Текст книги "Archer's Voice"

Автор книги: Mia Sheridan

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Текущая страница: 19 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

CHAPTER 29

Bree

I went back to work the next day to Maggie who gave me a giant bear hug, pressing me tightly into her ample bosom as I laughed and struggled to breathe, and Norm who said simply, "Bree," but gave me a rare Norm smile and head nod before he moved his focus back to the griddle where he was flipping pancakes. For some reason, the bear hug and the head nod both filled me with equal amounts of warmth. I was home.

I chatted with the locals I'd come to know as I worked, making my way easily around the diner, delivering the food and checking on my customers.

I thought about Archer as I worked too, considering how difficult it was for him to become attached to another person. I had had an idea before I left for Ohio, but not to the extent that I now understood. I loved him–I would do whatever was necessary to reassure him that I wasn't going anywhere. But I understood his struggle too. I saw that it made him feel weak that I knew how reliant he was on me.

He had acted almost shy with me the day before, his eyes moving away from mine when he saw me watching him as we cleaned up his living room together. I had picked up Ethan Frome from the floor when I'd recognized the title, and opened it to read a passage, putting my hand dramatically on my chest and feigning a breathy, pained whisper, "I want to put my hand out and touch you. I want to do for you and care for you. I want to be there when you're sick and when you're lonesome." I had paused, my hand falling from my chest. I placed the book down and brought my hands up, That was beautiful, actually, I said.

He had smiled at me and said simply, I guess if it wasn't beautiful, the tragedy ultimately wouldn't be sad.

But then he had lapsed into more silence, seeming almost embarrassed around me. I tried to bring him out of it by joking with him and acting completely normal, but he was still slightly withdrawn even when I'd kissed him goodbye that evening, gathered Phoebe up and gone home to unpack and get ready for the next day. It would take a day or two for him to feel better, I supposed.

Over the next several days, he did return to his more normal self, the only difference I could still see, was that there was a deep intensity to his lovemaking that hadn't been there before. It was almost as if he was trying to meld us into one person when we connected. He was almost rough in his passion. I didn't mind it, in fact, I found all sides of Archer's bedroom personalities to my liking. But I couldn't explain the change exactly, and I longed for him to open up to me and tell me what he was feeling. When I asked him though, he just shrugged and smiled and told me that he'd missed me while I was gone and was trying to make up for lost time. I didn't buy it, but as always, Archer Hale came around when he was good and ready and not a moment before. I had learned quickly–push and get nowhere, wait and hope that he trusted me enough to open up sooner rather than later in his own quiet way. I thought it had something to do with the fact that he liked to understand his own emotions before he shared them with me, and he didn't know exactly where he was at the moment.

* * *

Four days after I'd returned home from Ohio, I knocked on Anne's door and she answered still in her bathrobe. "Oh, Bree, dear!" she exclaimed, holding her door open. "You'll have to excuse me. I'm having a lazy day–I've been so tired for the last week." She shook her head. "Sucks getting old, I'll tell you."

I grinned and stepped inside her warm, inviting home. As always, the comforting smell of eucalyptus scented the air. "You? Old?" I shook my head. "Not hardly."

She laughed and winked at me. "You're a good fibber, but I feel as old as the hills today. Maybe I'm coming down with something." She shook her head and gestured to her couch for me to take a seat. I handed her the small, boxed pie that I had brought. "I made you an apple pie," I said. "I've been baking a little bit and really enjoying it."

"Oh! Lovely. And baking again–that's wonderful." She accepted the pie, smiling. "I'll have this later with my tea. Speaking of which, would you like a cup?"

I shook my head and took a few steps to the couch and sat down. "No, I can actually only stay a minute. I'm meeting Archer and we're going to some caves he told me about."

Anne nodded and set the pie box on the coffee table and took a seat on the smaller love seat to the left of the couch. "Pelion Caverns. You'll like them. There are waterfalls–lovely. I went there a couple times with Bill."

"They sound beautiful."

"They are, and the drive will be beautiful, too, now that the leaves are changing."

I smiled. "It should be a nice day. We need one," I said, breathing out.

Anne was quiet for a beat. "Did Archer mention that I visited him while you were in Ohio?"

"No," I said, surprised. "You did?"

