Knight In Black Leather by Gail Dayton (people reading books .txt) 📗

he could think of. Half the time, she acted like she didn't hear him, and the other half, she'd give him this vague smile then stare back at the road. Finally, he gave up.

The car probably wasn't the place to talk things out, anyway. Not with Pete in the back seat. Whatever was bothering Marilyn, Eli was pretty sure it had to do with Pete, because that's when it started. She'd been fine all the way to Erie. She was fine till they got in the hospital and connected up with Pete. Then she...went blank on him.

What the hell was going on?

It was after midnight before they finally got back to Pittsburgh. Marilyn drove straight to her house, almost like she was on autopilot. The house was in the same eastern suburb as her mom's but in a different neighborhood, at the top of a hill where the land flattened out briefly before plunging down the other side. It was on a corner, mostly hidden behind a screen of evergreens lining the street.

Eli woke Pete up, made sure he had his hat and gloves on and his coat zipped while Marilyn went into the house to make sure everything was ready. He half-carried the boy up the shallow slope to the front steps and managed to shove him in the house before his crutch slipped on the refrozen ice.

The bedrooms were all upstairs, and fortunately Marilyn came to take over the job of propelling a sleepy boy up the stairs and into a pink-and-purple, way-too-girly bedroom. Eli was right behind them, which turned out to be a good thing, because as soon as she got Pete into the bedroom, Marilyn disappeared. Eli helped his more-than-half-asleep son strip off his coat, jeans, and shoes, and tumbled him into the double bed, tucking the chilly sheets and blankets close around his chin.

"Sleep tight, squirt," Eli said, his chest doing that burning thing again. He'd tucked Pete in before. But somehow, tonight was different. Pete knew.

"Night, Eli," Pete mumbled. "I mean, Dad."

Eli had to stand there a minute rubbing his chest before he could make himself leave the room.

Marilyn wasn't anywhere upstairs. Eli looked in all the rooms--two more bedrooms and two bathrooms. She wasn't in any of them. Eli sighed and headed back to tackle the stairs yet again. Thank God he was out of the wheelchair.

He found her standing in the middle of the kitchen, folding a dish towel. While he watched, she set it down, then picked it back up and folded it again, hands shaking. Then she did it all over again. Something was seriously off.

"Marilyn?"

She jumped about a foot in the air and whirled around, all wild-eyed and skittish, then stared at him.

Eli eased into the kitchen, afraid of scaring her away. "What's wrong, babe?"

"Nothing. What makes you think anything is wrong?" She picked up the towel and folded it yet again.

"For one thing, that's the third or fourth time you've folded that same towel, and I'd be willing to bet it didn't need folding in the first place." He edged a little closer to her.

"Oh." She turned and set the towel on the cabinet, straightening it before forcing herself to let it go. She kept her head down, her back to him. "I'm just nervous, I guess."

"You've been nervous ever since we got to the hospital in Erie. What is it? Me? Pete? Tell me, so I can fix it."

"You can't fix it. Nobody can." She reached for the kitchen towel, stopping herself just before she picked it up again.

"How do you know it can't be fixed," Eli persisted, heart in his throat, "if you don't try?"

"I just know, okay?" she snapped. She whirled to face him. "Don't you think I haven't tried? I tried and tried and tried and nothing helped. Nothing and nobody!"

She whirled away, pacing to the far end of the kitchen, heels of her hands pressed into her eyes. "I don't think this is going to work, Eli."

Oh God, this was it. The kiss-off. He had promised her he would leave when she asked him to, but he couldn't leave her like this. Not coming apart this way, folding towels.

"I thought I could do it, have him here, but I can't. I just can't." Once more she spun around. Her eyelashes sparkled in the light of the old-fashioned kitchen chandelier, tears turned to crystal. "He's too old, Eli. Why didn't you tell me he was so old?"

What the hell was going on here? "Who? Pete? He's barely nine. How old did you think he was?"

"Five, maybe. Or six. A little boy. One who would need us."

"He's still a little boy. He still needs us." Eli edged closer to her, worried about the panicked look in her eyes. "What's this all about, Marilyn?"

"And he's got freckles. Did you see?" She brushed her hand across her cheeks, not appearing to notice the tears coating them. "Here. They're all faded because of winter, but they're there. You didn't say anything about freckles."

She seemed a little calmer. Eli took the opportunity to move in close, boxing her into the end of the narrow room.

"Yeah." He tried to sound soothing. "Tell me about the freckles."

Marilyn's chin crumpled. "Kevin had freckles. Almost as many as Pete."

Kevin? Who the hell was Kevin? "Tell me." Eli put his arms around her, drew her carefully in. "Tell me about Kevin."

"I can't." She sobbed, clutching at his shirt.

"Sure you can. You told me about Bill, didn't you?"

She just cried. Eli started moving her toward the living room. He'd seen a long sofa in there. The room was dark. Maybe it would feel a little like the foldaway bed where they'd shared so many secrets in the dark.

After an endless trek across vast stretches of linoleum and carpet, Eli reached the sofa and sat, bringing Marilyn down with him. He tipped her head onto his shoulder and pulled her legs up over his lap so he could hold more of her. When the