Sometime Yesterday Page 17

  Natalie stepped out of the shower and pointedly ignored the mirror. She didn’t want any messages this morning. She wrapped herself in a towel before heading to her dresser. The scent of lavender filled her room. She paused at the open window to look out.

  Van was in the yard leaning on her shovel, her eyes covered in dark glasses. Natalie looked behind her to see what she’d just finished. Purple lavender and blue lobelia lined her walkway up to the porch.

  “Good morning!” Natalie shouted out the window.

  Van looked up, as did several of the guys on the crew, and Natalie realized she was hanging out of the window in her towel. She pulled it tighter and motioned Van to come inside.

  She was in the kitchen when Natalie came in. “The flowers are beautiful, thank you.” She crossed the room to start the coffee and chattered happily. “I painted most of the night. I think it’s my best work.” She turned to see Van still standing stiffly at the counter. She hadn’t moved. Natalie hugged her, but Van’s arms stayed at her sides. Natalie took a step back. “What’s wrong?”

  “You tell me.”

  Natalie was puzzled. “What happened? Is it your father? Is he okay?”

  “Dad’s fine.”

  “Then what?” Natalie couldn’t read her with her sunglasses on. “Could you please take those off?”

  Van set them on the counter. Natalie took in her bloodshot eyes and dark circles. “Wow, what did you do last night?”

  “Went out with my friends.”

  “Okay.” Where was this cold shoulder coming from? “So why are you mad at me?” Then she remembered Van coming into the studio and her response to the interruption. “Please tell me you didn’t take that personally.”

  Van’s expression told her that was exactly what she did. “Oh, honey, I’m sorry. I’m not used to anyone coming in when I’m painting. Jason knew better.”

  “I’m not your ex-husband,” Van snapped.

  “No, of course you’re not, and I was rude. I apologize.” Natalie was contrite. “It was not my intention to hurt your feelings.”

  Van had already reached that conclusion this morning when she woke up with a mariachi band playing in her head. Right now she was a little annoyed that Natalie was so chipper and Van felt like climbing into one of the holes she’d dug to die in peace. This time she returned Natalie’s hug.

  “Are you hungry?” Natalie asked.

  The thought of food activated her gag reflex. “I could use some toast.”

  “I can manage that.”

  “Dry please.”

  “That bad?” Natalie smiled and looked sympathetic. “Are we okay?”

  Van thought of how miserable she’d been the night before. That was the thing about feelings—when you turned them back on, you felt all of them, good or bad. They came back intensified to an almost unbearable degree. The alcohol hadn’t helped that one little bit. “I—we’re fine,” she mumbled. She had almost said I love you but stopped herself.

  She didn’t object when Natalie brought her aspirin and ordered her to take a nap. Van thought briefly about setting a bad example for the crew, but she was hung over enough not to care. The guys would probably high-five her, thinking she was getting lucky. She’d deal with it later. She pulled the pillow that smelled of Natalie under her head and closed her eyes.

  Her mouth filled with the unmistakable copper taste of blood. Van tried to roll over but found she couldn’t move. God, she was going to choke on it. She opened her eyes and Richard stared down at her.

  “I told you to quit fucking my wife.”

  She felt pressure around her throat. Her pulse roared in her ears while she tried to pry his hands off her neck. Suddenly, his weight shifted and she turned to spit while still gasping for breath. A punch to her kidneys sent white bursts of pain to her head. Van tried to roll away, but a kick to her stomach stopped her in motion.

  Where was her strength? She felt weak and battered. She tried to talk, but no sounds came from between her swollen lips.

  “I don’t know what else I could expect from you, a whore’s bastard. You’re no better than our slut of a mother, spreading her legs for the fucking gardener.”

  Richard pounded her head against the floor. “I’m certain you didn’t know that did you?”

  Van felt her cheekbone crack under the next blow, tasting fresh blood when her nose broke.

  “Oh yes,” he said an inch from her face. “Father knew and forgave her, claiming another man’s bastard child as his own. But I heard them fighting about it, oh yes, I did. The servants talking about it behind their hands.” Richard opened the door and continued to drag Van out of the room. She looked frantically for something she could use as a weapon, anything.

  His laughter bounced off the walls, growing louder in volume until she thought she would crack from the din. He was truly insane.

  “Blood tells, Sarah.” He pulled her roughly to her feet. “You should have stayed away. Now I’m going to fix Father’s weakness and Mother’s sin. You should have never been born.”

  Van struggled to get loose. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing, couldn’t focus through the pain. Richard shook her until her teeth rattled then she felt herself fly through the air when he pushed her down the stairs.

  *

  Natalie checked her computer then opened the e-mail from her mother.

  Natalie, what’s wrong with your phones? Been trying to reach you. Is everything okay? Got your message and I’m researching through your father’s family tree. Remember all the papers he inherited when Aunt Edna died? Looking for clues. Will write when I find something. In the meantime, be careful. Anytime a blood connection is involved, the more powerful the energy. Love you, Mom.

  P.S. Your dad is ornery but doing well. He sends his love and is happy that you’re happy.

