Between You and Me Page 24

  “Did you take art in school?” Joanna asked.

  Caleb offered a fleeting smile. “Didn’t go to that kind of school. It’s strictly the basics and ends after grade eight.”

  “Schooling stops at eighth grade?” Her father’s eyebrows shot up. “How is that even legal?”

  Finally, she was pushed to the breaking point. “For Chrissake, Dad—”

  Caleb touched his leg against hers. It’s fine.

  She reeled herself back in. With exaggerated precision, she set down her coffee cup. “We both have to be up early tomorrow,” she said. “So we’d better get going.”

  “I’ll call for a car.” Her mother reached for the phone.

  “That’s all right,” Reese said. “The walk will do us good.”

  “The boardwalk is the best route to take, then. Such spectacular views of the city at night. Just make sure you don’t take the shortcut. It’s dangerous at night, you know.”

  Reese gave them each a brief hug. Dangerous. “Right,” she said. “I know.”

  As they walked away from the Powells’ place, Caleb could feel the emotion emanating from Reese like heat from a fever. He didn’t say anything. She’d speak up when she was ready to talk. He had complete faith that she would talk. She was a talker, this one.

  “Not my finest moment,” she said after a few minutes. “Sorry. Why do I let them get to me?”

  “Because they care so much about you. They want good things for you. And you want to make them happy because they’re your parents and you love them.”

  They took the pedestrian walkway Joanna had suggested. The river reflected the bright lights and colors of the city at night. The art museum was lit up from below, and it resembled a Greek temple on a hill. In some waiting room or other, he’d read that the urban trail was the pride of the city, one of its newest attractions. Despite the chilly weather, there were folks in stylish clothes and shiny shoes, businesspeople hurrying with their briefcases, kids in groups jabbering away, cyclists and joggers getting their late-night exercise. Such a contrast to Middle Grove, where evenings were spent at home, reading in the soft glow and quiet hiss of a lantern.

  “You’re right, of course,” she said. “I do love them and I want to make them proud and happy. They’ve given me so much. I’m grateful for that. But . . . I’m worried,” she said.

  “About what?”

  “I’m scared that what I want for me and what they want for me are two different things. If I do what they want, I’ll always wonder if it was the right choice. If I do what I want, they’ll be disappointed in me.”

  “What’s harder? Disappointing your parents or disappointing yourself?”

  “Both options suck.”

  He felt a wave of affection for her, this woman who’d burst into his life like a spring flower. She thought everything through. And through. And through. “Then choose a different option,” he suggested.

  “Such as . . . ?”

  “You tell me.” It was all he could do to keep his hands to himself. Every instinct made him want to touch her, to bring her close and kiss her the way he had at Grantham Farm. And he wanted those kisses to lead them to long, fevered hours of making love. He’d been raised to repress those urges, but kissing Reese felt more reverential than any prayer, and if that was blasphemy, he’d gladly burn for it.

  “. . . what drives them, you know?”

  “Sorry, what?” Focus.

  “My parents,” she said. “Isn’t that what we’re talking about?”

  “Yes, sure.”

  “I worry that I don’t have their drive to achieve. Both of them are so successful. Every memory I have of them when I was growing up is about moving ahead—for them in their work, and for me, in school. Even on weekends and vacations, everything we did was supposed to feed into that. I don’t remember ever doing something just for the sake of doing it, you know? If I just wanted to lie in the grass and stare up at the clouds, I was supposed to learn about the types of clouds and how they form.”

  He didn’t say anything.

  “You’re not saying anything.”

  When he was a kid, he would have been grateful for someone to have that expectation. To expect him to learn things beyond basic knowledge, to want him to pursue a grand dream. He wasn’t quite sure how to tell her that, so he stayed silent.

  “Okay, here’s another example. When I was little, maybe ten or eleven, I was in a Girl Scout troop. You’re familiar with Girl Scouts?”

  He nodded. “The cookie merchants.”

