CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 12

With Shep at his heels, Neal appeared and took in the emotional tableau, then held up one hand. "I, uh, I didn't mean to interrupt."

"You aren't," Leah said. "We were just talking about you."

His jaw slid to one side and his eyes found Brooke's. "Nothing good, I guess."

"Oh, so you did eavesdrop." With a cool look, Leah scooted her chair back and retreated up the stairs.

"Ooh." He sucked in his breath. "What was that all about?"

"She and Sean are breaking up." Brooke poured him a glass of wine and topped off her own glass. "And it's bad. He took all of her money." She handed the glass to him. "Same old, same old. He's got a girlfriend." At the mention of Sean's infidelity her stomach churned.

"All her money?"

"And they owe the IRS, for starters."

Before Neal could take a sip Brooke clicked the rim of her glass to his. "To old grievances, may they never be resolved."

His eyebrows quirked upward.

"She'll never forgive me, you know," Brooke said.

"Honey—"

"Don't try to placate me. It's the truth. She's never gotten over it."

"Well, she blames me too."

"I know, but I'm her sister, the one who should have been taking care of her, and instead I stole her boyfriend."

"I was a part of that. And I wasn't really—"

"Oh, I remember, but she thinks I seduced you, got pregnant, and forced you to marry me."

"I wanted to marry you," he reminded her.

"And Leah will never forget it, or forgive me. Every time she has a breakup with a boyfriend or a fiancé or a damned husband, she blames me." Brooke took a big gulp of her wine. She didn't want to think about that time in her life, when she, the older sister, thought she'd intervene between Leah and a man too old for her. Leah had been a young, giddy seventeen-year-old and Neal twenty-six, just finishing law school.

No way should they have been together and Brooke had stormed over to his apartment to tell him to back off. She'd felt responsible as their mother had passed and their father, a man she barely remembered, was in the wind if even alive. Nana, who was their legal guardian until Brooke turned eighteen, was dealing with her own health issues.

Brooke had just come off her volatile relationship with Keith and the horrid assault, the brutal fight that had turned physical to the point of the police being called to intervene and charges leveled.

She had only to touch the spot on her neck where he'd wounded her to remember it.

The night that changed the course of their lives forever Brooke was supercharged when she learned about her sister being involved with a much older guy. And as her younger sister's protector now that both of their parents were out of the picture, she'd decided to take Neal Harmon on herself.

She remembered marching through the vestibule of his apartment building, past a couple of sickly looking potted plants and a row of mailboxes to the staircase. Gathering her courage, she mounted the steps to Neal's third-floor apartment and banged on his door.

Puffed up with self-righteousness and indignation, she'd been completely taken aback when he'd answered wearing scruffy jeans, a day's growth of beard, and a T-shirt that had seen better days. His black hair was in disarray and some U2 song from the eighties was playing in the background. The door was open wide and she quickly peered inside his studio apartment, a mess by Nana's standards and piled high with textbooks, old records, CDs, magazines, and newspapers.

He had the audacity to seem confused. "Can I help you?"

"I'm Brooke. Leah's sister. Leah Fletcher."

Then the light dawned. "Oh right." Brooke had never met Neal, but she'd caught glimpses of him as he'd dropped her sister off at night. He glanced over her shoulder as if he expected Leah to be lurking in the hallway. "Is she okay?" Concern wrinkled his brow and Brooke noticed how his too-long hair fell over his forehead.

"You tell me."

"What happened?" More concern.

"She's fallen in love with you, that's what happened."

"What?" He shook his head. "No." He backed up a step, held up a hand, and an are-you-crazy expression took over his features.

"No? Do you know that she's seventeen?"

"Yes."

"Well, of course you do. You made sure she was legal."

"What? Jesus, what're you talking about?"

"My sister!" she said. "You're too old for her! You need to back off!" she said, her voice raising.

A small dog started yapping behind the door of the apartment across the hall.

"Hey, shh," he said, patting the air around him to quiet her as the door to the neighboring apartment flew open and a woman of around sixty in a bathrobe and fuzzy slippers appeared. There were traces of a quickly rinsed facial scrub or mask on her face. Tucked under one arm was a little brown Chihuahua, big eyes bulging, black lips pulled back in a nasty snarl.

"What the devil is going on here?" she demanded.

"Nothing, Mrs. Quinlan," Neal said with a disarming smile. "It's all good."

She eyed him suspiciously, then swiped at a bit of green mask at her hairline. "Is that right?" she asked Brooke, beady eyes focusing on her as the little dog went off, barking and kicking, trying to escape Mrs. Quinlan's death grip. "Shh, shh, Punky," she said to the writhing beast in her arms.

"This is the sister of one of my students," Neal said quickly.

Brooke repeated, "Students?"

"Hmph! People coming and going all times of the night. Girls showing up in the hallway. I don't know what kind of a scam you're running over there, but I've talked to the manager about it and it wouldn't surprise me if you, Neal Harmon, were out on your ear by the end of the month."

Neal bristled but remained calm. "Do what you have to, but there are tenant rights, Mrs. Quinlan."

