8
From where he’d set up his tent, Dalton could see the back side of Clara’s house through the limbs of a giant sugar maple. All the windows were dark except one. If he had to guess, he’d say that Harper wasn’t having any more success at falling asleep than he was.
In the quiet of the night, he played back the day’s events. It seemed a lifetime ago that they’d shared a meal for lunch. And then Nicky had been interrogated by the cops, and Dalton had been interrogated by Harper. She’d accused him of coming here to investigate her family. What was that about? Was her boyfriend, Bo, having a change of heart, filing for custody of the unborn child? If it was that, she had little to worry about. When it came to custody issues, the courts almost always decided in favor of the mother. Unless there was some egregious sin on the mother’s part, which he highly doubted was the case here.
So, it must be something else.
He punched his pillow, readjusted his legs. Harper was certainly entitled to her secrets. Lord knew he had plenty of his own. His thoughts moved to the tiny dancer in her womb and lingered there.
I think she likes you…
He told himself the happiness that filled his heart at those words was not the betrayal it felt like. But as he finally fell into a fitful sleep, his memories merged with his dreams telling him otherwise…
The heat in the courthouse is stifling. The hands of the clock inch forward, as if stuck in traffic. He wants to go outside, get a breath of air, but no. The jury is back. Six women, six men. Twelve jurors. Thirty-six hours of deliberation. It could go either way. Sweat pours down his back.
The judge gathers his black robes around him, somber. “Has the jury reached a verdict?”
“We have, Your Honor.”
“What say you?”
“In the matter of the state of Ohio vs. Cory Matthew Ray, on the charge of Murder in the First Degree, we find the defendant not guilty.”
Not guilty. He has succeeded. Euphoria. To win an unwinnable case is a high like no other.
He is carried along in the current, the roar of voices as the courtroom erupts. Hugs and handshakes and slaps on the back.
“Order! Order!”
On the way out, he stops. The man’s ugly, pockmarked face repels him. His eyes are windows to a soul black as night. His voice is like the low threat of a thunder that only Dalton can hear.
“You’re gonna regret this.”
He brushes it off. He’s been threatened before. They all have. A cool smile as he pushes past him. “Not as much as you, pal.”
His heart pounds as he stands before a darkened house, red lights strobing across yellow police tape.
No. Dear God, please. No.
Inside, he sorts through the wreckage of a thousand broken balloons, desperate to put the pieces back together. To somehow make it whole again.
No! No! No!
A crazed wolf howl splits the night in half…
Dalton lay in the darkness, desperately pulling air into his lungs. He was suffocating. Had he screamed? He listened to the night around him, hearing only the whisper of the wind in the trees and the scuffling of a chipmunk in the bushes. No one came to investigate. He sat, head in hands, breathing deep. Trying not to be sick.
Let it in, let it out. It’s over.
But it wasn’t over, and it never would be. It was a shop of horrors that reopened for business again and again in his dreams. As the last of the images faded away, he lifted his eyes to the vast, dark sky. He felt insignificant, and yet, somehow, seen. The Pastor’s words returned …forgiving one another, even as God in Christ forgave you.
“I can’t.”
He pulled in another breath and in the stillness, he offered up the open, bleeding wound that was his heart.
“God, I can’t. I’m sorry, but I can’t forgive him.” And as the words gave way to hot, bitter tears, he told the rest of the truth. He confessed it all, man to Savior, his all-consuming hatred, and his own guilt and shame. He held nothing back. “I can’t forgive myself, and I don’t know if I can forgive You. And I know I have no right to ask, but…could You forgive me?”
Savior to man, Father to child. It was a sense of communion he’d never experienced, a guilty man throwing himself at the feet of mercy and finding himself enveloped in grace.
He didn’t know for how long he lay there, moments or maybe hours slipped past as he unburdened his soul. Finally, his words and his sorrow spent, he pulled on his pants and shirt and went to find coffee. There would be no more sleep tonight.
He drove to a truck stop outside of town and took a hot shower and ordered a cup of black coffee. His phone showed six missed phone calls from Ben Abrams. He stared at the screen for a long moment before he tapped the voice mail icon.
“Dalton, I’m feeling concerned, buddy. Can you please give me a call? We need to talk. I hate to be blunt, but your father is dying. With that being said, we have some things we need to discuss. Could you possibly come home for a while? Please?”
But he’d sold his home. His last six months in Cleveland had been spent in a downtown motel room. And his father had been dead to him for two years.