  She laughed. “That’s us. Anyway, my folks approved of it, because it was all about setting goals and getting rewarded. Accomplish something—get a badge. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I think they were probably more focused on the badges than on the things I did to earn them. One project I remember was planting a garden. I made a tiny plot in the yard. There was a sunny spot by the driveway, and I worked and worked. When the first peas and beans came up, I was so excited. Each day I couldn’t wait to see what came up. The peas tasted like candy to me. Then one day I came home to find my garden gone.”

  “What do you mean, gone?”

  “Just . . . leveled. The whole area. My father had hired a crew to build a shed for his golf cart, and they dug out the foundation right where the garden had been. I raised holy hell. Full-on meltdown. Screamed at him and demanded to know why. It’s the only time I remember having a meltdown with my parents. And Dad just looked at me and said, ‘You planted it for your Girl Scout badge.’ Like that explained everything. He figured since I’d already earned the badge, I didn’t need the garden anymore. He was, like, ‘If you want some green beans, ask the housekeeper to buy you some next time she goes to the market.’ He wasn’t being mean. Just realistic. Totally clueless about what I really wanted—to the point that I questioned my own judgment.”

  He touched her arm, directing her to a bench positioned under a pool of light. They sat down together, and with no forethought at all, he slipped his arm around her. “You’re shivering.”

  “The weather’s changing,” she said softly. “And I’m . . . I guess you can tell this is an emotional topic for me.”

  “Family stuff usually is,” he said.

  “Tell me about your family,” she said. “I mean, I know the basics—your mom, your brother . . . Tell me a story about when you were a boy. I suspect you didn’t expect a badge for planting a garden. What’s something I don’t know about you?”

  Something about her question brought up a rush of memories. He sat motionless, feeling the warmth of her against him.

  A lighted boat chugged past on the river. Four guys on bicycles wove back and forth on the trail, veering close to the bench and then away. Teenagers, talking loud and swearing.

  When they were gone, Reese nudged him. “Well?”

  “It’s a pretty loaded question.” He glanced at her, and when he caught the way she was looking up at him, it took his breath away. Because what he saw in her eyes echoed what he felt in his heart. “When I was a boy, I spoke with a stutter.”

  “Oh, gosh. That must have been hard.”

  He was silent again. Bracing himself. Because Reese was too smart not to connect the dots. He knew she would start digging. And the funny thing was, he wanted her to probe. He wanted her to know.

  “Caleb?” Her voice was very soft. “What caused the stutter?”

  And there it was. No one had ever asked. “Everything was a weapon,” he said. “A shovel. A hacksaw. A horse harness. Whatever my father could get his hands on. Up at the barn, the outhouse, the milk house. I never knew when he’d come at me. He beat me until I prayed for mercy. If I ever dared to complain, I was told to pray harder.”

  She gasped and pulled away from him, grasping his arms. “Oh my God. Caleb, no.”

  “John had the worst of it, being older,” he said, knowing her “no” was rhetorical. Never in his life had he told these things to anyone. It was as if someone else were saying the words. It was remarka
ble how raw the memories were even now, decades later. He still remembered the terror and the pain. The shame and humiliation. “When John got to an age where he was bigger than our father, he put a stop to those things.”

  “Wasn’t there anyone you could tell? It’s criminal behavior. Didn’t someone notice—a teacher or neighbor?”

  “The community prides itself on being close-knit, protecting its own. That kind of treatment—it’s not considered criminal. Obedience and submission are demanded, and folks abide by Solomon’s rule.”

  “Spare the rod and spoil the child? God.”

  “I reckon in some families, it works.”

  Reese trembled against him. “Oh, Caleb. I don’t know what to say.”

  “I’m okay with silence.”

  She gave a tremulous chuckle as she wiped the tears from her cheeks. “All right, so you win the awful-parent sweepstakes. I’m ashamed I complained about anything at all. I’m so, so sorry that happened to you. With all my heart, I wish I could hold that little boy in my arms and keep him safe forever.”

  “That’s a sweet thing to say.” He touched her damp cheek. “I’ve never told these things to a soul.”

