A House Divided Page 18

  They followed a steady stream of two-lane traffic, many of them tourists, no doubt. Dark rain clouds had rolled in without warning, blotting out the earlier cerulean blue. Gray against slate. So typical here on the coast, no matter what time of year, Mark mused. No wonder the production wanted to use the Glasgow house again for the next shoot, given its gothic theme and all. Too bad he hadn’t been in the position to be more accommodating. He still felt a bit guilty about that. Too bad, too, that the production company had to go under. Yes, apparently times were tough in more places than just Freemont.

  Rain pattered against the top of the Lexus. The windshield wipers swiped back and forth in rhythmic precision. The sound of rubber swishing across the wet pavement melded into the background.

  Unexpectedly the scream of an approaching siren pierced through the sounds of the rain and traffic. Mark glanced into the rearview mirror and saw a neon yellow fire truck careening up behind him. He jerked the car to the shoulder of the highway and stopped. Horns blasted. Pulsating red lights flashed by in a blur. The truck’s taillights grew dim, then faded into the drizzle and gray. An ambulance, with sirens wailing, followed.

  “Oh-oh,” Wendy said. “Maybe someone’s gonna have to go to the hospital, just like Bandit did . . . and Daddy too. What a terrible thing. ”

  Mark drew in a deep breath. “Just remember to say a little prayer for whomever that might be, okay? And don’t forget, sometimes hospitals can be good places to go. The nurses and doctors are there to help people.” He frowned. This was the second time today Wendy had mentioned her father.

  “I will say a little prayer, Mark. Mama even hears me say my prayers before I go to sleep at night, so I’m pretty good at talking to God.”

  “That’s good, Wendy.” His throat clogged. “Very good.”

  He slanted Rebecca another look, but she failed to meet his eyes. Without a doubt she was preoccupied with her own thoughts. Was she, like Wendy, thinking about August? Had August experienced a similar trip to the hospital in an ambulance the night he’d been shot? Since Wendy had said so, it was probably true. Rebecca, though, hadn’t filled him in on many of the details, and it was understandable why she hadn’t.

  At last Rebecca spoke, but her voice was hesitant. “Do you see smoke anywhere, Mark?”

  “No, I don’t. Maybe it’s just something small, like a chimney fire or a backyard burn pile that got out of control. They usually send out and ambulance as a precautionary measure every time a fire truck responds to a call, but that doesn’t necessarily mean the fire’s a big one.”

  “Let’s hope not.”

  Yet as they drew closer to the historical district and started up the hill, their questions were soon answered. A plume of white smoke, mixed with black, billowed into the sky, frighteningly near the old Glasgow place. And it was clearly no chimney fire.

  Mark’s forehead broke out in a cold sweat. Lord, Father, please don’t let it be…

  Time seemed to stand still as they ascended to the top of the hill, turned the corner onto

  Marine View Drive, and came to a halt directly behind the first of two fire engines. Glowing flames licked the sky, more white smoke surged. “Oh, no! It can’t be true!” The sound of Rebecca’s exclamation wrenched at his heart as Mark uttered his own silent cry.

  The guesthouse was an inferno of heat and flames, while the Glasgow place stood a mere one spark away.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Gaping, Rebecca stared at the water-drenched guesthouse, the pandemonium of emergency vehicles and firefighters. Neighbors were gathered on the sidewalks, watching. “Oh, no,” she breathed. “I . . . I can’t believe this is—”

  Wendy’s muffled sob stopped Rebecca’s next words. “Oh Mama, Mama! Look what’s happened to Mark’s house! And Bandit’s too.” Her crying grew louder.

  “Wendy, sweetie. Please don’t cry.” Rebecca twisted around, darting her a desperate look. Oh, if only her daughter were a baby again. If only she could rock her and kiss away her fears.

  Mark stared straight ahead, his face unreadable. “I can’t believe this,” was all he could murmur.

