Dream a Little Dream Read online

  "You don't know shit."

  Edward looked up at Rachel, his eyes startled. "Is she that boy's mom?"

  Rachel nodded and hurried him to the end of the aisle. "Don't they love each other?"

  "I'm sure they do. But they've got problems, pup."

  As she finished her shopping, she was conscious of the attention she was attracting, which ranged from puzzled glances to condemning murmurs. Even though she'd expected animosity, the extent of it upset her. Three years might have passed, but the people of Salvation, North Carolina, hadn't forgiven a thing.

  As she and Edward walked along the highway carrying their small supply of food, she tried to understand Bobby Dennis's reaction to her. He and his mother were clearly at odds, so she doubted that he was simply reflecting Carol's feelings. Besides, his antipathy had seemed more personal.

  She stopped thinking about Bobby as she spotted a large grandpa car with Florida plates, the only kind she dared stick her thumb out for. A widow from Clearwater driving a maroon Crown Victoria stopped and took them back to the drive-in. As Rachel stepped out of the car, she turned her foot and the frail straps on the right sandal snapped. The sandals were beyond repair, and now she had only one pair of shoes left. Another loss.

  Edward fell asleep just before nine o'clock. She sat barefoot on the trunk of the Impala with an old beach towel wrapped around her shoulders and gazed down at the crumpled magazine photo that had brought her back. She carefully unfolded it and, flicking on the flashlight she carried with her, looked down into the face of Gabe's older brother, Cal.

  Although they bore a strong resemblance, Cal's rugged features had been softened by an almost goofy look of happiness, and she wondered if his wife, the attractive, rather scholarly-looking blond pictured smiling at his side, was responsible. They'd been photographed in Rachel's old house, a vast, overly ornate mansion on the other side of Salvation. It had been confiscated by the federal government to help cover Dwayne's unpaid taxes, and it had stood vacant until Cal had bought it and its contents when he was married.

  The picture had been taken in Dwayne's former study, but it wasn't sentimentality that had made her rip it from the magazine. Instead, it was the object she'd spotted in the background of the photograph. Sitting on the bookcases directly behind Cal Bonner's head was a small, brass-bound leather chest, barely the size of half a loaf of bread.

  Dwayne had bought the chest about three and a half years ago from a dealer who kept her husband's expensive purchases anonymous. Dwayne had coveted it because it had once belonged to John F. Kennedy—not that Dwayne had been a Kennedy fan, but he loved everything associated with the rich and famous. In the weeks before his death, as the legal net had tightened around him, she'd frequently seen Dwayne gazing at the chest.

  One afternoon he'd called her from a landing strip north of town and, in a panicked voice, told her he was about to be arrested. "I—I thought I'd have more time," he'd said, "but they're coming to the house tonight, and I have to get out of the country. Rachel, I'm not ready! Bring Edward to me so I can say good-bye before I leave. I have to say good-bye to my son. You have to do this for me!"

  She'd heard the desperation in his voice and knew he was afraid she wouldn't comply because of her bitterness over the way he'd ignored their child. Except for Edward's televised baptism, which had been the most watched program in the history of the Temple ministry, Dwayne had shown little interest in being a father.

  Her disillusionment with her husband had started soon after they were married, but it wasn't until her pregnancy that she'd discovered the extent of his corruption. He'd justified his avarice by telling her he needed to let the world see the riches God bestowed on the faithful. Still, she wouldn't deny him what might be his last contact with his son.

  "All right. I'll be there as soon as I can."

  "And I want—;I want to take something from home with me, as a reminder. Bring the Kennedy chest, too. And my Bible."

  She understood about the Bible, which was a keepsake from his mother. But Rachel was no longer the naive Indiana country girl he'd married, and his request for the Kennedy chest made her instantly suspicious. At least five million dollars from the Temple ministry were unaccounted for, and it wasn't until she'd broken the small brass lock and assured herself the chest was empty that she did as he'd asked.

