Discovering You

7 (#ulink_d9393931-e27d-586f-9b10-663c07a244e1)

India sat in her quiet living room with a cup of tea. She’d thought some chamomile might help her relax, but it didn’t seem to be working. She was wide-awake and anxious, and looking at another long night. She wished she could read a book or watch TV. But ever since Detective Flores had told her about Sebastian, she’d been checking and double-checking her doors and windows. She wanted to believe he’d had enough trouble. That he’d slink off without bothering her again, maybe even leave the area before the police could find the additional evidence she was hoping for. Most men in his situation would flee if they had the chance, wouldn’t they?

But she couldn’t assume anything when it came to Sebastian. If he didn’t care about taking Charlie’s life, or even his own—and she knew from the way he’d been talking that he didn’t—he certainly wouldn’t care about taking hers.

Then Cassia really would be an orphan...

The report of the gun the night Charlie was shot seemed to echo in her head and she saw, again, how her husband had gasped and clutched his chest when the bullet struck him. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to avoid those memories, but she was too tired to fight them. The most gruesome images bombarded her repeatedly, as well as the worst of what’d come after—when Sebastian had forced her to tell him she still loved him, that she’d marry him and do...other things. That was the only way she could convince him not to harm Cassia. She’d never admitted to the rape. She wasn’t even sure she could call it rape, since she hadn’t refused. She’d used her body and everything else she’d needed to in order to save her child.

Maybe that was why so many people suspected her of lying. In a sense, she was. She was holding back some of the worst and, arguably, more important details. But she couldn’t admit to the methods she’d employed to stall, reassure and distract Sebastian. She feared—knew—that there’d be people who would claim she’d enjoyed it and wasn’t choking back vomit every second she let him touch her.

I’ll always love you. Sebastian had told her that. Her skin still crawled when she remembered his hands on her face, forcing her to look up at him as he said it. He didn’t know what love was. He couldn’t, not if he could murder her husband, threaten her daughter and wave a gun in her face. He’d also let his defense attorney blame her for Charlie’s death. Larry Forgash, attorney-at-law, had said she must’ve hired a killer and was now using Sebastian as the scapegoat. He’d pointed to a series of cash withdrawals from her own checking account, which was separate from Charlie’s, since she’d had it before they were married, to suggest how she might’ve paid that person, but the cash withdrawals had only added up to about $3,300 over the course of two months.

Fortunately, his defense precluded him from telling anyone they’d had sex after Charlie died. Since the police had no forensic evidence, nothing except her testimony to say he was even there, he’d had his wife claim he was with her the entire night.

India shuddered as the old revulsion welled up, so strong it made her nauseous. Forget, she ordered herself. Like the river outside, life would wend its way along and someday she’d be able to put it behind her. But she doubted that would be possible unless she could forgive herself. And how could she ever do that? Her shame at having acted as if she wanted Sebastian, as if she’d enjoyed being with him, was too great.

A gentle wind stirred the chimes on her porch. She’d made them herself, planned to carry a wide assortment in her studio, but that tinkle sounded far less cheerful than usual. She missed Cassia, wished she could go and lie down next to her daughter instead of having to worry that, when the time came, her in-laws would conjure up an excuse to try to keep her longer, if not indefinitely.

Actually, they wouldn’t have to conjure up an excuse. They had a great one, considering what they’d learned today.

India stared down at her phone. She’d received a call from Ellie Cox at dinnertime and ignored it. Ellie was the wife of Charlie’s best friend. They’d been close over the past three years, ever since Ellie and Mitchell had moved into her and Charlie’s neighborhood. But, like the Sommerses, Ellie and Mitchell now treated her with coolness. It was humiliating to have her friends turn on her, and yet the loss of her relationship with Ellie wasn’t what concerned India about her message.

India hit the play button on her voice mail, even though she’d already listened to it several times.

India, it’s me, Ellie. Give me a call when you can. I’ve been thinking about you, wondering how you’re doing. I’m sorry it’s been so long, but...we’ve been busy with Tyler’s baseball season. You know how that goes.

She did know, since she’d sat through many of his games, keeping Ellie company. Ellie could easily have stepped away to place a call or, at the very least, send a text message.

But that wasn’t what worried her.

We have games almost every night this month, what with his regular team and his competitive team going at the same time. Anyway, someone at the park told me you’d moved to Whiskey Creek. Is that true? I knew you were looking for a house, but I don’t remember hearing that you’d found one.

There it was. Someone at the ballpark had told Ellie that India had moved to Whiskey Creek. Who? Were her old acquaintances still talking about her? Did they know where she’d gone? India hadn’t told a lot of people where she planned to move, but neither had she kept it as secret as she now wished she had.

How easy would it be for Sebastian to find her?

She was just wondering if she should’ve gotten a new number, when the soft thud of a car door almost made her spill her tea. Ready to call for help should she need to, she gripped her cell in one hand, set her cup aside and crept into the living room to peer through the wooden shutters.

Nearly one in the morning was late for visitors, even on a Saturday.