Colder Than Ice. Maggie Shayne
about what?”
“It’s just…there’s been a car parked up the road a little ways for a while now. I can just see it from my bedroom window.”
Beth’s hand jerked, and the still-hot tea sloshed onto her bare legs. She sucked air through her teeth and wiped it away with her hand.
Maude handed her a napkin. “Oh, it’s probably someone bird-watching or checking on the progress of the foliage,” she said. “We have a lot of nature lovers living in these parts, and this time of year every leaf-peeper in the country seems to show up. Was it a red Blazer, Bryan? That would be my nearest neighbor Frankie Parker. Loves to watch the birds, that one.”
“No, it’s a brown sedan. Chrysler, I think.”
“Brown Chrysler,” Maude repeated to herself. “Maybe I should give Frankie a call.”
When they all looked at her oddly, Beth clarified for them. “Frankie’s the police chief.”
“Oh.” Bryan nodded. “Right next door, that’s handy.”
“Well, right next door is a half mile, but still…” Maude said.
Beth dabbed the tea from her thighs and tried not to notice Josh’s scrutiny, until he forced it. “Call me a paranoid city slicker, if you want, but, um…why don’t you let me take you home, Beth? Just to be on the safe side.”
She looked up at him, crushed the damp napkin in her hand and shook her head. “I may not look like much, Joshua, but trust me, I can handle myself.” She glanced at Bryan. “Oh, and I almost forgot.” She dug into her shorts pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. “You’ll need these books for our session today. You can pick them up at Books Ink, in town.”
“Cool. I can pick them up right now and drop you off on my way,” Bryan said.
What was with these two? You’d think she was made of glass, the way they were acting. “And miss out on the great breakfast your grandmother made you?” Beth asked. “No, I don’t think so. Besides, I live in the opposite direction. And I run for a reason. I’m not messing up my daily routine by taking the lazy way home.”
Bryan looked at his father. Joshua sighed and glanced at Maude.
Maude frowned. Then she lifted her chin. “Joshua, go change your clothes. She won’t let you drive her, so you can run with her. And, Beth, don’t even begin to argue with me. I’ll worry myself sick if you go off alone.”
“Since when is there anything in Blackberry scary enough to worry you, Maude Bickham?”
“Since you got so scared you spilled tea on yourself at the mention of a strange car, young lady. Now, my word is law, and I have spoken. Finish your tea while Josh changes his clothes.”
“Fine. Fine, he can run with me.” She looked at Josh as he rushed into the house and added, “If he can keep up!”
Beth was running faster than her normal pace in honor of his presence; Josh was sure of it. He broke a sweat ten minutes in, but he wasn’t complaining. It felt good to run. It had been too long. He watched the lengthening and flexing of her calf muscles and her thighs with every stride, and he thought it was too damn cold to wear shorts, and yet he was irrationally glad she had. She was probably as strong as she claimed she was. She certainly ran like she meant it. Not that it would matter much if some maniac came after her.
She wasn’t happy about Maude’s insistence that he come along. Her jaw was tight, her eyes serious. She hadn’t spoken a word or cracked a smile since they left. God, it was difficult for him to believe this was the same pale, weak, comatose girl he’d visited in the hospital so long ago. She wasn’t pale. Her skin was sun-kissed, and her cheeks pink right now with exertion. Steady, powerful breaths rushed in and out of her lungs, not the steady mechanical rasp of a respirator. Heat rose from her body in spite of the autumn chill.
When she slowed to a walk for the final quarter mile and he caught his breath again, he wanted to talk to her, ask her what her life had been like since coming out of that coma eighteen years ago. He wanted to hear every detail, in her own words, rather than the dry accounts in the typed pages Arthur had sent him. He’d been up most of the night reading those. They’d given him nightmares.
But he couldn’t very well ask about her past, and even if he did, she wouldn’t tell him. So he made conversation about the one topic he thought would interest her in talking to him: Bryan.
“I think Bryan must like you already,” he said.
“He doesn’t even know me. But yeah, the way he reacted to seeing a strange car—I suppose after losing his mom, it makes sense he might feel a little protective of me. I’m probably around her age. Maybe I remind him of her in some way.”
It made perfect sense, except that she was nothing like his ex-wife, Josh thought. Kathy had been confident, demanding, had known exactly what she wanted and would settle for nothing less. Beth was…nervous. Skittish. Strong, but he got the feeling she was never quite sure which path she would choose at the crossroads of Fight and Flight. “He likes you better than he seems to like me, at the moment,” he said. “That’s worth something.”
“He thinks you don’t care about his mother’s death.”
“He acts as if I caused it.”
“Did you?”
He looked at her sharply.
“I mean, in his mind? Is there any way he might blame you?”
“I don’t see how. It was a weekend getaway with her second husband. The plane went down in the mountains.” He shook his head. “Bryan would have been with them, but he got sick at the last minute. Some stomach bug.”
“Oh. Well, no wonder.”
He lifted his brows.
“He feels guilty,” she explained. “Wishes he had been with them, wonders why they had to die when he was spared. Survivor’s guilt. Surely you’ve heard of it.”
“You don’t know the half.” She looked at him, a question in her eyes. “Yeah,” he said. “I’ve heard of it.”
“So that’s part of it, then. I mean, it might be.” She shrugged. “Maybe I can get him talking.”
He looked up as a car passed. A brown sedan. The windows were tinted, so he couldn’t see inside. Only one person, though, he thought. The driver. The license plates were too coated in dirt to read.
“I suppose you’ve tried that already, though.”
He glanced her way again. “Tried what?”
“To get him to talk to you. About his feelings.”
“I’ve asked him to talk to me. It hasn’t worked.”
She licked her lips, then pressed them tight.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“No, you were going to say something just now.”
“I’m butting in, and that’s not my way. It’s none of my business.”
“If I’m asking, you aren’t butting in.” He waited. Then, “Please, Beth. I need all the help I can get here.”
She sighed. “I don’t know Bryan very well, so this could be way off base. But what I’ve found in other kids his age is that the best way to get them to open up to you is to open up to them first. Maybe he needs to see your feelings before he’ll feel safe showing you his own. It’s hard to admit to weakness and confusion to a man you see as always strong, in control, perfect.”
“You were right in the first place. You don’t know Bryan very well. He doesn’t think I’m anything close to perfect.”
“You’re