Chapter 47
“Here.” Daniel places a bag of apple slices in my hand.
Ever since I fainted at school, he’s been making sure that I eat small snacks every hour, not wanting to take any more chances. Pulling apart the sealed sandwich bag, I use it to hold a slice so I can bite into it. I don’t want to touch them with my fingers since I haven’t washed my hands.
As I nibble on the piece of Honeycrisp apple, I look around the room we were brought into and told to wait.
It’s different than I expected. The walls are painted a muted, light gray and the furniture looks like the stuff you see in an Ikea catalog.
Charles Worthington, our lawyer, is sitting beside me, looking over some documents.
I should feel more nervous about facing the man who killed my parents.
The man who almost killed me. Today is the day I meet Pete Masters for the first time.
It’s part of the plea deal that was arranged.
A guilty plea in exchange for being allowed to talk to me in person.
Why? I have no clue. Does he want to plead his case?
Ask for forgiveness? Tell me how sorry he is for leaving me and my sister as orphans?
Nothing Mr. Masters can say to me will make a difference.
Any words he speaks won’t bring my parents back.
They won’t give me back the life I once had before I lost my memories.
His one careless act of getting behind the wheel while drunk destroyed so many lives.
Maybe today will help bring me some closure. Maybe it won’t.
The door opens and the District Attorney and a guard enter the room, followed by another lawyer who introduces himself as Pete Masters’ attorney.
Daniel stands up from his seat and shakes everyone’s hands.
I don’t. Because my eyes are locked on the prisoner being escorted into the room by two more guards.
He’s wearing an orange jumpsuit, the kind you see on television shows.
His hands are shackled together in front of him, the wrist cuffs connected to a chain that drops down to the shackles around his ankles.
Pete Masters shuffles into the room and stops when he sees me.
My first thought when our eyes lock is that he’s so young.
Nothing like the older, decrepit man I had pictured him to be.
Pete Masters looks to be in his early thirties, maybe.
Clean-cut. Black hair and blue eyes behind thin-rimmed glasses.
Tall and lean. He looks like someone who should be teaching at a college somewhere.
I swallow thickly as he’s shoved down into the seat across from me.
His hands are placed on the table and one guard unlocks one of Mr. Masters’ handcuffs and attaches it around a raised metal bar that’s part of the table.
For a brief second, I wonder why Mr. Masters is a prisoner and not out on bail before I remember he signed the plea deal as soon as I agreed that I would meet with him.
He started his ten-year sentence last week.
Mr. Worthington, the D.A., and the other lawyer converse with one another, but I have no idea what they’re talking about because all I can think right now as I look at Pete Masters is that this is the man who took my parents from me.
I don’t realize that I’ve grabbed on to Daniel’s hand under the table until he gives mine a reassuring squeeze.
My heart is jack hammering so hard against my chest, it physically hurts.
I have to work to calm myself, knowing high blood pressure is just as bad for the baby as low blood pressure, and I definitely do not want another trip to the hospital if I give myself hypertension.
“Thank you for agreeing to talk with me,” Pete Masters says. Even his voice sounds nice. How can that be?
I shake my head, trying to focus on what he’s saying to me. “Excuse me?”
The room goes utterly silent.
He repeats himself. “Thank you for agreeing to talk with me.”
I want to say something rude like, “Well, I had no choice, did I? You said you would only take the plea deal if I would meet with you.” But I hold my tongue and just stare at him with simmering anger and loathing burning behind my green eyes.
“You look like my daughter,” he says, and his words literally push me back into my chair.
He has a daughter? A family? What the hell?
“I will never be able to tell you how sorry I am, Elizabeth.”
He has to bend down to rake his fingers through his hair since his hands are cuffed to the metal bar. When he sits back up, I’m taken aback by the tears that are falling from his eyes.
This is so not how I imagined today. I had dreams about what I would say when I finally came face-to-face with him—nightmares actually.
In every single one, I imagined I’d hurl myself across the table and strangle him with my bare hands.
I imagined punching him until his face was bloody.
I would scratch his eyes out and spit on him.
And I don’t know how to react right now.
What to think. He looks and sounds so normal.
“I am so damn sorry. What I did is unforgiveable. After my son died—” He stops and swipes at the wetness from his face by dragging his cheeks over each shoulder which only dislodges his glasses so that they lay crooked to one side. “My son was three when he was diagnosed with cancer.”
I suck in a harsh breath. He had a son. Cancer. Just like Ryder has cancer.
“He died right before he turned four. Brain cancer,” Mr. Masters continues.
“I didn’t know how to deal with the grief.
” He shakes his head back and forth, his dark hair falling across his forehead.
“That’s a lie. I started drinking. I became an alcoholic.
I ruined my family.” He looks up at me then with desolation.
“I ruined your family with my addiction, and I’m so very sorry,” he cries.
“It should have been me who died on that road that night. I never meant for anyone to get hurt. I never meant for you to get hurt. And I just wanted you to know that. I wanted both of you to know that,” he says, his blue eyes now on Daniel.
“I’m not asking for forgiveness. I don’t deserve it. ”
It's difficult to find my voice over the humungous lump lodged in my throat. “What do you want?” I ask numbly.
He looks over at his lawyer who’s sitting next to him.
“Mr. Masters has set up a trust in your and your sister’s names. Mr. Worthington will explain the details to you.”
He slides a piece of paper across the table to me and when I see the amount, my mouth drops open and I almost faint for a second time in a week. “What?”
Pete Masters leans into the table. “I can never give you back what you lost, Elizabeth. What I took from you. You asked me what I wanted. I want you to live a life without any financial worry. I want you to be able to give your unborn child the life I should have given my daughter. The life my son should have had but never got the chance.”
How did he know I was pregnant?
“The life every child deserves. But most of all, I hope with everything in me that you are able to live a full and happy life. And know that for the rest of mine, I will regret ever getting behind the wheel of my car that night.”
With that, he signals to the guards who unlock his cuffs from the table and escort him out of the room. I blink after him as he disappears from sight.
“Lizzie, are you okay?” Daniel whispers, his voice cracking.
Just then, Fallon walks into the room with a two-guard escort. He has a habit of showing up right when I need him. I get up from my chair and run to him. He catches me in his arms and holds me like our lives depend on it.
“I’ve got you, kitten.”
He always does, I think, as I wonder how many times I’ve heard him say those exact same words.