Текст книги "You're Not Safe"
Автор книги: Mary Burton
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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 21 страниц)
He’d been a rookie cop in El Paso, and he and his partner had approached a house known to hide illegal aliens. Reports of children screaming had brought them to investigate. His partner, Nate, was an older guy, and he’d nudged Bragg to the side of the door before he’d knocked.
“Stand in front of that door, and you might as well have a goddamned target on your chest.”
Bragg didn’t remember the smart-ass quip on the tip of his tongue as he stepped aside. But he remembered the double blast of a shotgun eating through the front door as the drug dealer inside had opted to take his chances with the gun.
The wood fragments had splayed, one cutting him across the face. His partner had drawn his weapon and Bragg had fumbled to get his at the ready. Seconds later they’d been in a gun battle that had left two coyotes dead and his partner injured.
His partner had taken early retirement, and Bragg had learned to expect trouble every minute of every day he was on the street.
The front door to Shady Grove opened. No gun blast or drama, just a young woman wearing a simple black dress and a white lab coat.
Her gaze roamed quickly from his Ranger’s hat to the star on his belt before meeting his gaze. “Texas Rangers. Is there a problem?”
Behind the cool and composed smile, he noted her jaw’s subtle tightening. Shady Grove billed itself as a peaceful place, and a Ranger standing on her front porch was liable to bust that image.
He touched the brim of his hat. “Ma’am. Names are Rangers Tec Bragg and Brody Winchester. We’re here for the director. I saw on your Web site that his name is Dr. Marshall Leland.”
“Dr. Leland is in a late meeting.”
“Tell him I’m here.” Now that he’d announced his interest in the place he’d not be leaving until he saw Dr. Leland. That first visit, when everyone was too shocked to be on guard, could be the most productive.
“It’s not really good timing.”
“Doubt the timing will ever be just right. Would you get Dr. Leland please?” He could be polite when he needed to be, but he could jack up the heat if please didn’t work.
She stepped aside. “Why don’t you come in and have a seat? I’ll let him know you’re here.”
“Appreciate it.”
Bragg and Winchester stood in the corridor filled with dozens of plaques regaling Shady Grove. First in Education. Outstanding Work with Children. The list of awards went on and on, and he supposed they were comforting endorsements when a parent wanted to drop off his troubled child.
There were no pictures of the students. No smiling faces. No kids canoeing or making crafts or standing around a campfire. The identity of the guests, as the Web site had said, was closely guarded.
“Place makes me sad,” Winchester said.
Bragg nodded. “Yeah.”
A door closed and footsteps sounded and grew closer. Bragg turned to discover a tall thin man sporting a dark mustache that matched thinning hair. He wore a lab coat over a suit and his nameplate read DR. LELAND.
The doctor’s quick and easy smile said he was practiced at handling difficult surprises. He extended his hand and Bragg took it. The doctor’s handshake was firm and sure and his eye contact steady.
Dr. Leland shook his hand. “My secretary tells me your name is Ranger Tec Bragg.”
“That’s right, Dr. Leland,” Bragg said. “We’re from the Austin office of the Texas Rangers.”
If their business had rattled the doctor he gave no sign of it. But then being calm in tough situations would have been part of his job. “Why don’t you come back to my office and we can talk.”
Bragg and Winchester followed the doctor along the carpeted hallway toward the back corner office. Dr. Leland’s office was large and carpeted in a rich burgundy shade and decorated with a mahogany desk, paneled hunter-green walls, and framed degrees that said he should know what he was doing.
The doctor indicated for the Rangers to take a leather-padded seat in front of his desk while he retreated to his chair behind his desk. Threading his fingers the doctor leaned forward, a moderate level of concern on his face. “What can I do for you, Rangers Bragg and Winchester?”
“I’m hoping you can help us,” Bragg said.
“I’ll do whatever I can.” He offered a smooth easy smile.