  “I’m glad you told me. And for what it’s worth, you don’t seem remotely like a person who endured abuse from your own father. When I see you with Jonah, I’m constantly amazed at how patient and expressive you are.”

  “When I came back to raise Jonah and Hannah, I made a vow to myself. I swore I’d be the kind of man I wish I’d had as a father.”

  “You’re incredible. But I have thoughts. And questions.”

  He smiled. “Of course you do.”

  “Why do you stay, then? It was horrible for you.”

  “But not for John, not after he forced our father to back down. After that, after he jumped off the bridge, the Amish community saved John. He opened himself up to all that was good about Amish ways—family and community, working the land and living close to God. And it’s what he wanted for his kids. Not the life our father gave us, obviously. The life he made with Naomi. They turned the farm into a wonderful home, a truly happy home. I’m doing my best to keep faith with that.”

  “It’s so remarkable—and so admirable—that you recovered from what happened to you when you were a boy. Jonah will probably never know how lucky he is.”

  “When I look at Jonah and his sister, I feel like the lucky one.”

  “What a nice thing to say. Family obligations can be so complicated. It’s so hard to separate parental expectations from your own.”

  Caleb was in a similar dilemma and the parallels were obvious. “I wouldn’t call this complicated,” he said. “It’s very clear. I know what I have to do.” He used to think about the years to come, after Hannah and Jonah were on their own. Maybe then he would leave Middle Grove. Now that Jonah was hurt so bad, that might not be an option.

  Caleb would have to find a way to be more accepting of the good things about Middle Grove, the things his brother had embraced. It was a secure home for Jonah. A safe harbor. The trouble was, Caleb had so much anchoring him that he felt as though he were drowning.

  She touched his leg and got up from the bench. “Thank you for telling me. I wish it was a different story, but I’m glad you told me.”

  “It’s easy to talk to you, Reese.” They started walking again.

  “You never tell lies,” she said. “That’s something I love about you.”

  She was wrong, though. And he knew it. The biggest lie he told was to himself. Every day.

  Reese resisted the urge to take Caleb’s hand as they walked together through the brisk night. It seemed like a natural gesture after the intimate conversation they’d just had, but there was something else they needed to discuss.

  “I’ve been wondering about us,” she said. “That’s blunt, I know, but it’s probably best to be direct about this.”

  “That’s pretty direct.” There was a hint of a smile in his voice. She wasn’t sure how she knew that. It was because she knew him. How was it that she had come to know him, the small, intimate things about him, so well? Was it because she couldn’t stop thinking about him?

  She stuck her hands in the pockets of her jacket and studied the vertical shadows of the boardwalk railing. Somehow, it was easier to talk if she forged ahead.

  “I don’t know how else to approach this. There’s something going on between us. It feels . . . romantic and special. And if you think I’m wrong, you’d better speak up now because it’s kind of a big deal to me.”

  “You’re not wrong,” he said.

  A feeling of relief unfurled inside her. They both felt it, then. “I’m going to be very honest here and tell you I probably don’t have much in common with an Amish woman. I’m telling you this so you know I really mean it when I say I . . . I think a lot of you. Remember when you explained to me what that means?”

  “Yah, I remember.”

  “Then you know that it means I’m falling for you.” There. She’d finally spoken the words aloud. And it was a cringey thing to say, but it was also true, unlikely as it seemed, even to her. “You don’t need to say it back to me,” she said. “If you don’t want to say anything at all, I understand, because seriously, I’m not asking you for anything, and I get that your life and my life are totally and completely different, and there’s really no point in—”

  He stopped her with a kiss, swift and hard. Right there in the middle of the boardwalk, probably captured by security cams, he grabbed her and kissed her with a long, open-mouthed kiss that made the world shift and change color. The moment went on and on, and it still didn’t last long enough. The kiss was like a wave, building to a crest and then subsiding gradually, leaving her dizzy with wonder and delight. Who knew? she wondered. Who knew there was a feeling like this in the world?

  With studied gentleness, he lifted his mouth from hers and smiled down at her.

