Dad had his usual spot, closest to the swinging doors into the kitchen. Susan stood by the booth, talking with him, hands pushed into her apron pockets. She turned as Joshua approached. She no longer had puffy eyes, but she still seemed unsettled. “Hello, Joshua. What can I get you to drink?” It wasn’t the first time someone had been embarrassed to be found in the pastor’s office.
“Lemonade, lots of ice please.” He slid into the booth. “And I’ll order whatever special Oliver is cooking up for tonight.”
“Roast beef, mashed potatoes, and mixed vegetables. Dinner comes with tomato bisque soup or a green salad.”
“Salad with vinegar and oil.”
Chuckling, Dad handed Susan his menu. “Make that two, Susan, if you will.”
“Coming right up, Pastor Zeke.” There was new warmth in Susan’s voice and an expression that hadn’t been there before. Joshua studied his father surreptitiously and saw nothing out of the ordinary. He looked relaxed, content. Every time the door opened and the bell jangled, Dad smiled a greeting. He knew everyone in town. Some called out a hello; others came over to talk for a few minutes. Joshua had grown up in the midst of interruptions.
Dad set his baseball cap aside. “I hear Gil is coming tomorrow morning to help out.”
Joshua counted Gil as one of his closest friends, despite the disparity between their ages. They’d both been through hell and struggled to make sense of the carnage they’d witnessed. They both knew what it meant to be haunted with regret simply because they’d survived when others hadn’t. Abra’s departure had added to Joshua’s postwar stress. Gil suffered, too, and had for years. Somehow, talking things through had helped them both lay down the burden of what they couldn’t do, and let go of the ghosts of those they couldn’t save.
Dad had been trying to fan a dying spark of faith in Gil. When he’d sent Joshua out to meet with him, something changed in the man. He was needed, desperately, by another who had suffered as he had. They gained strength from one another. Joshua saw faith flame in the older man. They both had someone closer than a brother standing with them, someone who died to save everyone, someone who knew what it was to grieve over those lost in the battle for men’s souls.
Being with Gil made Joshua remember things he’d been taught. “I forgot the rules,” he’d admitted to Gil during one of their early conversations.
“What rules?” Gil had asked.
“Rule number one: young men die. Rule number two: you can’t change rule number one. I heard it in training, but forgot it in battle.”
Joshua and Gil could talk freely about what they’d seen and experienced on the battlefield. They could share things they couldn’t speak of with anyone else. As time passed, they talked less about what they had lost, and more about what needed tearing down and rebuilding. Gil’s neighbor had a new barn. In a few days, the church would have a new roof.
Susan came through the swinging doors with their salads. Dad blessed the food. “And we pray for our beloved Abra, Lord. Let her remember who she is.”
Head bowed, Joshua added, “And to whom she belongs.”
“And to call home,” Susan said, still standing close enough to hear every word. Joshua glanced up and she grimaced in apology. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.”
“You didn’t.” Dad smiled.
She went away and came right back to refill their glasses of lemonade.
Dad watched her walk away. He caught Joshua watching him. “God is working, Son.”
Joshua grinned. “Looks like it.”
“He is always working.” Dad tucked into his salad.
Joshua believed that. He just wished God would work a little faster on Abra.
Abra lay on her back, staring at the cottage ceiling. Dylan had already left, dressed in his immaculate white tennis clothes, for a day at the country club. He never took her. He never said who he would be with or when he would be back.
A week after he’d moved her into the guesthouse, Abra had given in to tears and complaints when he went out again without her. Dylan accused her of nagging. When she raged at him, he caught hold of her arms and shook her. She saw the barely controlled fury in his eyes, felt it in his hands, and remembered what he’d done to Kent Fullerton when he lost control. When she showed up at the house for a party that night, Lilith noticed the bruises and sent her back to the cottage. She could hear Lilith tearing into Dylan before she reached the door. He returned that night, but he didn’t apologize. And long before the sun came up, Abra knew never to question him again. He would do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, and that included whatever he wanted to do to her. He could do even more damage with words than with his hands.
