Love Lies Bleeding (31 page)
She stole over to the door and carefully opened it. Peeking out, she saw the nurses gathered at their station down the hall. She directed her attention in the opposite direction and was relieved to see a bright red exit sign at the other end.
Ducking her head down, she shoved her hands in her pockets and stepped out into the hallway.
Calm, even steps,
she cautioned herself.
Don’t draw anyone’s attention.
Without a backward glance, she walked slowly toward the exit sign and freedom.
Sam stayed in the early-morning shadows as she crept to the door. She’d hitched a ride with a trucker not far from the hospital, and the driver had dropped her off at Dunlap’s. She hesitated for a moment before exiting the cab. The parking lot was full of cars. Probably not enough time for a search party to gather to hunt her down, right? Steeling herself and keeping her back toward the station, she scurried for the cover of a copse of nearby pines. By the time she’d hiked that last mile to her destination, the muscles in her left leg were trembling from exertion. She doubted that she could walk another step.
“Please, please be here,” she prayed as she lifted her hand to knock. Greg had claimed to be her friend. Crossing two fingers on her other hand, she hoped he’d meant it.
Her light rap set off a barrage of wild barking from inside, followed by the stern command “Silence.” The barking ceased.
The door opened and she looked up into Greg’s puzzled face. Stepping back, he motioned her inside. “Hey, Sam, told you that I’d bring Roxy back this morning.”
“I know, but I need to talk to you,” Sam replied with a nervous glance over her shoulder.
As she stepped inside, Roxy greeted her and Sam paused to crouch and rest her chin on the dog’s head. Then she rose and followed Greg into the living room. Gratefully, she sank down onto the couch.
Instead of joining her, Greg eyed her. “Rough night?”
“You might say that.”
“Like some coffee?”
“Love it.” She sighed.
He left the room and returned a few moments later bearing a steaming cup.
Gratefully she accepted the cup and took a careful sip. As soon as the coffee hit her throat, the warmth spread through her body until it hit the cold spot that had lingered inside ever since she’d heard the words
residential facility
. It remained like a chunk of ice that refused to melt.
“Everything okay?” Greg asked cautiously.
“Not really,” she replied with a grimace, then hesitated. “I need your help.” Quickly, she related everything that had happened at the hospital. A hard look crossed his face when he heard Jackson’s opinion of Anne.
“She doesn’t have a mercenary bone in her body.”
“I know, but I can’t ask her for help. Dad’s already mad, and she doesn’t have the means to go up against him. To involve her further would only bring her more trouble.”
Greg shook his head slowly. “I’d like to help you, but I don’t know what I can do.”
“I’m not crazy, Greg.”
“I believe you, but—”
“I don’t understand what’s happening to me—the dreams, the blackouts—but if I could know for sure that it’s Blanche, it might help.”
He sat next to her and pulled his fingers through his hair. “I was just a kid when Blanche lived up here and I don’t remember much about her. I know my mom didn’t like her, and I overheard a few conversations between her and my dad about her doings.”
“What did she say?”
“She didn’t approve of the way Blanche was carrying on with Ted Brighton.”
“Did she ever mention Edward Dunlap and Blanche being an item?”
He rubbed his chin. “No.” He paused. “But Mom didn’t like Esther either, and I vaguely remember her saying something about how Esther resented the way Edward followed Blanche around.”
Sam shifted toward him. “So they were involved,” she said, the excitement apparent in her voice.
“Sam,” he cautioned, “an offhand remark made years ago doesn’t prove anything. You know how gossip flies around here.”
She sat back. “The old adage—‘where there’s smoke, there’s fire.’ ”
“Only in some people’s imaginations.”
“Okay, so who was the man Blanche ran off with? We know it wasn’t Ted Brighton or Edward Dunlap.”
“No idea.” Greg leaned back against the couch and propped his long legs on the coffee table.
“No one ever heard from her again?”
“No.”
“What about Harley?”
“No—he sold out and moved shortly after Blanche left.”
“What about friends? Did she have any friends?”
He arched an eyebrow. “You mean other than her boyfriends?”
Sam nodded.
“I remember her hanging out over at Fritz’s.”
“Really.” She leaned forward in surprise. “I didn’t think he liked her.”