  She'd sped along the mountain roads toward the landing strip with two-year-old Edward strapped into his car seat sucking on Horse's ear. Dwayne's mother's Bible lay on the seat next to her, and the small leather chest sat on the floor. By the time she'd arrived, however, it was too late to reach her husband.

  Law enforcement had decided not to wait until nightfall to arrest him, and, acting on a tip, the local police and county sheriff had headed for the airfield. But Dwayne had spotted them approaching and taken off. Two deputies forced her out of the Mercedes and confiscated everything, even Edward's car seat. Afterward, one of them drove her home in a squad car.

  It wasn't until the next morning that she received word that a plane crash had killed her husband. Not long after, she was evicted from the house with little more than the clothes on her back. It was her first lesson in exactly how unkind the world could be to the widow of a crooked televangelist.

  She hadn't seen the Kennedy chest again, not until five days ago when she'd stumbled on the photograph of Cal Bonner and his wife in a People magazine that had been left at the Laundromat. For three years she'd wondered about that chest. When she'd broken the lock, she'd given the interior no more than a cursory examination. Later, she remembered how heavy it had been and wondered if it could have contained a false bottom. Or maybe a safe-deposit key lay concealed beneath the green felt lining.

  As she drew the old beach towel tighter to ward off the night chill, she was filled with bitterness. Her son was sleeping in the backseat of a broken-down car after eating a peanut-butter sandwich and an overly ripe pear, yet five million dollars were missing. It was money that belonged to her.

  Even after she paid off the last of Dwayne's creditors, there would be a few million left, and she intended to use it to buy security for her son. Instead of yachts and jewels, she dreamed of a small house in a safe neighborhood. She wanted to watch Edward eat decent food and wear clothing that wasn't threadbare. She'd send him to good schools and buy him a bicycle.

  But she couldn't make any of those dreams come true without the goodwill of Gabriel Bonner. These past three years had taught her never to ignore reality, no matter how unpleasant, and she knew it might take her several weeks to get inside her old house so she could search for the chest. Until then, she needed to survive, which meant she had to keep her job.

  The leaves above her rustled. She shivered and thought about how she had stripped herself naked in front of a stranger today. The churchgoing Indiana country girl she had once been couldn't have conceived of such an act, but being responsible for a child had forced her to leave her scruples behind, along with her innocence. Now she vowed to do whatever she must in order to keep Gabriel Bonner appeased.

  Chapter Four

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  Rachel had already cleared most of the weeds from the center of the lot by the time Gabe's truck came through the gate at seven forty-five the next morning. Her hair was secured back from her face with a piece of copper wire she'd found near the dumpster. She only hoped the worn seat of her jeans didn't give way.

  With her sandals gone, she was forced to wear her only other shoes, a pair of clunky black men's oxfords one of her teenage coworkers had given her when she'd grown bored with the style. The shoes were comfortable, but too hot and heavy for summer weather. Still they were more practical for heavy work than her shabby little sandals had been, and she felt grateful to have them.

  If Rachel thought her early-bird industriousness would please Gabe, she was immediately proven wrong. The truck came to a halt next to her, and he climbed out with the motor still running. "I told you to be here at eight."

  "And I will be,"
she replied in her most cheerful voice, trying to forget how she'd stripped for him yesterday afternoon. "I've got fifteen minutes to go."

  He wore a clean white T-shirt and faded jeans. He was freshly shaved, and his dark hair looked as if it might still be damp from his shower. For a few brief moments yesterday, she'd seen his mask slip, but now it was firmly back in place: bleak, harsh, unfeeling.

  "I don't want you here when I'm not around."

  All her good intentions to be respectful and compliant fled. "Relax, Bonner. Everything you own that's worth stealing is too big for me to carry."

  "You heard me."

  "And here I thought you were only cranky in the afternoon."

  "It's pretty much a round-the-clock affair." His reply should have been humorous, but those emotionless silver eyes spoiled the effect. "Where did you stay last night?"