Lilith expected Abra to look pretty and polished, act friendly—but not too friendly—and eavesdrop. “Just move around the room and listen in on conversations.”
And Abra did. She overheard all kinds of things.
“They ought to turn that studio into a bomb shelter. It hasn’t had a hit in years.”
“From what I hear, they aren’t doing any productions, just renting old movie rights to television.”
“Television won’t last.”
“You’re a fool if you believe that. Television is here for good. Nobody’s going to turn it off. You wait. You’ll see I’m right.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Lilith treated Abra like a favorite niece at parties and ignored her the rest of the time. She enjoyed Lilith’s parties—dressing in expensive gowns and being in the same room as the rich and famous, even if they barely noticed her. Lilith preferred it that way. She told Abra to move around the room, be quiet, unobtrusive. Men liked young women who hung on their every word. “Encourage them to boast. Be all ears and eyes.” Penny would have given anything to be among these people. Penny would be bragging to everyone if she were in the same room as Natalie Wood and Robert Wagner and Debbie Reynolds and Gene Kelly.
Sometimes Abra thought of writing a letter to Penny just to talk about the people she’d met. She’d say she was still with Dylan, living in a lovely little cottage on a huge estate owned by his mother, a famous Hollywood columnist. She wanted Penny to know her life was bigger and better than Penny’s would ever be. So what if it wasn’t the truth? Penny didn’t have to know Dylan could be cruel, his mother merely tolerated her, and none of the famous people in the room knew or cared enough to carry on a conversation with her because she was a nobody. They were polite because she was Lilith’s “niece.” She’d been nobody in Haven and she was nobody here, too. So what was new? Dylan’s friends, those she had met, didn’t even know she was his girlfriend. The closest he’d ever come to telling anyone was at a pool party when he got drunk, put his arm around her, and kissed her and then laughingly called her his kissing cousin.
Lilith always invited Abra to come for coffee and a chat the morning after a party. Dylan typically remained in bed, hungover. Lilith would ask what Abra had heard and jot down notes as Abra talked. Dylan smirked when he read the columns. When he was gone, Abra read them and understood what part she played in spreading innuendos and outright scandals, how a tidbit of seemingly harmless information could be twisted and used to reward or punish people.
It hadn’t taken more than a few parties to realize “stars” weren’t so different from other people. They were insecure, jealous, sometimes nice, sometimes shy. They were more beautiful and had more money, but their lives weren’t as perfect as Abra and Penny and Charlotte and the others had always imagined.
Eventually Abra stopped sharing with Lilith all the things she heard. How could she be party to spreading such rumors, when her own life had begun as a scandal? Her birth had made headlines and the story still haunted her. She didn’t want to help Lilith dig for dirt, but she knew better than to admit her attack of scruples.
Lilith sensed the change and became a little less tolerant, even less inclined to give Dylan money to spend on her upkeep, as she put it. “If you want her at the party, you buy her dress this time.”<
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“You always brag about being so generous, Mother,” Dylan argued. “What will people think if your ‘favorite niece’ has to stay in the cottage for lack of a decent gown? You’ll be like the wicked stepmother in Cinderella.” He laughed.
Lilith didn’t look amused. “I doubt anyone would miss her.”
Abra had the feeling Dylan only insisted she come to irritate his mother. Most of the time he left her on her own while he went off to charm and flirt with young movie actresses and drink with their handlers. During the first months, she had burned with jealousy and ached with hurt. She had to remind herself he was playing a role, working a room the way his mother wanted. As long as he did it well, the money would keep rolling in.
The longer Abra was with Dylan, the less handsome he seemed. The beauty and charisma that had so attracted her began to fade. Dylan commented on the change in her and played games to keep her enthralled. He wasn’t as rough. He acted the gentleman. She wasn’t fooled anymore. She only pretended to be.
“I never know what you’re thinking behind those green eyes of yours. I never know whether I really have you or not.”
