brooke found she didn’t like the ardor in the woman’s gaze. Did Trish expect the rivalry between Alyssa and her to bloom in this aspect, too? Should she encourage the competition in order to draw out the possible murderer?
Jack sat next to Brooke on the love seat and reached for her hand, lacing his fingers through hers the way a lover would. Maybe she should have eaten more than half a slice of pizza. The shakiness had to be from hunger, not just his touch.
Magic hands, she thought again, then dismissed the notion. No magic. The practical hands of a practical man on a mission.
He shrugged. The becoming pink blush of embarrassment still colored his cheeks. He looked at her a bit googly-eyed. His smile bordered on the daffy. Meg was right, Brooke thought with a start, the man could be a consummate actor when he set his mind to it. “Seeing Alyssa so close to death made me realize I had…feelings for her.”
“Feelings? That’s rich!” Cullen teased. He stuffed most of a slice of pizza into his mouth.
“Why can’t he have feelings?” Stephanie challenged, brows furrowed. “I think it’s wonderful. Finding love on the edge of death is so romantic.” She turned toward the happy couple once more, favoring them with a smile. “Congratulations!”
The longing in Stephanie’s expression suggested both happiness for her friend and a touch of jealousy. She reached for a piece of pizza, dripping with cheese, and sat back down in the rocker, but her gaze kept drifting to the ring on Brooke’s finger.
Jack draped an arm around Brooke’s shoulder—a protective umbrella in the rain of disbelief showering all around them. She snuggled into him. A soft sigh escaped.
“I’ll be moving in to help her with her recovery,” Jack announced, brushing her cheek with a gentle swipe of thumb. “I don’t want her doing too much, too soon.”
His voice was friendly, his smile warm, yet his words sounded like a warning. Why would he want the would-be murderer to know she wouldn’t be easily accessible? Wasn’t it part of the plan to make it seem as if she were an easy target? They should have talked more about this before setting the play in motion. She’d never been good at improvisation.
“Aw, that’s so sweet of you, Jack,” Stephanie said, smiling dreamily. “She does tend to get carried away.”
Trish flopped back in her chair and hitched an ankle over a knee. “Well, I still can’t believe it.”
Their juvenile banter was starting to get on her nerves. Why couldn’t they be happy for Alyssa? “What’s so hard to believe about Jack wanting to marry me?”
Throwing his legs over the recliner’s side, Cullen snorted. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No. Tell me.” Brooke folded her arms beneath her chest, crossed her legs, and her dangling foot jiggled with irritation.
“Well, number one is that you don’t exactly have a good track record where men are concerned. That would be, what, engagement number six? I’ve been toying with the idea of calling the Guinness Book of Records people to see if they have a category for ‘Most Runaway Bride.”’
“People change.” Alyssa had been engaged six times? Her surprise must have shown in her face. Tim, Trish and Stephanie all seemed to notice it. What about Cullen? She caught the flash of worry in Jack’s eyes and decided to ignore it.
“Number two,” Trish added, counting off on her fingers, “you and Jack get along more like cats and dogs than lovebirds.”
Cats and dogs? Just what kind of relationship did Jack and Alyssa share? Trish seemed to relish the notion of acrimony between Jack and Alyssa a bit too much. Should she encourage Trish’s competitive streak?
“What’s wrong with a little spice in a relationship?” Brooke cocked her head, giving Jack a coy smile. She savored the rush of pleasure at his discomfort, at her newfound spine. “Right, honey?”
“I’ve always liked spice.”
“In your food,” Cullen teased. “Not in your women.”
“Cullen,” Stephanie warned.
Cullen raised both hands. “What did I say?”
“Spice is one thing,” Tim said from his corner. “Marriage is quite another.”
Stephanie leaned toward Jack. “Is she all right? You did mention a problem with her…memory.”
“Why don’t you ask her?”
Stephanie’s face turned red. Lowering her gaze, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You are all right?”
“I’m perfectly fine.” Brooke shrugged. “Just a little…”
“What?”
“Disoriented. Because of the head trauma,” Jack said and waited for a reaction. Brooke followed his gaze. Stephanie seemed properly horrified. Tim waited expectantly for more detail. Trish appeared unconvinced. And Cullen looked as if he wanted to change the topic of conversation. So what did it all mean? They all looked slightly uncomfortable. That didn’t necessarily make any of them guilty.
“It’s normal,” Jack continued, not missing a twitch of muscle, a slide of eye, a shift of body. “The doctor said she’ll probably regain most of her memories, eventually, but may never remember the accident itself.”
The bait was planted. Who would bite?
“You don’t remember the accident?” Stephanie gasped.
Brooke lifted a shoulder. “No.”
“Not at all?” Trish said with a pensive frown.
“You don’t remember paddling up Devil’s Run, the picnic, the climb?” Stephanie added, twisting her hands in her lap.
Brooke shook her head. “Sorry.”
“Well, imagine that! Alyssa without a memory,” Tim said, leaning back in his chair. “Are you still going to be able to take the occasional picture for me?”
