A Family for Christmas Page 17

  “You want to come with me to get some ice cream?” Edward asked as Lila unlocked her office door and dropped the folder in her hand on the desk.

  Feeling drab in her gray suit suddenly, she put her hand up to her bun, pushed in pins that were already tight, stabbing her scalp, and dropped her arm.

  “I...can’t.”

  He nodded. “It’s not like I can jump your bones in the middle of bowls of ice cream.”

  “I know.” She smiled at him. Stopped herself. Wanted to go to bed with him so badly it hurt. And...

  “I’ve been thinking,” she blurted. “Maybe you should move into my suite here at the Stand.”

  She had thought about it. Several times. Always followed by an emphatic no for so many reasons.

  His eyebrows rose, and smiling, he started to say something.

  “Not with me!” Lila quickly clarified. “I would stay at my condo and sleep in my office if I need to stay over here.” She could always access the closet and shower of her suite after Edward vacated. Or use any number of other bathrooms on the premises, for that matter. She didn’t need a lot when it came to morning ablutions.

  Soap. Water. Toothbrush. Brush. Foundation, which she kept in her purse. That was it.

  “I’m not going to put you out of your space, Lila.”

  “Think about it a minute,” she told him, though part of her really, really did not want Edward invading her space. Wanted that almost as badly as she wanted to know that he’d slept in her bed. Even if not with her.

  “We could bring a cot in and you could have Joy stay with you.” She pulled out the big guns. They were the whole reason the idea had occurred to her.

  Him staying there, that was. Not him in her bed.

  That had come before. Way before.

  Long before she’d realized how deeply in trouble she was.

  She’d had sex with him. Unprotected, delicious, adventurous sex with him. And she’d done it knowing she couldn’t start a relationship.

  At least, at fifty-three, she didn’t have to worry about an unwanted pregnancy, to boot.

  “In spite of her father being out of jail—in my opinion, even more because of it—Joy needs the sense of home and security we are trying to give her. She can’t keep staying in a bungalow with a housemother forever. She’ll have to continue attending school here, at least until we know more about what’s next for her in life, but...”

  Edward nodded, his expression serious, but not frowning.

  “You know I’ll jump at any chance that helps us do that for her, that helps me establish myself as a caregiver that she knows loves her and with whom she feels secure...”

  Joy held his hand pretty much any time they walked together now. But given a choice, she still wanted to be with Hunter and Julie over him. Lila knew how much that hurt him.

  He was going to accept. Her heart dropped. He was going to accept!

  Edward would be living at the Stand. Not just coming to be with his granddaughter and leaving after dinner.

  While Lila’s heart soared, it felt as though the world was closing in on her.

  “But I’ll only stay at your place under one condition.”

  If he thought she was going to stay with him, that was out of the question. Most particularly at the Stand, where everyone she knew... Where people would know...

  Not there. Not anywhere.

  She took a breath when she could. Crossed over to her desk. Put the folder she’d dropped there in her In file. “What condition?”

  She couldn’t sleep with him again. Not even...

  It dawned on her then that he wouldn’t ask Lila to sleep with him with his granddaughter on a cot in the next room...

  “I need to know why you spent one, I have to say, pretty spectacular night with me, but have been treating me more like a stranger than you did before. It’s been two weeks, Lila. You have to know you have nothing to fear from me...”

  “I’m not afraid of you.” Not in the least. Which was part of the problem in a weird kind of way. She trusted Edward implicitly. Felt more safe and secure with him than she could ever remember feeling. Even as a kid. Especially as a kid.

  “Then what is it?”

  “I’m not interested in a relationship.”

  “Kind of late to decide that, isn’t it? We’re friends, at the very least.”

  No. She shook her head. He was a family member of one of her residents. Her caring...it stemmed from that...

  But even as she tried to convince herself, she knew she was lying. Something she’d promised herself never to do again.

  “What’s wrong, Lila? I need to know that before I can move into your home. I need to know that I’m not making life more difficult for you. I just... I can’t sleep in your bed not knowing why you refuse to join me there again.”

  His words took all of the air out of her lungs. They zapped her energy. Her heart. Sinking down to her chair, she closed her eyes. Tried to find her center—the place where she was always calm and her way was clear.

  She’d been struggling to get there for weeks. Since before she’d slept with Edward. And every single second since.

  She was going to tell him. It might not be right. It might not be best. It could be the end of everything she cared about.

  But she was going to tell him.

  Something had taken over since the moment she’d met Edward. Assuredly he was wrong for her.

  But she was going to tell him.

  She could lose her job. Lose everything...

  Lila looked at Edward. She opened her mouth, feeling every muscle it took to do so. “The pattern of abuse often repeats itself from one generation to the next. My husband and I met in high school. We both came from abusive homes. We swore we’d make a home in which no violence existed. Who but two victims would be better able to make that happen?” She shook her head, but kept pushing the truth out as fast as she could. “He became violent first. I became his victim. Then my son did. I didn’t leave. I didn’t save my son. And, in the end, when the bottom of my world fell out, I beat my boy, too.”

