Sleeping with Anemone (34 page)

“D
ad, it’s me,” I said into my phone as I headed north through town. “I’m on my way.” “Your mom said you’d be coming. Fill me in on what’s going on with this brooch.”

Normally, I made it a rule not to have long conversations while I drove, as it tended to distract me, but I needed my dad to know the seriousness of the situation, so I pushed that rule aside and gave him a complete rundown on the status of the brooch and Keahi Kana, aka the Flame, finishing just as I pulled into the driveway.

Dad opened the garage door with a remote device, and I ran inside, hitting a button next to the doorway to lower it again. I hurried through Mom’s studio and into the kitchen, where he was waiting.

I kissed him on the cheek. “Have you got the brooch?”

“I put it in the grocery bag in the fridge with some apples from your mom.”

“More apples? Do you know how many are still in my refrigerator from the last bunch she sent? We can’t eat them that fast.”

“Try telling that to her.”

I removed the brooch from the sack and tucked it inside the zippered compartment in my purse. “Would you call her and tell her to meet us at Bloomers?”

“I’ll leave her a message. She turns off her phone when she’s in a meeting.”

“Okay. While you’re doing that, I’ll get your coat.”

“I’m staying here, Abby.”

“Dad! It isn’t safe here. I don’t know what this Kana might do. He could be Googling your address at this very moment.”

“Let him. He’s not going to chase me out of my own home. I know how to protect myself. It wasn’t so long ago I was a cop.”

A cop who now had almost no use of his legs. “I can’t leave you here, Dad.”

“Why can’t you leave me here? I’m not helpless.”

What was I supposed to say? Yes, you are? I knew how much he struggled to do for himself and how hard it was for him to accept his limitations, but he had to face the fact that he wasn’t the cop he used to be.

I stewed while Dad called Mom’s number and left a message. Clearly, he didn’t understand the risk he was in. He hung up the handset, turned his chair, and started toward the living room, calling, “You’d better get going, Ab.”

Crap.
How could I abandon him? I followed him into the living room, dropped my purse onto the floral print sofa, then tossed my coat on top of it and sat down with a heavy sigh.

Dad parked his wheelchair to face the sofa and studied me for a moment. “If you’re staying because you’re afraid for me, Abby, you’ll hurt me worse than the bullet in my leg did.”

I hung my head. “I’m sorry. It’s still tough for me to accept what happened to you.”

“Sometimes it’s tough for me, too, sweetheart, but life goes on. If you keep looking back at the past, you know what’ll happen? You’ll run into a wall. You can’t move forward when you hit a wall, can you?”

“No, you can’t.”

“Never look back, Abby. Make a decision, go forward, and don’t second-guess yourself. You’ll be a better person for it.”

I kicked off my shoes, sat down, and curled my legs beneath me, resisting the urge to check the time on my watch. “So, Dad, as long as you’re in a philosophical mood, maybe you can give me some advice.”

“Now? I thought you wanted to get out of here.”

I wanted to get both of us out of there, but that wasn’t going to happen. “Another fifteen minutes won’t hurt. I’ll let Marco know what’s going on so he won’t worry.”

I used my cell phone but got Marco’s voice mail, so I left him a message telling him where I was and to please call. On the coffee table in front of me sat Mom’s decorative glass jar filled with red hearts. After I put my phone in my coat pocket, I picked up the jar and shook it. “You know Mom hates that you saved these.”

“That’s what she wants you to believe. Actually, it’s become a joke between your mom and me. Whenever one of us says something the other disagrees with, the other will say, ‘Have a heart and shut up.’ ” He laughed. “It defuses a lot of tension.”

That was actually pretty clever. As I put the jar back on the coffee table, Dad asked, “Speaking of tension, how are you doing with your bodyguard?”

“I’m adjusting to having him around. Marco’s mother is coming to town today, though.”

“So? She seems like a warm, generous person and she’s clearly crazy about you, Ab.”

“And I like her, too, but she scares me.”

Dad studied me for a moment. “Why is that?”

“What is this, a therapy session?” I joked.

“I’m just curious.”