  Two yellow fire engines were parked on

  Marine View Drive, the closest access to the guesthouse, and the front street had been barricaded by three patrol cars. The crimson lights from the fire trucks pulsated, bouncing eerie reflections off the south side of the Glasgow place. Shouts from the fire chief filled the air, slicing through the murmur of the crowds. The static of emergency radios, coupled by the noises of the churning pumps, seemed deafening. “Yes, it all seems one huge nightmare . . .” Rebecca’s voice trailed off. She stared at what remained of the small building: a charred, smoking skeleton of black, gray, and white. The windows were shattered, the once-covered front porch caved in, as was one portion of the roof. Firefighters wrestled thick hoses across the yard, dousing the remaining flames that leaped from the windows and exposed attic.

  She shuddered. The note. The fire’s got to be the work of an arsonist. And somehow Bandit’s near poisoning is connected, too. Fresh terror welled up inside of her, ripping at her soul. I’ve got to take my little girl back to California! I can’t subject her to any more danger. She pressed a hand to her forehead, trying to ease the dull, throbbing pain.

  Raindrops sounded on the top of the car roof, an infrequent rat-a-tat at first, then a steady stream of patters.

  “What’s gonna happen to us now?” Wendy asked as if she’d read Rebecca’s mind. Her voice quavered above the sound of the rain. “Is the fire gonna burn down our house, too?”

  As Rebecca attempted to divert her attention, the child’s answer went unacknowledged. “Look, Wendy! Isn’t it wonderful? The rain’s helping the firefighters put out the fire. There’s nothing to worry about anymore!”

  “I’m scared, Mama.”

  Silently, Rebecca reached back to touch her daughter’s shoulder. Oh, sweetie. I am too! I’m scared out of my wits. More than you’ll ever know.

  “Wendy,” Mark said before Rebecca could find her voice, “God has taken good care of us. We weren’t even home when the fire broke out. And He’ll continue to take care of us, no matter what.”

  “Are you sure?” Her voice quavered.

  “Cross my heart,” he said. “Don’t be afraid, Wendy.”

  The acrid smells of smoke hung heavy in the air, penetrating through the closed car windows. It stung Rebecca’s throat. She coughed, then felt Mark’s large hand reach out to clasp hers. It was warm and reassuring.

  “I suppose I’d better go talk with the police and fire chief,” he said wearily. He let go of her hand and turned the car door handle. “I should probably let them know I’m available for questions.”

  She needed him to stay. She needed to throw out an emotional anchor to him. But no. She had no right to rely on Mark, nor could she allow herself to become dependent on him. Their days together were coming to an end. There was no hope for a future between them. The reminder twisted inside her heart. The pain cut to her core.

  After Mark left, Rebecca moved into the back seat so she could be close to Wendy. She held her, smoothing back her hair, murmuring words of solace. Soon she felt the child’s trembling body begin to relax.

  An eternity later, Mark returned and climbed back into the driver’s seat while Rebecca remained where she was. He turned back to her. “Ah, there you are! For a minute, I thought you’d taken off.”

  A feeble attempt at humor, no doubt. So much like Mark. No matter what, he could still find something to laugh about. She smiled back at him. “Well, I didn’t get very far, did I?”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  “Did you get to talk with all the people you needed to?”

  “Yes, for now,” he answered, heaving a sigh. “There’ll undoubtedly be more questions later from the news media.” He looked at her squarely. “You’re not planning on staying here in the apartment tonight, are you?”

  “No. We’ll sleep at Missey and Ross’s.”

&nb
sp; “Good.”

  Eyes still closed, her long lashes dark and spiky, Wendy remained snuggled close. Yet her breathing lacked the slow, steady rhythm of sleep.

  “And what about you, Mark?”

  “I’ll bunk out at the condo. There’s plenty of room there, and I can sleep on the couch. My guests are due to fly out in a couple of days anyway.” His brow furrowed. “Look, do me a favor. Okay?”

  “What?”

  “A while ago, after I received the . . . uh . . . you know . . . the note.” He slanted a look at Wendy. “I asked you to find another place to live. But when you insisted on staying, I decided to go along with it.”

  “Uh-huh. And I appreciated that.”

  “Well, I can’t do that any longer. It’s not safe at the Glasgow house. You’ve got to find somewhere else to stay.”

  “Yes, that’s obvious now. I won’t keep insisting otherwise.”