  The words were said.

  Her secret was out.

  And Lila just wanted to curl up and die.

  * * *

  EDWARD GAVE HER little choice. The second she stopped speaking, he took her hand and led her through the door in her office to the suite beyond.

  That was another thing. If he stayed in her suite he’d have to access it by going in and out of her office.

  Her files were all kept locked. Her computer was encrypted. She trusted him. He’d passed all security clearance.

  She just... In and out of her office...every morning and every night...

  “Let me make some tea,” he was saying as he pulled out a chair for her at her kitchen table.

  “I can make tea.”

  “You lost all your color back there, Lila. You almost passed out.”

  Things had been a bit hazy for a second. She’d admit that. But, “I’m fine now.”

  If they could just move on, if he would keep her secret and they could act like those last words of hers in her office had never been said...

  “I’ll make tea.” She stood up. Gathered together the familiar, pretty things she’d collected, surrounding herself with beauty to replace the love she’d never have again.

  Edward sat. She made tea. Poured. Carried it to the table. She figured he’d need to know logistics. Need a key.

  Maybe he’d want a coffeepot—coffee—in the kitchen. And a manly mug or two.

  She served him his tea in the china rose cup. Brought some English biscuits, remembering the year she’d received an entire year’s supply of them for Christmas. It had been the second year the Stand had been open. The box had come anonymously, but Lila had a
lways known who sent it.

  The son she wouldn’t see. Couldn’t see, for fear of feelings surfacing that might cause her to lash out at him. To hurt him or his family.

  And he... God bless him, didn’t push.

  “Tell me about it.”

  About the biscuits? That had been years ago and...

  “Tell me about you, Lila.”

  She stared at him.

  “Please. Let me share this piece of you, as you shared my deepest regret. And then, if it’s your wish that I leave you entirely alone, I will do so.”

  Why? She saw no point in putting them through this. Until she saw the pain searing the corners of his eyes and understood.

  Edward had hurt his daughter. Had possibly driven her into the arms of the man who’d killed her. Understanding dawned then.

  Their meeting...their connection...it had been no mistake. They were two souls looking to make up for mistakes they’d made—doing everything they could to atone...

  “I already told you, I grew up in an abusive household.” Maybe he hadn’t meant for her to go back that far. She only knew she couldn’t tell the story without it. “My father backhanded my mother any time she dared to disagree with him. She backhanded us. My older brother and me. Until my brother was killed in a car accident. Then it was just me.”

  He put his hand over hers. She slid her hand away. She wasn’t looking for sympathy. “Then I met my husband...we swore to each other that the pattern of abuse stopped with us...”

  Hard to believe she’d ever been that naive. And that arrogant.

  “He’s the father of your son.”

  “And my daughter.” Oh, God. Sweet precious baby girl. The words just slipped out. She could handle the pain of her loss as long as no one else knew...no one added sympathy to weight already too heavy to bear.

  “You have a daughter.”

  She looked at him.

  And that was when she realized what safety really felt like. “I had a daughter,” she told him. Then, before she could crawl across the table and into his arms, climb on his lap and beg him to hold her, she continued.

  “We kept our pact, my husband and I, to keep abuse out of our home—until our daughter was seven. She was diagnosed with leukemia...”

  Feeling Edward stiffen, seeing the pain in his gaze as he looked at her, she knew she didn’t have to explain the years of painful treatments. The months of despair followed by months of hope. Never quite relaxing.

  “So many nights she lay awake crying, asking her daddy and me to make it all better...” She swallowed. “He started to drink. Lost his job. Bills piled up. We lost our insurance...”

  It wasn’t a new story. Or an isolated one, either. She’d heard it more than once since she’d come to work at the Stand.

  “And he hit you.” Edward’s tone was hard. And filled with compassion, too.

  “Yes. And then he hit me.”

  “But with your daughter sick, you couldn’t leave him.”

  “We’d met a man at the hospital. His son had leukemia. He helped us. Gave my husband a job. We had insurance again. Our daughter was in remission. My husband told me every day how sorry he was. How much he loved us all. He begged me to trust him again, like I used to do...”

  She’d tried. Maybe, given time, she’d have learned how to trust again...

  Some abusers truly recovered. Some women loved them safely for the rest of their lives.

  “And then our baby girl got sick again.” Nothing would ever be as bad as those last months of her sweet daughter’s life. “She was twelve then. Old enough to understand what was happening. What it meant when they said there was nothing more they could do. The beatings started again, but never in front of her. I had to stay. He kept his job that time, and I needed the insurance. My son tried to intervene on my behalf. He was a senior in high school then. He took some pretty severe hits, too. I asked him to just leave when his father got ugly. But I didn’t leave for him. I didn’t take him out of there. I stayed. And prayed that my daughter didn’t know...that she thought she was dying in the circle of a loving family...”