  “Oh,” she said. “Well. Wow.” She tried to gather her thoughts and find a few words beyond monosyllabic exclamations. “After a kiss like that,” she said at last, “there needs to be some kind of follow-up.”

  “There does,” he agreed. “Unless you mean more talking.”

  “Shit, I do talk too much,” she admitted, suddenly in a hurry. “But no, I don’t mean more talking.” Damn. This was really happening. And she wanted it more than her next breath of air. They were nearly home. She felt exhilarated as they hurried down the access stairs from the bridge to the street.

  At the bottom of the stairs, there was broken glass on the pavement from a shattered streetlight. Across the road, a neon sign flashed over a deserted launderette. There were broken bricks and small beads on the ground.

  “Careful,” said Caleb, touching the small of her back as they skirted around the debris.

  A rustle and a movement stirred to life. Four guys on bikes burst from the shadows. One of them nearly collided with her, and she fell back against Caleb. “Hey,” she said, “watch where you’re going.”

  “Hand over everything,” one of the guys said. He wore a low-brimmed hat and a funnel-necked shirt. Tattoos on the backs of his hands. Glimmer of fire in his neon-lit eyes. “Make it fast.”

  Whoa. Shit. A robbery. Seriously? Now?

  She grabbed Caleb’s arm, feeling instantly that the muscles there had gone rock hard. “We don’t want any trouble,” she said, her voice trembling from a swift rush of terror.

  “No,” Caleb agreed. “We don’t.” His voice didn’t tremble at all.

  Three of the bikes clattered to the pavement. “Then do like you’re told,” said one of them, swaggering forward. Hoodie and loose jeans. Missing front tooth. “Hand it aaaaall over. Wallets, cash, jewelry, phone . . .”

  Caleb calmly took out his stitched leather wallet. As usual, it contained nothing except a bit of cash.

  A hand snatched it and dug out a few bills. “Thirty-five bucks? Fuck. That ain’t shit.”

  “You gotta do better than that,” said one of
the others, grabbing Reese’s handbag and practically yanking her arm out of its socket. He dumped it on the ground, and there was a scramble for the wallet and phone.

  “Jewelry.” One of them grabbed her necklace—the pendant from her grandmother. She yelped as the chain cut the back of her neck.

  “Don’t touch her,” Caleb said. “Please.” Still calm, but she recognized a new note in his voice—the quiet growl of an attack dog.

  She tried to breathe through panic. Adrenaline was firing through her every nerve, yet she felt utterly paralyzed. She saw Caleb’s large hands clenching and unclenching.

  “Here,” she said, removing her cheap earrings with shaking hands. “Take everything and go.”

  “Dude’s got manners,” said one of the thugs. “He said ‘please.’ I think he should say ‘pretty please.’”

  “Yeah, make that ‘pretty please,’ big guy.”

  “And unlock the fucking phone, bitch.” One of them thrust it at her and grabbed her wrist.

  “I said, don’t touch her,” Caleb repeated.

  “And I said, you gotta say pretty please. And while you’re at it, cough up the rest of your cash.” As he spoke, the guy whipped out a handgun and jammed the barrel under Caleb’s jaw. “You hearin’ me all right?”

  Reese nearly threw up. “Oh my God. Please don’t shoot. Please—”

  One of the men shoved the phone in her face. “Unlock it! Do it now, bitch.”

  Her hand shook so hard she couldn’t touch the right digits on the screen. The man lost patience and shoved her up against the iron railing of the stairs. He reeked of weed and sweat. “Put your fucking thumb on the fucking button,” he yelled, his breath hot in her face.

  She couldn’t hold her hand still. From the corner of her eye, she saw Caleb’s right hand form a hard fist. “Caleb, no,” she screamed. “He’s got a gun—”

  There was a not-very-loud popping sound. And then a sickening crunch as Caleb’s fist shot up and connected with the guy’s face, hitting him so hard it knocked him to the ground. The gun went spinning toward the gutter and disappeared into the shadows. The other three went for Caleb like a pack of rabid dogs.