She nodded. "That boy has been on my mind ever since you first asked about his father and his uncles. I should have visited him years ago." She sighed and shook her head slightly. "I brought him some muffins–used the last of the blueberries I had frozen." She waved her hand, dismissing her own comment. "Anyway, he looked… wary at first and can't say I blame him, but I chattered a bit and he came around–even invited me into his house. I had no idea the land was that lovely. I told him so and he seemed to take pride in that."

I nodded, wanting to tear up for some reason. "He works hard."

"Yes, he does." She studied me for a minute. "I told him a few things I remembered about Alyssa, his mother, and he liked that too."

I tilted my head, wanting her to go on.

"I talked about you and he liked that best of all–I could see it in his expression." Anne smiled gently. "The way Archer looked when I mentioned your name, oh, Bree, dear–I've never seen someone's heart so clearly right on their sleeve." Her eyes warmed. "It reminded me of the way Bill used to look at me sometimes." She smiled again and so did I, my heart rate picking up.

"He loves you, dear."

I nodded my head, looking down at my hands. "Yes, I love him too." I bit my lip. "Unfortunately for Archer, I think love is pretty complicated."

She smiled a sad smile. "I figure, now that I know what I know about the life he's led, giving his love to you feels filled with risk."

I nodded, my eyes filling with tears now. I told her about what happened when I returned from Ohio and she listened with heartbreak on her face. "What should I do, Anne?" I asked, when I was done.

"I think the best thing you can do for Archer–" she stopped mid-sentence, her eyes taking on a startled expression and her hand coming to her chest.

"Anne!" I said, jumping up and going to her. She was gasping now and had fallen back on the couch. "Oh my God! Anne!" I grabbed my phone out of the pocket of my sweatshirt and hit 911, my hands shaking.

I told the operator the address and that I thought my neighbor was having a heart attack, and the girl on the line assured me the ambulance was on its way.

I returned to Anne's side, reassuring her again and again that help was on its way. She continued to clutch her chest, but her eyes were focused on me, and I thought she was understanding what I was telling her.

Oh God! I thought. What if I hadn't been here?

The ambulance shrieked down our small street ten long minutes later and tears streamed down my face as I watched them work on Anne as she lay on her couch. I took long, shaky breaths, trying to get my own heart rate under control. "Is she going to be okay?" I asked the tech when they brought a stretcher in to transport her. She had an oxygen mask on and looked slightly better already, some color returning to her cheeks.

"It looks good," he said. "She's conscious and we got to her in time."

"Okay," I nodded my head, wrapping my arms around my body. "She doesn't have any family. Should I meet her at the hospital?"

"You're welcome to ride in the ambulance with her."

"Oh! Okay. Yes, please, if I can," I said, following them outside and closing Anne's door behind us.

As I moved toward the ambulance, I glanced to my right and saw Archer running toward me, a look that I could only describe as wild, on his face. My heart plunged into my feet. Oh God, he had run here–he must have heard the ambulance sirens all the way from his house. I walked quickly toward him. He came to an immediate halt when he saw me, not moving closer, his eyes wide and staring, his fists clenched. I jogged the last couple yards to him and said, "Archer! Anne had a heart attack! She's okay, I think, but I'm going to ride to the hospital with her. It's okay. Everything is okay. I'm okay."

He put his hands up on top of his head and gritted his teeth, looking like he was struggling mightily to rein something in. He walked in a slow circle and then turned toward me, nodding his head once, that wild look still in his eyes, but not his expression. His expression suddenly looked strangely blank.

"I'll come straight to you when I know she's going to be okay," I said. I glanced back and the back wheels of the stretcher were just disappearing inside the ambulance. I walked backwards. "I'll take a cab straight to you."

Archer nodded, still expressionless, and then turned without saying a word and walked away from me.

I only hesitated a second before jogging to the ambulance and hopping in just before they closed the doors.

* * *

I stayed at the hospital until I knew for sure that Anne was going to be okay. When the doctor finally came out to tell me that she was stable, he said that she was sleeping, but that he'd told her I was there. They had also called a sister whose number Anne had given them when they first brought her in, and she'd be to Pelion in the morning. That made me feel a lot better and when I finally called a taxi, I felt like a weight had lifted.

I was worried about Archer though. I had texted him when I first got to the hospital and then again when the doctor came out to speak to me, but he had never responded. I was anxious to get to him.

