Текст книги "Firestorm "

Автор книги: Iris Johansen

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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

17

Softly.

Quietly.

Don't spook him.

Silver moved closer to the guard behind the shed. He was a tall, lanky man and he was definitely jumpy. He was pacing restlessly back and forth, his watchful gaze on the house.

Could he get in his mind?

He probed.

He'd probably be able to do it, but the guard wouldn't be easy and it might take too long. He didn't know how much time he had left.

He didn't know how much time Kerry had left.

Screw it. Forget about getting in. Go for it.

Be quick and silent. Get behind him and break the bastard's neck before he could raise that rifle.

Sit down.” Trask gestured to the couch. “Make yourself comfortable.”

“Is that supposed to be a joke?”

“A little one,” Trask said. “But I would like you to be as much at ease as possible.”

She coughed. “Then why don't you close those windows? How can you stand that smoke?”

“I like it.” He sat down in the chair opposite her. “You'll get used to it. The fire's too far away for it to be dangerous.”

“How comforting.”

“I've no desire for you to be afraid. I've won and I hope I'm a generous victor.”

“If you were generous, you'd let Jason and my father go.” She couldn't wait any longer. No matter how much she dreaded what she had to do. Concentrate. Dive into that horror he called a brain and meld with him. She drew a deep breath and made the effort.

Ugliness. Darkness. Fire. Scorched flesh.

She scurried away from that slime. Oh, God, she couldn't do it.

“My generosity doesn't extend that far,” Trask said. “I've been looking forward to this for too long. I hate being bested. Almost as much as I hate being humiliated.”

“Stupid nerd.” Tim Krazky straddled him, sneering, “Crybaby.” He got off him and glanced around the crowd of kids watching them before he turned back to Trask. “Go home to Mama, asshole.”

Get even. Get even. Get even.

Flesh melting into bone. Screams. Heat.

Joy.

“You're not answering,” Trask said. “Don't you believe me?”

Talk. If she didn't reply he might get impatient and she'd lose the time she needed.

Smell of roasting flesh.

Talk? She was so lost in his visions she could barely function. Death and hate and burning flesh were so much a part of his memory and motivations that she couldn't get near his mind without being overwhelmed by them. She wanted to run away.

Stay there until you become accustomed to his mind. Then look for a path. That's what Silver had told her to do. Stop being a coward. Force yourself to do it. Find that damn path.

But she had to keep Trask talking while she was concentrating. She wildly searched for a subject. Of course: the element that dominated his life. “I don't imagine many people have had the courage to humiliate you. But you were only a child when you set the Krazky home on fire. I'd think you'd choose a simpler way to punish him.”

“There's nothing simpler than fire.” He leaned back in his chair. “Nothing cleaner. Nothing more beautiful.”

A little girl pounding on the window, trying to get out.

Block out his memory. Move behind the ugliness. Try to find the right path. If there is one . . .

“Why do you think that most people name a fireplace as one of the most desirable features in the home?” Trask asked. “Everyone is fascinated by the flames and by the idea that they can control them. Foolish. The flames only lie in wait for a careless moment and then they get their own back.” He looked down at the remote in his hand. “I'm the only one who can control it.”

That path went nowhere. Try another. Keep him talking. “Firestorm. But do you control Firestorm or does it control you?”

“It's my creation.” He frowned. “Of course I control it.”

“I don't think so.”

She'd found a new path! Deeper, more convoluted. Move fast. Jesus, let this be the one.

“Think what you like.” His frown faded. “And I can see why you'd think Firestorm was all-powerful. That's how I intended it to be. From that first moment when I decided that to control fire was to be close to Godlike. It's not often a man has a chance to be God.”

She'd gone deeper in his mind than ever before. This might be the right one. Move faster. Pray that she didn't run into a barrier. “How?”

“Power. Doesn't the Bible say the world is going to be destroyed by fire?” He snapped his fingers. “I can do that.”

She was there! Now settle in. Then start to push. What had Trask said? “Firestorm isn't that powerful.”

“Not yet. Give me another five years and I'll have it ready. The ultimate power. You'd be impressed. Too bad you're not going to be around to see it.”

She braced herself. Could she do it? Only one way to find out.

Push!

He didn't seem to notice. “I can't tell you how I regret not letting you—”

Suggest, not demand, Silver had said.

Push. Smoke. Dizzy.

Trask shook his head as if to clear it. “That smoke coming in the window must be pretty thick.”

