You Don't Know Me (20 page)

He drew in a breath. Colleen’s hand tightened in his as she said, “Yes, Grandma. His name is Tucker.”

“Glad to meet you, Tucker. Would you like to join us for dinner? I made a pork roast.”

Tuck opened his mouth, but nothing emerged.

Colleen glanced at him, smiled, a warmth in her eyes that made his heart flip over. “Yes.”

The entire thing felt surreal. One moment he had been debating between microwaved lasagna or Cheerios, and the next he was crossing the threshold into the world of the Deckers.

Colleen’s grandma had a clean, tidy home, with a bright-yellow-and-red kitchen, apples stenciled along the ceiling. It smelled tangy and rich, of garlic and sweet jam.

A man stood in the kitchen—not her grandfather because Tucker knew he’d died a long time ago, but still, this man seemed to belong here. He had a presence about him. The way he shook Tuck’s hand sent a sliver of cold through him. “Frank Harrison,” he said.

“Tucker. I’m a friend of Colleen’s.”

“He’s her boyfriend,” Colleen’s grandma said and winked at Frank, real friendly.

Weird. Did old people date? Tuck didn’t want to think about it.

He heard noise at the door as Henry and Jason, Colleen’s brothers, came in.

Jason glanced at him with a frown. “Hey, Tuck.”

He knew Jason from a few classes, not to mention his reputation. If they should be on anyone’s case . . . “Hey.”

Henry, Colleen’s kid brother, shucked off his jacket and hung it up, then went to the counter and swiped a roll.

Frank grabbed him in a playful headlock. “Release the contraband, kid.”

Henry laughed as Colleen brought a water pitcher to the table, set with fine china and real cloth napkins, white candles flickering with beckoning flames.

“Pork roast coming through,” Helen said, holding a plate with a piece of juicy meat centered on it. Red sauce dripped down the sides.

No one seemed to notice Colleen’s still-reddened, chapped face, but thankfully it had begun to fade.

When Tuck heard footsteps on the porch, he braced himself as the door opened.

Oh, he’d hoped that Mrs. Decker hadn’t yet mentioned to her husband what she’d seen the other night, but Tuck turned, ready to take the punishment. Ready to apologize. Ready, even, to grovel.

He really wanted to stay for dinner.

But Mr. Decker barely looked at him other than a passing greeting before pulling out a chair at the table. He sat there, a strange smile on his face, asking Henry about his day.

Mrs. Decker came in next, and if Tuck wasn’t completely made of stone, he could tell she’d been crying too. Her eyes stopped on Tuck and something of surprise flashed in them. Then she glanced at her daughter and offered a smile.

Colleen gave her one back.

Maybe she’d forgiven him. See, that’s what families did for each other. Forgave. Showed up for dinner. Sat around the table together. Held hands as they prayed.

Weird to pray like that, and especially to hold Grandma Decker’s hand, Colleen on the other side. But he liked the little squeeze she gave him as they began, as though she liked having him there.

And the words of the prayer Grandma Decker offered lingered too.
Grant us Your joy this day as we gather together, and help us to abide in love for one another.

Someday he would have a family exactly like this. Loving. Loyal. The kind that showed up for dinner and held hands and figured out how to make it through the dark times. He made that promise to himself as the Decker family all responded with “Amen.”

Nathan might freeze to death on his mother’s tiny porch before he got answers.

Answers to questions like, how much danger were they in?

And what happened if this Garcia fella landed on his doorstep? Did Frank intend on having a shoot-out right in their front yard?

Even more essential, why were they still having dinner around the family table if someone intended to kill them? Well, at least Annalise . . . or Deidre—was that what she said her name had been?

Deidre.

He rolled the name over his tongue. It simply didn’t taste, didn’t feel, right.

Tonight at dinner, the entire thing had felt as if he were viewing his life from the outside, watching his wife pass the gravy, chat with his mother, who kept smiling at Frank, his wife’s uncle. Only, not her uncle. Her Witness Security agent. Never mind that Frank acted like a
real
uncle as he told the boys a story about catching fish in nearby Evergreen Lake, all the while eyeing Colleen’s friend, Tucker, like he might be a hardened criminal.

Tucker seemed like a nice kid—quiet, polite. Needed a haircut, but what kid didn’t these days? He avoided eye contact with Nathan, which told Nathan that he must like Colleen more than she knew; although she’d introduced them as friends, she hadn’t made any gestures that suggested they might be more.

Even Jason was acting weird, not looking at his father as he speared his pork roast. So Nathan had caught him kissing Harper—the kid was nearly eighteen. He should be dating a pretty girl.

Yes, Nathan’s world felt surreal and plastic. Pretty on the outside, empty on the inside. He knew one thing, however—he’d never been an action hero, but he would do anything to save his family.

Starting with getting answers from Frank Harrison, regardless of how long it took him to help Nathan’s mother with the dishes.