I bit my lip as the taxi made the thirty-minute drive to my cottage. I had told Archer I'd come straight to him, but I wanted to pick Phoebe up before going to his house. Surely he had calmed down by now. He knew I was fine, even if the initial scare had done a number on him. Why he wasn't answering his phone, I wasn't sure though, and it sat heavy in my gut.

I paid the driver and hopped out, rushing into my cottage and calling to Phoebe who came running, her nails clicking on my hardwood floor.

I pulled up to Archer's gate a few minutes later and let myself and Phoebe in. We walked to Archer's door and I knocked softly before opening it and putting Phoebe down. It had just started to drizzle outside, gray clouds darkening the sky.

Archer's house was dark except for a standing lamp that was on in the corner of the living room. Archer was sitting in a chair in the opposite corner. At first I didn't see him and so when I did, I startled and brought my hand to my chest, laughing out slightly. His expression was somber, hooded. I went to him immediately and kneeled down in front of him, putting my head on his lap and sighing.

After a few seconds when I realized he was going to remain still, I looked up at him questioningly.

How's Anne? he asked.

I brought my hands up. She's going to be fine. Her sister will be here in the morning. I sighed. I'm so sorry that whole episode scared you. I didn't want to leave you there, but I didn't want to leave Anne alone either.

Archer brought his hands up. I understand, he said, his eyes still shuttered.

I nodded, biting my lip. Are you okay? What are you sitting here thinking about?

He was quiet for so long that I thought he wasn't going to answer me, when he finally brought his hands up and signed, That day.

I tilted my head. That day? I asked, confused.

The day I was shot, my uncle came to take me and my mom away from my dad.

My eyes widened, but I didn't say a word, just watched him and waited for him to continue.

My dad was at a bar… supposedly busy for a while. He paused, looking off behind me for a second before his eyes found me again. He hadn't always been like he was at the end. He'd been fun, full of charm when he wanted to be. But then he started drinking and things went downhill from there. He'd slap my mom, accuse her of things he was the one doing.

Either way though, my mom only loved one man and that was my uncle Connor. I knew it, my dad knew it, the whole town knew it. And the truth of it was, I loved him more too.

He was silent again for a minute, staring past me. Finally, he continued.

And so when he came for us that day and I learned that I was his son, not Marcus Hale's son, I was happy. I was elated.

He looked down at me, regarding me with little emotion, as if he was deep inside himself, hidden. My uncle shot me, Bree. Marcus Hale shot me. I don't know if he meant to or if the gun just went off when I ran toward him in anger. But either way, he shot me and this is what it did. He brought his hand up to his throat, running it over the scar.

Then he gestured his hand to indicate all of him. This is what it did.

My heart sank. "Oh, Archer," I breathed out. He continued to look down at me. He seemed almost numb.

"What happened to them? To your mom?" I asked, blinking up at him and swallowing down the lump that was threatening to choke me.

He paused for only a second. Marcus had hit our car from behind in his attempt to run us off the road. Our car flipped. My mom was killed in the accident. He closed his eyes for a minute, pausing, and then opened them and continued. After Marcus shot me, there was a standoff between him and Connor in the road. He lapsed into silence again for a minute, his eyes looking like deep, amber pools of sorrow. They shot each other, Bree. Right there on the highway, under a blue springtime sky, they shot each other.

I felt weak with horror.

Archer went on. Tori showed up and then I vaguely remember another car coming along a minute after that. The next thing I remember is waking up in the hospital.

A sob moved up my throat, but I swallowed it down. All these years, I shook my head, unable to grasp the torment he must have experienced, you've lived with that all these years–all by yourself. Oh, Archer. I sucked in a huge breath, attempting to keep hold of my own emotion.

He looked down at me, emotion finally flashing in his own eyes before it moved away again.

I scooted closer to him and gripped his t-shirt as I laid my head against his stomach, tears running silently down my face as I whispered again and again, "I'm so sorry." I didn't know what else to say in response to the weight of the horror a little boy had held.

But I finally understood the depth of his pain, of his trauma, of the burden he carried with him. And I understood why Victoria Hale hated him. She hadn't just sought to take his voice, she had sought to take his confidence, his self-worth, his identity. Because Archer was the embodiment of the fact that her husband loved another woman more deeply than he had ever loved her, and that he had given that woman not only his heart, but his first born son. And that son had the ability to take everything from her.

I continued to hold Archer.

