Epilogue
ONE YEAR LATER
TEGAN
As I look around the living room of my three-bedroom townhouse, I feel a sense of deep satisfaction. For the first time in a long time, I have a place to call my own.
The townhouse was a fixer-upper for sure. I had some money from Simon, but not tons. Fortunately, Jackson volunteered for Habitat for Humanity after college, and he was excited to help me get the place fixed up. We have spent the last year working on it, but I’m proud of my new home.
I hear footsteps coming down the stairs. Jackson is coming from the second floor, where he’s been working on what I hope will serve as a playroom. His hair is disheveled, and he wipes a smudge of dirt from his forehead. “I took measurements, and I can go buy the carpet today,” he says.
“You don’t have to buy me carpet for the playroom,” I say. “You don’t live here.”
“Considering how much time I spend here, I feel like I should be on some sort of rent payment plan.”
That’s not false. Jackson has spent so much time at my house, I have let him sleep in the extra bedroom several nights. After all, Tia is still sleeping in a crib next to my bed. I can’t quite let go.
A wail echoes from the corner of the living room, where Tia has face-planted on the carpet. She has been learning to walk recently, but she falls more often than she stays on her feet.
I can sympathize. A year ago, I could barely walk due to my broken and infected ankle. And I didn’t for quite a while. It was a long process, progressing from the wheelchair to a knee scooter or crutches, then a cane, and now nothing at all. But I have a limp that Jackson swears is not noticeable, and my ankle still aches in bad weather.
“It’s okay, Tia!” I rush over to my sobbing daughter. “Mama is here.”
“Mama!” She holds her little hands out to me. “Mama!”
It was her first word and is still her favorite.
I pick her up off the floor to comfort her, brushing away her downy yellow curls. She clings to me, and I can feel her heart beating rapidly against my chest. It frightens me sometimes how close I came to losing her. And how close she came to losing me.
I learned to stop blaming Hank and Polly Thompson for what they did to me. Simon Lamar was the one who messed with the brake hose in my car and caused the accident that almost killed me. Hank and Polly, on the other hand, saved my life. Twice.
So no, I never told the police what they did. I couldn’t make myself do it. But I do hope Polly got some help. Somehow I think with Hank by her side, she’ll end up okay.
As for my brother, I don’t feel nearly as kindly toward him. He is currently serving ten to fifteen years in a federal prison for attempted murder. He’s written letters to me, begging me to forgive him. He claims that he never believed the faulty brakes would kill me. He just thought an injury from a car accident would put things in perspective and that the hospital bills might persuade me to reconsider Simon’s offer. That’s why he had me bring his flask, knowing its presence would make it look like I’d been driving drunk. It would discredit me. I also suspect that after blaming me for his own accident years earlier, he thought this would be karmic retribution.
But even if I could forgive him for the accident, there’s no mistaking what he was trying to do with that vial of morphine. He saw the look in my eyes and knew I was never going to take Simon’s money. He was out of options, and he meant to kill me just to ensure his deal with Simon would go through. How can I ever forgive him for that?
I still don’t understand how he could’ve done that to me. I loved Dennis more than anyone else in the world. I thought he felt the same way about me. It was the kind of betrayal that you can never bounce back from.
“What do you want to put in the playroom once it’s finished?” Jackson asks me.
“Well,” I say, “we should have a little table for arts and crafts. We can put a play kitchen up there. And a giant doll house. And what do you think about a ball pit?”
He laughs. “A ball pit?”
“Why not?” I bounce Tia on my hip. “What do you think, Tia? Do you want to play in a tub full of multicolored balls?”
Tia, who is in a serious oral phase right now, just sticks her hand in her drooling mouth.
“I’d say she wants to lick a tub full of multicolored balls,” Jackson says, laughing.
“I just want her to be happy.” I plant a kiss on my daughter’s forehead. If I’m holding her, I end up kissing her roughly once every sixty seconds. “After all, she doesn’t get to have a dad.”
Not that I ever want her to meet her real father. Simon Lamar drugged and raped me, and as it turned out, he did the same to many other women and will be spending most of the rest of his life in prison as punishment.
