And she would say…what? What was he hoping for? Some kind of breakthrough? That Devon would take one look at the photographs and remember that her parents were monsters who’d molested and abused her and driven her sister out of their house and into a life of hell on the streets? Was he hoping for a miracle?
What had made him think he could bring about in a few days what could take trained therapists months or even years to accomplish? Or never.
Ah well, the collage had been a stupid idea, but he’d worked on the damn thing for two days, and if he didn’t give it to Devon now, Dad-Mom, too, since it was a safe bet there weren’t any secrets between those two-was going to wonder why. Devon was in her room now-he’d heard her door close a while ago-and his mom and dad were in theirs, and Emily asleep in there with them, in his old bassinet that his mom had hauled down from the attic. Tomorrow, Caitlyn and her folks would be here, and tomorrow night… Hell, who knew where he’d be tomorrow night?
It looked like, if he was ever going to give the collage to Devon, it would have to be now. He took a breath and stood up. Shifted the package under one arm and strode the three long paces to the door. Opened it-and froze in his tracks.
His heart catapulted through several layers of chest wall to lodge somewhere in his throat. “Devon-” he croaked. She was there in the doorway, almost nose-to-nose with him, one hand upraised to knock on his door.
“Hi.” It was a whisper, hushed and hoarse. Her face was almost luminous in the dim hallway, her eyes lost in shadows. “I’m sorry-I didn’t mean to startle you. Were you-?” She made a vague traveling gesture with her hand.
“No-no! In fact-” he hefted the package “-I was just-” Remembering where he was, he backed awkwardly out of the doorway and motioned her in. He closed the door as quietly as possible, then turned and looked at her and felt a strange and fleeting sense of unreality.
It struck him how out of place she looked-ludicrously so-standing there in his boyhood room with its faded denim curtains and horse-head lamp, his battered desk and worn paperback books. Slim and tall, elegant in black slacks and a sleeveless turtleneck shell-and on her even the green snowman scarf his mother had given her tonight seemed elegant-she made him think of the world she’d come from-a world of BMW’s and valet parking, of Gucci shoes and Rolex watches and restaurants where famous people dined. A complicated woman, he thought-and as contradictory as the picture she presented now.
Looking at him the way she did now, with her chin up and her eyes green fire, she was all self-assurance, fearless and unyielding, beautiful yet untouchable-always in control, always in command. Yet, he’d seen her fearful. He’d touched her and felt her yield, at least to him. He’d felt her tremble on the brink of losing all control.
He knew that, if she were to turn just a bit, lower her head, just a little, he would see, below the sophisticated upswept hairdo she wore, caressed by a few errant tendrils of fiery red hair, the slender white column of a neck as fragile, as vulnerable as a child’s.
“I was just on my way to see you,” he said, and lifted the package, not thrusting it at her, just drawing her attention. “I wanted to give you this.”
Her eyes flinched. She raised both hands in a small gesture of dismay, then clasped them together in front of her. “I didn’t get you anything.”
His smile dismissed that. “I never thought you would. Here-just as well open it.” He nudged the package toward her.
“Oh, Eric…” She closed her eyes, then reluctantly took it from him. “Oh, God-” and she gave a light, unhappy laugh “-it feels like a picture frame. What did you do, blow up one of those horrible pictures you took of me floundering in the snow like a beached whale?”
He nodded toward the present. “Go ahead. Open it.”
Devon’s heart fluttered against her ribs. Her chest felt tight, and the laugh she tried didn’t do a thing to relieve it. She took a breath, summoned strength, then began to tear away the wrapping paper. As the pieces fluttered to the floor, she felt herself go still and cold. Her heart no longer pounded; she couldn’t feel it beating at all.
From a distance she heard Eric say, “It’s in there-the one you’re worried about. That’s it…right…
Oh, it was there, all right-funny that she’d focused on it first, even without his finger pointing it out to her- unmistakably Devon, even in all those layers that made her look like a pregnant penguin, with her hair shining like a beacon in all that snow. But not big, not blown up-oh no. Tiny. And not alone. There were others, so many others, some large and some small, square, oblong, round and oval, and except for hers, they were all of children. A little girl on a swing, pigtails flying, a plump little boy romping with puppies, children swimming in a pond, sleek as otters, children playing in mud, blowing bubbles in a bathtub, finger painting, making snowmen, eating watermelon, blowing out birthday candles, dressed up in costumes for Halloween, mugging for the camera with crossed eyes and stuck-out tongues, children in their Sunday best, grinning to show off missing teeth. There was even one of Emily, asleep with one hand curled against her cheek like flower petals.
“What is this?” Her voice was bumpy.
“They’re memories,” he said. “I thought, since you don’t have any of your childhood…” He let it trail away.
She stared at him for a long, silent moment. His arms were folded on his chest, and his face was set-fierce and hawklike. Defensive, she thought. Defiant.
“Why?” she said in a tight, trembling voice. “Why did you do this? Because you wanted to give me
“Devon-” He reached toward her.
She jerked away from him just as his fingers were closing on her arm. Her hands lost their grip, and the picture frame, with its collage of happy childhood memories, slipped from them and fell to the floor with a cracking, tinkling crash.
There was a gasp, a muffled oath; and for several heartbeats, deafening silence. Then Devon dropped to her knees, and her hands darted here and there in quick, jerky forays, snatching up shards of broken glass. She was saying, over and over in a horrified whisper, “Oh, God-I’m so sorry- I didn’t mean to do that-I’m sorry…”
Eric had frozen, partly in shock, partly in dread, all senses primed, ears cocked for the first sounds from down the hall-a door opening, his mom’s voice raised in question and alarm. When that failed to come, he didn’t question the miracle, just let himself breathe again as he sank to one knee beside Devon.
He didn’t know what to do first, reach for her, rescue the broken frame, or pull those unsteady hands away from the perils of broken glass. He didn’t know what to do, period. He’d never been in such turmoil. He’d never been more profoundly shaken, his heart pounding and his mouth dry, clammy with adrenaline.
But at the same time his emotions had never been calmer or more certain. In his heart, in his guts, in the deepest part of himself, he knew he wanted to hold and soothe her, that somehow he had to comfort and protect her. Seeing Devon like this, with her customary self-confidence shattered, the veneer of her composure and sophistication revealed for the sham it was…the intensity of his feelings for her all but overwhelmed him. Simple compassion, even protective tenderness couldn’t account for this. This was something much more powerful, something primitive, possessive, life-changing.
His heart knew it, his gut knew it, but his head, his logical mind, caught somewhere between the turmoil and the certainty, refused to call it by name. His head, his reason, still insisted on telling him all the reasons it was impossible.
“Devon-” he said, reaching for her as he had before.
And again when he touched her she jerked, but toward him this time, not away. Magnified by a film of tears, her eyes locked with his, and this time the question was a plea. “Why are you doing this?”
His hand, instead of closing gently around her arm, dropped to his knee. He tried to smile. “Definitely not to hurt you.”
“Oh, no?” Her voice was a thin, raspy whisper, as if she wanted to shout at him but was as conscious as he was of other ears just down the hall. “What, then?” She went back to grabbing up pieces of broken glass, her movements uncoordinated as she flung angry words at him over her shoulder. “I know what