The sun had just begun to bruise the morning sky when he pulled into Clara’s driveway. He made his way across the yard in the half-light to the gazebo and retrieved his tools. Climbing up the ladder, he brushed a coat of primer onto the boards he’d scraped the day before and felt a deep sense of satisfaction in having brought order out of chaos.
Order! This court will come to order!
He squeezed his eyes shut against the sudden images. What he couldn’t face in the daytime, his subconscious mind forced him to relive at night. He’d have to let the memories in if he would ever be free from them. If he would ever heal. He’d told Harper he didn’t want to practice law anymore. The truth was he never wanted to practice law at all.
Dalton was the unexpected answer to the prayers his parents, Gordon and Constance, in their forties, had given up on praying. He was probably close to ten years old when he figured out that the unbridled joy on his parent’s faces in the family photos was not so much about him, not even so much about the fact that they finally had a child, as that they now had an heir, a son to one day step in and take over Gordon’s law firm.
At his father’s insistence, Dalton fast-tracked through high school, graduating at sixteen with two years of college credits under his belt. At twenty-one he graduated from law school, right on schedule. By age twenty-six, he had a reputation as a hurricane in the courtroom, a force to be reckoned with, and Gordon, by then past seventy, stepped down. Dalton became the Kingston in the partnership of Kingston, Abrams, and Porter. At twenty-seven he was handed a high-profile case, the kind of case that would make history if he won it. The opportunity of a lifetime that had ultimately destroyed his life.
In the aftermath of the tragedy, Gordon and Constance had done everything in their power to keep it out of the news, for fear of damaging the firm’s reputation. But the damage that had been done to their son had sent him hurtling off a cliff.
And now he was freefalling.
~*~
A sound awakened Harper at 4:00 AM. A fierce, primitive, wailing sound, like a howling wind. Only not the wind. She sprang out of bed and hurried down the hallway to check on Clara. Her aunt slept soundly. Curled up at her side, Toby lifted his head and gave her a sleepy glance.
“Shhh, it’s all right,” she whispered. With a wag of his tail, the dog settled back into his cocoon of blankets. She climbed the attic stairs to look in on Nicky, who was also sleeping soundly. Outside, she heard the thud of a car door closing and looked out the window to see the sweep of headlights as Dalton’s car pulled out of the driveway. She stood at the window for long moments after the headlights proceeded down the street and out of view, disappointment washing over her.
He was leaving.
The moment they’d shared earlier had had a profound effect on her. That they’d experienced together the life that moved inside of her had seemed supremely intimate. It had seemed like a turning point in their relationship. But he’d obviously turned in a different direction. She should have known. Sighing softly, she padded down the stairs and into the kitchen. He was leaving. Aunt Clara would forget about him in a couple of days. It would take Harper much longer.
She drank a cup of decaf coffee, allowing herself a few more moments to process the idea that he was gone. To acknowledge her disappointment. To readjust her plan.
I am strong. I am capable. I am comfortable with myself…
With the affirmations firmly in mind, she turned her thoughts away from Dalton Kingston and focused them instead on the bridal shower brunch she was catering on Saturday. The menu included a strawberry bruschetta and a bacon and cheddar spinach strata, both of which were new recipes for her. She would need to do a trial run or two, see what adjustments needed to be made.
“No time like the present,” she murmured.
After reviewing the recipes, she tied on an apron and began to gather the ingredients for the strata. She retrieved a loaf of crispy French bread from the pantry and cut it into cubes. As she cooked and then crumbled bacon, her thoughts returned to Dalton, and she told herself his leaving was for the best. The last thing she needed was another person to complicate her life. She was doing just fine. She’d never needed a man’s help before and she wasn’t about to start needing it now. She’d almost convinced herself of that when she heard the crunch of tires on gravel in the driveway. Her relief was as inappropriate as her earlier disappointment had been.
Dalton got out of the car. His dark, slicked back hair gleamed in the dim light of the streetlamp. He’d only gone somewhere to shower, then. When had she become so pessimistic, always assuming the worst in people?
Forgive me, Lord.
She watched until his broad shoulders disappeared through the back gate, then turned back to her work. Later, she pulled the casserole from the oven.
Nicky stumbled into the kitchen, wiping the sleep from his eyes. “Whoa. What’s all this?”
She smiled. “It’s a test run for some recipes I’m serving at a bridal shower on Saturday.”
“Do we get to eat it?”
“I wish you would. I need an objective opinion.”
Clara appeared in the doorway with Toby nestled snugly in her arms. “Good morning, my dears. Why, what a lovely bruschetta.” She moved to the counter and inspected the dish. “And what a beautiful strata.” She poked the topping. “Your eggs look nice and fluffy. Did you cut your cream with a little milk?”