Bragg relaxed back in his chair, in no rush to get to the punch line. “You handle a lot of kids here every year?”
He steepled his fingers. “About one hundred.”
The doctor had no hard edges. His voice, his smooth hands, and his rounded face were all pleasant and invited trust. “That’s not a lot.”
“We offer specialized care including one-on-one counseling as well as group counseling. It’s intensive. The children who come to us are in tough shape.”
This guy sounded like a walking-talking marketing video. “Would you say you have a good success rate?”
“We do. We pride ourselves on helping these children.” He adjusted his glasses. “Just because a child comes from money doesn’t mean they’re happy.”
“Money doesn’t buy happiness,” Winchester said.
“No, it does not.”
“But it does buy privacy and a really nice place to get well,” Bragg countered.
“We pride ourselves on making a nurturing place for the children.”
“What’s the age range for your patients?”
“We’ve children as young as ten and as old as twenty.”
“That’s a sizeable gap. A twenty-year-old might not have much in common with a ten-year-old.”
“That’s why we divide our children into pods. We try to match the ages of the children who share pods. They live in separate buildings located beyond the woods.”
“And all the children here have tried to commit suicide?”
Annoyance flashed in Dr. Leland’s eyes as if the hard word were taboo. “Some of our residents also grapple with drug addiction, anorexia, or self-mutilation. We are equipped to handle just about any crisis.”
“Basically, you treat messed-up kids.” He wanted to sound unfeeling. He wanted to rattle the doctor and find out what he could shake loose.
Dr. Leland frowned, but didn’t rise to the bait. “You make it sound harsh.”
“Because it is harsh,” Winchester said.
Absently he straightened a sheet of paper on his desk. “We try not to judge the children here.”
“I wasn’t judging. Only trying to get to what you do for the children.”
“I’ve indulged your questions, Ranger Bragg. Now can you tell me why you are here?”
Bragg switched tactics. “How long have you been at Shady Grove?”
“I’ve worked here for a decade.”
“How long have you been the director?”
“I’m not just the director. I own the facility now.”
“How long?”
“Barely over a year.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing overly dramatic or nefarious. The founder of the camp, Dr. Gary Putman, died. In his sleep. Of a heart attack. He was seventy-six.”
“Dr. Putman founded the camp?”
“He did. Twenty years ago. Though he was a leading psychologist, his oldest child, Rebecca, was a troubled girl. She killed herself when she was fifteen. Her death prompted him to create a haven for troubled children.”
“You purchased the clinic.”
“Yes, from the family.”
Bragg hesitated, letting his gaze roam the room as if he had all the time in the world. He met the doctor’s gaze. “I’ve had two of your former clients die recently.”
Dr. Leland cocked his head and frowned but kept his thoughts to himself.
Bragg had the sense the doctor was calculating the media fallout from the murders. He didn’t speak, using the silence to prompt the doctor to talk.
Dr. Leland cleared his throat. “Can you tell me who?”
“The first was Rory Edwards and the second Sara Wentworth. They were both here at the same time about twelve years ago.”
“That was before my time. As I said, I’ve been here a decade.”
“I assume the facility keeps records.”
“I’m not allowed to release the names of my current or former clients. I signed several privacy agreements when I bought the camp. Dr. Putman’s son was clear about maintaining the camp’s reputation. Discretion is key to our work.”
“We know doctor-patient privilege is binding,” Winchester said.
“But the sole link between the two victims was their stay here,” Bragg added.
“Many of our clients run into each other when they leave. I have no control over what happens then.” Dr. Leland clearly favored damage control and not assistance.
“Rory Edwards was here because he hanged himself. And Sara Wentworth, who went by the name Joan while she was here, tried to freeze herself to death. Rory was hanged several days ago and Sara froze to death in an industrial freezer.”
Dr. Leland straightened the sheet of paper on his desk again. “We have a high success rate, but we do lose some clients. Mental illness is a tough and complicated issue to tackle. Outside life is stressful and can trigger a relapse.”
