Touch Me in the Dark Page 7

  “Want to see where you’ll be studying?” the director asked him a few minutes later. Greg nodded.

  They adjourned to a second-grade classroom. It resembled Sharon’s except for a cluster of cages, empty because the teacher had taken the animals home for the holidays.

  “They’re studying dinosaurs!” Greg crowed, pointing to a series of shoebox dioramas filled with plastic dinosaurs and cutouts from magazines. “I wonder if they can read books yet all by themselves? I can!” he informed the director proudly.

  “Which are your favorites?” the principal asked.

  Greg rattled off a couple of titles. Sharon felt a tingle of pride as she watched her son converse with Mrs. Lieber. These past two years, since she’d returned to teaching, she’d rarely had a chance to observe him away from home. His independence and maturity startled her.

  She was glad they would be on the same campus, riding to and from school together. Every moment with Greg was precious. Since Jim’s death, she hadn’t taken anything for granted.

  After filling out the paperwork and collecting some material to study up on the curriculum, Sharon led Greg to the car. They made two stops on the way home, first at a teachers’ supply store for an array of materials, and then at McDonald’s.

  With a Happy Meal under his belt, Greg waxed eloquent about the computer game he and Jody were playing. Sharon couldn’t follow the details about the make-believe opponents, but she enjoyed the excitement in her son’s voice.

  At home, she deposited the materials in her bedroom. Greg vanished downstairs. He obviously enjoyed his time with Jody, but Sharon didn’t want him playing video games all afternoon. She ought to take him to a park while the weather was nice.

  Pausing outside Ian’s door, she wondered what he was doing. Well, there was no point in inviting him to go to the park with them. Watching a kid tear through a playground was hardly the kind of activity that would entertain a single male.

  Ian must have a life outside this house. Sharon wondered who his friends were and what activities kept him busy when he wasn’t painting, then scolded herself for playing with fire. She had to keep her distance. She knew her own weakness all too well.

  The summer she was seventeen, while working as a receptionist at a construction firm, she’d felt an edgy excitement whenever one of the company’s managers stopped to talk to her. Blond and blue-eyed, Ethan had looked nothing like Ian, but she’d responded to the same sharp vitality in him and the same hunger in his eyes.

  In his late twenties and separated from his wife, Ethan had been the first adult male who’d treated her like an equal. He’d taken her to lunch and confided his dream of traveling around the world with a backpack. By the time he’d finally taken her to a motel, Sharon had been aching for his touch so long that their lovemaking seemed inevitable.

  For a month, while the affair lasted, she’d allowed Ethan’s soul to supplant her own. She’d been ready to abandon her plans for college and her own hopes and aspirations. She’d been utterly unprepared for the news that he was reconciling with his wife. It wasn’t that he didn’t care for her, Ethan had said, averting his gaze, but he had to be realistic.

  He didn’t love her, she’d realized. She’d simply been a sop to his ego. All the while he’d been making love to her, he’d been trying to get back with his wife.

  The next week, still in a state of shock, Sharon had missed her period. Although she and Ethan had tried to use protection, they hadn’t been consistent.

  She’d kept her anxiety to herself, not wanting to burden her mother, who was battling breast cancer. Karly had been only thirteen, too young to confide in. So Sharon had borne her fears alone for three endless weeks until, mercifully, she learned it was a false alarm.

  For a long time afterward, she’d felt betrayed. After a while, she’d decided Ethan was simply weak. Over time, she’d come to understand that the kind of all-consuming passion she’d felt carried the seeds of its own destruction. No man could substitute for taking responsibility for her own needs, her own destiny.

  Years later, when she met Jim, she’d recognized that he was a man she could share her future with even though he didn’t excite her or consume her thoughts the way Ethan had. Sharon didn’t want to lose herself in a man ever again.

  Downstairs, the sound of the doorbell startled her from her memories. She heard Greg slam out of Jody’s apartment and race for the front. He loved opening doors; as a toddler, he’d defied her efforts to keep him from admitting salesmen, solicitors and missionaries until finally Jim had installed a sliding bolt too high for him to reach.