I thought about it for a moment. “I guess she scares me because I’m picturing her as my mother-in-law. Do you remember the Marie Barone character on
Everybody Loves Raymond
?
That
mother-in-law.”

“Ah. Now we’re getting to the real issue.”

“Which is?”

“The marriage.”

“We’re a long way from that step, Dad.”

“As I recall, you said you were going to get engaged.”

I began to twist a thread on the sofa. “We are. Someday.”

“Is something holding you back?”

“Want my list?”

Dad laughed. “I’m sure your mother’s on it.”

“No, I’m serious. I know this sounds idiotic, but to convince myself that I’m making a wise decision, I started keeping track of all of Marco’s positive and negative qualities. I call them his pluses and minuses. The only thing is that the minuses are catching up to the pluses.”

“Give me an example.”

I sighed. “Okay, well, for one thing, I’ve always admired how forceful and commanding Marco is, but there have been times lately when he’s been so bossy, I wanted to cross off his pluses. What I saw as confidence is looking more like arrogance, and his tenaciousness is pure stubbornness. Then there’s his strong, silent mode that I used to think was sexy and mysterious. Frankly, that’s starting to feel a bit cavemanish.”

Dad laughed. “Except for the caveman part, you could be describing your mom.” He reached over to take my hands. “Sweetheart, you’re viewing two sides of the same coin. Confidence or arrogance? It depends on your mood and the circumstance.”

“To a certain extent, sure, but what if I’ve been wearing those proverbial rose-colored glasses, and I’m just now viewing the real Marco?”

“The real Marco as opposed to the heroic Marco? Yes, Marco has flaws. Who doesn’t?”

“I didn’t expect him to have so many, Dad.”

“Listen to me, Abby. My years as a cop taught me a lot about people. I can size up a man in the blink of an eye and know if he’s brave or cowardly, a bully or a phony. Marco is a nice-looking, intelligent, honest, capable man who will stand beside you in good times and bad. The problem is, he’s come to your aid so many times, you’ve put him on a pedestal as some sort of hero. But no one should ever be put on a pedestal, because it’s not fair to ask any of us mere mortals to live up to such lofty expectations. He’s just a man, warts and all.

“And remember, you’re being forced together much more than a normal married couple would be, unless of course you worked together, which presents different problems.”

Dad had a good point. I’d been calling Marco my hero for quite a few months, yet whenever he didn’t act heroic, I got testy. “So what you’re saying is that I accept Marco with his flaws or don’t marry him.”

“That’s it in a nutshell. It’s up to you to decide whether to see Marco’s qualities as pluses or minuses, Ab. Look at your mother and me. Maureen could see me as a weak, washed-up ex-cop, but she has never treated me that way. And I see your mom’s quirky artistic bent as part of the fun of being with her. I never know what she’ll come up with next. It keeps life exciting. And every time I see that jar of candy, I smile. Who would’ve guessed those silly hearts could bring so much joy?”

I nibbled my lower lip, thinking about Marco’s side of our relationship. He rarely complained about me, but when he did, it was usually because I was putting myself or someone else in danger.

“What are you thinking?” Dad asked.

“Just wondering if Marco sees me as quirky and exciting or impetuous and tiresome.”

“That might depend on when you ask him.”

“Did you ever have doubts before you married Mom?”

“Sure. I worried whether I could be a good provider. I didn’t want to disappoint her.”

“I don’t think you’ve ever disappointed her, Dad.”

“Parents go through a lot their kids never know about, nor should they until they’re old enough to handle it. If you want to know the truth, your mom and I went to couples’ counseling for nearly a year. We had a rough adjustment after my injury and forced retirement grounded me. I give your mom a lot of credit for sticking with me, Ab. She had every right to leave. I was angry for months. She had to make the decision to see the best in me.”

“You both put on a good front, then, because I never suspected that was happening.”

“You weren’t supposed to. You were in your own world, away at college. Why would we burden you with our problems?”

“But now I feel like I missed out on parts of your lives.”

“Would you have felt better knowing what we were going through? Would it have made you get better grades?”

“Nothing short of a brain transplant could have done that.”

He smiled, gazing at me with love. “Do you know why I dubbed you Abracadabra?”