“Actually, I didn’t,” Harper said. “The recipe didn’t say to.”
“That’s perfectly fine, darling. But you might want to consider it next time. It’s a very rich dish. A little on the heavy side if you don’t cut the cream.”
“I’ll remember that, Aunt Clara. Thank you.”
“Well, goodness, let’s eat!”
“Yes, let’s,” Nicky said.
“You two get started,” Harper said. “I think I’ll run out and see if Dalton wants to join us for breakfast.”
She found him in the gazebo, applying the first coat of primer to the boards he’d prepped the day before. The dark shadows beneath his eyes told her he hadn’t slept any better last night than she had. “Good morning.”
“Good morning, Harper.”
“I came out to see if you wanted to join us for breakfast. I’m trying out some new recipes and I made enough to feed half the town.”
He hesitated for a moment and she was sure he would refuse. “I made coffee,” she coaxed.
He set down his paint brush and wiped his hands on his apron. “I could use a cup this morning.”
In the kitchen, Nicky was already dishing up a second helping. “This is amazing, Harp,” he said around a mouthful of food. “What do you call it, again?”
“It’s a bacon and cheddar spinach strata. At least, it was.”
“It all looks too pretty to eat.” Dalton managed a smile.
Harper thought he seemed off, somehow.
“Everything is just divine, my dear,” Clara said. “Only you might add a little nectarine to the bruschetta next time. It will give it that extra bit of zing!”
It amazed Harper how her aunt reverted to an expert chef when it came to baking. She treasured these rare glimpses of the old Aunt Clara. All at once ravenous, she dished a plate of food and had just taken her first bite when her cell phone chimed.
“Hello?”
“Hello, Harper?”
“Yes.”
“It’s Lesley Morton from the Chamber of Commerce. How are you this morning?”
“I’m fine, thanks.”
“Listen, we’re pulling together the details for our fall fund raiser and we’d love to hire you to cater the event. Kind of a casual meet and greet. I was thinking your pulled pork nachos would be perfect. It would be the last weekend in September, if you’re available.”
“I don’t see any conflict with the dates. Let me check my appointment book, just to be sure. Can you hold a minute?”
“Certainly!”
She hurried upstairs to her bedroom, which also served as a home office. When she’d taken down all the information, she clicked off the call with a smile. The Chamber of Commerce event would provide a nice little chunk of change, not to mention the exposure it would give her catering business. Maybe things were finally looking up.
She returned to the kitchen to find that Clara had snagged her brand-new hairbrush from the bathroom vanity and was using it to brush Toby’s coat. So much for moments of clarity.
“Oh, Aunt Clara, don’t use that brush. Here,” she retrieved the dog brush from a kitchen drawer. “Use this instead.”
“But he likes this one better. The bristles are softer.”
Biting her tongue, Harper made a mental note to stop at the store after their appointment and pick up a new hairbrush.
“He’s got to look like a gentleman for his date this morning,” Clara said.
Nicky grinned. “Toby has a date?”
“I wouldn’t call it a date, exactly.” Harper told him. “We’re taking him to the vet for his yearly shots.”
“It never hurts to look your best,” Clara said. “You never know who you might meet.”
“Thank you, Harper. Everything was delicious.” Dalton carried his plate to the sink and then headed back outside. He was definitely not himself this morning and it seemed like more than just a lack of sleep. Again, she sensed a well of sorrow deep inside him that called to the one in her own heart.
When she’d stacked the dishes in the sink and selected an outfit for Clara, she set about combing her aunt’s hair. As fussy as she was about her dog, Aunt Clara seemed to have lost all concern for her own appearance.
Dr. Louise Martin was without question the best veterinarian in town. With a heart as big as the extended van she drove to chauffer animals to rescues across the state, she could not bring herself to turn any animal in need away. As a result, she was always horrendously overbooked.
As Harper, Clara, and Toby settled in to wait Clara struck up conversations with the other pet owners, inquiring about their names and their various ailments. The Jack Russell Terrier with kidney stones. The black lab with food allergies. The Maine coon kitten with an ingrown toenail. None of them escaped Clara’s curiosity or compassion.
“He reminds me of a little cat we used to have. Do you remember that cat’s name, Harper?”
Harper smiled. “Bojangles.”
“Yes, that’s right. Such a sweet little thing.”