  She longed to wrap her arms around him and hold him close. She yearned to be so much more to him than simply a good friend, someone with whom to watch the sun set over the seashore, with whom to share foolish kisses and warm embraces. Yes, she wanted to be with him for all time, his wife, his lover.

  “I’ll be more than willing to help you look around for another apartment,” he said. “We’ll get started on that right away. As you know, I have connections with the property management, so I’m sure we can find something in no time.”

  “Uh . . . thanks, but Wendy and I’ll be fine. I’m sure Missey and Ross will make their place available to us as long as we need it. The upstairs has two guestrooms that rarely get used.” Did she dare tell him that “as long as we need it” would probably only be a few short days? That she couldn’t put her child’s safety on the line any longer, to say nothing of how it was tearing her up inside to keep seeing him this way? She blinked rapidly, fighting back the sting of tears. No—not yet.

  Averting her gaze out the side window, watching two firemen rolling up a muddy hose, she struggled against the yawning void in her soul.

  How could she have loved—and lost—yet again?

  * * *

  As Rebecca and Wendy weaved their way through the wet streets to Missey’s house, Rebecca felt as if she were operating in a vacuum. The rain had stopped, the clouds parted, and the sun had poked through once again. Lengthening shadows lay across the front lawns of the stately old homes they passed by. Yet deep inside of her, the world was sketched in shades of gray.

  “Mama, when are we gonna find out how Bandit’s doing?”

  “Um . . . we’ll call and check on him as soon as we get to Auntie Missey’s. I promise.”

  The cell phone chimed, cutting through their conversation. She answered it after the first ring.

  “Becca!” she heard Missey exclaim. “Thank goodness, you answered! We’ve been frantic with worry. We’ve just finished watching the news on TV. Are you and Wendy okay? And how about Mark? He must be simply devastated.”

  “Yes, we’re fine. We’re all fine. Just a bit shaken.”

  “Where are you now?”

  “On our way there. Wendy and me, that is. I . . . I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Of course not!”

  “We’re not far from the fish market on Third and Pike, but traffic’s gridlocked. A fender-bender up ahead, I think. Anyway, if we ever get moving again, we’ll be there in a jiff.”

  The relief in Missey’s voice was almost palpable. “The house is yours for as long as you need it. Besides, Ross is in Eugene for a business trip until Wednesday, and you know how I hate to be alone.”

  “Oh, Missey, thanks! Whatever would I do without you?” Rebecca drummed her fingers on the steering wheel as she braked to a stop. Ahead on the shoulder of the highway, the red lights of police and emergency rescue vehicles flashed. SUVs, semi trucks, and an assortment of motor homes, fifth wheelers, and trailers clogged the highway in all four lanes.

  By the time they arrived, the news of the fire had played and replayed on all the local TV news stations. The broadcasters proclaimed dramatically how the destroyed guest quarters were situated dangerously close to the old Glasgow house and how the fire had put the famous home in serious jeopardy. The location shoot for Winter Rose was the primary reason Freemont’s economy hadn’t dried up completely, they’d emphasized.

  “Mama, don’t forget. You promised we’d check on Bandit after we got here,” Wendy said above the noise from the TV. She was sitting on the floor next to Jodie. Missey had just waltzed into the room with tea for Rebecca and herself, plus milk and peanut butter cookies for the girls.

  “So I did! I’m sorry, sweetie. My mind’s still in such a muddle.” She rummaged through her wallet to retrieve the vet’s business card, grabbed her cell phone, then punched in the number. “Let’s just hope and pray there’s a night attendant who will answer.”

  To her surprise, a male voice did indeed answer.

  “Great news!” Rebecca exclaimed with a grin after they’d finished talking. Three sets of eyes, wide and questioning, stared back at her.

  “Bandit’s heart rate is getting back to normal, and he seems to be coming around. He might even get to go home in a couple of days.”

  The girls jumped up and cheered. Missey let out a whoop, and Rebecca reveled in her own sweeping relief. They certainly needed good news right now. She was tempted to call Mark to tell him. But no, he’d probably already checked on Bandit earlier. And for now, the best thing she could do was try to put Mark out of her mind completely. It only made their leaving seem all the more painful.