  By the time Sharon reached the hallway, her sister stood framed against the sunlight with Lisa in her arms. The baby wore a yellow-and-white checked dress and a yellow bonnet, a sunny contrast to Karly’s poppy-colored skirt and embroidered blouse.

  “Hi!” Sharon hurried toward her. “This is a pleasant surprise.”

  “I called earlier but you didn’t answer.” Karly shifted the baby onto her hip. “I was driving by and I thought I’d pop in just in case you were around.”

  Behind them, Jody’s door creaked as the landlady emerged. “Who is—oh! Hello, Mrs. Weeks.”

  “Just Karly, please.” Sharon’s sister smiled at the older woman. “You know, when we met before, I didn’t realize we were distantly related. I think that’s marvelous!”

  “It certainly is.” Jody folded her hands in front of her. “I do hope you’re not going to steal Greg away from me this afternoon. I was planning to take him for a walk to the hobby shop. They’ve got a collection of Lord of the Rings figures.”

  “I was going to suggest my sister and I take the kids for a drive,” Karly said. “I don’t suppose Greg has to go along.”

  “Lisa can stay with us,” Greg poked his finger at the baby, who wrapped her tiny hand around it. “Would that be okay, Jody? Couldn’t she come with us?”

  “I wouldn’t dream of asking you to baby-sit,” Karly assured Jody.

  “Nonsense. Greg obviously finds her amusing,” the landlady said, “If you have a stroller, Lisa will be no trouble at all. I like children and you two ladies deserve some time to visit undisturbed. I’m sure you’re still catching up on things.”

  Karly protested again, half-heartedly, but clearly she would relish an uninterrupted visit. Within minutes, Lisa was happily ensconced in her stroller, disappearing down the block with Jody and Greg.

  “I can’t believe it! We haven’t had a whole afternoon together in years!” Sharon told Karly. “What shall we do?”

  “There’s a place I want to show you. Do you mind coming for a drive?” her sister said. “It’s the real reason I stopped by.”

  “Actually, I’d love to get out of here.” Hanging around their tiny smoke-scented apartment held no appeal for Sharon.

  Karly unlocked her car by the curb. “The strangest thing has happened.”

  “Not too strange, I hope,” Sharon said.

  “Why? What’s up?” asked her sister.

  “We had a small fire last night.” As they drove through downtown Fullerton, Sharon explained about the scary events of Sunday evening. She omitted mentioning Ian’s seizure, however. His medical problems were a private matter.

  “I’m almost sorry I found the place,” Karly admitted. “I never meant to put you through all this.”

  “The first month we moved into our house in Williamsville, a pipe burst and flooded the basement,” Sharon said. “While I was shutting off the water, Greg wandered outside in his diaper and got halfway down the block before I caught up with him. It seemed like a bad start, but nothing like that ever happened again.”

  “I’m glad you don’t panic easily.” Her sister steered onto a side street lined with bungalows from the 1920s and ‘30s, punctuated by the occasional older home. The city itself had been incorporated in 1904, Sharon remembered learning in school.

  Karly parked next to a small, Spanish-style church identified by a sign as the Heritage Free Church. S
haron guessed the modest stucco structure had been erected in the 1920s or perhaps a little later. It boasted a small bell tower and, as they discovered when they stepped inside the sanctuary, stained-glass windows along the side walls.

  “This is amazing.” Karly kept her voice low, although the only other person in the church was an old man dozing in a pew. “After you left yesterday, I was looking through the scrapbook and I saw a picture of this church. There was a notation that said our grandparents were married here.”

  The arched sanctuary was intimate but elegantly proportioned. “I don’t remember ever attending services here,” Sharon said dubiously.

  “We didn’t,” Karly told her. “Mom and Dad switched to the Crystal Cathedral in the 1960s. From what the minister told me, this place is kind of in transition. The congregation was aging, but recently they’ve been making an effort to bring in young families, too.”