“That’s probably true. Since I became an adult and heard the stories about her, I’ve wondered if Fritz didn’t hang out with her solely because of the trouble she caused. He likes seeing people squirm, especially Ted Brighton. He hated old Ted when he was alive—
that
I remember very well.”
“Do you know why?”
“Fritz was involved in some kind of scandal at the college where he taught, and he was forced to leave.”
“What does that have to do with the Brightons?”
“Ted was on the alumni board, and since they’d grown up together here on the lake, Fritz expected him to help save his job. Ted refused, according to gossip.” Greg shook his head. “You’re asking me to remember things I haven’t thought about in years.” He turned toward her. “And, Sam, I don’t know how any of this old gossip will help you and I don’t have any clue about how accurate it is.”
Sam bent and stroked Roxy’s ears. “You’re right,” she said, discouraged. “I should be thinking of ways to outfox my father and Jackson.” She sighed and sat back, leaning her head against the couch. “I’m so tired right now that I can’t think straight.”
Greg turned toward her and leaned closer. “Don’t worry, Sam. You’ll figure a way out of this.”
She lifted her head, surprised at his confidence in her. Her eyes widened. It had been so long since anyone had thought her capable, and here was Greg, telling her that she could succeed. The coldness inside of her shrank as she stared into his brown eyes, warm with concern for her. His strength, his raw masculinity, seemed to reach out and wrap around her. Unconsciously, she inched toward him.
He met her halfway, and when his lips brushed hers, the last of the coldness disappeared. She snuggled closer, seeking more of the heat surrounding him. Her arms went around his neck as he whispered her name against her mouth then deepened the kiss. The warmth inside her built until she felt like every nerve in her body was glowing. A satisfied sigh escaped her lips.
Suddenly Greg drew back, ending the kiss. A puzzled look pinched his face.
“Wow,” he said in a shaky voice while he ran his fingers through his hair. “I—I’m sorry, Sam. I don’t know where that came from.”
He was sorry? She wasn’t. Sam felt the blood rushing to her face. “Me either.”
“You’ve got enough problems without me—” A brittle laugh cut off his words while he put distance between them. “Um, let’s say that wasn’t very ‘gentlemanly’ of me, but honest, I wasn’t trying to take advantage of you.”
She rested a hand lightly on his thigh. “It’s okay, Greg,” she said gently. “We’re friends, right?”
He nodded.
“So what’s a little kiss between friends?”
“Uh-huh . . . a little kiss,” he muttered.
Lifting her hand, she plopped it back in her lap. “If only I could prove at least to myself that Blanche has been haunting my dreams,” she said quickly, trying to steer the conversation back to a safer topic.
Greg suddenly snapped his fingers and sprang to his feet. “Wait a second—I’ll be right back.” He left the room, and soon Sam heard him opening and shutting drawers, then the sound of rustling papers. He returned a few minutes later with his arms full of what looked like photo albums. He dumped them on the couch next to her and smiled.
“There—take a look at those,” he said, pointing to the pile. “Maybe there’s a photo of Blanche in one of them. If there is, you can compare it to your sketch.”
“Good idea,” she said as she eyed them, “but I don’t have the sketch. I left it at the cabin and I don’t dare go back in case Jackson and my father are there.”
“Not a problem. Remember you gave it to me last night?” He crossed to the bookcase and came back holding her sketch. “I brought it home with me.”
Sam opened the first album and began to thumb through the pages, examining each faded photo one by one. She saw a teenage Greg, recognizable by the cocky smile, dressed in cutoffs and mugging for the camera. She saw a younger Fritz, much the way he had appeared to her in her dream, sprawled in a lawn chair and toasting the photographer with a bottle of beer.
But the woman from her dream was missing.
Not willing to give up, she picked up another album and browsed through it. One picture caught her attention.
She held it out to Greg. “Is this Irene Brighton?”
“Yeah, I think so,” he said, after studying the picture of a woman with a haughty look about her.
“Is that Ted Brighton standing next to her?”
“Probably, but with his face in the shadows, I really can’t tell. Why?”
“In the first dream, the woman was flirting with a man. This might be the same man.”
