“I’ll be right back,” Mack said and headed for the kitchen. He came back a couple of minutes later carrying two mugs.
Pastor Farley took his mug, then cupped it in his hands to warm them as he took the first sip.
Mack set his aside and waited.
The pastor was just as off balance as Mack. The horrific nature of Paul Jackson’s death was the elephant in the room. He took a second sip of the coffee and then set his cup aside, too.
“Of course I came to offer my condolences,” the pastor said. “The news of your father’s death is heartbreaking. I am so very sorry for your loss.”
Mack swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Thank you.”
“Is there anything I can do?” Farley asked.
Mack shrugged. “I appreciate the offer. Of course I’ll have a memorial service, but I can’t think about that just yet.”
“Of course, of course,” Farley said. “You just let me know your wishes and we’ll make it happen for you.” He took another sip of coffee and then leaned forward. “Know that prayers are being said for you, son. Know that we weep with you. Your father was my friend.”
Mack tried to swallow past that lump again, but it didn’t happen. He put his head down as tears welled once more. He heard the pastor saying a prayer, but he wished that Farley would just leave. He wanted this to be a terrible nightmare, so that all he needed to do was wake up.
Fifteen minutes later Pastor Farley was gone and Mack was on his way out the door. He wasn’t exactly running away from home. He just needed distance from the pain of being here without his dad. He had no destination in mind when he got in his SUV and drove away, but it didn’t take long to realize he was retracing the paths of his youth, from the park where his mother used to take him to play, then past the elementary school where he’d lost his first tooth and broken his arm two years later when he’d bailed out of a swing.
He turned down the street that led to the baseball field, parked behind home plate, and then stared past second base to center field and the fence beyond.
The sun appeared to be hovering atop the trees, setting them ablaze with the color of late fall. His hands were shaking as he gripped the steering wheel. Once again, he felt his dad’s presence.
“I lived half my childhood in this dirt, didn’t I, Dad? And you sat on the third row of the bleachers watching it happen. I don’t know if I ever said thank-you, but I’m saying it now.”
Tears blurred his vision as he closed his eyes and leaned back against the seat. He sat until the sunlight was fading and the fire was gone from the sky before he started the car and drove away, heading north out of Mystic. He didn’t care where he went, as long as it was out of there.
* * *
Reece Parsons woke with a hard-on and a rumble in his empty belly. He thrust muscular arms over his head, stretching like a big cat and arching his back just enough that the covers pushed against his erection. He thought about jacking off for the pleasure of it, then remembered a prior commitment with Melissa Sherman and decided to save the good stuff for her.
He got out of bed and peed off his erection, then walked naked through the darkened house with Bobo at his heels, irked that Louis always left all the lights off. Just once he could at least leave the one on in the kitchen. Then he shrugged. Louis was just like Mama. She was as tight as a bowstring and had gone behind them turning out lights when they were growing up, like wasting a second of electricity was going to put them in the poorhouse when they were already there.
He let the dog out in the backyard and then glanced at the windows, making sure the blinds were pulled and the curtains drawn before he turned on the lights. He liked being naked, but he didn’t want to call attention to himself. He’d come to learn as he grew up that flying under the radar was far safer.
He read Louis’s note, then dug out a couple of covered dishes from the refrigerator and stood at the counter, eating the food cold with a fork. He covered up what he didn’t eat and put the dishes back, and then popped the top on a longneck beer and drank it standing at the sink.
Bobo scratched at the door, and Reece opened it just enough for the little terrier to squeeze in, then locked it behind him, tossed the bottle in the trash, burped, farted and went to get dressed. He thought about logging on to the computer and checking the NASDAQ or maybe seeing how his international investments were doing but changed his mind. He didn’t want to keep the little lady waiting.
* * *
It was just after midnight, and Lissa still couldn’t sleep. Her heart was so heavy that even taking a deep breath seemed impossible. The weight of her guilt was more than she could bear.
And she kept thinking about Mack.
He would come home, if he wasn’t already here. Sometime she would have to face him, if for no other reason than to get her car before she could get rid of it. Their lives had been so intertwined and then shattered in a way she would never have expected. Now, knowing she would most likely see him again as the owner of the instrument of his father’s death seemed the height of all irony.
She gave up trying to sleep and sat in the dark with the TV remote in her hand, watching a sci-fi classic with the sound on mute.
Even after she began hearing footsteps on the porch, she was so numb she didn’t react. If it was the stalker who’d been bothering her, she was going to pretend she wasn’t home.
But then she heard a knock at the door. She glanced at the clock and threw back the covers. Her heart was pounding as she moved barefoot through the house. Surely this wasn’t a real visitor—not at this time of night. It had to be her stalker! Didn’t he know what had happened? Wasn’t there a rule in the universe that if one really bad thing was happening to you, then you were no longer fair game for anything else? If there wasn’t, there should be.
The house was bathed in shadows of varying shades of darkness, broken only by the faint glow of the streetlights showing through the blinds. When she got to the living room she peeked out, but there was no one in sight. She turned on the porch light and peered through the small window in the door, but the yard was empty. Hesitantly, she turned the dead bolt and then opened the door.
Still focused on looking for someone, she stared intently into the shadows beyond the yard before she happened to look down. Breath caught in the back of her throat as she saw a stream of blood seeping out from under the overturned rattrap. When she realized the feet of the dead rat were still twitching, the world tilted. She began to scream and was still screaming when she slammed the door and ran for the phone.
* * *
When Mack left Mystic, he drove straight back to Summerton and holed up at his home. He’d spent years remodeling the old two-story house into the showpiece it was now, and it represented everything he loved about architecture.
The interior was also a reflection of the things that made him comfortable: oversize sofas with accents of dark wood and rich oxblood leather upholstery, heavy damask draperies hanging floor to ceiling. He had a king-size bed, large walk-in closets and wide plank hardwood flooring in a warm walnut stain.
It was not only a source of great pride that it was his, but he’d come back to it because it was his safe place to fall. Only, once he got here, nothing had changed. There was nowhere to go to get away from the fact that his father was dead. The last time he’d felt this sad and empty was the day he’d found out Melissa had aborted their child. And knowing he would have to see her again at some time during this nightmare didn’t make him feel any better. He had lost all faith in women after that day. But he knew his heart and, while she’d shattered it completely, after the years in which they’d loved without boundaries, she was still under his skin.
Now that he was home, he changed clothes, brought in the mail and began going through some phone messages regarding work before he dug through the refrigerator for something to eat.