What was with the man? Clearing the table, taking out the leaf, washing the good china, and now he was wiping the counters?

Nathan wrapped his arms around himself, sitting on one of his mother’s deck chairs, glancing between her kitchen and his own house, where the lights glowed like a lantern against the darkness. The cold breeze filtered into his jacket, down his back, raising gooseflesh. They’d get a frost, if not a few more flakes, tonight.

Annalise had left with the kids, returning home to tuck them in bed, and he couldn’t get his eyes off his house, waiting for a black sedan to roll up, maybe crank down the windows, and start firing.

No, that didn’t happen in Deep Haven.

None of this happened in Deep Haven. They didn’t harbor criminals and relocated witness protection victims.

Nathan scrolled through Annalise’s confession and tried to get his mind around her words:
I testified against a drug dealer, Luis Garcia, who killed my best friend and who tried to murder me.

Soft and quiet, they blew his world open, allowing him to get a good peek inside the woman he thought he knew.

No wonder she’d been so quiet, almost shell-shocked, when he first met her. He’d attributed it to the so-called car accident she’d lived through while losing her entire family.

Except she still had family. One of whom was
not
Uncle Frank.

A thousand tiny memories, like pieces of a broken mirror, infiltrated his brain. Some so crisp and bright—like the time he’d walked in on her at 2 a.m., holding baby Jason, her eyes glistening.
I wish my mother could visit. She would love to see him.

He’d chalked her words up to exhaustion at the time. Now they made sense.

And how many times did he find her leaning over their children after they’d gone to sleep or kneeling beside their beds in prayer?

She still did that—looked in on them every night. Ruffling Henry’s hair, picking up his dirty jeans after she’d read to him. Rehearsing a few lines with Jason. Curling up in bed, even for a few moments, with Colleen. Annalise had a routine with each one of them, designed to protect, to nurture.

He never dreamed that it might be because she actually feared for their lives.

Nathan glanced at the kitchen, saw Frank wiping his hands on a towel. So help him, if Frank made a move to kiss his mother . . .

The man had courted her for nearly a week, lying every moment. Only his poor mother’s broken heart had kept Nathan from barreling into the kitchen and dragging Frank into the yard during dinner. He noticed the repairs on the porch steps, not to mention the twinkle in his mother’s eyes when she looked at Frank.

Oh, the mess the man would leave behind.

Thankfully, Nathan was spared the horror of watching his mother kiss this liar.

The door opened and Frank stepped out onto the porch. He startled when he saw Nathan. “What are you doing out here?”

Nathan got up. “Not here.” He stepped off the porch, shoved his hands into his pockets, tight fists, numb with the cold. “We have to talk.”

For once, Frank said nothing, though Nathan heard him sigh as they crossed the road. He led them around to the deck of his own house, lit up like high noon, and debated brushing the snow off one of the metal chairs to sit, but decided to stand.

Just in case he had to beat the tar out of Frank.

“Annalise told me everything.”

If Nathan doubted that she’d told him the truth, if he’d believed that she might be making up this entire story, Frank’s reaction would have set him straight.

Frank blew out a long breath, shook his head. Met Nathan’s eyes. “Sorry.”

Sorry? “
Sorry?
My wife has lied to me for twenty years because you told her to, and the best you can do is
sorry
?”

“She didn’t have a choice, Nathan. What would you have her do—tell you the truth and endanger your life too?”

“Let’s start with the fact that I’m her husband. We don’t have secrets. Or I thought we didn’t have secrets. Apparently we have gigantic, supernova secrets. And as for endangering our lives . . . well, what am I supposed to do with the words ‘Garcia is out of jail and coming to kill me’?”

“Calm down, Nathan.” Frank held up his hands.

“I promise you, this is as calm as I intend to get until I know my family is safe.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do—keep your family safe.”

“Funny, I thought that was my job.”

Frank drew in a breath. “Not in this case. Luis Garcia is a cruel man. He wouldn’t hesitate to torture your entire family while you watched.”

Nathan couldn’t help a flinch and hated himself for it. He had to be tougher than this. “No one is going to hurt my family.”

“Which is why I told Annalise five days ago that she had to move. But she didn’t want to take you or your children away from your lives.”

She’d known about the danger for five—
five!
—days. There she went again, trying to keep them safe, insulated.

Not trusting—not believing in him—at all. How had he been so incredibly blind?

She’d put up quite a show for him all these years, playing the perfect wife, perfect mother. He didn’t even know where to start with the depths of her betrayal. He almost wished she’d done something easier to wrap his feelings around—like cheat or charge them into mountains of debt.

No wonder she’d forgiven him so easily.

He’d deal with it later. For now . . . “You should have come to me, Frank. I’m her husband and the head of this family. I deserved to know.”