“Let’s see,” he said, digging through the albums. “Mom and Dad threw a Labor Day party every year and Mom kept all the photos in the same album.” He held one up triumphantly. “Here it is.” Laying it on his lap, he opened it and began scanning the pages. Finally he stopped and tapped one of the pictures. “This is old Ted.”
Sam pulled the album over onto her lap and stared at the picture. “That’s him,” she said, not hiding her excitement. “Now, if we can only find one of Blanche.”
Greg grabbed the album back and flipped the pages. The room was silent except for the sound of the turning pages. He stopped and let out a low whistle. “Dad must’ve taken this one,” he murmured. “I’m surprised Mom didn’t burn it.” He shoved the album onto Sam’s lap. “That’s Blanche.”
Sam looked at the picture. It showed a woman standing at the end of a dock, and if Sam wasn’t mistaken, it was the dock at her cabin. The woman was wearing a purple bikini that revealed her voluptuous curves. Both her arms were lifted as she held a mass of red curls on top of her head. The photographer had been standing at the top of the hill, so her features weren’t sharp, but even at that distance, Sam saw the half smile lighting the woman’s face.
“What do you think? Is this the same woman?”
Sam let her breath out slowly before answering. “To be honest—it’s hard to say. The bone structure looks similar, but I can’t say for certain.”
“Let’s take it out of the album,” he said as he peeled back the yellowed plastic and held it up. “Still can’t tell?”
She shook her head.
“I’ve got a magnifying glass in the desk. Wait and I’ll get it.”
When he returned, he handed it to Sam, along with her sketch. She held the glass over the photo then studied her drawing. Her excitement rose. She gave them to Greg. “Tell me what you think—and be honest. Don’t just say what you think I want to hear,” she cautioned.
He was quiet while he carefully looked at the picture and her sketch. His face grew serious and he placed both images faceup on the coffee table.
Sam’s emotions dipped and she sank back against the couch. “You don’t think it’s the same woman, do you?”
He turned to her, his face still somber. “No, as a matter of fact, I do.” Placing his arm across the back of the couch, he rubbed his chin. “But this brings up another question.”
“What question?”
“How is it that you’re dreaming of a woman you’ve never met?” He hesitated. “And why?”
M
om, what are you doing home?” Caleb asked as he meandered into the kitchen. “I thought you were spending the night at Ms. Moore’s.”
Anne’s lips turned downward. “No, Sam had to be hospitalized.”
“Is she okay?” he asked, grabbing a box of cereal and a carton of milk.
“Yeah, they wanted to keep her for observation.” She leaned against the counter and watched her son eat his breakfast while her mind flashed back to her insulting conversation with Lawrence Moore. She wanted to help Sam, but she knew Mr. Moore wouldn’t let her near his daughter now. Maybe later she’d talk to Greg . . . Suddenly a mad idea popped into her head. Maybe together, she and Greg could spring Sam, just like an old-fashioned jailbreak. Immediately she shook her head at the silly notion. She’d worked at that hospital and hoped to do so again. Attempting anything as foolish as sneaking a patient out would ruin her career . . . and she expected Lawrence Moore already had plans to ruin it without her assistance. She needed to protect herself. She had Caleb’s future to consider. She’d have to come up with another way to help Sam.
Caleb and his future . . . now was as good a time as any to tell him that without the income from her job at Samantha’s, St. Michael’s was a pipe dream.
“Hey,” she began, as a preface before dropping the bomb about St. Michael’s, “I’m proud of you for telling Duane the truth.”
Caleb lifted one shoulder. “You were right. Why should I take the heat for Teddy Brighton?”
Coming up behind him, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and propped her chin on the top of his head. “You know I love you, right?”
“Yeah,” he mumbled with a mouth full of cereal.
“And there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you?”
He nodded, making her head bounce.
Letting go, she moved around him and took a seat at the table. “So here’s the way it is. I’m not going to be working for Samantha anymore. I do have a job lined up at the care facility in Hankton, but it’s for a lot less money.” Tracing a finger across the table, she couldn’t look at him while she delivered the blow. “I’m afraid St. Michael’s is going to be out of the question. We can’t afford it.”
She stole a look and was surprised at his reaction. He was reading the back of the cereal box. “Aren’t you upset?”