“I’ve no doubt. No doubt at all. There was another gal here, Elizabeth Templeton.”
His lips compressed into a thin line. “Did she die?”
“No. No, she’s doing well for herself now. She speaks well of Shady Grove. But she knew the two victims.”
“Why are you calling them victims? I thought you said these two individuals killed themselves.”
The doctor was astute, but then to be a success here he’d have to key into the nuances of words. “I know Rory was murdered or at the least was assisted with his suicide. Sara may have been the one who helped or killed him before killing herself. Or someone else killed them both.”
Dr. Leland arched a brow. “I would think the police would know the difference between suicide and murder.”
“We do most times. But then we get a killer who tries to cover up. Takes more digging to get at what happened.”
“I still don’t see how we are connected.”
“Odd that two folks from this fine establishment would choose to kill themselves two days apart,” Winchester said.
“I don’t know what to say.”
Bragg leaned forward. “I’m real interested in the group of kids here the same time as the two victims and Elizabeth Templeton.”
“I’ve told you I can’t tell you. We keep names a secret for a reason.”
“I need to have those names.”
“You won’t get them from me.”
“One way or another I’m going to get a list of those names and figure out if I’m chasing any kind of pattern.”
“I can’t confirm or deny what you are saying.”
Bragg shook his head. “I want to handle this as quietly as I can, Dr. Leland. I don’t want to make a fuss. Media can turn a situation sideways. Couldn’t be good for your business. But I promise you if I don’t get your help, I’ll mention both my victims were Shady Grove residents.”
The doctor paled. “I would help you if I could, but I can’t break doctor-patient confidence.”
“Tell you what. Why don’t you locate the folks in that group and find out how they’re doing?”
“I don’t have that kind of information. People scatter and move away.”
“I bet you know more than you realize. Bet their grateful families are generous donors.”
“You’re putting me in a bad position. Making calls like that could be awkward.”
“Not my worry, Dr. Leland. I need to find out what happened to the kids in that group.”
“What if there is no connection? What if I find out they’re all good and well, and you’re stirring trouble for no reason at all?”
“Well, then, I’d say it will be your lucky day. I’d say, you won’t have to worry about me anymore.” Bragg leaned forward. He grinned, knowing the effect could be menacing. “I’m not the kind of person people like having around on a regular basis. I make them nervous.”
A slight widening of the doctor’s eyes confirmed he wanted Bragg gone. “And if they’re dead? Then what do I do?”
“Then you best let me know. In the meantime, I’m going to get a court order. That might help you with your legal dilemma. But news of court orders has a way of leaking out.”
“Don’t want that getting around,” Winchester said.
Dr. Leland adjusted his tie. “You are backing me into a corner.”
Bragg rose, knowing hardball came next. “Nope, just hoping you’ll do your civic duty and help out the Rangers. But if you don’t help then you can bet we’re going to back you into a corner and make your life miserable.”
Winchester stood, as if in no rush. He grinned.
Shoulder to shoulder, the mass of the Rangers’ bodies ate a hefty chunk of floor space. They left the stunned doctor in his office and strode out the front door. On the front porch Bragg settled his hat on his head and surveyed the grounds. A flash of metal in light caught his attention. He strode across the gravel driveway and the ground toward a large tree. At the base of the tree he found a plaque. It read:
IN LOVING MEMORY OF REBECCA,
WHOSE GENTLE SPIRIT AND SOUL
INSPIRED THE CREATION OF
SHADY GROVE CAMP.
Bragg studied the name, and touched the tip of his hat out of respect before leaving the uncomfortable beauty of the camp.
He sat in the sunshine, his eyes closed as he drank up the warmth. He loved the Hill Country. The quiet. The trees. The slower pace. He could stay here all day.
“How much longer are we going to sit here?” she said.
He ignored her, hoping she’d go away.
