He kissed her instead, a gentle, slow kiss that he hoped eased her qualms.
The smile she wore on her lips quivered as the kiss ended and she looked at him. The way she’d gone from vibrant to meek, from determined to timid concerned him. Rightfully so. Guilt filled him from head to toe. All he’d been able to see was her. Betty. She’d been all he’d been able to hear, to feel, to want. Want like he’d never wanted anything ever before.
“What time is it?” she asked. “I can’t be late. Jane can’t wait on me tonight.”
“You won’t be late.” He finished buttoning his shirt and, while slipping his suspenders over his shoulders, sat down to put on his shoes.
She shone the light for him, and as soon as his shoes were on, she spun around and shone the beam on the door.
“What else can I help you with?” she asked after they’d been walking along the tunnel for a length of time. “Besides the list.”
Henry’s gut was still churning with his own shame, and hearing her say that made it churn even harder. From the beginning there hadn’t been anything he’d needed from her. He’d convinced himself her being here, in Los Angeles, was too much of a coincidence out of selfishness. He’d never forgotten about her on that beach and rather than admitting that was his problem, he’d turned it into something it wasn’t. Why was beyond him, other than she’d touched something deep inside him.
Her questions about his past had made him remember things he hadn’t for years and years. Mick and Darrin, and other kids that he’d completely forgotten about, and memories that had been fun to recall. He’d never told anyone about any of those things, but it had been as if she had opened a book inside his head. One that he’d locked tight and put away.
“There has to be more I can do,” she said.
No, there wasn’t, but he couldn’t tell her that. He’d dug a hole here, and had to figure out a way to climb out. “I’ll let you know,” he said, whereas in truth, he wouldn’t. This had to stop. Now. Before there was a repeat of tonight, which couldn’t happen.
“All right,” she said. “I’ll be here tomorrow night.”
He wouldn’t. He was no good for her. She was fun, loving, while he was hard and cold. Unlovable. That wasn’t something that could change. The headmistress at the orphanage had told John and Esther that when they were adopting him. That he was too old, too unemotional, and that they should adopt one of the younger children who would be more appreciative of having a family. Move lovable.
As they stepped onto the stairs leading into the storage room, he took ahold of her hand. The pain inside him went deeper than regret. To something he’d never known. “If there are any repercussions from this evening, I will provide for you.”
She frowned and then blinked those long lashes while pinching her lips together. “There won’t be,” she barely whispered.
“There could be.” That was a real possibility, and that scared him. A baby, a family, the thought made his insides go cold. He’d never have that. Wasn’t capable of having that. “And I’ll provide.” He shrugged. “Money.” He’d been raised in an orphanage, and money was what everyone had needed. Right now, he felt like a bumbling idiot because he had no idea what else she might need. “Just let me know.”
She nodded.
He opened the door, walked her through the storage room and to the edge of the curtain. He watched as she signaled her sister and then walked out the door.
The regret inside him turned into disgust as he made his way back through the storage room and into the tunnel. His insides burned at how the memory of tonight would have been so sweet and cherished if he hadn’t realized what he’d done. It had been his fault. He’d accused her, believed she’d been a part of something she clearly wasn’t, because everyone was always guilty in his eyes. He’d never realized that until tonight.
She hadn’t been guilty of anything, but he sure as hell was. He could have stopped it. Should have stopped it, but he hadn’t.
He entered the basement, picked up the sheet, and walked upstairs, out the door, and across the road. There, he sat down in the bushes and waited, needing to know she had made it home.
It felt as if hours passed before she and her sisters got off the streetcar and walked through the yard, then took the road up to the row of trees.
He waited awhile longer, then stood and traversed his way up the hill and down the other side to the cabin. Still guilt-ridden. Still mad at himself. Still thinking about how profoundly amazing it had been.
The following morning, he followed the same trail back down to the house. He’d told himself he didn’t need the list she’d written out for him; it was just the guilt growing like a poison inside him that said he did. A poison he’d created.
He entered the house, disgusted at himself again because he’d left it unlocked when he’d left last night. Telling himself that didn’t matter, he forced his mind to not think about anything, especially what had occurred here last night as he found Betty’s list in the basement and then left the house and trekked back up the hill.
Halfway up it, a shiver tickled his spine.
He blamed it on the guilt festering like a wood sliver too deep beneath the skin to dig out without a needle, until the shiver came again, then he slid behind a tree and peered around it to scan the hill.
Someone was following him. How had he let that happen? Because his mind hadn’t been on this job since he’d met Betty. He had to change that. For both