Thank you, God. “I didn't notice.”

Smoke. Lungs tight. Eyes stinging. “Usually I don't notice either. I . . . like it.”

Lungs hot, hurting. Push. Push. Push.

“I'll get a glass of water. That will probably make me feel better.” He rose to his feet and went to the sideboard and poured water from a pitcher into a glass. “Drinking is the only good use for water, you know. I detest it in principle.”

Throat tightening. Choking.

He started hacking. “Christ. I can't even . . . swallow. I guess I'll have to close it. Too bad.” He moved toward the window across the room.

Throat tighter. Lungs burning.

“Christ, I can't . . . breathe.” He shoved the remote into his pocket as he fumbled at the window.

Keep it going. Searing pain in the lungs.

Was he framed against the window? What if he got the window down and moved away? Christ, what if Silver didn't have enough time?

Push.

“Shit.” Trask jerked his hands away from the window. “It's hot, dammit.”

“What do you expect when you spend your life setting fires? You're bound to get burned sometime.” Keep his hands busy and away from that remote. “Try again.”

“Are you crazy?” He moved away from the window. “I can't touch that sill without something to protect me. Maybe we should go outside. The smoke's probably less in front.”

And it would be harder for Silver to get his shot with a moving target, dammit.

“Come on.” He moved toward the front door. “Get going.”

I almost had him.” George started to curse as Trask disappeared from view. “Two seconds more and I would have had him in my sights.”

“Keep a bead on the window,” Silver said. “He'll be back.”

“It's your call. But I wish I was that sure,” George said. “Sometimes you only get one chance.”

He wasn't sure, Silver thought. If Kerry had lost control, then she might not be able to get it back. Every instinct told him to rush into that house and forget this damn waiting game.

Give her more time. Trust her.

God, he hoped he wasn't making a mistake.

What are you waiting for?” Trask looked over his shoulder at Kerry as he reached the front door. “I told you we're getting out of here.”

“I'm coming.” She slowly rose to her feet. She had to keep him inside. If he went out on the front porch she couldn't be sure what he'd do. Hell, maybe he'd decide to activate Firestorm from his van. Keep control. Stop panicking. She could do this.

“Going outside is probably a good idea.” She moved toward him. “I can't breathe either. Do you think the smoke will be less there?”

“It can't be—” He broke off, coughing. Push. Lungs throbbing as he reached the front door. Eyes stinging, tearing.

He stopped. “Maybe not. It seems heavier here by the door.”

“Then what are you going to do?”

Push. The window. The window.

“What I should have done before. Close that damn window.” He jerked a doily from the chair and strode toward the open window. “I'll just use this to protect my hands.”

“Yes, you do need protection.”

“What?” He looked over his shoulder but he reached out for the window, framed again in the lighted opening. “Why are you smiling?”

“Am I smiling?” If she was smiling, then it was with savage satisfaction. “I wonder why? Maybe it's because you're not going to be God after all.”

“Why do you—”

The impact of the bullet drowned out his words.

“No!” He jerked as the bullet struck him in the chest. “Shit.” He was falling, but even as his knees buckled he was reaching for the remote in his pocket. “I won't let you—”

She was across the room in a heartbeat. She knocked his hand away and grabbed the remote. “No way, you bastard.”

“Bitch,” he whispered. “You won't win. Won't let you—”

“I've already won. You're a dead man, Trask.”

The hatred in his mind was overwhelming. Even in this final moment there was no fear of death. Only fire and darkness and a thirst for revenge.

Swirling.

Poison.

Fire.

“Get out.” It was Silver's voice, Silver standing beside her. “What the hell are you still doing in his mind? Get out!”

She couldn't get out. She was chained, held by the sheer power of evil in the center of Trask's being.

“Let him go!” Silver said.

Trask's eyes were glazing over, but she sensed somewhere, somehow, he suddenly knew. He smiled. “You're . . . caught. . . . Told you I'd win. Coming . . . with me.”

“The hell she is.” Silver was there between them. “Hold on, Kerry.”

She screamed in agony as she was torn free and spiraled wildly into darkness.

It's okay, Kerry. Wake up, dammit.”

She opened her eyes to see Silver's face over her. “I'm . . . awake.” She sat up, her gaze on Trask. His eyes were still open, but his face was twisted in the final death rictus. “Gone?”