Tia can never know who her father is.
“She might have a dad,” Jackson says. “Someday.”
“Hmm. That would involve me going on a date at some point.” Between single motherhood, my rehabilitation from the accident, and the therapy appointments to deal with the trauma of everything I have endured, dating hasn’t been on my radar. And I’m still working to save money for nursing school—my plan is to go when Tia enters kindergarten. Seeing how capable Polly was as a nurse made me even more determined to go. She inspired me.
He raises an eyebrow. “And you going on a date is unlikely because…”
I meet his eyes. The best part of the last year has been the frequent visits from Jackson. For a long time, I was grateful that Jackson was respectful enough not to make a move, because I didn’t think I could handle a relationship after everything that happened to me. And eventually, I assumed the two of us had settled firmly into the “friend zone.” But now that I’m looking squarely into his eyes, I’m not so sure anymore.
“I don’t know,” I finally say. “I guess it hasn’t come up.”
“And…uh…” He scratches his scalp until his hair sticks up slightly. “Would it bother you if it did?”
We stare at each other for at least five seconds. A little tingle goes through me, and I realize how long it’s been since I had that feeling. I’d forgotten how good it felt.
“No,” I say. “It wouldn’t bother me at all.” I raise an eyebrow at him. “You staying for dinner tonight, Jackson? I’m ordering in Chinese food.”
He grins at me. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
I’m not in any rush, but maybe my love life isn’t completely over. Maybe tonight, after dinner is over, he’ll suggest we prolong the evening by watching a movie together on the sofa. And then when I finally walk him to the door, he’ll lean in for a kiss. And then I’ll kiss him back.
Jackson is a good man. I wasn’t sure if they existed, but if they do, he’s one of them. He cares about me a lot, and one of these days, he’d make a great father to my little girl. And I know that if I ever told him anything again in the future, he would believe me without question.
Which is why I will never tell him what happened those four nights after the crash.
POLLY
I love bedtime.
We have a routine now. After the three of us have dinner as a family, Sadie gets in the shower. It used to be a bath, but after she turned eight, she decided she wanted to have showers. She’s becoming more independent.
Then when the shower is over, Sadie wraps herself in the light-pink fleece bathrobe we bought her, and I brush out her hair and tie it into two identical braids. Then she takes my hand, and we walk together to the room that used to serve as my office but is now her bedroom, where she waits for her bedtime story.
Right now, we are reading Matilda by Roald Dahl. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, I read chapters to Sadie, and Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday, Hank reads to her. We alternate Sundays.
It’s cold tonight, and Sadie climbs under the down comforter in her bed, tucking herself all the way up to her little chin. She loves being read to. It’s one of her favorite things, even though she’s gotten to be quite a good reader. She reminds me of Matilda a bit in that way.
“This is my favorite book so far,” she tells me.
I smile as I crack it open to the dog-eared page. “Even better than Charlie and the Chocolate Factory ?”
She considers my question. She is such a thoughtful little girl. I always thought she was a nice kid, but now that she’s living here, I’ve gotten to learn how amazing she really is. “I think it is.”
We were lucky to get Sadie. After her father died, she went into foster care since she had no relatives willing to take her in, and it was discovered that her biological mother had died of an overdose. I had been wallowing in self-pity after our adoption fell through and then The Incident, but I knew I had to pull myself together if I was going to help Sadie. The fact that we already had a relationship with the girl helped in the process, but there was nothing quick about it. I got a note from Dr. Salinsky though, testifying to my excellent mental health, and eventually, we were approved to become foster parents for Sadie. She’s lived here ever since.
I read three chapters from the book as Sadie’s eyes drift shut. She usually can’t make it past the third chapter without falling asleep, but even so, just as she does every other night, she asks me, “Will you read one more chapter, Polly?”
She calls me Polly, but after we officially adopt her, I’m hoping she’ll call me Mom. She’s never really had a mother, so I’d like to give her that. And I want her to be my daughter so badly it hurts. She did have a father, so I’m not sure if she’ll call Hank her dad, but I wouldn’t rule it out. She never mentions her father, and she absolutely adores my husband.