  "With a friend. I do have a few left," she lied. In fact, Dwayne had forbidden any but the most superficial contacts with the people of Salvation.

  He pulled a pair of yellow work gloves from his back pocket and tossed them at her. "Use these."

  "Gosh, I'm touched." She clasped the gloves to her breast like beauty-queen roses and told herself not to say another word. Before the day was over, she had to ask him for an advance on her paycheck, and she couldn't afford to antagonize him. But he looked so remote as he slid back behind the wheel of his truck that she couldn't resist a small jab.

  "Hey, Bonner. In lieu of Prozac, maybe some coffee would help your disposition. I'll be glad to make a pot for both of us."

  "I'll make my own."

  "Great. Bring me a cup when it's ready."

  He slammed the door and left her standing in a cloud of dust as he drove toward the snack shop. Butthead. She shoved her sore hands into the gloves and bent to return to her task even though every muscle protested.

  She couldn't remember ever being so tired. All she wanted to do was lie in the shade and sleep for a hundred years. It wasn't hard to figure out why she was exhausted: not enough sleep and too much worry. She thought longingly of the jolt of energy she got from a morning cup of coffee.

  Coffee… It had been weeks since she'd had any. She loved everything about it: the taste, the smell, those beautiful pinwheels of beige and mocha when she stirred in the cream. She closed her eyes and, just for a moment, let herself feel it sliding over her tongue.

  A blast of acid rock coming from the snack shop shattered her fantasy. She glanced toward the playground where Edward had emerged from beneath the concrete turtle. If Bonner was this upset because she'd come to work early, what would he do when he spotted Edward?

  The moment she'd arrived that morning, she'd cleared the playground of broken glass and rusty can lids, anything that could harm a child, then set Edward to work throwing trash into a plastic garbage bag. She'd stowed away a supply of food and water, along with a beach towel for him to nap on, in the shrubbery that grew at the base of the giant screen. Then she'd suggested he play a game of "Where's Edward?"

  "I'll bet you can't go all morning without letting Mr. Bonner see you."

  "I can, too."

  "Betcha can't."

  "Bet I can."

  She'd given him a kiss and left it at that. Sooner or later Bonner would spot him, and there'd be hell to pay. The idea that she had to hide her precious child away, as if he were something repellent, left her with another big black mark of resentment chalked up against Gabe Bonner. She wondered if he were this hostile to all children, or if he'd reserved his antipathy for hers.

  An hour later Gabe threw a garbage bag at her and told her to pick up the trash out by the entrance so the place didn't look so bad from the highway. It was easier work than weeding, although she couldn't imagine he'd taken that into consideration, and she welcomed the change. After Gabe disappeared, Edward slipped around to join her, and the two of them were done in no time.

  She returned to her weeding, but she'd barely started before a pair of paint-splattered work boots appeared in her peripheral vision. "I thought I told you to get that trash picked up out front."

  She intended to respond politely, but her tongue had a will of its own. "Already done, Kommandant. Your slightest wish is my command."

  His eyes narrowed. "Go inside and start cleaning out the ladies' room so I can paint in there."

  "A promotion! And it's only my first day on the job."

  He stared at her for a long, uncomfortable moment, during which she wished she could slap a gag in her mouth.

  "Watch yourself, Rachel. Remember that I don't want you here."

  Before she could reply, he walked away.

  With a sideways glance to make certain Edward saw where she was going, she set off for the snack shop. A storage closet held the cleaning supplies she needed, but she was more interested in the pot of coffee sitting nearby. Unless Bonner was a big drinker, he seemed to have made enough for two, and she filled a styrofoam cup to the brim. She couldn't find any milk, and the coffee was strong enough to qualify for Super Fund cleanup, but she savored every sip as she carried it with her into the ladies' room.

  The plumbing was old and filthy, but still usable. She decided to get the worst over with first and began cleaning the stalls, scraping up crusted muck whose origins didn't bear thinking about.

  Before long, she heard the soft pat of sneakered feet coming up behind her. "Gross."

  "You said it."