“Dead as a doornail.” He stood up and helped her to her feet. “May he burn in hell.”

Her knees felt weak, and she held on to him for a moment before she could stand alone. “No fire and . . . brimstone. He'd . . . like that too much.”

“Sit down.” His gaze narrowed on her face. “You're still not good.”

“Better than if you hadn't pulled me out of that bastard.” She sank down in the easy chair. “Where's George?”

“After he took his shot at Trask, he bolted and went after Ki Yong.” He hesitated. “I should go see if I can help him.”

“Then do it. I'll rest for a few minutes and then go release Jason and my father. They're tied up in a bedroom upstairs. Don't worry, I'll be fine.”

His gaze raked her face. “Yes, you will.” He turned and headed for the door. “This shouldn't take long. I probably won't get there in time to be of use to George. He moves pretty fast.”

She leaned back and closed her eyes after he left the room. Lord, she felt weak.

She took another couple minutes to gather her strength. She was drained. It seemed impossible that it was over, that the evil that was Trask had vanished from the earth.

But Jason didn't know he was safe, and it wasn't fair to leave him in ignorance.

She slowly got to her feet and moved sluggishly toward the kitchen. Find a knife to cut the ropes and then go upstairs and free them. Where was the cutlery drawer? The smoke seemed heavier in here. She opened three drawers before she found a butcher knife.

She heard it as her hand closed on the hilt of the knife.

Crackling.

Above her, through the ceiling of the kitchen.

Where the bedrooms were located on the second floor.

She stiffened. “No!”

She whirled and ran out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Smoke, everywhere. Not from the barn. Here in the house!

You still won't win, Trask had said. The bastard had set a timer to go off automatically on Firestorm if he didn't press the remote.

Flames licking the banisters of the staircase just as they had in Jason's house in Macon.

No, it was more like the fire in the brownstone all those years ago.

Mama, where are you?

Right behind you. Get help, Kerry.

I don't want to leave you.

Why was she remembering that night now? She wasn't a little girl anymore. She wasn't helpless. She could save Jason.

She tore toward the bedroom door that was outlined in fire.

Smoke. So much smoke. Cover her face.

No time. She threw open the door and ran into the room. The curtains and carpet near the window were blazing.

Jason was slumped forward against the ropes but he was still conscious, coughing. “Get out of here, Kerry!”

“Don't talk, breathe shallow.” She sawed at the ropes.

The fire jumped from the curtain to the bed, and the bedspread caught fire.

“Get . . . Dad,” Jason gasped.

She glanced at her father.

A man standing under the light post.

Blue eyes.

“After I get you free.”

“That whole bed will be blazing in seconds. Get him.”

“I'll have you loose . . . in a minute.” The ropes gave way at last and she tore them off him.

He grabbed the knife from her and leaped to his feet. The next moment he was standing beside his father and cutting him free. Kerry ran forward and helped him tear the ropes away. Then Jason was picking him up and carrying him toward the door, lurching, coughing.

Kerry grabbed a throw from a rocking chair and covered her mouth and nose as she ran after him. The first floor was now ablaze.

God, the smoke was so heavy she couldn't see Jason anymore.

Where was he?

Then she saw him.

And she screamed.

Jason was on fire, his entire body blazing. Yet he still was clinging desperately to his father.

“Drop him, Jason. Get down on the floor.” She pulled her father out of Jason's arms, threw the blanket over Jason, and tried to beat out the flames.

“No.” His voice was choked. “Too late. Save . . . him.” He stumbled back toward the burning railing. “Have to save . . . him. Have to make—” The rail gave way and he fell backward into the flames below.

“Jason!” His name was a cry of agony.

Try to get to him. It seemed hopeless, but maybe there was a chance. . . .

She started toward the stairs and then stopped short.

Save him. Have to save Dad, Jason had said.

But she didn't have to save him. Not when there was the slightest chance of saving Jason instead.

Yes, she did.

She picked her father up in a fireman's lift and struggled down the stairs.

Smoke. Darkness. Blazing patches of intense flame in the living room below.

And Jason was in the center of one of those hellish patches of fire.

She'd been lying to herself. There was no possible chance. No one could live through those flames. He was probably already dead.

“I'll take him.” Silver was beside her, lifting her father from her shoulder. “Get the hell out of here.”

She looked back and knew she had to make a try. She started back toward the fire. “Jason. I can't leave him. I have to—” She stopped as she watched the staircase buckle and fall toward her.