“Because I disappeared when it was time for chores.”

“That, too. But mostly because when your heart is in danger of being wounded, you construct an invisible shield around it, like that magician who makes buildings disappear. No one can see it, but I’ve always felt when it went up.”

“How come that shield didn’t work with Pryce? I was wounded after he dumped me.”

“That’s easy to explain. He bailed out on you before you realized your mistake and bailed out on him. I had a bet with your mom as to whether you’d ever walk down that aisle with him.”

And all along I thought they were devastated by the breakup. My head was starting to ache. I rubbed my temples. “Are you saying Jillian and I are alike?”

“Jillian jilted what, four, five men at the altar? I don’t think that’s you—at least I hope not. But I do think you’re doing your magic trick right now with this list of pluses and minuses, making your case, so to speak, for backing out.”

I didn’t know what to say to that.

“I’ve given you a lot to think about, haven’t I?”

“Yes, like I’m a coward when it comes to love.”

Dad laughed. “The other side of that coin is cautiousness, Abby. What you’ve got to do is walk a fine line between caution and fear. And I know you can do that. So?”

“So . . . I’ll think about what you said.”

“And?”

“And . . . discuss it with Marco?”

“That’s my girl.” Dad held out his arms, and I leaned over the coffee table for a hug.

“How touching,” a male voice said.

I straightened with a gasp and Dad wheeled his chair around as a stranger stepped through the kitchen doorway. Short in stature, wearing a three-piece gray business suit, he had caramel-colored skin, black hair, and the hooded eyes of a cobra.

“Ms. Knight,” he said softly, hissing the
S.
“We meet at last.”

I had to swallow the lump of fear in my throat before I could speak. “Mr. Kana?”

He tipped his head in acknowledgment. “You know why I’ve come.”

“All I know is that you’re trespassing,” Dad said gruffly. “Get out of my house!”

Kana smiled tightly. “I’d be happy to, as soon as I have the brooch.”

“It’s not here,” Dad said with a defiant lift of his chin.

Kana’s eyes narrowed into angry slits. “We all know it is, and I suggest you not get in my way, old man. You don’t want to see what happens when I get angry.”

“Don’t you dare threaten me, you punk!”

I held my breath. What was Dad doing?

“Or what?” Kana sneered. “You’ll run me over with your chair?”

Pressing his lips together, Dad started toward him, but Kana immediately flashed a sharp, light-colored blade, causing Dad to pull back. With the knife in his right hand, his gaze locked on my dad, the Hawaiian held out his left toward me. “Give me the brooch, Ms. Knight.”

I swallowed hard as I stared at his outstretched palm. I couldn’t hand over the brooch. Once Kana had it, there was no reason to keep us alive. But what were my options? Dad wasn’t capable of subduing the man, and I knew I couldn’t distract Kana long enough to make a call on my cell phone. I could throw something at his head, the candy jar perhaps, in the hopes I could escape in the confusion, but what about Dad? I couldn’t leave him trapped with a killer.

“The brooch, Ms. Knight,” Kana snapped, making me jump.

Dad wheeled himself backward in one strong motion and reached for the telephone on the table beside the sofa, quickly punching in 911.

In a flash, Kana crossed the room to the table and cut the phone line. “You do not want to attempt anything so foolish, my friend. I do not play games.”

“I don’t play games, either,” Dad said, “especially with a punk like you. And I’m not your friend. I’m a cop.”

“A punk like me?” Kana repeated slowly, his nostrils flaring.

“Dad, please don’t!” I whispered. But he didn’t heed my warning.

“That’s right,” Dad said, “and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll get out of my house right now.”

In the blink of an eye, Kana was in his face, holding the blade of his knife up to Dad’s throat. “And who, exactly, is going to make me?”

I had to stop myself from crying out, fearing my doing so might cause the Hawaiian to make good on his threat. My heart slammed against my ribs as Kana stared straight into Dad’s eyes. “You, old man?
You?
”

“Yes, me,” Dad said, his voice tight and raspy, as a line of blood appeared on his throat.

I stifled a whimper. Why was Dad goading him?