  Tears were pooling in Edward’s eyes while she was shedding her own. They were streaming down her cheeks.

  “The weeks and months passed,” she said, needing to get it all out now. Then to figure out where she went from there. Needing more than ever for Edward to know why she could never love him. Or let him love her.

  “Tension became a permanent part of me. And of our home. Until the day we buried our little girl. I came home from the funeral and my son walked in right behind me. He was only looking out for me. Worried about me, but something about having that big man towering over my shoulder... I don’t know... I look back on it and I just can’t make it right, can’t figure it out... He reached out for me, and I just lost it. I screamed at him to get away. I started hitting and I just couldn’t stop...” She was sobbing now. Sometimes it felt as though she’d never stopped.

  Edward’s silence left room for the anguish to just keep coming.

  “I will never forget the look of horror on his face.”

  It was that look, that one single memory in a lifetime, that had sealed her fate.

  “I took a sleeping pill that night. And did what I had to do for the next little bit. I got my son off to college. And when my husband kept beating me, I even pressed charges. I got myself into counseling. And now I’m here.”

  “And the founder of The Lemonade Stand...he knows about this?”

  “Absolutely. Every detail.” She wouldn’t be there otherwise.

  “Where’s your husband?”

  “In prison. He ended up in more trouble there, too, beating an inmate. He’s now serving a life sentence.”

  “And your son?”

  Lila shrugged. Then smiled through her tears. “He has a good, healthy life,” she told him. “He’s married with a family of his own. Has a great job that he enjoys. A lovely home.”

  “So you see him?”

  She shook her head. He still wasn’t getting it.

  “I haven’t seen him since I hugged him goodbye when he left for college. I can’t see him, Edward. I can’t risk being an abuser in his life. Or in anyone’s life. Don’t you see? The pattern of abuse...it starts at home. Not every abused kid becomes an abuser. I didn’t think I would. You just don’t ever know. Until you’ve reached the end of your tether and find out what you do when you snap. You...you bury yourself in work. Me? When my emotions get too intense, I lash out.”

  And that was why she could never, ever be in a close personal relationship.

  Not ever.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Prospector, Nevada

  NOVEMBER WAS PASSING, day by day. Cara had taken to avoiding the calendar on the refrigerator altogether. Each night she went to bed knowing that one more day of her time away from time was gone. She was one day closer to having to do something.

  Memories continued to haunt her waking hours—snippets, some so good they hurt and some so bad they teased at the edges of conscious thought and wouldn’t quite appear—but she dreaded the nights, the dark silence, even more. In the night, her tension grew. Every minute that ticked by was another one gone.

  And still, she was no closer to knowing what she should do.

  What the hell should she do?

  Most nights, climbing a mountain and getting permanently lost seemed like the best solution. Remembering that the option was open to her brought her comfort enough to drift off to sleep.

  And then morning would come, the light of day, and she’d be struck once again with the weight of hopelessness.

  Mom had always told her to follow her heart. Her heart was telling her to protect herself.

  But was it that selfishness that had driven her away from the man wh
o truly loved her into the arms of a man who’d needed to own her?

  The bitter reality was another horrible pill to swallow. If what she suspected was true—if, like Simon, her father had been struggling with grief—how must he have felt when his only child cut him off?

  He’d lost ten years of her life. The birth of his grandchild...

  Usually at that point, she shut down, got out of bed and started another empty day. Suicide happened when the pain was more than one’s ability to cope. She remembered reading that somewhere.

  She could not commit suicide. Her mother’s life, her death, had to stand for something, and in Cara’s mind, it stood for the value of life.

  In the shower one morning a couple of weeks before Thanksgiving, Cara had to remind herself, again, that life was a gift. That her duty to the gift of life was to live it through to the end. To ensure that her life’s purpose was fulfilled.

  As the water battered down on her, so did her thoughts. How could she serve a purpose when she knew she’d done something horrible but couldn’t remember actually doing it? Didn’t know how she’d felt, what she’d been thinking. Didn’t know why...

  In that tiny stall, she stared at the razor Simon had given her. And thought about just being done with life. It would be quick. And efficient, too. The blood would just wash down the drain with the water. No mess.

  With her eye firmly on the razor, she reached for the soap. Washed herself. The razor was there. Waiting to help her...

  Daddy might be notified.

  Wouldn’t her taking accountability for her worthless life by taking away the need for anyone else to try to help her, or to feed her in prison, be better than his knowing that his only child was rotting away behind bars?

  And Simon... He needed to be free of her. She was dragging him down. Distracting him from his course.

  The blades of the razor were sharp. You didn’t live with medical professionals without learning about critical veins. Listen to your heart. Her mother’s words came to her. Promise me, Cara. Anytime you have decisions to make...listen to your heart. It’s good and pure, sweetie. Trust it.

  Had she been listening to her heart when she’d had to get away from her father? She’d thought she had been.