  She hoped her mother would find something that would finally free her house from Richard’s grip. Natalie answered more e-mails and updated her webpage. When she heard the trucks leaving, she was surprised to see how much time had gone by. She hadn’t heard a peep from upstairs. Van must have been exhausted with that mother of all hangovers. Of course, their late nights could have something to do with it as well, she thought.

  Natalie opened the front door to admire her flowers. She was excited to find the lantana bushes in pretty pots on her porch. The blooms had always reminded her of the colors of ice cream sherbet. She sat on the top tread of the stairs to breathe in the afternoon air and appreciate the trimmed back oleander trees. She had just decided to go in and make dinner for Van when she turned and walked straight into her. Natalie let out a half-scream. “God, you scared me.” She looked at Van’s expression. If anything, she looked worse than she did before she lay down. “Van?”

  “I want you to go and pack a bag and come home with me tonight. Right now.”

  Natalie felt the hair rise on the back of her neck and arms. “What happened?”

  “Trust me, please. I’ll tell you on the way.” Van went back into the house.

  Natalie’s first reaction was to dig in her heels, but she did trust Van and did what she’d asked. She tried to reason with her fear but only felt it grow with each second that passed. She threw in some toiletries and hurried back.

  Van met her at the stairs and they both jumped when a crash came from the kitchen. Natalie started toward the sound, but Van pulled her to the door. “I have to see.” When she saw the stony look on Van’s face, she relented and followed her to the truck. What happened to Van during the afternoon while she was online?

  *

  The ride home was silent. Van couldn’t wrap her mind around the dream and its implications. On top of that, she’d never been so afraid or felt so helpless in her life. She’d always been strong and assertive, sure of her place in the world. Even when they had received Cara’s test results of the malignant tumor and her impending death sentence, Van hadn’t felt so powerless. Yes, it was a physical enemy they couldn’t fight, but this—this feeling of b
eing at the mercy of someone else, someone much stronger—she had never felt before. She felt violated and the experience crossed boundaries in her that she hadn’t known she possessed. Whether it was real or not, the remnants of Sarah’s terror left her nauseated and shaky.

  Van heard Natalie follow her into the bathroom where she wanted to wash off Richard’s filth and Sarah’s blood from her mind and body. “Give me a few minutes, okay?” she asked Natalie before stepping into the hot stream. She let the water and silent tears cleanse her.

  The water ran to cold before she felt well enough to get out. Natalie wasn’t in the room. She found her in the kitchen making omelets.

  “Better?”

  Van sat at the set table. “Sorry.”

  “Can you talk about it now?”

  Though she’d rather not, Van described her dream. She felt almost disconnected from it now, reciting it as if it happened to another person, which, of course, it had. Van ate automatically, hardly tasting the food. But with each bite she took, she felt a little better, a little stronger, and a whole lot angrier.

  Natalie cleared the table then returned to sit in her lap, curling against her. “Does this mean we’re related somehow?”

  “If we’re to believe some insane man that kicked my ass in a fucked up dream, it makes us some kind of diluted cousins, I think,” Van said.

  “Sounds like the plot of an old and very bad movie of the week.”

  “Except we’re living it.”

  “Or reliving it, as the case may be.” Natalie laughed weakly then stood. “This doesn’t change how you feel about me, does it?”

  Van held her hand and pulled her back to her side. “Apparently, I loved you then.” She met Natalie’s gaze then held it. “And I love you now.” She watched Natalie’s eyes fill then gently kissed her, hoping that Natalie could feel through her lips what she felt in her heart for her. Natalie swayed slightly and Van steadied her. “And no asshole bully is going to tell me different.”

  Her breath was soft against Van’s cheek when Natalie whispered, “Thank you.” Then she led Van back to the bedroom.

  Natalie lifted her arms while Van slowly lifted her shirt over them. “What’s this?” she asked, tapping the small locket.

  “A piece of who we once were,” she answered then took it off and set it on the dresser. “But tonight, it’s who we are now that matters.” Natalie felt a little dizzy. Van had said she loved her. Though she knew she loved her too, she wasn’t entirely sure she trusted it yet. Words were easy. Hadn’t Jason told her that he loved her just the day before she learned Tracy was pregnant and he left her?

  Instead, Natalie swallowed her own words and trailed her tongue between Van’s breasts while running her hands over the curve of her ass. She loved everything about her. When Van picked her up, Natalie expected to be thrown down to the bed and covered with Van’s weight. But she laid her down gently, holding herself a few inches above her.

  Every movement was slow and unhurried. Van’s lips and hands caressed Natalie’s skin until she was in tears and completely undone. Still, Van moved sinuously against her, in a sensuous dance of slippery bodies wet with passion. Her tongue was everywhere. Natalie felt as if she were floating in an otherworldly place where only sensation and Van existed.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Natalie stood at the back door and sipped her coffee. Right now, right this very minute, she didn’t remember ever feeling so complete. The sun was brighter, the birds sang in harmony, and the warm spring air smelled like heaven. It was a morning full of promises.

  The sound of a car door slamming brought her to the living room where she saw a tall, blond woman coming toward the front door. It was that bitch from the boutique, and Natalie flushed with anger. What the hell was she doing here? She opened the door and startled the woman who had yet to knock.