  “You sound like you’ve taken more than a casual interest.” Sharon wasn’t sure how she felt about her sister’s sudden fascination with their family history. Still, the place had a friendly air, and she loved the way the stained-glass windows tinted the sunlight with rainbows.

  “I came by yesterday to look around,” Karly said. “The minister’s very nice, the Reverend Carl Arbizo. His father, Armand Arbizo, was pastor here, too. I think that’s him taking a nap over there.” She indicated the dozing man. A hat tipped over his face failed to muffle the soft sound of snoring.

  “You mentioned a favor?” Sharon asked.

  “Yes, uh….” Karly said as they strolled along one side, examining the windows. “Well, I’m involved with a musical project. I’m going to need your help, although I hate to ask when you’ve got so much going on.”

  “What kind of musical project?” she asked, prepared for anything. Since childhood, Karly could be counted on to audition for any production, participate in every talent night and experiment with whatever type of music offered a chance to advance her career.

  Her sister’s enthusiasm bubbled over. “Pastor Arbizo remembered hearing me sing in a production of Carousel at the Fullerton Light Opera. He asked if I would help him out of a bind.”

  They turned at the front of the church and paused to examine the hand-carved altar. The air seemed to Sharon to be scented with flowers, although she didn’t see any blooms. “What kind of bind?”

  “The choir is giving a concert Friday night,” Karly said. “They’re performing inspirational music from musicals and movies. Their soloist had to go out of town because her father’s very ill, and she won’t be back in time. He asked if I would handle a couple of songs.”

  “That’s a great idea.” This concert sounded like a good way for her sister to resume singing without having to make a long-term commitment.

  “That brings me to the favor,” Karly said. “I’ll need to practice by myself—they only have one more rehearsal, on Thursday night, and I want to be in shape before then. I just have two solos but I need an accompanist to practice with. There’s a piano here that we could use if you can spare a few hours. Is Wednesday night okay?”

  Sharon’s attention fixed on the upright instrument tucked into the corner. Her fingers itched to try the keys. She’d been planning to buy an electronic keyboard to use in her classroom and to satisfy her love of music, but this would be much more fun. “I’m not at your level,” she warned. “You know I just play for my own pleasure.”

  “You were always better than you thought you were,” Karly said. “You’d be perfect.”

  “Of course I’ll help,” Sharon said. “I’d love to.” She’d always enjoyed listening to her sister sing.

  “Is he all right?” Karly stared past her.

  “Who?” Turning, Sharon followed her gaze up the aisle to the sleeping man. Except that he wasn’t sleeping any more.

  A burst of fury had transformed his ancient face and his eyes blazed with hatred. “For shame!” He staggered to his feet. “You evil woman! How dare you come into this church?”

  His bony finger was pointing straight at Sharon.

  Chapter Six

  Sharon’s heart lurched into her throat. The reaction was instinctive, because she knew as soon as she heard the man’s outcry that either his mind was wandering or he’d confused her with Susan. If he were in his nineties, that meant he’d been the minister here at the time of her death.

  “Reverend Arbizo!” Karly said. “Please calm down. You’ll make yourself ill.”

  He turned to her, an expression of astonishment replacing his anger. “Jody? Can that be you?”

  “No.” Karly spoke in a loud, clear voice, perhaps to make sure the old man could hear. “I’m Karly Weeks and this is my sister, Sharon Mahoney.”

  Uncertainty quivered in his eyes. In the aftermath of his outburst, he appeared frail and his skin translucent. “You’re not—no, you can’t be. She’s dead, isn’t she? Susan Fanning is dead.”

  “A long time ago,” Sharon said.

  “Yes, I do know that,” said the minister. “I was dreaming. For a moment I forgot. Please forgive me.”

  “It’s all right,” she said. “I’ve been told I look like her. We’re distantly related.”

  A door opened beyond the altar, admitting a man in his sixties. He had an open, square face and thick eyebrows. “Is something wrong? Oh, hello, Mrs. Weeks. I heard my father shouting.”