“I don’t see why not,” she said, glancing at Jack for confirmation and seeing nothing in his eyes but a wall as impenetrable as granite. She had a feeling she’d get an earful of his disappointment in her behavior later.
“You still remember how to use your camera?”
“Of course,” she said, hoping he wouldn’t actually ask since she barely knew the difference between focus and f-stop.
Tim leaned forward again, bracing elbows on knees. “Even with the amnesia?”
“Memory of processes is unaffected,” Jack said, zeroing in on Tim’s interest. “Events, emotions are what the trauma affected. That’s why she didn’t have to relearn to walk or talk.”
“So she can still climb and run the resort and drive everybody nuts,” Cullen said with a teasing smile.
“That about sums it up.”
“Then nothing’s changed at all. She’s the most forgetful woman I know.”
“So, what’s the last thing you remember?” Tim threw the question with nonchalant care, but Brooke sensed a deeper interest. As a murderer fearing discovery, or as a newspaperman itching for a story?
“Bits and pieces,” Brooke said, parroting the doctor’s opinion of Alyssa’s possible path of recovery. “Nothing really clearly until the first day I saw this house.”
A shot of alarm streaked through Jack’s face. He straightened and his grip on her hand tightened. She dug her nails into his flesh.
“But that was twenty-four years ago!” Stephanie said, reaching for Brooke’s knee.
Trish shook her head. “Unbelievable!”
“So, you don’t even remember us?” Stephanie’s expression reminded Brooke of a hurt puppy’s.
“Of course I do.” Brooke reached for Stephanie’s hand and squeezed it. “I just don’t remember details. I couldn’t completely forget my best friend now, could I?”
Stephanie gave a small smile. “I guess not. But if your memory’s not all there, why would you want to rush into marriage then?”
Tim laughed. “Now that’s a strange question from someone who’d be willing to pay a guy to walk her down the aisle.”
“Shut up.”
“Because…” Brooke looked up at Jack and contorted her features in what she hoped looked like dripping adoration. “Because feelings can’t be helped and what I thought was just friendship seems a whole lot more potent now.”
Jack rubbed his thumb on the back of her hand. She couldn’t decide if it was nerves or a warning. All she knew was that his touch caused small heated waves to lap up her arm down to her stomach.
“Well at least you’re giving yourself time to get your senses back and aren’t rushing into matrimony,” Trish said.
“Exactly.” Brooke snuggled closer to Jack. Her head fit perfectly in the crook of his shoulder. Her hand strayed to his thigh. “We’re taking it nice and slow.”
Jack nearly crushed her hand and she realized her fingers on his thigh were causing a stir of reaction. Heat colored her cheeks. Change the subject. Now.
“We had a bit of excitement a couple of days ago,” Brooke announced. Might as well get straight to the heart of things. “On the way home from the hospital someone tried to run us off the road.”
Jack choked on his iced tea. Brooke pounded on his back.
“I caught the call on my scanner,” Tim said, interest gleaming in his eyes. “Since I was headed home, I decided to swing by and cover the story myself. When I got to Reservoir, I saw nothing.”
“That was us.” Still rubbing Jack’s back, she turned to her attentive audience. “It was quite exciting, really. Jack’s maneuvering had me on the edge of my seat.”
“You would think a brush with death was thrilling!” Trish said, shaking her head. “What happened?”
Brooke leaned forward, gestured grandly and injected a shot of enthusiasm into her voice—just as she thought her thrill-seeking sister might. “A truck rammed us from behind, then tried to sideswipe us.”
“That’s horrible!” Stephanie exclaimed.
Cullen took a swig from a beer bottle. “How much is that little thrill ride going to set you back, Jack?”
“Let’s just say I’m glad my insurance is all paid up.”
“What about the truck?” Tim asked. The fingers of his right hand twitched as if he were itching to write. “Who was driving it?”
“He got away,” Jack said. The muscle in his jaw tightened.
Tim leaned back in his chair, his nose wrinkling with disgust. At the thought of a missed scoop, or at something else?
Brooke snuggled back into Jack once more, playing her role of adoring fiancée to the hilt. “We were never in any real danger. Jack’s such a great driver. I figure it must be someone who’d had too many beers at one of the soccer games. Right, honey?”
Jack shot her a warning glance. She was pushing her luck. To her surprise, she found she liked being on the edge like this—like Alyssa.
“Or maybe lost a game.” Cullen chuckled and snagged Stephanie into his lap as she went by with an empty glass. “I’ve seen how rough those games can get. And road rage is a problem these days.”
“You’re no stranger to road rage, are you?” Tim asked.
“I do believe you’re one ticket short of having your license suspended.”
Cullen shrugged indifferently, but his gaze narrowed. “There are a lot of people out there who shouldn’t be allowed to drive. I can’t stand Sunday drivers putzing around at thirty-five in a fifty-five zone.”
“We’re safe and that’s all that really matters,” Jack said, clearly trying to regain control of the situation. But the caress of his thumb along the side of her hand was causing a small riot inside her. “I think we should call it an evening, sunshine.”
