Ava Gray - Skin Tight

Søren made the trip in record time, breaking all the speed limits on the way. He had nowhere else to go, nothing left to do. That had never mattered before. Though he hadn’t spoken of it to Mia-he’d never even told her how much she mattered to him-he’d started considering the idea of a life with Mia, a second chance. If she wanted him.

His hands were shaking when he turned into the lot. After parking the car, he sat for long moments mustering his self-control. It seemed like forever since he’d been here, so much living packed into a short time. At last he clambered out of the car and strode toward the building.

The nurse at the front desk greeted him with a raised hand. “Morning, Mr. Winter. Your mom missed you last weekend. She kept asking if you’d called.”

It was difficult to maintain the pretense, even aided with accumulated levels of expectation. “I was forced to make an unexpected trip. I should’ve let her know.”

“Well, you’re here now. That’s what matters.”

“Indeed.” His shoes made no sound as he passed from the reception area into the cool, antiseptic halls.

Many of the elderly residents were just having breakfast. Technically, it was too early for visiting hours, but the nurses liked him and didn’t raise a fuss. Søren found Beulah sitting in her easy chair, listening to the morning news on television. Sunlight spilled around her, making a white nimbus of her curly hair.

This facility was top notch; someone had already helped her with her rouge and lipstick. Her wrinkled cheeks split into a wide grin as he stepped into the room. Over the years, her other senses had become more acute to compensate for her lack of sight. She fumbled for the remote in her lap and turned the volume down with remarkable dexterity.

“Jimmy!” she said in delight. “I was worried about you. Thought you might’ve got yourself in trouble again.”

Adopting her son’s voice required no special gift, but for the first time, he wished he didn’t have to. “Hi, Ma. Sorry about that.”

He stooped and brushed her soft cheek in a quiet kiss. She always smelled of rose talcum powder, but this time the scent awoke an awful nostalgia. His real mother smelled of lilacs, and she thought he was dead. Søren nearly choked on the memory. Clenching his jaw against emotions threatening to overwhelm him, he sat down across from Beulah.

She had a private room, complete with a small sitting area. The colors were bright and cheerful, not that she could see them. For what he was paying, she could’ve had a condo in Aspen, had she been capable of caring for herself. Her blindness, paired with severe arthritis, made it difficult for her to perform routine tasks.

“Are you all right, son?”

His hands clenched on the arms of his chair and he realized he couldn’t lie. Not anymore. Speaking one more untruth might be the catalyst that unglued him. “No.”

“You want to tell me about it?”

Not at all.

But he heard himself saying, “I lost someone recently.”

“Oh, my dear boy, I’m so sorry. Who?”

No. No. If he said it aloud, then it was true, and he had to accept it. He had to come to terms with the fact that he’d failed again. Søren squeezed his eyes shut, blazing from within. The pain threatened to incinerate him. No more detachment, no more icy calm.

And yet the words came, as if past razors in his throat: “The woman I loved.”

“I didn’t know you were courting.” She sounded shocked. “I wish you’d brought her to see me.”

“Me, too,” he said quietly.

Beulah reached out, seeking in the open space between them. For a second he considered letting her founder, and then he sat forward. Søren put his hand in her path; she curled her knotty fingers through his and gave a squeeze. He thought she’d offer platitudes, talk about God and heaven, and people smiling down on them.

Instead, the silence built.

When she finally spoke, it shocked the hell out of him. “Is it because I’m not really your mother?”

Oh, Beulah, you canny old sweetheart.

“How long have you known?” There was no point in denying it. He was only amazed she’d continued the ruse for so long.

She gave a little sigh. “Oh, honey, I always knew.”

“Then why…?”

“So that’s your real voice. It’s nice. Educated. And… well. I reckoned if you needed a mama bad enough to lie, then it didn’t hurt me to pretend. And you’ve sure taken care of me over the years.” Her white, sightless eyes roved upward. “Better than Jimmy Lee. Is he dead? I always wondered.”

“Prison. It’ll be a long time before he gets out.”

“I wish I could say I’m surprised.” Her voice grew choked, her wrinkled face drawing into a sad frown. “He was never a… nice boy. Truth is, I love you like a son and I don’t even know your name. But you’ve been so good, the way you visit-oh, mercy, look, I’m getting misty.” Her face crumpled.

“I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

She sniffed and wiped her eyes with a dainty, embroidered handkerchief she’d withdrawn from the pocket of her house-coat. “It’s not always a bad thing. Does this mean you’ll stop coming? Now that you know I know.”

“No,” he said. “I’ll be here for you, as long as you need me.”

After all, neither of them had anyone else.

In the morning, Mia had a good breakfast with the Dixons and then, as promised, Harold drove her into town. Harmony was a one-traffic light affair, where all the businesses lined up on Main Street. The architecture was subtly Colonial.

As the old man parked the car, she couldn’t help feeling nervous. She’d broken the law before, but now she was about to file a false police report. They’d probably ask her to describe the guy. Mia closed her eyes to gather her courage and then climbed out of the ancient Buick. Harold would doubtless describe it as classic.

The police department was a small brick building, where four uniformed officers were drinking coffee. Most of them were well past middle age, and they didn’t look up to anything more serious than saving a kitten stuck in a tree. Two of them did notice the arrival and turned to offering inquiring looks.

Harold cleared his throat. “Is Deke around?”

“In his office.”

“Well, go get him,” the old man snapped.

Presently a barrel-chested man only slightly younger than Harold ambled out of the back. His color was high, ruddy on rounded cheeks, and he had a tonsure of white hair that looked like baby duck down. “What can I do you for, Hal?”

The old man, who had softened since last night, laid out her story for the sheriff or captain or whatever this guy’s title was. Mr. Dixon came from an era where men took care of women, and Mia didn’t mind right at the moment. She studied her borrowed Converse sneakers, which were two sizes too big. But that was just as well with the bandages.

Once he’d gotten the gist, Deke barked, “Winston! Are you writing this down?”

One of the uniforms snapped to his feet and got a pad. “I am now.”

It took about an hour to file the report. Guilt prodded at her.

“And you can’t be more specific about where you were camping?” the officer asked.

“I’m afraid not. My friend Kelly was in charge of the planning.”

“And where’s Kelly now?”

Shit. Did they think she’d left a body in the woods? Think fast.

“She texted me that she’d gotten a ride home, but I lost my bearings in the woods. I walked a really long way before I found the Dixon place, and I managed to lose my phone.”

“What’s Kelly’s personal information in case we need to talk to her? We could use corroboration in your description of the perp.”

“Look,” she said. “I just want to get this over with. I doubt you’re going to catch the guy. He’s probably a hundred miles away by now.”