“I know what you are doing and I’m not going to let you ignore me.” She’d ratcheted up her voice, adding the shrill he hated. “Open your eyes and pay attention to me!”
He didn’t need to open his eyes to picture her brown hair, peaches-and-cream complexion, and the sprinkle of freckles over her nose. When she was irritated, her eyes blazed blue and her cheeks flushed pink. “Can’t you just leave me in peace? Do we always have to be talking?”
“You don’t like talking to me?”
He didn’t have to open his eyes to know she was pouting. “Not now.”
“We need to talk now. We don’t have a lot of time.”
“We’ve got twenty-four hours. That’s plenty of time.”
She huffed. “You were never a good planner. Always putting the important matters off until last.”
The nagging raked over his nerves, shattering the day’s calm. “Leave me alone.”
“You know I can’t. You know if not for me you wouldn’t have the drive or gumption to take care of the others.”
He sat up, his jaw tight, as he stared at the distant horizon. “You need to back off. I’ve gotten us this far.”
“Because I’ve been poking and prodding you the whole time. If not for me you’d still be living that boring life in Austin lost in the mindless details of your day.”
“Those mindless details have made a lot of money. Someone has to take care of business.”
“We’ve plenty of money. We don’t need more. What we need to do is talk about the next one. We need to review the details so we don’t make any mistakes.”
He sighed. “If I go over the details with you, will you leave me alone?”
“If you go over each and every detail, then yes I will leave you alone.”
“For how long?” That’s the way it had always been with them. Endless negotiations.
“I’ll leave you be. For now. Maybe even a day.”
“Swear.”
“Don’t I always keep my word?”
He laughed. “No.”
She giggled. “You love me. Admit it.”
He hated her when she bitched at him. Hated himself more when she was nice and he acquiesced.
“Come on admit it,” she cooed. “You love me.”
“Fine. I love you. Now let’s talk about killing Sam so I can get some sleep.”
Chapter Fourteen
Friday, June 6, 10 A.M.
Her body still hummed with nervous energy as Greer watched the clerk ring up the feed for the two horses. She still couldn’t decide if going to Bragg had been a good idea or not.
“That will be three hundred and two dollars,” the clerk said.
She’d known taking the old horses on would be expensive, but she’d not really put pen to paper and calculated the cost. She handed the clerk her charge card and tried not to be bothered by the expense.
She stepped back from the counter looking, but not really looking, at flower seeds as Rory and Sara’s images elbowed back into her thoughts.
Beautiful Rory had been interested in her from the start. He’d been sweet and charming, and Greer had been so grateful someone showed any interest in her. She’d never noticed Joan, or rather Sara, resented the relationship. Sara had slept with Rory a couple of times at camp and she’d really liked him. But Rory being Rory had moved on to Greer, and she’d not cared about Sara’s loss. Greer thought herself in love. If only she could have seen Sara hurt as much as she had and let her have Rory.
But Greer had literally been starving for love and Rory’s paltry offering had been nectar. She’d been naïve enough to believe the youthful, hasty promises Rory and she made. Write. Talk on the phone. Friends forever. Karma had brought them together.
But of course, outside the camp walls Rory’s old life swept him away from Sara and Greer.
The clerk handed her a receipt and she signed it, tucking the card back in her wallet. “My truck’s out front. Can I get someone to load up the feed?”
“Yes, ma’am. Go ahead and pull around back.”
As she moved through the store, the hair on the back of her neck rose. It was a subtle, practically imperceptible feeling but when she thought about it there was no denying her unease.
Stiffening, she reminded herself the sensation wasn’t uncommon. When people from her past recognized her, they stared. In their minds, once a sinner always a sinner and there’s no event more entertaining than the appearance of a she-devil to brighten an otherwise boring day.
Most times she kept on walking and didn’t bother to speak. In fact, there’d been times when she’d slinked back to her truck and raced home. But since she’d met Dr. Stewart, she’d been refusing more and more to run. She had a right to stand her ground. Yes, she’d sure as hell made a lot of mistakes, but the last she checked no one could cast the first stone.