After what seemed like a long time, I leaned back. You own the land this town is on. You're Connor's oldest son.

He nodded, not looking at me, not seeming to care in the least.

You don't want it, Archer? I asked, wiping the tears off my wet cheeks.

He looked down at me. What in the hell would I do with it? I can't even communicate with anyone except you. Much less run a whole damn town. People would look at me like I was the funniest joke they'd ever heard.

I shook my head. That's not true. You're good at everything you do. You'd be great at it, actually.

I don't want it, he said, anguish washing over his face. Let Travis have it. I don't want anything to do with it. Not only am I incapable, but I don't deserve it. It was my fault. It was all because of me that they died that day.

I reared back, sucking in a breath. Your fault? You were just a little boy. How could any of it have been your fault?

Archer regarded me, an unreadable expression on his face. My very existence caused their deaths.

Their own choices caused their deaths. Not a seven year old child. I'm sorry, but you'll never convince me that you have one scrap of responsibility for what happened between four adults that day. I shook my head vehemently, trying to physically put emphasis on the words I'd just "spoken."

He looked over my shoulder, staring at something only he could see for several minutes. I waited him out.

I used to think I was cursed, he said, a small humorless smile tugging at the side of his mouth before it morphed into a grimace. He dragged one hand down the side of his face again before bringing both hands up. It didn't seem possible that someone could be handed so much shittiness in one lifetime. But then I realized that it probably wasn't that I was cursed, more that I was being punished.

I shook my head again. It doesn't work that way.

His eyes met mine and I breathed out. I considered that too once, Archer. But… I realized that if I truly believed that, I'd have to believe that my dad deserved to be shot in his own deli, and I know that isn't true. I paused, trying to remember what it felt like to think I was cursed once as well. Bad things don't happen to people because they deserve for them to happen. It just doesn't work that way. It's just… life. And no matter who we are, we have to take the hand we're dealt, crappy though it may be, and try our very best to move forward anyway, to love anyway, to have hope anyway… to have faith that there's a purpose to the journey we're on. I grabbed his hands in mine for a second and then let go so that I could continue. And try to believe that maybe more light shines out of those who have the most cracks.

Archer kept studying me for several beats before he brought his hands up and said, I don't know if I can. I'm trying really hard, but I don't know if I can.

You can, I affirmed, my gestures sweeping to add emphasis. You can.

He paused for a minute before saying, It all looks so messy. He ran one hand over his short hair. I can't make sense of it all–my past, my life, my love for you.

I looked up at him for a minute, watching the emotions cross his face. After a second I brought my hands up. I don't remember a lot about my mom. I shook my head slightly. She passed away from cancer and I was so young when she died. I licked my lips, pausing. But I remember her doing these cross stitches–they're little thread embroidery pictures.

Archer watched my hands, glancing up at my face between words.

Anyway, one time I picked up one of her pieces and it looked awful–all messy, with all these knots and uneven strings hanging everywhere. I could barely make out what the picture was supposed to be. I kept my eyes on Archer, squeezing his hand quickly before bringing my own back up.

But then, my mom came over and took the piece of fabric out of my hands and turned it over–and right there was this masterpiece. I breathed out and smiled. She liked birds. I remember the picture–it was a nest full of babies, the mama bird just returning. I paused, thinking. Sometimes I think of those little pieces of fabric when life feels really messy and difficult to understand. I try to close my eyes and believe that even though I can't see the other side right then, and that the side I'm looking at is ugly and muddled, that there's a masterpiece that's being woven out of all the knots and loose strings. I try to believe that something beautiful can result from something ugly, and that there will come a time when I'll get to see what that is. You helped me see my own picture, Archer. Let me help you see yours.

Archer gazed down at me, but he didn't say anything. He just tugged gently on my arms and dragged me up onto his lap and pulled me in to his body, holding me tightly, his warm breath in the crook of my neck.

We sat that way for several minutes before I whispered in his ear, "I'm so tired. I know it's early, but take me to bed, Archer. Hold me. Let me hold you."

We both stood up and walked to his bedroom where we undressed slowly and got under his sheets. He pulled me close and held me tightly, but didn't attempt to make love to me. He seemed better, but still distant, like he was somewhere lost inside of himself.

"Thank you for telling me your story," I whispered in the dark.

Archer just nodded his head and pulled me closer.