  "I remember when we was rich."

  "You were only two. You couldn't remember."

  "Uh-huh. There was trains on the walls in my bedroom."

  Rachel had put up the blue-and-white striped wallpaper herself, along with its border of colorful trains. The nursery and her bedroom were the only rooms in that awful house she'd been able to decorate herself, and she'd spent as much time in both of them as she could.

  "I'm going back outside," Edward said.

  "I don't blame you."

  "He hasn't seen me yet."

  "You're a slick one, buddy."

  "Knock. Knock."

  "Who's there."

  "Madam."

  She shot him a warning look. "Edddward…"

  "Ma darned foot's stuck in the door." He giggled, stuck his head out to make certain Butthead wasn't around, and disappeared.

  She smiled and returned to her work. It had been a long time since she'd heard her son laugh. He was enjoying his game of hide-and-seek, and being outside like this was good for him.

  By one o'clock, she'd cleaned out the six stalls, as well as checked on Edward at least a dozen times, and she was so tired her head was spinning. A rough voice spoke from behind her.

  "You're not going to do me a damned bit of good if you pass out again. Take a break."

  She steadied herself on the metal partition as she straightened, then turned to see Bonner silhouetted in the doorway. "I will when I get tired. So far it hasn't happened."

  "Yeah, right. There's a burger and some fries waiting for you in the snack shop. If you know what's good for you, you'll eat it." He strode out, and a moment later she heard the sound of his boots on the metal stairs that led to the projection room above the snack shop.

  With a sense of anticipation, she quickly washed her hands and made her way to the snack shop where a McDonald's bag lay on the counter. For a moment she simply stood there and savored the tantalizing smells of All-American ambrosia. She'd been working since six that morning on an empty stomach, and she had to eat something, but not this. This was too precious.

  Keeping an eye out for Bonner, she carried her valuable cargo toward the hiding place on the playground where Edward was waiting. "Surprise, pug. It's your lucky day."

  "McDonald's!"

  "Only the best."

  She laughed as Edward tore into the bag and began stuffing himself with hamburger. As he ate, she scraped a thin layer of peanut butter from their hidden food stash on a piece of bread, folded it over, and raised it to her lips. She begrudged taking anything from their meager stash for herse
lf. She had already failed her child in so many ways, and eating his food seemed like one more failure. Luckily, it didn't take much to keep her going.

  "Want some fries?"

  Her mouth watered. "No thanks. Fried food isn't good for women my age."

  She took another bite of her sandwich and promised herself that once she found Dwayne's five million dollars, she would never again eat peanut butter.

  Two hours later she had finished cleaning the ladies' rest room and was taking a paint scraper to the peeling metal doors when she heard a furious bellow.

  "Rachel!"

  What had she done now? Pinwheels of light spun in her head as she leaned down too quickly to lay the scraper on the floor. Instead of getting better, her dizziness was getting worse.

  "Rachel! Get out here!"

  She made her way to the door. For a moment the sun blinded her, but as her eyes adjusted to the light, she gave a muffled gasp.

  Edward dangled from Bonner's fist by the scruff of his old orange T-shirt. His dusty black sneakers swung helplessly in the air, and his shirt bunched beneath his armpits, revealing his small, bony rib cage and the blue network of veins that ran just beneath his pale skin. Horse lay on the ground below his feet.

  Bonner's skin was pale over the harsh ridge of his cheekbones. "I told you to keep him away from here."

  She rushed forward, her exhaustion forgotten. "Put him down! You're scaring him!"

  "You were warned. I told you not to bring him here. It's too dangerous." He set him to the ground.

  Edward was free, but he stood frozen in place, once more the victim of a powerful adult force he could neither understand nor control. His helplessness cut her to the quick. She retrieved Horse, then scooped up her child and hugged him to her chest. The toes of his sneakers banged into her shins as she buried her cheek in his straight brown hair, which was still warm from the sun.

  "What was I supposed to do with him?" she spat out.

  "That wasn't my problem."