Our family was complete before. But with Sadie, our cups are overflowing. I would do anything for her. Hank and I both would.
“You done reading?” Hank asks from the doorway.
I start to nod yes, but Sadie pleads, “One more chapter.”
I poke her in the arm. “You’re going to fall asleep before we even finish the next page.”
“I won’t!”
“You definitely will, missy.”
Before I can protest again, Hank speaks up. “Let me read to her, Polly.”
Hank was never much of a reader, so it surprises me how much he enjoys reading to Sadie at night. Then again, he’s dived headfirst into everything about being a father. He gives Sadie way too many piggyback rides, he’s had no fewer than a dozen snowball fights with her this winter, and they built the most impressive snowman I’ve ever seen (it was as tall as Hank). And he says as soon as the weather turns nicer, he’s going to build her a clubhouse in the backyard.
He also tells me he would be happy to keep an eye on her if I want to try to find some sort of work outside the house. It’s an idea I’ve thought about more and more, but I’d like Sadie to be completely settled in first. And Hank’s shop is doing well these days, so we can make do without the money.
“All right.” I rise from the chair and hand the paperback book over to my husband. “All yours. But she’s going to be asleep in the next sixty seconds.”
Hank grins at me. “I’ll take my chances.”
He kisses me before I leave the room. He holds me in his arms for just a little bit too long, but that’s okay, because I don’t want to let go either. He’s the best husband I could ask for.
And I’m so happy that he kept me from making a terrible mistake one year ago. You know you’ve got someone really special when they are able to save you from ruining your own life.
I tiptoe out of the room while Hank settles into the chair that I vacated so he can read that last chapter to Sadie. As I close the door, I notice that he isn’t reading from the book. Instead, he’s leaning close to her, speaking in a hushed voice.
And she’s answering back in the same hushed voice.
I see them doing that from time to time. Whispering to each other. I don’t know what they’re talking about. But I suppose it couldn’t be anything that important. If it were, Hank would tell me. After all, we don’t keep secrets from each other.
HANK
I’ve gotten to love Sadie like she’s my own.
I never thought I would. I never imagined becoming so attached to the child we took into our home. But after only a short time, I can’t imagine life without this little girl. Polly was absolutely right.
But that’s not the reason I allowed her to foster Sadie, against my better judgment at the time.
My wife has issues. God knows, I love her. But the years of infertility did a number on her. I thought she needed more years of therapy before we considered bringing a child into our home. But this wasn’t just any child.
“Hey, Sadie,” I say after Polly leaves the bedroom.
She blinks up at me with gigantic blue eyes that seem to take up half her face, although they don’t look quite as huge now that she’s managed to put a little meat on her bones, thanks to Polly’s cooking. “Yes?”
“Look out the window,” I tell her.
She rolls her head to look out the window next to her bed, where huge snowflakes have started to fall from the sky. “It’s snowing!”
“That’s right.”
“Is it going to be a blizzard?” Her voice is almost fearful as she poses the question. “Will we be snowed in?”
My stomach churns, remembering another blizzard that happened only a year ago. I wonder how much Sadie remembers of it. I’d hoped she’d forgotten it, but I’ll never forget. Or what I did in the wake of the blizzard that changed our lives.
It was the same day I brought Tegan to the hospital. Polly begged me not to, but when I realized that girl was being held in our home against her will, there was no question of what I had to do. Afterward, Polly was furious, and I was debating if it was safe to leave her alone in the room, but I knew I’d be right downstairs. I made an appointment with Dr. Salinsky for the next morning and checked on her every hour, but I was going out of my mind with worry, so I decided to go out to the backyard to chop some firewood that we badly needed for our fireplace.
Big mistake.
When I finished chopping the wood, I went upstairs to tell Polly that I was going to get some dinner started. When she didn’t answer, I was ready to bust down the door, but then I tried the doorknob and found it unlocked. She was gone. I ran downstairs and discovered her Bronco was gone too.
Even though her car was missing, I thought there was a chance maybe she’d gone over to see Sadie. So before I got back in my truck and started driving around town searching for her, I went to Mitch Hambly’s house and knocked on the door.
