it cowardice or discretion that made him back down the steps and turn again toward the alley?
He heard the rattle of the Venetian blinds on the back door as someone pulled it open, and he decided not to run. "Yes? What do you want?" There was no mistaking this was Trissa's mother. He hoped the cool disdain he had maintained for her over the phone would return to his voice for this confrontation. But he had forgotten the sorry condition of his own face. She stepped back into the porch and dropped the chain across the door when she saw him. "Who are you? What do you want?" she inquired through the crack.
He remained in his position on the walk to answer her, wondering if her husband lurked nearby watching him. "We spoke over the phone. I am Nicholas Brewer. As I promised, I've come for your daughter's things."
"The hell you have. I have never seen you before in my life. What business do you have getting Trissa's things?"
"I see," Nicholas said coldly. Her skewed priorities, more concerned that a stranger take her daughter's things than for her daughter, dissolved the last of his doubts about his judgment of her. "You would rather the trash hauler take them. It would ease your conscience to see them dumped as easily as you have dumped your daughter."
"How dare you! Where do you know my daughter from? Where is she?" The woman threw open the door and challenged him with her hands on her hips. She was a bit taller than Trissa with a build that may once have been as petite as her daughter's but had filled out to plumpness, making the extra inches in height almost undetectable. Her hair was a short, curly copper, and in her anger, her face was a nearly identical shade.
Nicholas chose to answer her second question. "I know Trissa from the railroad tracks, Mrs. Kirk, where, you may be interested to know, she tried to kill herself last night."
The high color drained from her face and she let the door slam behind her. "What?"
Nicholas pressed his advantage and stepped up two steps so they were eye to eye. "And however you have chosen to explain away your husband's role in driving her to that desperate act, I trust you will see the advantage in keeping them apart."
She said nothing but stepped up and away from him, her hand gripping the rail to steady herself.
"Now, Trissa needs her coat, shoes, and school books. If you will supply those items, I will be on my way." The calm forcefulness of his voice belied his quaking knees and when she turned and fled into the house, it was he who had to steady himself by leaning against the railing. She could, at this very moment, be calling the police, or fetching her husband with a shotgun.
The long minutes ticked away as his courage wavered. By the time he heard the door open again, he had convinced himself it would be Mr. Kirk and the gun. He pulled himself straight to face his fate like a man.
But it was Mrs. Kirk, her arms filled with coats, a bundle of shoes, and Trissa's book bag, her cheeks streaked with tears. "I -- I don't know if I've found everything. If there's anything else she -- what am I to do, Mr. Brewer? I don't know what to do. He is my husband."
Nicholas took on her burden and answered quietly, "She is your daughter, Mrs. Kirk." He could see nothing but confusion in her eyes. If there had been one spark of conscience, one flicker of self-recrimination that she was making the wrong choice, he might have had a word of comfort for her. But there was only confusion, and Trissa deserved better than that. He was halfway down the walk when she spoke again.
"Where -- where is she?"
He didn't look back when he answered her, "Where she is safe."
Of course, it was wrong to think that he loved her already. She would never accept it. Too soon. Too reckless. He was a stranger whose motives -- What were his motives? And if this was not love, what was it? Pity? Compassion? The affinity that one heart in need has for another?
It was love to him, whatever others chose to call it. She was no stranger to him. He had loved her from very nearly the first moment he had seen her. He had loved her before he knew her name and