She stopped and turned, her hand gripping the worn leather strap of her purse.
Greer spotted him instantly. He was a tall lean man. Well dressed. He still carried himself with a straight-back posture. Like his sister and his parents, he’d been a rider. The family owned a stable of the finest horses in Texas and a far cry from the nags she now owned.
When she made eye contact his gaze locked on her. His hair remained dark, but gray now lightened the temples. Deeply tanned skin gave him a youthful vigor. He had to be close to forty now.
His eyes narrowed as if he wanted to assure himself she was who he thought she was. “I haven’t seen you in town in a long time.”
“No, I don’t get into town often.” He’d been wearing a suit the last time she’d seen him. They’d been in court.
His eyes darkened. “I didn’t realize you were still in the area until I heard about your party the other night. I couldn’t believe it when they told me you’d never left. Thirty miles outside of Austin the entire time.”
“Texas is my home.”
He shook his head. “It was my sister’s home, too. Until you killed her.”
Her memory jumped to Sydney Dowd, Jeff’s girlfriend. She’d been in the front seat of her brother’s car the night of the accident. When the car had hit the tree, she’d been thrown clear. Her neck had broken instantly.
Sydney’s parents had sued her parents because Greer had been driving on a learner’s permit and was supposed to be accompanied by an adult driver. Jeff had been passed out drunk, the attorney had argued, so the Templetons had broken the law by allowing Greer to drive unmonitored.
She remembered Mr. and Mrs. Dowd coming to the hospital after the accident. They’d stared at her with such a stony silence she’d wept. She’d wanted to apologize or say words to comfort them, but her mother had been in the room, and she had refused to let her speak. There’d been a heated exchange and the Dowds had left when her mother had called security. Later, Greer’s mother had warned her to stay clear of the Dowds. Don’t make any more trouble for us, Elizabeth.
She’d known Sydney had an older brother, Rick. She saw the resemblance and tried to imagine Sydney if she’d lived.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Dowd?”
Rick Dowd cocked an eyebrow. “What do you suggest, Ms. Templeton?”
The edge in his voice had her bristling. “I’ve no suggestions. But you clearly have words for me.”
He flexed his fingers. “Not sure what either of us could say to the other. You gutted my family. Hard to come back from an obstacle like that.”
Her breathing thinned as regret knotted in her belly. “I will always be sorry, Mr. Dowd.”
“I doubt you know the meaning of the word, Ms. Templeton.”
A rush of anger and shame rose up in her, coloring her face. “That’s not true. You’ve no idea how I felt.”
“Well, your feelings pale in comparison to mine and my parents’, who lost a child.”
A pained sigh escaped her lips. “I lost a brother. I know your pain.”
He jabbed a finger at her. “Don’t pretend to know how I feel. Don’t.”
This was a losing battle. “What do you want me to say, Mr. Dowd?”
“Like I said, not much.” His gaze roamed over her, the anger all but snapping from his eyes.
How could she ask him to forgive when she’d not really forgiven herself? More words wouldn’t take away his pain or her guilt. “I wish you the best, Mr. Dowd.”
As she turned to leave he hurried to block her path. In a voice loud enough for her alone to hear, he said, “You aren’t sorry, but you will be.”
A chill twisted along her spine. She met his gaze. “What does that mean?”
He shrugged and smiled. “Doesn’t mean a thing.”
They both knew it would be his word against hers.
She balled her fingers into fists. “Is that a threat?”
He smelled of sandalwood and leather. “It’s whatever you want it to be.”
“I heard a threat.”
He shrugged. “Oh, well.”
The cruelty behind his grin made her want to charge him. She’d spent over a decade sequestered and locked away from the world, and she was tired of carrying this indomitable weight.