  Karly explained the situation and introduced Sharon. The elder Reverend Arbizo shook his head and repeated his apology several times before he subsided.

  “My sister has agreed to be my rehearsal pianist,” Karly told the younger minister. “That’s going to help a lot.”

  “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this,” he told Sharon

  They went to the piano. It was properly tuned and had a rich resonance, she discovered to her pleasure when she played a few scales.

  The minister produced the sheet music to I Don’t Know How to Love Him from Jesus Christ Superstar and Close Every Door from Joseph and his Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat. Sitting at the piano, Sharon played through the music, wincing inwardly at her mistakes.

  Although she’d accompanied musical productions in high school and given recitals, she cherished no illusions about her talent. Still, there was a pure joy to playing that had never left her.

  “Splendid!” said the minister after they’d run through the songs. “I hope, Mrs. Weeks, that you’ll consider joining our choir on a permanent basis. We can always use such a wonderful singer.”

  “I don’t know what my husband would say,” Karly admitted. “I haven’t told him about the concert yet. Or Thursday’s rehearsal, either. We have a three-month-old baby, you see.”

  “Normally, I’d suggest that my wife help, but she leads women’s groups on weeknights,” the minister said.

  “I’ll figure something out,” Karly said.

  “If there’s anything you need, just let me know,” the minister said. “If you’ll come with me, you can select a choir robe now. They’re a standard size but some are in better condition than others.”

  “Sure.” While Karly excused herself and adjourned with the minister to his office, Sharon sat down with the elder reverend.

  “How well did you know Susan?” she asked. “I mean, if you don’t mind talking about her.”

  “I don’t mind. I knew her a little too well for my taste.” His tone was gentle, nothing like his earlier fury.

  “Too well?” she repeated. “How do you mean?”

  The pastor shifted on the pew. “I don’t like to speak ill of the dead.”

  Sharon considering letting sleeping dogs lie. On the other hand, she mused, this dog wasn’t exactly sleeping. “Were you the minister here when Susan was alive?”

  “I was,” he confirmed. “Just barely. By that, I mean I wasn’t long out of the seminary.” He began to describe the church as it had looked all those years ago.

  As they sat in the daylight filtered through colored windows, the reverend’s
dry voice carried Sharon back sixty years to when Susan and Jody and Bradley were young. From the emotion in his face, Sharon could tell that the scenes lay fresh in his mind.

  She could almost hear the rumble of 1940s cars on the street outside, and imagine the hardships of the war years as Armand Arbizo described the congregation. He recalled the Fannings clearly, although he had only a vague recollection of Sharon’s own grandparents.

  Jody had been active in the choir and in charity work, the minister told her. “Most people took her for granted. She wasn’t flashy like Susan. What an honest, dear girl. She adored her sister.”

  “Did you know Bradley Johnson?” Sharon asked.

  His body rocked back and forth in a kind of traveling nod. “Oh, yes. He came here a few times.” The pastor described one Sunday when, glancing down from the altar, he saw Jody studying Bradley Johnson with an air of dislike.

  “Why didn’t she like him?”

  “I don’t think she approved of him,” the minister said. “He was a newcomer in town, you know. The minute he saw Susan, he fell all over her. I don’t think Jody considered him good enough.”

  “She sounds awfully protective,” Sharon said. “I mean, for a younger sister.”

  “Jody might have been younger, but she was always more mature,” the man said. “I believe she saw into Bradley’s heart and knew he was a violent man. Susan was the flirty one, always surrounded by admirers. I think at first she just wanted to add him to her collection, and things spun out of control. As it turned out, she had no morals, did she?”

  His harshness disturbed Sharon. She supposed she wanted to picture her look-alike as noble and loving, not shallow and selfish. Besides, judgmental people like this old minister would probably say the same thing about Sharon for her teen-age affair with a man still legally married. Only by luck had she herself escaped becoming pregnant.

  “Maybe Susan was just young and foolish,” she said