Maybe that was the only thing that kept him interested. Not knowing. Once he boasted of having slept with someone else. He gave her all the details. She listened, detached, and asked if he would mind if she did a little experimentation of her own. She’d seen this man at one of his mother’s parties—
That was as far as she got. She never said anything like that again.
Her heartbeat still sped up when he came into the cottage. Was it love or fear that made her tremble when he took her in his arms? It was better to convince herself it was love.
Restless, Abra got up and opened a dresser drawer. Dylan had told her to be ready by ten to go shopping. He’d be taking her to Marisa’s. Lilith was having another party and expected her to do her part. Marisa Cohen was far less elegant than Dorothea Endicott back in Haven, but the middle-aged woman knew how to dress movie stars.
Dylan usually stayed to enjoy the fashion show. Today, he pulled up to the curb and, without even the pretense of manners, reached across and shoved the door open. “Have Marisa call a cab when you’re done. I’ve got someplace to go.”
Alarm bells went off inside her head, but she did as he said. It took all her willpower not to turn around and watch him drive away.
“Dylan wants something special for tomorrow evening,” Marisa announced. “He was very specific. Nice that he has good taste.” She looked like a schoolteacher with her black-rimmed glasses and her dark hair pulled back in a prim bun. Only the simple slacks, cream silk blouse, and double strand of pearls shouted money.
She had a rack of gowns waiting for Abra to try on. The white was too virginal; the red nice, but a little too revealing. One dress drifted like cloud layers over Abra’s curves. Marisa told her to walk around in it. “Head up; roll those shoulders back. Imagine you’re a queen. That sea-green chiffon is gorgeous on you! Perfect for those amazing eyes of yours and all that red hair.”
Distracted, Abra confessed, “I’ve always hated my hair. I’d rather be a blonde.”
“Why?” Marisa looked askance at Abra. “Blondes are a dime a dozen in Hollywood, especially since Marilyn Monroe came to town.”
“Dylan likes blondes.” She couldn’t remember one of Lilith’s parties where he hadn’t gravitated to one. Sometimes she wondered why he’d ever lost interest in Penny and turned to her.
“Dylan likes women. Don’t change yourself to suit a man. Dylan probably chose you because you are different. And he hasn’t tired of you like he has the others. Most of his girlfriends last a month or two. You’ve lasted more than a year. That’s saying a lot. He must love you.”
Did he? Or did he keep her around for another reason? He’d never said the words, and she’d never seen that tender look she’d seen between Peter and Priscilla.
Marisa touched her shoulder lightly. “Don’t look so sad. You’re a beautiful girl, Abra. Even if he does lose interest, there are plenty of other fish in the sea.” She turned her to face the mirror. “Look at what you have to offer.”
Abra stared at her reflection. The dress was beautiful.
“You can change now. Wear your hair up for the party.”
Abra hadn’t been back in the cottage ten minutes when Dylan stormed out of the house, his mother on his heels. Dylan stopped and faced her, livid. Their voices carried across the pool to the open windows of the cottage.
“Veronica bores me to death!”
“You had a thing for her last year.”
“It was a game, Mother. I won. It’s over!”
“It’s not over! And I don’t care how you feel about her! You’re lucky her father doesn’t know what had to be done. And luckier still the girl doesn’t have the courage to tell him. You are going to apologize and beg her forgiveness. You are going to be your most charming self. You’re going to be a gentleman.”
“Aren’t I always?” he sneered.
“You cannot treat the daughter of the president of one of the biggest studios in Hollywood like a common strumpet!”
“She is a common—”
“Shut up, Dylan! She has a far better pedigree than that mongrel you have in the cottage. Don’t think I don’t know everything about where she came from. When are you going to get rid of her?”
“When I’m ready!” He stepped forward, thrusting his face toward hers. “Stay out of my business, Mother. I was finished with Veronica before I went north.”
“Yes, but you left me holding the bag. If you’re nasty to her, she may just go crying to Daddy. And he’ll want to know why.”
Dylan told her to go to blazes.