  “Can I help you?” Natalie asked icily.

  The blonde quickly composed herself and narrowed her eyes at Natalie. “Wow, she’s quick. Gotta give her that.”

  Natalie felt her heart start to drop like the New Year’s ball in Times Square. “Excuse me?” She was shocked to see the house key the woman was holding in her manicured fingers.

  “Candy,” she snarled. “The name is Candy, and I had no idea I was going to be replaced so quickly.” She tilted her head to the side and studied Natalie. “And by a redhead, too. Now, that—that just stings.” She showed no sign of recognition that they had met before.

  “Replaced?” Natalie tried to find her bearings. Anger, shock, betrayal, all recent friends, came back to slap her. She ran her hands nervously over Van’s shirt that she’d put on earlier.

  Candy smirked at her. “Yeah, I liked that shirt too. Although, I do have to say, generously, in fact, that color looks better on you than on me.” She let out an evil chuckle. “Of course, we were a little drunk the other night; I didn’t wear it for long.”

  The morning lost its joy and Natalie felt hollow. “What do you want?”

  “Well, I wanted a piece of ass, but it looks like you got here before me. Not into sloppy seconds, not even for Van, so I guess I’ll wait.”

  Natalie sputtered and felt as if she’d been dropped into the middle of a play and didn’t know any of her lines. “Wait? Wait for what?”

  Candy tossed her hair over her shoulder and laughed. “Oh, you think I’ve lost Van to you?” She backed down the walkway. “I haven’t lost my girl, honey; I’ve just lost my turn.” She sashayed back to her car, leaving Natalie standing in the doorway, her heart in pieces at her feet.

  *

  I haven’t lost my girl; I’ve just lost my turn. The words pinged around and around Natalie’s heart, caught in a loop that came back to hit her, again and again. The jarring bells on her cell phone interrupted her dark thoughts. She checked the number, hoping for her mother or Mary. It was Anton from the gallery. Twenty minutes later, she got off the phone with a promise to deliver the two paintings she did have completed. Without telling him what was actually going on, she explained that she just wouldn’t be able to finish the third one as promised. He accepted the deal that she proposed—four paintings for the next show in the spring, and no, he didn’t care that she didn’t know what the subjects were yet.

  Natalie tried dialing her parents’ house again. There was still no answer. On another impulse, she attempted to call Mary’s cell phone and it dropped into voice mail. She didn’t leave a message. She’d known that the other shoe would drop; she just hadn’t thought it would drop so soon. What was it with her? Did she have a big sign on her forehead that said cheat on me? And why did this hurt more than her ex-husband’s betrayal? Shouldn’t twelve years stack much higher than a few weeks? Apparently not.

  She was unbelievably hurt but packed her few things quickly, shutting the door behind her. She hadn’t left a note, and why on earth should she? She thought of all the lies and excuses that Jason had given her over the years. She would not give Van a chance to do the same thing. She was done with lying, cheating, sons of bitches, male or female.

  *

  Van paused before the automatic doors, dreading the thought of going into yet another hospital. Oh, this one was disguised as an assisted-living facility, but the sounds and smells were exactly the same. She checked in with the front desk before continuing to her grandfather’s rooms. After discussing what she had learned with her father earlier that morning, he had suggested she come and talk with him.

  The dream grew claws and it wouldn’t leave Van alone. When Natalie had told her about the dreams she’d had, on one hand, Van could sympathize with her fear. But on the other hand, when she’d experienced one for herself, that powerlessness shook the foundations of who she believed herself to be. It took things to a whole new level for her.

  To be honest, she was pissed off. If spirits could invade her dreams and shift fate, how come Cara had never come to her? When she died, Van’s heart shattered into tiny pieces of glass that pierced her soul until the pain was so great
she would have welcomed death as well. If ghosts could communicate, how could Cara have not comforted her?

  Van tried to put it aside. She would probably never know. She survived it.

  Her grandfather was in his favorite recliner, wearing a light blue cardigan that Van knew her mother had made years ago. She searched his face, trying to gauge where his mind was, and if he would recognize her this time.

  “Vannie!”

  “Hey, Grandpa.” Even if she knew the Alzheimer’s was responsible for his memory, it still hurt when he didn’t know her. The disease didn’t affect the family member who loved the person, and she hated it for stealing her grandfather’s faculties and wonderful memories they shared. She was so relieved that he seemed to be present today.

  Van settled into her visit. It was only after they talked of sports, the weather, and how well the nursery was doing that she steered the conversation to the past. “Did Dad tell you that I’m doing the gardens at the old Seeley place?”

  His face lit up. “My grandfather used to work there.”

  Van smiled. “I know. What was he like? I don’t know much about him.”

  Her grandfather clasped his hands and closed his eyes. “He was a handsome man, of course. He was an Easton.” He laughed. “He didn’t have much of a formal education, but he was the smartest man I ever met. He could make anything grow, Vannie, anything at all. He never had a harsh word for anyone. Everyone loved him.”

  “Did he ever talk to you about the years he worked there?”