It's Never too Late - By Tara Taylor Quinn Page 0,26
life threw at her.
And Nonnie posed no threat to her, unlike her grandson. She had to go in.
Still, the night, the darkness, held her trapped in its shadows.
With a man she was drawn to as much as she needed to get away from.
Staring at her fountain, she watched the jeweled droplets of water chase one another over the rocks.
“It’s like they’re playing hide-and-seek.”
“The fountain’s important to you.” There was a personal note in his voice.
“I like fountains.” She watched the water, needing to be transported to a place she felt safe.
“I know.”
His tone was far too personal.
“People give away things about themselves by the priorities they choose. Before you moved into the house, you set up your new fountain.”
He was trespassing....
“You’re perceptive.”
He was quiet, and she waited, on edge.
“Why fountains?”
He wasn’t going to ask about the nightmare. And she couldn’t stay.
“Hmm?” She sat forward in her chair, picked up her glass and sought a suitable way to say good-night that wouldn’t offend him.
“What is it about fountains that speaks to you?”
“The water.” Maybe it was all the lies she was being forced to tell that compelled her to speak the truth.
Or maybe the water was too sacred to lie about.
“The water?”
“I find it peaceful.” She didn’t want him to think she was crazy. Coping devices were enlightened. Not crazy.
“A lot of people find fountains peaceful,” he said, watching her now. “But it’s not their first priority when they move into a new home. Sheets on a bed, food in the fridge, those kinds of things usually come first.”
She was going to tell him.
As she sat there, her heart beating a mile a minute, Addy realized she wanted to tell him. Because he was a stranger passing in the night? Because he knew her as Adele, not Adrianna?
Because he’d rescued his best friend from a fire?
Not because she felt connected to him on any personal level. Please, not that.
She was outside herself. Analyzing, as always. Watching from afar. And there was something different. She was feeling...
“After the fire...I had panic attacks.” Counseling hadn’t helped. Sleeping in the same bed as Gran hadn’t helped. “The only thing that made them go away was knowing there was water nearby.”
There, she’d referred to the night before. Gotten it out in the open. They could move on.
And if Adrianna Keller was crazy, if she had some mental or emotional shortcoming, her secret was still safe. This man only knew Adele Kennedy.
“Were both of your parents home that night?”
“Yes.” Yes. That one word held so much hurt.
“You were screaming last night. Over and over. Were you reliving the fire? Or had you been asleep until they rescued you?”
“I screamed.”
“What about the others? Were they asleep?” The words were delivered with a warm, soft tone, sliding over her with nonthreatening concern.
She was okay. She was Adele. She could give him this. One stranger to another.
“Mom and Ely were screaming, too.”
“Ely?”
“Elijah. My brother. His screams stopped first.”
“How old was he?”
“Seven.” It sounded so young. He’d been her big brother, not a little kid.
“I thought if we all kept screaming, we’d be safe. I had to do my part. And then Ely stopped.”
“Who else was screaming?”
“Mom. She was screaming for Ely and me.” Over and over. Just their names. Ellllyyyy! Aaaadddyy! Over and over. She could hear her so clearly, even now. “I kept answering.” Ely had, too. Until he hadn’t.
“Then she stopped.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No.” She had felt compelled to keep calling out, to keep playing the strange game even though the air was so hot and hurt so badly.
“What about your father?”
“He didn’t scream.”
“But he was there.”
She looked away from the fountain into the darkness of the walled-in yard. “Yes.”
Everything went black inside of her mind. Not blank. Just black. She couldn’t picture her father. She could just see the blackness.
Charred black. Burned black.
“Adele?”
Turning her head, Addy focused and saw Mark. Even in shadows, his face was gorgeous—his features strong and chiseled in all the right places, his gray-blue eyes filled with emotion.
He’d called her Adele.
She was safe.
Adele knew things that Addy had never told anyone. Adele could talk for Addy, and then roll up her imaginary life and disappear as Addy moved back home to the life she’d built for herself in Colorado.
Mark would understand. He’d pulled his friend out of the fire. He was studying fire safety and engineering.
“Mom and Dad were high school sweethearts,” she told him. “Dad had always wanted to be a firefighter and started training while he was still in high school.