Lilith Stark swore back at him. “Lucky for you Veronica still has a thing for you, buddy boy. Find a way to let her down gently, or set her up with one of your frat friends, or her daddy will send goons to rearrange your handsome face. He might just cut off the only thing that seems to matter to you. Do you understand me now?”
“All right!” Dylan turned away, rubbing the back of his neck. He faced his mother again. “I’ll play nice. Happy now?” His sarcasm dripped. When he turned toward the cottage, Abra ran into the bedroom and flung herself on the bed, curling on her side and pretending to be asleep. The door slammed. Dylan swore again and shattered something against the living room wall. She couldn’t pretend not to hear that.
When she came into the living room, Dylan was sitting on the edge of the sofa, pouring himself a glass of whiskey. She could feel the heat of his wrath and see it in the tension in his shoulders. He glanced back at her and then downed the liquor. He’d taught her how to give massages, but she knew better than to touch him in his present mood.
“How’d it go today with Marisa?”
“Fine.” She kept her tone neutral, but adrenaline poured into her bloodstream. She looked at the shattered Grecian urn and wondered if he’d take his temper out on her next. She judged the distance to the door.
Dylan emptied a second glass and set it down with a hard thump. “Come here.” His dark eyes narrowed and burned. When she sat down beside him, he shifted, making himself comfortable. He extended his arms along the back of the couch and gave her a look she had come to dread. “Make me happy.”
When Dylan left an hour later, Abra stayed in the cottage. She didn’t go to the house for dinner. No one called to ask why.
Dylan didn’t come back that night, and a breakfast tray was sent the next morning with a note from Lilith that the chauffeur would take her to Alfredo’s Salon. Alfredo was Lilith’s hairdresser, a handsome, somewhat pale young man who assured Abra he would make her a goddess. He talked and asked questions, most rhetorical. He offered her lunch. Apparently it was a small matter to order it brought in from one of the exclusive restaurants in the area. He named Lilith’s favorite. Abra said she wasn’t hungry.
When Alfredo finished with her, she thought it overdone, but didn’t say so. Marisa had said to wear her hair up with the sea-gree
n chiffon dress. Lilith’s chauffeur gave her an admiring glance before opening the car door. The Mexican maid showed up at five with one plate on the dinner tray. It wasn’t the first time Abra had dined alone. Dylan showed up as she was dressing. He leaned against the doorway, watching. He looked like a movie star in his tuxedo. Even given all she knew about him, sometimes she was still struck by his physical beauty.
“I’m only here for a few minutes.” He’d forgotten his wallet and keys. “I have to pick up someone.” Veronica. The girl who still burned for him, despite having suffered at his hands.
How many of us are there in the world? Abra wondered.
“I’ll see you at the party, but I won’t be able to spend any time with you.”
She almost reminded him he seldom did.
“You look beautiful, by the way.” He came over and tipped her chin, kissing her. He stared into her eyes. “I’ll be watching you.”
Lilith looked stunning in a black dress. Her brows lifted a fraction as her gaze flickered over Abra. “You do have something.” It sounded like a small concession. “Do not distract Dylan. He has important business to do this evening. I’d better warn you so it won’t be a hurtful surprise. He’s bringing another girl. It’s very important you stay out of the way.”
As people were ushered in, Lilith became effervescent, warm, full of laughter. She gave air kisses to everyone. They all smiled and chatted gaily. Despite the pleasantries and shows of affection, Abra had the feeling there were few in the room who liked Lilith Stark. Everyone knew the power of her pen, and no one wanted it dipped in poison at his expense. Dylan came in with a willowy blonde clinging to his arm. Many knew and greeted her. Trays of hors d’oeuvres were served, glasses of champagne replenished. Abra stayed as far away from Dylan and Veronica as she could get in the living room. She sensed he was searching for her. He spotted her and whispered something to the girl on his arm, then led her across the room. Lilith saw what he was doing and tried to intercept them. He stepped around her, and Lilith gave Abra a withering look of warning. Abra headed for the door open to the outer courtyard. When Dylan said her name, she had no choice. Turning, she smiled.