Page 81 of Led Astray (Hellraisers 1)

old enough to fend for themselves, the Hendrens had indulged in that two hours of solitude every weekend. The demands of Bob's work allowed them little time to themselves, so they treated each Saturday as an occasion and spent all week deciding on where they would go next, always choosing a different restaurant.

The couple stood rooted to the spot as they took in the condition of Jenny's clothes and Cage's day-old beard. Jenny's attempt to brush her hair back only called attention to the tangles in it. Her lips were naturally rouged from the frequent and passionate kisses the night before. Her mascara had been smeared during her nap. Had the older couple looked closely, they would have seen a smudge of it on Cage's trouser leg.

But their attention was focused mainly on Jenny, who had undergone such a metamorphosis since they had last seen her and who was now unconsciously hugging a bottle of cham­pagne to her breasts.

"Mother, Dad, hi." Cage was the first to break the tense silence. He would have removed his arm from around Jenny's waist to relieve the awkwardness of the moment, but he was afraid she couldn't stand up under her own power. She had slumped against him heavily.

"Good morning," Bob said with a discernible lack of ci­vility.

Sarah said nothing, but continued to stare at Jenny. They hadn't come face to face since that awful scene in the parson­age when she had accused Jenny of seducing Hal. Her hard expression revealed that she thought she had been right in her accusation.

"Sarah, Bob," Jenny said pleadingly, "this isn't what it looks like. We … Cage and I drove … drove…"

Cage picked up for her when she faltered. "We drove two friends to El Paso last night so they could get married. We made a turn-around trip and just got back." He was trying to emphasize that they hadn't spent the night away together, though he thought now it would have been better if they had. At least Bob and Sarah wouldn't have known about it, and this scene, which he instinctively felt was about to get nasty, would have been avoided.

Jenny laughed nervously, fearfully, as though someone had just arrested her for a hideous crime and she couldn't deter­mine if it was a joke or not. "The champagne was for the wedding. We forgot all about it. See? It isn't even opened. Just now we were acting silly and—"

"You don't have to explain anything to them," Cage lashed out irritably.

He wasn't angry with her. He knew she was embarrassed, and he would have given anything to have spared her that. But he was furious with his parents for being so judgmental and automatically jumping to the wrong conclusion. He couldn't blame them for thinking the worse about him, but couldn't they have given Jenny the benefit of the doubt?

"You were like a daughter to me," Sarah said in a trem­bling voice. Tears were collecting in her eyes. She blinked them back while she pursed her lips tighter.

"I still am," Jenny moaned with soft earnestness. "I want to be. I love you both and I've missed you."

"Missed us?" Sarah's harsh tone dismissed that notion. "We've heard about your new apartment. You didn't bother to let us know your address, much less take the time to come see us."

"Because I didn't think you wanted to see me."

"You forgot us as quickly as you forgot Hal," Sarah ac­cused her.

"I'll never forget Hal. How could I? I loved him. And I'm carrying his child."

That gently spoken reminder lifted the floodgate of Sarah's tears and she sobbed against Bob's arm.

"She's been upset," he said quietly. "She misses you ter­ribly, Jenny. I know we didn't take the news of the baby too well, but we've had time to reevaluate. We want to be a part of his life. Even this morning we talked about calling you and making amends. It's our Christian duty to keep the family intact. I can't be the kind of example I should be with this thing between us."

The minister glanced at Cage, at the incriminating cham­pagne, at the disreputable picture the two of them made. "But now, seeing you like this, I just don't know." He shook his head sadly and turned away, holding Sarah protectively under his arm as she cried.

"Oh, please," Jenny said, taking a step forward and ex­tending her arms as though reaching out to touch them.

"Jenny, no," Cage said softly and drew her back. "Give it time. They have to work it out in their own minds."

He escorted her back to the car without argument. She surely wasn't up to being seen in public now. Indeed, as soon as she was in the car, she began to cry.

It seemed to Jenny that for each giant step forward, she took two backward. She had humbled herself and begged Hal to make love to her, but he had left anyway.

While he was away she had come to realize she didn't love him as a wife should love her husband. He had died, leaving her with the guilt, as though she had deserted him and not the other way around.

Piecing her life back together, she had embarked upon a new job, only to discover she was pregnant. Now she was a pariah to the beloved people she had considered her family since adolescence.

She didn't want to return to the life she had lived before Hal left. It had been stifling and she couldn't bear that kind of slow suffocation again. After having tasted independence, she wanted to feast on it. She had achieved a level of freedom, but at what price? The liberation of Jenny Fletcher had been expensive. It had cost her the love and respect of those she held most dear.

Her tears were bitter as they rolled down her face into her mouth. Knowing that fatigue and pregnancy were partly re­sponsible for this weeping binge, she let herself indulge in it. The outpouring of emotion was cleansing and she let it hap­pen, paying no attention to where Cage was driving until the motor of the Lincoln was turned off.

She raised her head from her hands and wiped her eyes. "This is your house," she remarked unnecessarily.

"Right."

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