Or was it the butt of a gun coming down?

Man by the lamppost.

Yes, that was it. Fire.

Mama.

Mama, who could never be saved.

Try! Run.

But the path to the lamppost across the street was like an unending tunnel.

It's too late.

The gun coming down.

Blue eyes . . .

Yellow walls. White linen sheets. A plump nurse moving quietly, adjusting the oxygen in the tank beside her bed.

Hospital.

“Where . . .” She sounded like a frog.

The nurse turned and smiled. “Hi, I'm Patti. I bet your throat could use a little water?” She put a straw to Kerry's lips and held it while she sipped it. “You're at Macon General, and you're doing fine. A few first-degree burns and smoke damage to your lungs. You were lucky. Evidently that was quite a fire.”

Jason ablaze as he fell into the flames below. She closed her eyes for a moment as waves of pain assaulted her. “Yes.”

The nurse's smile faded. “Well, maybe not so lucky, but you still have people who care about you. Mr. Silver hasn't left the waiting room since they brought you in. Would you like me to check with the doctor and find out if you can see him? He's making his rounds now.”

“Not yet. What about . . . my brother?”

She didn't answer. “I think I'd better let you talk to the doctor.”

Because the nurse didn't want to tell her that Jason was dead. “Is my father in this hospital?”

She nodded. “Two rooms down. He's doing fine. They'll be releasing him later today.”

“Would you ask him to come in and see me?”

“Now?”

“Please.”

“I think that would be a good idea.” She moved toward the door. “I'll check with the doctor.”

Jason.

She closed her eyes as the tears welled up and ran down her cheeks.

“You want to talk to me?”

She opened her eyes to see her father standing in the doorway. He didn't look as fine as the nurse had led her to believe. He looked tired and pale and . . . broken.

“Jason is dead?”

His lips twitched. “Yes. You made a mistake. You should have saved him and not me.”

“I tried. He wouldn't have it. He's the one who carried you out of that room.”

He flinched. “No one told me that.”

“No one but me knew it. The last thing he said was that you had to be saved.” She paused. “He loved you very much.”

“I loved him.”

“I know.” She paused. “You loved him so much that you protected him all his life.”

He stiffened. “I don't know what you mean.”

“He was the one who set the fire the night my mother died. It was Jason who was standing underneath that light post watching the house burn.”

“You're crazy.”

She shook her head. “It was Jason.”

He stared at her. “You remembered?”

“Tonight.” Her lips twisted. “I hoped it was you. But it wasn't. It was Jason who set the fire, Jason who hit me. All I want to know from you is why? Why would he do that?”

“He didn't mean to hurt you. He loved you. He was just a mixed-up kid.” His lips tightened. “It was my fault. Mine and that bitch Myra's. We tore him apart. You were just a kid, but he was an adolescent and he knew what was going on. He was always a sensitive boy, and all that quarreling . . . It nearly destroyed him.”

“So he killed his own mother?”

“He didn't mean to kill her. I'd told him you and your mother were going to leave for Macon to visit your aunt. I thought it would be easier for him to leave Myra and come with me to Canada.”

“If you were both in Canada, how did he get back to Boston?”

“I got called away on assignment when we were at a lodge outside Toronto. The story was only supposed to take a couple days, but that was the window of opportunity for him. He told me later that he'd been planning on torching the brownstone before we even left Boston. He'd been hiding gasoline in the alley behind the house. After he dropped me off at the airport, he took my rental car and drove back to Boston.” His lips twisted bitterly. “Anyone can get back from Canada to the U.S. if they want to avoid the border checks. Jason was always very clever.”

“Yes, very clever,” she said dully.

“Stop blaming him,” he said fiercely. “He didn't mean to hurt anyone. I tell you, he thought the house would be empty. He knew I didn't want her to have it. He knew how much it meant to me. He did it for me.”

“But it wasn't empty. He knew that when I ran up to him in the street. He might have saved our mother.”

“It was probably too late then.”

“He could have tried.”

“He panicked. He was in shock.” As she continued to stare at him, he said harshly, “It's easy for you to judge. I tell you, I did this to him. Myra and I. Do you know how tortured he was for years later? While you were in that coma in the hospital, I was having to get psychiatric help for Jason. He wanted to go to the police and confess. He wanted to be punished. I wouldn't let him. They would have locked him up for something I'd caused.”

“So you got him to agree to keep it secret?”