The memory was bittersweet. She and Ashley had discovered the kitten on a walk in the woods when they were eleven years old. Smitten, Ashley had named him Bojangles, carried him home and begged Babe to let her keep him. Babe had refused, citing the dirty litter box, the cost of food, the cat hair that would be all over the house and her clothes. So they’d taken Bojangles to Clara, who had fallen in love with him at first sight. Still reeling from her father’s abandonment, Harper was as much in need of the lovely bundle of fur as the love-starved Ashley. But Clara knew that.
Of course we can keep him, my darlings. If we get to the point we can’t afford cat food, he can eat mice!
Was it any wonder Ashley had secretly wished Aunt Clara was her mother?
After leaving the vet’s office nearly two hours later, Harper pulled into the parking lot at the Busy Bee Market, making sure to park in view of the oversized windows where the car would be visible from the check-out line. For the past few weeks, she’d avoided the store where Babe worked, not wanting any extra encounters with the woman, but the market was close to home and Clara looked as tired as she felt today. Babe’s vehicle was not in the employee parking section so it seemed safe enough.
“Would you like to come in with me, Aunt Clara?” she asked.
“I think I’ll stay out here with Toby this time.”
“OK, sit tight then. I won’t be long.” She slid the windows down, then turned off the engine and tucked the keys in her purse in case Aunt Clara forgot she wasn’t allowed to drive anymore. “I’ll be right back.”
“Take your time, dear.”
Inside, she grabbed a gallon of milk from the dairy case and then hurried to the pet foods aisle for a box of dog biscuits for Toby before making her way to the hair care section for a new brush. Thankfully there was no one in the check-out line and no sign of Babe Wayland. She paid for her items and headed for the exit.
Babe walked in, dressed for work in black slacks and a yellow vest. “Hello, Harper.” Her tone seemed a bit cool, but it was no secret that Babe could be moody.
“Hi, Babe.”
“Sure is hot today. You must be dying in those leggings.”
“I don’t have a lot that fits right now.” Harper shot a glance out the window. In the car, Clara seemed to be having an animated conversation with Toby.
“So, I understand there was a bit of a misunderstanding last night,” Babe said. “I hope everything worked out OK for Nicky?”
There were many things Harper loved about her hometown. The fact that gossip traveled faster than a freight train was not one of them. “Everything’s fine. Thanks for asking.”
She tried to make her exit, but Babe was not finished.
“I hope they catch whoever is responsible for the car break-ins. It’s just dreadful. And no one believes for a moment that Nicky would do such a thing. Thank heavens you’ve got yourself a good lawyer.” Her tone dripped sarcasm.
“Yes. Thank heavens.”
“I must say, though. There’s something sketchy about Dalton.”
“Sketchy?”
“Well, I mean, honestly. No one’s disputing that he’s charming, not to mention easy on the eyes, but face it, no kind of successful lawyer moonlights as a carnival worker.”
Harper slowly counted to ten before answering, knowing it wouldn’t be wise to antagonize Babe, no matter how much she deserved it. And besides, it wasn’t as if Harper cared what Babe thought about Dalton or anything else. It wasn’t as though Babe was a font of good judgment.
Babe had given birth to Ashley when she was just sixteen. It had always seemed to Harper that somewhere along the line, Babe had simply stopped growing up. Like a jealous older sister, she’d been envious of her daughter’s social life, of her cute figure, her blue eyes, and her thick mane of silky reddish-blonde hair. She’d been resentful of any bit of success Ashley achieved and every bit of male attention. Since Ashley’s death, Babe seemed to have transferred her jealousy onto Harper.
“Even so, it was very kind of Dalton to help us out,” she finally said.
“Hmmm. People are not always what they seem. I just don’t want to see anyone get hurt, that’s all.”
“Well, I certainly appreciate your concern.” She pushed past Babe and headed for the door.
“I mean, you have to think of the baby, if not yourself.”
She spun around. Was Babe kidding? “I’ve done nothing but think of this baby.”
“Well of course you have, honey. I didn’t mean…”
From the corner of her eye Harper caught a flash of movement. Aunt Clara was getting out of the car. “I have to go.”
“All I’m saying is that I know it must be tempting to jump into anything that looks like a lifeboat, what with running a business, and poor Clara the way she is, and now a baby on the way. I know how overwhelmed you must feel. I just hope you’ll wait for the right one.”
Like you didn’t, four times? She thought but stopped herself from saying. She could feel the hostility beneath Babe’s sugary words and her show of concern. Whatever the game was, Harper was in no mood to play. “Goodbye, Babe.”
She hurried out the door, leaving Babe alone with her resentment.