Frank’s eyes narrowed. “Let’s just play out that scenario for a moment. I come to you and tell you that your wife used to be a drug-dealing, homeless runaway who mainlined drugs and slept in flophouses while she helped her boyfriend run product for one of the nastiest drug lords in the country, and what? You’re going to take that well? You’re not going to throw a punch at me and toss me off the deck? Because looking at you right now, I’d make a steep bet that’s what is going through your head.”

Oh. Yes, well—“She did drugs?”

“Had to get her clean and healthy before we moved her. Blake had her so messed up, she didn’t even know her own name when the St. Louis police picked her up the first time. They found her in an alley, half-dressed, hypothermic, and nearly dead when they called me. I offered her a deal—testify against Garcia and she could start over. I’d help her get off the streets, clean, and home. She was terrified. But she agreed and we worked together for three months before she got enough on him to put him away. Garcia found out and beat her within an inch of her life.”

Nathan steeled himself, fighting the urge to hit something, to howl.

No wonder she jumped sometimes when he came up too fast behind her.

“I hid her while my wife helped nurse her back to health. At the trial, Garcia promised to find her and kill her—and if he didn’t, his men would. We decided to fake her death and move her to Deep Haven. Changed her name, her appearance, got her tattoo removed.” His voice gentled. “For what it’s worth, Annalise is nothing like Deidre. She’s a new person. Or maybe she’s finally the woman she was supposed to be.”

“She never told me she had a tattoo.”

“It was here.” Frank put his hand at a space just above his knee.

“She has a scar there. She said it was from the accident.”

“She has a lot of scars, Nathan, and I’m sure my arrival tore them all open. The longer we wait, however, the more danger you and your family are in. We need to move you. Tomorrow, if we can.”

Tomorrow.
The word shook Nathan to his bones.

Tomorrow he’d sever his life in Deep Haven. Leave it all behind. He couldn’t help but glance at his mother’s house, the porch light still glowing, scattering through the branches of the ancient family apple tree.

“She can come with you,” Frank said softly.

“Really?” Nathan didn’t mean the sharpness in his voice—okay, maybe he did. It seemed the only place to put everything that roiled inside him. “
Really?
And how fair is that to her? I’m going to uproot my mother, drag her to a new town where she has to make new friends and start her life over? She’s lived her entire life in Deep Haven. What did you think—that you’d simply get her to trust you and then drop the bomb on her?”

Frank appeared nonplussed. “Yes, actually.”

“You
jerk
. You made her like you, made her believe in you so you could destroy her world.”

“So I could keep Annalise’s intact. She’s already lost so much.”

“Which was her fault to begin with! Who does that—leaves her family, runs away with a jerk of a boyfriend, starts taking drugs?”

He could hear his words but couldn’t stop them from spilling out.

“Too many,” Frank said quietly. “But few get a chance to reset their lives. And few have the bravery that Annalise showed. So yes, I lied to you and to your mother. But I thought maybe you’d be the kind of people I hoped you were.”

And what was Nathan supposed to say to that? He ground his jaw so tight he thought his teeth might crack. “My mother will be devastated.”

Frank looked away. “She’s not the only one.”

Nathan frowned. He didn’t even want to begin to unravel that. Frank didn’t have actual feelings for his mother, did he?

Even if he did, Nathan didn’t want the man in their lives, having to sort out fact from fiction.

Which meant he’d have to leave town without telling his mother.

Nathan sank into a chair. Cradled his head in his hands. He thought he might retch. “We’ll leave tomorrow after school.”

Frank made a move toward him like he might make some sort of fatherly gesture, maybe dare to put his hand on Nathan’s shoulder.

Nathan looked up and tried to turn him to ash, just in case. “You’d better make sure that when we leave, my mother is safe.”

Frank nodded. “Don’t do anything rash before tomorrow. We’ll find you a good place to hide, Nathan.”

Nathan held up his hand as Frank gave him a compassionate expression. “Please. Don’t.”

Frank sighed; then Nathan heard him move off the porch, open the sliding-glass door, slip inside.

Don’t do anything rash.
His entire life felt like one rash reaction after another. Like quitting football, walking right off the field after realizing what his father had done. And giving up his scholarship to stick around to take care of his mother when she had cancer. And deciding to run for mayor. And now, slinking away from Deep Haven, practically in the dead of night.

Rash reactions to decisions others made for him.

Nathan got up, went inside the house, closed the sliding-glass door, then the drapes to hide them. Dragging a chair to the closet, he climbed up and dug around in the back of the shelf.

There lay his father’s .22 shotgun. When he was seventeen, Nathan had used it for target practice at the gravel lot outside Deep Haven with a few of his buddies. Now he took it down. The safety was still on. He checked the chamber and found it empty.

He retrieved the shells from the shelf as well and brought them to the family room, taking a seat in the recliner.

He loaded a shell into the chamber, put his thumb on the safety. Set the gun across his lap.

Don’t do anything rash.

Tell that to the woman sleeping down the hall.