Brushing past him she hurried to her truck and slid behind the wheel. Her hands trembled as she shoved the key in the ignition and drove around to the side of the building to collect her feed.
She backed up to the loading dock and for several seconds sat still. Her nerves jumped and snapped and her breath hung in her throat. She’d stayed out of the public limelight all these years to avoid the pain she’d just encountered. Last night’s party had gone well. They’d raised thousands for the Crisis Center, and she’d lulled herself into believing people had put the past behind them. But some would never let the past go. And no amount of penance or apologies would change that.
A knock on her window had her turning. A gray-haired man with a face deeply etched grinned at her. “Got your feed.”
She blew out a breath. “Great.”
Restless, she slid out of the truck, walked around to the back, and opened the tailgate. As the men on the dock loaded her order, she took several deep breaths as she willed the stress away.
A whimpering sound caught her attention. Turning, she spotted a box on the loading dock tucked to the side. Peeking out of the box was a puppy. Short haired and small, he’d been born without a right eye, she realized even at this distance. He wagged his tail as he looked at her. Clearly the deformity didn’t bother him.
Without a thought, she climbed the stairs to the top of the dock, crossed to the box, and picked up the puppy. Excited, he wagged his tail and licked her face. And then he peed on her.
Despite her encounter with Dowd, the puppy melted her worries and allowed her to push him out of her thoughts. “This is the day for people peeing on me.”
The puppy kicked his feet and licked her face.
She grinned. “Though I don’t mind yours so much.”
The one-eyed puppy was a cross between a dachshund and a terrier, which left him with wiry hair and a long back. The patchwork of reds, browns, silvers, and blacks wasn’t wholly attractive, and she suspected once he was no longer a puppy, he’d be one homely fellow.
The dock foreman came up behind her. “He’s the last of the litter. Spunky little fellow but that eye. Damn, won’t be many folks that want him.”
“Where’s his mom?”
“She left as soon as the pups were weaned. A stray.”
“Are you gonna keep him?”
“Can’t have a dog running around the dock. Especially one that looks like it was made by a bunch of politicians.”
“He have a name?”
“‘Dog’ is all we been calling him.”
She studied Dog’s closed right eye and then the excitement in the left as his wagging crooked tail thumped. And just like that she couldn’t imagine leaving him. “They say there is one born every minute.”
The old man chuckled. “You falling for that ugly face?”
“I don’t need a dog. Especially a puppy. I don’t need it.” And she didn’t need two old horses. And she didn’t need a sullen ex-soldier working her land.
The old man chuckled. “Seen that look in my wife’s eyes. Led to a dozen dogs in our thirty-one years of marriage.”
She tucked the dog under her arm, noticed that he fit well. He hunkered down as if staking a claim. No doubt the dog was smart, saw his ticket out of here, and hoped charm overcame ugly. “She willing to make it a lucky thirteen dogs?”
“Wife passed a year ago. Can’t have no more hounds in my house. But he’s all yours if you want him. I’ll even throw in a big bag of puppy chow.”
She’d think back on this moment in the near future and truly question her sanity. “I don’t suppose he’s had shots?”
“Matter of fact he did. Got all his puppy shots and been wormed.”
The dog licked her face. “You two drive a hard bargain.”
“He’s ugly as sin, but he is the smartest of the litter. Listens well.”
“Yeah, yeah. You can quit with the sales job. Load up the dog food. Dog’s coming with me.”
His grin widened. “Good for you.”
She shook her head as she stared at the contented pup. “Yeah. Right.”
As she settled into the front seat of her truck, Dog settled on her lap, and promptly rested his head and fell asleep. For a moment she sat still, savoring the warmth of his body against hers. He’d accepted her without question. She was kind to him now and that was all that mattered to him. He didn’t care about twelve years ago or twelve years in the future. It was about now.
She rubbed him on the head and fired up the engine. As she backed out of the lot, she spotted Rick Dowd. He sat in the front seat of his Lexus staring at her. Pure hate summed up his expression.
