Inglath Cooper - A Year And A Day

IT WAS AFTER 3:00 a.m. when Ross Webster pulled on his robe and headed downstairs where he poured himself a stiff shot of scotch. He tossed half of it back, coughed a couple of times, then collapsed onto the closest chair, leaning his head back and closing his eyes.

He was tired. The kind of tired that didn’t go away after a night’s sleep.

His life was making him tired.

Ross was old enough to recognize he’d taken some of the wrong forks in the road. The choices he’d made were the kind that turned things around permanently. Once, he had been a different man. Or at least he liked to think so.

He’d started out in the public defender’s office, hard as that was to believe now. Like his new partner, Wakefield, he’d had his own ideals. Villains to conquer.

Wakefield still had that light in his eyes. Oh, he was convinced it was gone. Had left the prosecutor’s office with his tail tucked between his legs because he’d lost one too many cases to the bad guys.

But what Ross had finally figured out—what Wakefield obviously hadn’t—was that being one of the good guys didn’t get you anywhere. It had started out innocently enough. A little gray bleeding into the black and white.

And then Jonathan Colby had walked into his office. Showed him how he could have the kind of life he’d always wanted. He’d signed on. Just like that. Too late, he’d realized he’d shackled himself to the devil. If he wanted to go anywhere, he had to take Jonathan with him.

And that meant closing his eyes to things that weren’t any of his business. Like Colby’s treatment of his wife.

How a man could have such a woman and not treat her like fine crystal was beyond his imagination. Things had gotten bad enough to bring the police into the matter a couple of times. With the help of a detective saving for early retirement, Ross had cleaned those up for Jonathan, and he had not been able to look Audrey in the eyes since.

He took another swig of scotch.

Laura appeared in the doorway, tucked inside a fluffy white robe. Without makeup and her high-end clothes, she looked enough like the little girl she had been not so long ago that he felt an actual pain in his chest for his inability to turn back the clock.

“What are you doing up, Daddy?”

“Couldn’t sleep. Still wired from the party, I guess. You?”

She leaned against the doorjamb and folded her arms across her chest, looking as if she had something on her mind.

“What is it, honey?”

She tipped her head, didn’t answer for a moment, and then said, “Do you think Jonathan and Audrey are happy?”

The question took him by surprise. “As happy as anyone, I guess. Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know. They don’t look happy.”

“That’s their business then, don’t you think?”

She shrugged. “I just wonder why people stay together if they’re not happy being with each other.”

“Human nature, I guess,” he said. “Hard to get off the train once it’s headed down the tracks.” He thought of his own marriage, his clear understanding of why Sylvia had stayed with him all these years. Nice enough meal ticket for a girl from rural Georgia. If he’d once thought it had to do with anything other than that, he’d been permanently cured of his disillusion.

“That’s a pretty dismal outlook. I don’t think people should stay together if it’s not working.”

“Probably not,” he conceded, too weary to argue.

“So why do you?”

He met her gaze, started to pretend he didn’t know what she meant, then surprised himself by saying, “Your mom and I have been together a long time.”

“So that’s a reason?”

“One.”

“How about another?”

“Something about age, I think. Things you couldn’t have imagined yourself doing, standing for, when you were younger just don’t really seem worth the battle.”

“Now there’s a life goal. Settling. You know, Daddy, I’m not subscribing.”

Ross heard the disapproval in his daughter’s voice. On the day she’d been born, his biggest hope was that she would grow up to be proud of him. There was something infinitely deflating in the realization that your child did not respect you. “Maybe your life will be completely different.”

A smile touched her mouth. “If I have any say in it.”

Her certainty was hard to refute. And he hoped she would be right.

“I’m headed to the kitchen,” she said, her tone lighter, as if she had decided to give him a reprieve. “Want something warm to drink?”

“Sure, honey,” he said. “Thanks.”

“Be right back.”

He watched her leave the room. Even her walk was marked with confidence. In Laura’s eyes, the world was hers for the taking. He had spoiled his daughter. That, Ross could not deny. But he loved her.

He wondered if Audrey Colby had a father who felt the same about her.

He could only imagine what he would do if Laura ever got involved with a man who mistreated her. Something in his gut tightened, needle-sharp. Laura might be spoiled, but she was the one good thing he’d done in his life. He’d die before she’d end up like Audrey.

He was sorry for her. Really, he was. But he wasn’t a white-hat guy.

He couldn’t save her.

Hell, he’d be lucky if he saved himself.

AUDREY AWOKE to a pain so intense it took her a moment to figure out what it was. Maybe she’d died. Maybe this was what death felt like when you’d failed to live your life to expectation.

She opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling. The room was nearly dark, the only light shining through from the kitchen. She tried to sit up. Something sharp stabbed her palm. Wincing, she yanked her hand away, blood trickling down her wrist. Shards of glass, the remains of a broken table lamp, lay around her, the shade resting on its side like an old hat someone had thrown away.

Moaning, she straightened and leaned back against the wall, fighting the wave of nausea threatening to overcome her. She touched her hand to her throbbing shoulder, then tried to move it. White-hot pain shot through her arm. She dropped her head back and wondered how many days she would have to hide from the world to cover this one up. Thank God it was winter. Thank God for turtlenecks and gloves.

She squeezed her eyes shut, wiping at the tears sliding down one cheek with the back of her hand. She despised herself for the tears. Tears were useless, would get her nowhere. They were weak and powerless and self-pitying. The last person she felt sorry for was herself.

She’d long since ceased to think of the poor excuse of a woman that she had become as someone she knew. The woman who now sat huddled on her living-room floor was a stranger. Someone she did not know, resembling in no way the woman Audrey had once thought she would become. This woman was a victim. Weak. Despicable.

Why hadn’t she walked away as soon as she’d seen Nicholas Wakefield standing on that terrace?

Maybe because he’d been a stranger, and there was anonymity in that, someone with no pre-drawn conclusions about her. At the party, she’d barely spoken to anyone, knowing that to linger too long would be to arouse Jonathan’s anger. Outside, in the darkness, some almost-forgotten part of her had been hungry for a few moments of uncensored conversation with another human being. A human being who knew nothing about her life, who might think she was as normal as the rest of the world.

“Mama?”

Audrey jerked up. Her nine-year-old son stood in the doorway, his face white with fear. Audrey glanced at the mess around her, the shattered lamp, the overturned coffee table, realizing what she must look like. “Oh, Sammy. It’s okay. Stay right there.”

Taking a deep breath, she slid across the floor, her back to the wall, each move agonizing. She hadn’t made it to the doorway before he launched himself at her, flinging his arms around her neck and gripping her as if he were about to drown. She winced at the spasm of pain that racked through her, but pulled him close and held him tight.