"I know and I have them!"

"Do you?" He eyed the dog. "Do you know about the pet restrictions? I'm pretty sure there's a no-dog policy. It prohibits dogs that intimidate other tenants and piss on the potted palms."

"You're an upstart, that's what you are. An overeducated, smart-alecky upstart and God, He takes care of the likes of you."

"Give Him my cell number the next time you talk to Him!"

"Well, I never!" Mrs. Quinlan gasped.

Neal replied, "Probably not. I believe it. That's your problem."

"My problem is you!" With that she stepped back and slammed the door. Several locks and dead bolts clicked loudly into place. A second later the little dog put up a loud fuss, growling and barking and scratching madly at the door.

"Wow," Brooke said. "Is she always like that?" She hooked her thumb at the apartment door.

"Nope. You caught her on a good day. Come on in," Neal said, stepping out of the way. "Don't mind the clutter."

Brooke was still stunned by the exchange, but she stepped inside and he closed the door behind her. "Have a seat." He motioned to a lumpy, green couch that he swept free of magazines. He snapped off a portable CD player and, as Bono's voice faded, swung one of his mismatched kitchen chairs from his desk, the only piece of furniture in the place that didn't look like it had come from a secondhand store at best and a dumpster at worst.

"So, you're here because of Leah," he reminded her. "What's the problem?"

"I didn't know you were her tutor."

"Mm. What else would I be?"

"She thinks you're her boyfriend."

"That is definitely not the case." He leaned back in his chair. Looked off through a window. "Wow. This is going to be awkward." There was just a hint of recognition that he might have sensed Leah's feelings, might have even encouraged them. Or maybe he was just used to younger girls falling in love with him. He shoved the hair from his eyes. "Well, I guess I'll have to set her straight, won't I?"

"Definitely."

That night was the first time she met Neal Harmon. From the start she'd recognized what her sister found so attractive about the older man, who had a sharp sense of humor and a deep-seated ambition. She'd learned about the scholarships, the loans, and the savings he'd put into his schooling, how he planned to become a lawyer to help others.

After that first angry, self-righteous meeting she made the pretense of seeing him as a tutor to raise her own grades, but they'd both known it was a ruse. She'd sailed through high school while her sister had struggled. When she finally admitted the truth to Neal, that she'd made up the excuse of needing help with her studies, he wasn't surprised. His smile told her that he'd seen right through her scheme.

He'd kissed her then. First a soft, questioning brush of his lips over hers. When she hadn't pulled away, had pressed her lips to his, he'd kissed her again. Hard. She'd felt a warmth inside, a melting that she'd never experienced before, and she hadn't backed away but kissed him back. Fervently. The warmth deep inside of her pulsing with each probe of his tongue. The fact that if Leah ever found out she'd be pissed and hurt had made it all the more seductive. The secret betrayal made it thrilling. For once, with that little edge of danger, Brooke savored the flirting, the kissing, the touching, the edge of danger that she and Neal might be exposed, that she was stepping over a dangerous, erotic line.

Forbidden fruit.

In the months that followed heated passion had turned to something deeper. She spent more time alone with Neal, and when he'd taken her to bed in a room lit by the weird, undulating light from a retro lava lamp, she'd lost her heart as well as her virginity to him. It didn't matter that he smoked weed, or that he had a pistol in a bedside table that his grandfather had bequeathed to him, or, the worst part, that he was Leah's fantasy boyfriend. Leah had still seen Neal as a tutor and still thought she was in love with him, though Neal swore he wasn't leading her on.

Brooke had never really been sure about that part. And she'd had a few trepidations due to her previous relationship and how it had crumbled emotionally as well as physically. But Neal was a pathway far from Keith and the horror of their last fight. So painful. So physical. Nearly deadly.

What she did know was that she and Neal had fallen in love and hidden their feelings from Leah, who only discovered the truth when Brooke ended up pregnant and was forced to confess.

"Are you kidding me?" Leah had raged, tears building in her eyes as she sat on the edge of her bed in her pink, spangled room.

"It's true," Brooke answered from the doorway.

"No! I don't believe you!" The devastation was written all over her face.

"It's true." Brooke met her sister's injured glare. "I–I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" Leah had sputtered. "And you're going to have a baby? Oh God." Tears ran down her cheeks. She glared at her sister with accusing, hate-filled eyes. "You're going to have a baby?" she repeated, then spat out, "Are you even sure it's his?"

"I'm sure." Brooke tried to sit next to Leah on the handstitched quilt that Nana had made, but her sister bolted from the bed, then turned sharply on her heel.

"You've been lying to me? Cheating behind my back! How could you? Huh, Brooke, how could you do this to me?" Leah broke into racking sobs, tears running down her cheeks.

Brooke had felt more than a twinge of guilt. "I said I'm sorry and I meant it," she repeated, the walls of Leah's small bedroom seeming to move closer. "It . . . it just happened."

"What? No! Uh-uh, Brooke. Don't give me that! It did not ‘just happen'!" Leah insisted, mascara drizzling from her eyes. "That's the lamest excuse I've ever heard, the one every damned cheater in the world uses."