Tightening her grip on the wheel she shifted into drive and with her hand on Dog headed back to the vineyard. She glanced in the rearview mirror and saw Dowd’s car and to her relief he didn’t follow. But she suspected this would not be the last time for them.
Even with Dog nestled close, she couldn’t shake the shock of seeing Rick Dowd today. He’d reopened the wound.
She shifted gears as she rounded a corner, moving her left leg slowly so Dog didn’t awaken. As she pulled into a straightaway, her mind drifted back to Jeff and Sydney. The two had been the golden couple. Beautiful. Smart. Funny. Greer had often called them Barbie and Ken because they’d been perfect. And then the headlights had appeared in the distance. Horns blared. Jeff cursed. And then pain, death, and an unbearable sadness.
“Possibilities, not the past,” she’d said. The slogan embraced by the camp leaders. The words they’d drilled into their young charges. Words she still held on to.
She’d not told Bragg the entire truth today, and it weighed on her mind. She had seen one of the others since she’d left camp. Two years ago, she’d bumped into Robin. Lydia and Greer had been in Fredericksburg, Texas, at a wine tasting. They’d decided to build the winery and had decided to again check out the local competition.
The small quaint town had been jam-packed with outsiders who’d come to taste the wines of local vineyards. It had been her idea to attend. Her aunt had finished her latest round of chemo and was feeling good and hopeful for the future. Greer had been feeling hopeful. Greer had wanted the world to know Bonneville grew the best grapes but also would soon be making the best wine.
There’d been close to fifty vendors that day. Not only were vineyards present, but also cheese makers, local farmers markets, pig farmers, and bread bakers.
Greer had been sampling a port from a winery near Houston when she’d heard her name. Elizabeth. Instantly, she’d tensed. Elizabeth signaled her old life.
She glanced up, surprised and shocked, to see Robin standing there. She had a glass of wine in her hand and judging by her flushed face she was drunk.
Greer adjusted her ball cap. “Hey, Robin.”
Robin was a tall brunette with a runner’s long lean body. A white tank-top dress set off her tanned body and her full breasts. “I thought that was you. Despite the ball cap, I couldn’t miss the set of that jaw. You always struck me as determined.”
Greer straightened and set down her glass of port, suddenly losing all taste for it. She turned from the vendor and managed a smile for Robin. “You’re looking well.”
“Life is good these days.” Robin leaned in a fraction and Greer could smell beer mingling with wine and perfume. “Not like before.”
The abrupt mention of her past slammed against Greer’s defenses, and she’d instantly gone rigid. “Yeah.”
Robin had shared her story at circle only once. According to her, when she’d been seventeen, she and her brother had gone swimming at their parents’ lake house. Two children had set out on an adventure on a picture-perfect day. And then Robin’s brother had dived into the lake, hit a stump, and broke his neck. Robin had pulled him from the water immediately but the damage had been done. He was paralyzed. He’d lingered for weeks in a coma, hooked up to a ventilator. Finally, his parents had shut off the machine and let him go. Robin had been devastated. She’d been the one who’d goaded her brother to swim that day. He’d not wanted to go, but she’d made him. And then he was dead.
After her brother’s death, Robin had spiraled into a deep depression. Finally, she’d taken an overdose of pills and gotten into a full bathtub. She’d barely been breathing, her nose hovering above the waterline, when her mother had found her. She’d spent the entire summer at Shady Grove, but like Greer no matter how much counselors spoke of self-forgiveness neither could manage it.
“I almost didn’t recognize you, Elizabeth. You’re not blond anymore.”
She didn’t mention her name change. The name like the hair color was a tie that would remain severed. “Got tired of the upkeep.”
Robin glanced at her nails. “You’ve also given up the manicures, I see.”
Greer glanced at her shorn nails. Vineyards and French manicures didn’t mix. “I’m kind of back to basics these days.”