When Mitch opened the door, he stunk of alcohol. It was only six o’clock in the evening—a little early to be stumbling drunk if you ask me—but that was his business. I asked him if he’d seen Polly, and he laughed in my face. Can’t seem to keep track of that wife of yours, can you, Hank? She’s a real nut job.
I didn’t care if he insulted me or my wife. I needed to find Polly, and that was all that mattered. And if all he did was toss a few insults my way, I would have turned around and gone back to my truck.
But at that moment, Sadie appeared behind Mitch in the hallway. And her little face was all black and blue. Maybe if this had happened on any other day, I would’ve done things differently. Or maybe not. What kind of terrible excuse for a human being does something like that to a little girl? Just the thought of it still sends my blood pressure through the roof.
So I grabbed Mitch by the collar. It felt good to take that son of a bitch and hurl him down the steps of his front porch as hard as I could. He landed face-first in the snow, which was a softer landing than he deserved. I could have beaten the living daylights out of that bastard, but then I noticed Sadie watching me from the front door with those big blue eyes. And I stopped myself. I didn’t want her to see me beat her father to death.
I leaned in to talk to her. Your dad shouldn’t hurt you that way, I told her. If he ever does it again, you come get me right away. Got it?
And she nodded.
She shut the door behind her, and I started to walk away. I couldn’t worry about Mitch right now—I had to find Polly. But then I saw Mitch starting to get back up in the snow. His beefy face was bright red, and his right hand was clenched into a fist, and a single word passed through his lips like a growl: Sadie .
He was angry that I threw him into the snow. And if I walked away, he was going to take it out on his daughter.
If I came back later that night, she might be dead.
I had never killed anyone before, but I didn’t even think about what I did next. I shoved Mitch’s face back into the snow, ignoring his muffled shouts and protests as he struggled for air. He was a big, strong guy but not bigger and stronger than me. There was a point when I could have stopped and let him go—no major harm done—but I wasn’t about to let him go back to Sadie after I had pissed him off like that.
After a minute or two, he stopped struggling so much. A couple of minutes after that, he wasn’t moving at all.
I got back to my feet, the knees of my blue jeans soaked with melted snow, shocked by what I had just done. But I wasn’t sorry—it was the only way. I did what I had to do, and I hoped when he was found, the police would assume he’d passed out drunk and suffocated. But that’s when I turned around and saw her:
Sadie. Standing before me, not saying a word, just staring up at me with her big eyes.
She saw everything.
You better call 911, I choked out, knowing that once the police came, Sadie would tell them what I did. I’d spend the rest of my life in prison for murder. It wasn’t what I wanted, but I did what I had to do to keep that little girl safe from that monster, and once I made sure Polly was okay, they could take me away.
But then a funny thing happened. Sadie never told the police a thing about what I did. The only story they heard is that he fell down the stairs while drunk and that she found him, dead.
She kept my secret.
I’ve been hoping she would forget that night. But when I see the fear in her eyes as she looks out on the snowy night, I suspect she still remembers.
“Do you remember any other blizzards?” I ask her.
“Maybe,” she says evasively.
I clench my teeth. I shouldn’t push her. The last thing I want is to remind her of the terrible thing I did. But how could she forget? How could she forget the night her father was murdered?
“So you do remember,” I say.
She blinks at me. “Remember what?”
“Remember…your dad? And…what happened to him…”
She looks at me for a long time. She remembers—it’s all over her face. I wonder if she’s mad at me for what I did. She knows I killed him. She knows I’m the one responsible for taking her father away from her.
She must hate me, at least on some level. Wouldn’t she have to? She doesn’t understand why I did it. She doesn’t understand what I felt when I saw that man was beating up on a defenseless little girl.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she finally says. She tilts her chin up to me. “ You’re my dad, Hank.”
I stare back at her in the dim light of her bedroom. “That’s right,” I say. “I am.”
I reach out and take her tiny hand in mine as we watch the snowflakes falling from the sky. She might not have forgotten, but she understands. My daughter will never tell a soul what I did for her. We will both keep this secret.
THE END