Erica Spindler - In Silence

She had carried a journal everywhere, doggedly recording the moments and events of her life.

Of course, Avery thought. Her mother's journals. She would have noted Sallie Waguespack's death, its effect on the community and if her husband had somehow been involved.

But where were they? Avery had searched the house, emptied closets and drawers and bookcases. She hadn't seen even one of the journals. So, what had her father done with them?

Up here. Had to be.

Although she had already done a perfunctory search of the attic, she started a more complete one now. She not only checked the notations on each box, she opened each to make certain the contents matched the labels.

By the time she had checked the last carton, she was hot, dirty and disappointed. Could her father have disposed of them? Or her mother, sometime before she died?

Maybe Lilah would know. Checking her watch, Avery headed downstairs to the phone. She dialed the Stevenses number and Lilah answered immediately.

"Hi, Lilah, it's Avery."

"Avery! What a pleasant surprise. What are you up to this morning?"

"I'm working on the house, packing things up, and realized Mother's journals are missing."

"Her journals? My goodness, I'd forgotten she used to do that."

"So had I. Until this morning."

"At one time she was quite committed to it. Remember the Sunday she pulled her journal out during Pastor Dastugue's sermon? We were all sitting right up front, he was so pleased." The woman laughed lightly. "He thought she was taking notes."

"What do you mean, she had been committed to it? Did she give it up?"

"Yes, indeed. Let me think." The woman paused. "About the time you went off to university."

Avery felt the words like a blow. About the time she went off to L.S.U. After their fight. After her mother had confided in Avery- and been met with disbelief and disdain.

"She never said anything, you understand," Lilah continued. "I just noticed she didn't have one with her. When I asked, she said she had given it up."

"Lilah, would you have any idea where she or Dad might have stored them?"

"Stored them?" The other woman sounded confused. "If they're not at the house, I imagine she got rid of them. Or your father, with the rest of her things."

Avery's stomach fell at the thought. "I just can't imagine either of them-"

"We all thought him so strong, clearing out her things the way he did. The reminders were just all too painful."

The doorbell rang. Avery ended the call and hurried to answer it.

Hunter stood at her door. She gazed at him through the screen, taking in his battered face. "My God, what happened to you?"

"Long story. Can I come in?"

"I don't think that's such a good idea."

He looked away, then back at her. "I've got this problem, Avery. And it has to do with you."

She folded her arms across her chest. "With me?"

"This morning Matt called me a dead man. And I realized it was true." He paused. "Except when I'm with you."

His words crashed over her. She laid her hand against the door frame for support, suddenly unbalanced. Light-headed. One second became two, became many.

"Avery," he said softly. "Please."

Wordlessly, she swung the screen door open. Was she letting in friend or foe? She didn't know, was simply acting on instinct. Or, if she was being honest, on longing. She moved aside as he entered and with shaky hands closed the door, using the moment to break their eye contact as she attempted to regain her equilibrium. She turned the dead bolt, took a deep breath and faced him. "I'll make us an iced tea."

Without waiting for a response, she started for the kitchen.

Avery was acutely aware of him following her, watching her as she poured them both an iced tea, as she added a wedge of lemon. She cleared her throat, turned and handed him the glass.

Their fingers brushed as he took the glass. He brought it to his lips; the ice clinked against its side as he drank.

She dragged her gaze away, heart thundering. "You and Matt got into it this morning."

It wasn't a question. He answered anyway. "Yes. We fought about you."

"I see."

"Do you?"

She shifted her gaze. Wet her lips.

"He wanted to know where I was night before last."

"And did you tell him?"

"Of course. I was home working. Alone." He set his glass on the counter. "I told you the truth this morning, Avery. Trudy Pruitt called me. I don't know why, but I assumed it was for legal counsel. I returned her call. I never even met the woman let alone killed her."

"Is that what Matt thinks, that you killed her?"

"That's what he wants to think."

She defended the other man. "I doubt that, Hunter. You're brothers. He's just doing his job."

"Believe that if it makes you feel better." He glanced away, then back. "He didn't think to check the woman's recorder. Yet, anyway. Are you going to tell him about the message?"

She wasn't, she realized. And not only because doing so would mean admitting to having broken and entered a posted crime scene.

She shook her head. "No."

"I have to ask you something."

"All right."

"Are you sleeping with him?"

She met his gaze. "That's a pretty shitty question, considering."

"He's acting awfully possessive."

"So are you."

He took a step toward her. "But we are sleeping together."

Her mouth went dry. "Did," she corrected. "One time. Besides, would it matter to you if we were?"

"Ditto on the pretty shitty question."

"No," she answered. "I'm not."

He brought a hand to the back of her neck and drew her toward him. "Yes," he murmured. "It would."

Heart thundering against the wall of her chest, she trailed her fingers across his bruised jaw. "Who threw the first punch?"

"He did. But I goaded him into it."

She laughed softly. Not because it was funny, but because it was so true to the boys she had known all those years ago. "Well, frankly, you look like he kicked your ass."

"Yeah, but you should see him."

Avery laughed again. "By the way," she murmured, "I believe you. About your call to Trudy Pruitt."

"Thank you." A smile tugged at his mouth. "Does this mean we can revisit the sleeping-together versus the slept-together thing?"

"You're awful."

His smile faded. "Matt accused me of being jealous of him. Of his relationship with you. With our parents. Jealous of his ability to lead. He suggested envy was at the root of everything that's happened between the two of us. That I withdrew from the family because of it."

She rested her hands on his chest, her right palm over his heart. "And what did you tell him?"

"That it was bullshit." He cupped her face in his palms. "I always wanted you. But you chose Matt. And he was my brother."

The simple honesty inherent in those words rang true. They touched her. They spoke to the man he was. And the relationship he and Matt had shared.

In light of her intense feelings for Hunter, she wondered what would have happened all those years ago if Hunter had made a play for her. She wondered where they would all be today.

"What about now, Avery? I have to know, do you still belong to my brother?"

She answered without words. She stood on tiptoe, pressed her mouth to his, kissing him deeply. She slid her hands to his shoulders. He tensed, wincing.

She drew away. "You're hurt."

"It's nothing. A few cuts."

"Turn around." When he tried to balk, she cut him off. "Now, please."

He did. She lifted his shirt and made a sound of dismay. Cuts riddled his back and shoulders, some of them jagged and ugly. "How did this happen?"

"It's no big deal."

"It is. A very big deal." She lightly touched a particularly nasty cut with her index finger. "Some of these look deep. You need stitches."