“He deserved a good life. It wasn't his fault.”

“Not in your eyes. I don't think he ever got over the guilt. When he was trying to save your life, he wouldn't give up. I don't think he could bear the idea of another death laid at his door. He said something . . .

I have to make—

“He didn't get to finish, but I think he was trying to say he had to make amends.”

“He was a good boy.” She could see the tears glinting in her father's eyes. “And he didn't want to hurt you. Over and over he said that he should be the one in that coma, not you.”

“What did he hit me with? I thought it was a gun.”

He shook his head. “A piece of lead pipe he found in the alley where he stored the gasoline. He didn't even know why he picked it up. I guess he was scared to death about what he was going to do.” He drew a shaky breath. “When you woke up from the coma, he did his damnedest to be the best brother he could to you. You can't deny that.”

“No, he was a good brother. No one could have been kinder or more loving.”

“See? He couldn't help– It was my fault.” He turned away. “And his death is my fault too. He'd never have walked into Trask's hands if it hadn't been for me.” He suddenly turned back to her. “You think that I wasn't a good father to you. That it was all Jason.” He defiantly lifted his chin. “Well, maybe it was. I had a duty to him. I'm sorry, but there wasn't room for you.”

She stared at him without answering.

He muttered, “The funeral is the day after tomorrow.” He turned and left the room.

She closed her eyes as the tears came again. She wasn't sure if she was crying for her mother or Jason or maybe for the father she'd never really had. Maybe for all of them.

Christ, it hurt.

She finally fell asleep near dawn.

Silver was in the chair beside her bed, holding her hand, when she woke a few hours later.

“Don't tell me to go away,” he said harshly. “It's not going to happen. I won't bother you. I'm just going to . . . I want to be with you.”

He was with her in that most intimate sense, and she didn't want to shut him out yet. She needed the comfort of that closeness. “You know about . . . Jason?”

“How could I help it? Since the moment you found out that house was on fire your mind was screaming. That's why I turned around and came back.” His lips tightened. “And you never stopped screaming. Only, after you woke up here, it was more like a child sobbing. Do you think I could stay out when you were hurting?”

She tried to smile. “Well, at least you didn't try to fix me.”

“I was tempted. But that would keep you from healing. You have to deal with the pain.”

“Yes, I do. I . . . loved Jason, Silver.”

“I know you did. I guess we know why you didn't want to remember who torched the brownstone. You couldn't stand the idea that the one person you loved was responsible.”

“I still can't stand it.” Jesus, don't cry now. She changed the subject. “Ki Yong?”

“George took care of him and his driver. Very efficiently, very lethally. I called Travis and told him to get a team down here to get rid of the body so that we wouldn't have a diplomatic incident.”

“Firestorm?”

“Destroyed. We're still searching for Trask's pad so that we can gather any documents. There were a few gas receipts in his van that might yield some answers. If not, they'll just keep looking.”

“They have to find everything. Someone else might . . . Armageddon. Dangerous . . .”

“They'll find it. Don't worry. Just go back to sleep.”

“I will. I don't want to stay awake. Sad . . .”

“I know.” His hand tightened. “It will get better.”

“I hope so.” She said unevenly, “I'm going back to Atlanta right after the funeral. Will you have someone bring Sam down to my house in Atlanta as soon as possible? I need to work.”

He nodded. “I'll do it myself.”

She shook her head.

He shrugged. “I thought I'd try. That's okay. I'll give you some space.” He paused. “How long?”

“I can't . . . I don't know. Maybe it would be better if we went our own ways.”

“Hell, no. That's not acceptable. How long?”

“Stop pushing me.”

“Why not?” His lips twisted. “I'm so good at it. It's the one facet of my personality you found valuable.” He stood up. “But you're not fair game right now. I'll let you have your period of mourning.”

She glanced away from him. “And I want you to try to break the link.”

He stiffened. “Bullshit.”

“It's time we were both free.”

“Then break it yourself. I like it fine just the way it is.”

“Why? You told me yourself you hated to be tied to anyone.”

“You know why.” He leaned forward, grasped her chin, and turned her face to look in her eyes. “If you'll admit it to yourself. Tell me, how long do I want to be tied to you? How many years? How many ways?”

She couldn't tear her eyes away from his. For the first time he'd left himself totally open to her. Open, vulnerable, and lonely. Dear God, how lonely.