"No, I swear, I didn't mean to—"

"Of course you did, Brooke. You meant to. Neal meant to. Zippers don't just slide down by themselves!" She blinked hard and threw herself at Brooke, grabbing her around the neck. "You know what you are? You're a sick, pathetic bitch who has always been jealous of me. I'm prettier. Friendlier. More fun! Boys like me more. Teachers like me better and you can't stand it!"

"I really didn't—"

"Shut up! Just shut the—just shut up!" In a rage, she slapped her sister. Full force, across the face.

Brooke saw red, her mercurial temper spiking. And she remembered Keith Turnquist, and how she'd ended up with the scar on her neck, just to the back of her ear.

Her fists balled up and Leah sneered. "Go ahead, Brooke. Try it! I'll call the police and then what? Another report where you're involved. It won't look good, will it? What would Neal say then?" She paused for a second, then added, "I hate you!" Angrily, she yanked her pink roller bag from the closet, the one that matched Brooke's, the last gift they'd each received the Christmas before their mother died.

Stunned, Brooke stood by wanting to hit her, holding her sore jaw, needing to ask her forgiveness.

As if possessed by a demon, Leah began frantically ripping clothes out of her small dresser, throwing bras, socks and underwear, jeans and sweaters into the bag before storming to her closet and stripping the hangers bare.

"What're you doing?"

"What does it look like?"

"You're leaving?"

"See," Leah taunted, "you are the smart one."

Brooke grabbed her sister's arm as Leah tossed a pair of hiking boots and then sandals into the bag. She forced down her temper and said through gritted teeth, "Stop this!"

"No." Leah yanked her arm away, her eyes daring her older sister to hit her.

"You can't go anywhere," Brooke said. This had gone too far. Even for Leah.

"Why not? What're you going to do to stop me? Call the cops? I don't think so." She shook her head. "Or maybe you can call your boyfriend who knocked you up?" She paused for a second, then said, "Nope. You wouldn't. Too dangerous!" Then her face twisted in revulsion. "You disgust me!" She opened a drawer and pulled out a small zippered case of makeup which she stuffed into the bag. Then angrily crammed a plastic pouch holding some of her jewelry inside.

"You're not eighteen."

"Who cares?"

"I do."

"Oh right!" She narrowed her eyes as she forced down the top and struggled to close the zipper. "You care?" Leah made a disbelieving sound in the back of her throat.

Brooke reached out again and Leah spun quickly, slapping her hard across the face once more.

Brooke recoiled.

"Don't touch me!" Leah warned. "You hear me? Don't you ever fucking touch me again!"

Reacting, Brooke grabbed her once more. Hard. Her grip punishing.

Leah whirled around, and this time she spat. With vehemence. The spittle, warm and dripping, hit Brooke between her eyes and dripped down her nose as Leah jerked away again.

"You little—"

With that Leah was gone, the pink roller bag bouncing down the stairs before she marched into the kitchen, dragging the bag behind her, its wheels gliding noisily over the worn linoleum.

Hand pressed to her smarting cheek, Brooke was left standing in the middle of Leah's room with its blush-colored walls and posters of teen heartthrobs, a white bunny and a tattered teddy bear on her messy bed. Hot tears of frustration rolled to her chin.

She wanted to kill her sister.

Angrily swiping her face with her sleeve, she caught up with Leah downstairs in the pantry, where she was emptying out the ancient Maxwell House Coffee tin that Nana used to stash cash for emergencies.

"Don't!" Brooke commanded.

Leah ignored her. She stuffed a wad of bills into the pocket of her jacket and cast her sister another hateful glance before yanking on the roller bag's handle and disappearing out the back door.

It was all Brooke could do not to fly after her. And she might have, if not for the twinge in her abdomen, the reminder that there was new life growing inside her.

Brooke stepped onto the porch, where flies were buzzing against the screens and a wasp was busily working on a nest in the corner of the roof. Leah was already crossing the cracked sidewalk leading to an alley and out the gate.

As if the world weren't spinning off its axis, Nana's shaggy black cat was sunning himself on the broken concrete near the old tetherball pole. No ball was attached to the rusting chain, which rattled a bit in a small puff of wind.

Brooke squinted and shaded her eyes, staring down the open alleyway, where trash cans and old bikes were scattered.

Leah had disappeared.

She won't get far, she told herself.

But she'd been wrong. So wrong.

Leah had found a way to take a bus and hitchhike to Northern California. There she'd found solace with their grandmother's sister, a cold woman who had never forgiven Brooke for her part in what Leah insisted to this day was the turning point in her life.

Brooke assumed some of the fault, but Leah's problems were far more deep-rooted than the loss of a would-be boyfriend to her older sister. Far more.

At least, that's what she'd told herself so she could sleep at night.

It hadn't always worked.

So now Leah was back.

Taking up space in Brooke's house.

Again.

Just as she did every time her heart was broken.

Which, in Brooke's sister's case, was far too often.