  Later Rebecca tucked a now-bathed Wendy into the lower level of her cousin’s bunk bed. Jodie, who was still in the bathroom across the hall, slept overhead whenever Wendy stayed over. The light fragrance of lilac bubble bath drifted through the open bathroom door to the bedroom.

  “Mama, will you listen to me say my prayers again? I think I need to really talk to God tonight.”

  Rebecca smiled down at her daughter, her throat thickening. “Of course.” Out of the mouth of babes, she mused.

  Wendy knelt at the bedside, squeezed her eyes shut, and steepled her hands together while Rebecca sat on the side of the bed.

  “Dear God,” she began in a small voice. “Thank you that we weren’t there when the fire happened today. And thank you for saving Bandit from dying. Please keep making Bandit get better, because we all love him so much. And we love Mark, his daddy, so very, very much too. And Mark wouldn’t want Bandit to go to heaven either. Not yet, anyway. Bandit’s still got too many fun doggie things left to do here on earth, even though I know Daddy would take good care of him in Heaven for Mark until Mark has a chance to get there himself.” She hesitated, then added, “Bless Mama and Auntie Missey and Uncle Ross and Jodie. And thank you especially for making sure we weren’t home when the fire broke out. Amen.”

  “Aw, sweetie, that was such a wonderful prayer,” Rebecca murmured. She brushed back her daughter’s bangs from her forehead and blinked rapidly.

  “Do you think God heard me all right?” Wendy asked as she got to her feet and clambered into bed.

  Rebecca swallowed hard. “Yes . . . yes. I’m sure He did.”

  * * *

  “What a day,” Rebecca said as she slumped down into a chair and looked across the oval oak table at her sister.

  Missey had placed another pot of tea and two china cups between them. “I’m serving mint this time,” she said with a little half-smile. “Supposed to calm the nerves.”

  “Thanks, I can use it.” The heat of the day still lingered in the kitchen. The ground outside lay moist from the earlier rain, and the temperatures still hovered in the low eighties. Overhead in the kitchen, the ceiling fan whirred softly, fading into their conversation.

  Missey wore a funky yellow apron that was splotched with peanut butter and shortening, evidence of her earlier cookie baking session with Jodie.

  “I still can’t believe it,” Rebecca said wanly. “Everything that happened today seems so iro
nic.”

  “What do you mean?” Missey added a teaspoon of sugar to her cup of tea and stirred slowly.

  “I’m talking about the fire.” Rebecca sighed. “Think about it, sis. Everyone’s saying how good it is that the Glasgow place was spared, but what difference, really, would it make in the long run if it had burned, too?” She stared unseeingly through the window as the night darkness pressed against it.

  “You mean because Mark plans on tearing it down?”

  “Yes.” Rebecca hesitated. “We’re on the inside track about that, of course. The news hasn’t really gone public yet, at least not on a statewide level, but it won’t stay that way for long. I can’t help but wonder what the folks who have heard the TV broadcasts must think. I mean, do they really believe the film site for Winter Rose will stay the way it is forever?”

  “Good point. I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “I’m scared, sis. Scared especially for Mark.” She blew out a breath. Here I go again. I’m not only thinking about Mark, but talking about him, too. Yet now that she and Missey were finally alone together, she couldn’t help pulling out all the stops.

  “Scared for Mark?”

  “Uh-huh. Next someone will be trying to accuse him of having set the fire himself to collect on the insurance.”

  Missey shook her head. “If that were true, he would probably have started the fire inside the Glasgow place itself, not the guest quarters, although we both know that Mark would never be capable of doing anything dishonest like that. And even if he had done that, he most certainly would have moved out all that beautiful antique furniture, which would have been a dead giveaway.”

  “I suppose you’re right. There’s a lot of value in that furniture, not to mention it’s simply irreplaceable.” Rebecca paused. “There’s something else, too, that’s been eating at me.”

  “What?” Brows raised, Missey looked at Rebecca from behind the rim of her teacup.

  “Mark seems to think I’m naive to believe that Freemont was the same town I left a decade ago.” She paused, pursing her lips in concentration. “He says my search for safety and security is unrealistic, and the potential for bad times, even crime, is just as possible here as any other place.” Rebecca attempted a wry smile, but it felt frozen to her face. “After what happened today, I’m afraid, he might be right.”