The moment seemed to go on into eternity. It was Silver who broke it by turning away from her. “I'll stay apart from you as long as I can stand it.” He walked out of the room.

Christ, she was crying again. It made no sense. He was everything that was prickly and rude and dominating, and life with him would never have the normalcy she'd craved all these years. She'd been right to attempt a total break with him. It was the smart, practical path to take.

And this feeling of desolation would go away soon.

The long trail of cars was winding its way out of the cemetery as Kerry moved toward the limousine where Laura was talking to her father.

Don't look back at that tent that sheltered the coffin. Keep your eyes on Laura. You can get through this.

Laura turned as Kerry approached. Her eyes were red from weeping, and she looked haggard and . . . old. “It was a nice service, wasn't it? So many people loved him. . . .” Laura's voice broke and she had to stop. She drew a breath before she continued. “Ron was telling me how brave he was. He was a real hero.”

Kerry's gaze shifted to her father. He looked almost as broken as Laura. “Yes.”

“But then, I always knew what a wonderful man Jason was.” She shook Ron Murphy's hand. “Thank you for being so kind to me. I know it wasn't easy for you to talk about it, but it means a lot to know the details of that night.”

“Call on me if there's anything I can do for you. Jason would want me to take care of you.” He glanced at Kerry and said jerkily, “Good-bye, Kerry.” He walked quickly toward his car, parked behind the limousine.

Kerry turned to Laura. “Do you want me to go back to the hotel with you?”

Laura shook her head. “I'm going to my mother's house. I thought maybe I'd try to work in her garden. I need to keep busy, and there's so much life and rebirth in a garden.” She tried to smile. “It's funny how we go back to the womb when something tragic happens, isn't it? We haven't progressed very far from the time we lived in caves.”

“I think that's a great plan.” Kerry hugged her and then stepped back. “I'll call you in a few days.”

Laura nodded. “Yes, do that.” She got into the limousine. “But not now. Later . . .”

Kerry stood watching as the limousine pulled away from the curb. Life and rebirth. Even in her despair, Laura was reaching out to try to find some sense, some continuity to the meaning of life. She wished she was that far along in the grieving process.

“Kerry?”

She whirled to see Carmela standing a few feet away. “What on earth are you doing here?”

Carmela didn't answer, her eyes on the green awning over the grave. “What a bummer. I'm so sorry, Kerry.”

“Thank you. It's very kind of you to come.”

She shifted uncomfortably. “Well, I didn't exactly come to tell you that. I kind of hate funerals.”

“Me too. So, why did you come?”

“To take care of you.”

“What?”

“Mr. Silver said you needed someone to take care of you. He said you were pretty much alone right now and that sucked. He said that Rosa and I had the job.” She rushed ahead as Kerry started to speak. “I told you I owed you. I don't want a free ride. I can do all kinds of things. I'm good at cleaning and cooking. I'll get my driver's license soon and then I can do the grocery shopping. I'm going back to school, but Rosa can help out.”

Kerry shook her head in bewilderment. “Silver sent you?”

She nodded. “He picked us up last night and drove us down here. He said he'd originally had another place in mind for me to go, but this was better. He knew I wouldn't want to go to strangers. I don't trust many people.” She moistened her lips. “So I said sure, I'd take care of you. Rosa and I packed our bags and Mr. Silver dropped us off here.”

“And where's Rosa?”

Carmela nodded down the road. “I told her to wait for us by your SUV with Sam. Now, can we get out of here? Rosa doesn't like cemeteries.”

Rosa or Carmela? “Cemeteries are sad, not scary.”

“Whatever. Can we go?”

Silver had no right to do this to her, dammit. He was trying to run her life, trying to “fix” her.

“It's okay. Don't feel bad.” Carmela's gaze was on Kerry's face. “Mr. Silver was wrong, wasn't he? You don't want us.”

“I didn't say that.”

“Because you feel sorry for us.” She lifted her chin. “Well, you don't have to do that. We'll get along just fine.”

Pride, fear, and resilience were all there in her expression.

And the dawning of life and rebirth.

“Silver wasn't wrong.” She took Carmela's arm and started toward the car. “I do need you. I'm a lousy housekeeper and I'll work you to the bone. And Sam will drive you crazy. You have no idea how messy he can be.” Her pace quickened as she saw Rosa. “And I have a yard that I've neglected terribly. I want to plant something wonderful. How are you and Rosa at gardening?”