Waiting for Morning

by Karen Kingsbury

  The truth was suddenly unbearable.

  Hannah turned off the downstairs lights and padded slowly up to bed. The world was a heavy place, especially when it rested squarely on your own shoulders.

  That night, somewhere between lying awake and falling asleep, Hannah moved her leg and in the process slid her foot under a section of the covers that was weighted down with a heavy book she’d tossed there earlier. Still, for an instant the weight wasn’t a book at all. It was Tom, his leg, comfortably stretched across the sheets just inches from her own. Hannah stirred, and the weight remained. She enjoyed the feeling of Tom’s leg on hers, heavy and warm. Suddenly a realization pulled at her. If his leg was here, that meant—

  “Tom?” She sat straight up in bed and breathlessly peered through the darkness. Then slowly, as she had at least ten times before, she realized who she was and where she was and what her life had become.

  She was a woman alone who had lost everything.

  And tomorrow was Christmas.

  Since his father died four years earlier, Matt Bronzan usually spent holidays with his mother. She lived two hours north and he enjoyed the drive. But that year his sister had flown their mother to Phoenix so she could be with her grandchildren for Christmas.

  Matt didn’t mind being alone. He lived in a four-bedroom ranch home in an elite subdivision in Woodland Hills and had come to appreciate the house’s solitude when he needed a break from court. In the week leading up to Christmas, his housekeeper had set up a twenty-four-inch decorated tree on an end table and purchased a four-pack of cinnamon buns at the mall.

  When Christmas morning dawned, Matt heated the buns and brewed a pot of Starbucks Holiday-blend coffee. He sat down at his glass-topped dining room table, savoring the rich aroma as he ate. When he was finished he did something he did every morning. He opened his burgundy leather Bible and began reading.

  He was in Romans 12 that morning and he savored the words, searching for every morsel of truth therein: “Love must be sincere. Hate what is evil; cling to what is good. Be devoted to one another in brotherly love.… Practice hospitality.…” The words jumped off the page and landed squarely on Matt’s conscience.

  “Be devoted to one another … brotherly love … practice hospitality.”

  Images of Hannah Ryan came to mind, and suddenly he saw her not as a woman to be pitied for losing her husband and daughter but a woman to be pitied for turning her back on the Lord. He’d done everything he could to help her with the trial, but what had he done to help her in her faith struggle? According to Carol Cummins, Hannah had refused all contact with her church friends, and she had few, if any, relatives in the area. He pictured Hannah and her daughter sitting at home alone.… He remembered how difficult Christmas had been for him after Victoria’s and Shawn’s deaths. He bowed his head then, overcome with gratitude that God had drawn him out of his own doubt and depression so many years ago. Give me wisdom, Father. Use me …

  Drawing a deep breath, he reached for the telephone.

  Hannah answered on the third ring. “Hello?”

  “Hannah … it’s Matt Bronzan.”

  She hesitated, and Matt wondered if he was making a mistake. “Hi, Matt. Don’t tell me you’re working on Christmas day?”

  Matt chuckled. “No. I’m hard on myself, but even workaholics take off December 25.”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  He thought a moment. “You don’t sound too good.”

  She waited too long to answer. She’d been crying. He’d be willing to bet on it. He drew a steadying breath and jumped in with both feet. “Listen, why don’t I swing by and get you and Jenny? The three of us can drive out to Santa Monica and walk along the pier.”

  “You mean … right now?”

  “Right now. It’s a beautiful day. We can talk about whatever you want. And we’ll buy Jenny some cotton candy or something.”

  Hannah hesitated again. “Why, Matt?”

  “Because … I’ve been there, remember? And I wish someone had kidnapped me for the first three or four holidays after my friends died. Believe me, anything will be better than staying alone in an empty house filled with memories.”

  He wanted to tell her that God had used Scripture to impress the idea on him, but he knew better. Hannah Ryan didn’t need a list of Bible verses. She needed brotherly love and hospitality.…

  “Okay.” Hannah didn’t sound sure. “I guess. Be here in an hour.”

  She gave him directions and the conversation ended. Matt slipped a sweatshirt over his head and felt a sudden prompting to pray for Jenny. The whole time he was getting ready, constant prayers were in his mind, prayers for the sweet girl who had refused to attend any hearings, the girl who Hannah said had become more withdrawn with each passing week. Something was about to happen to Jenny, Matt could feel it, and he prayed for her as if his life depended on it.

  Hannah was sitting in a living room chair studying a tree in the front yard when Jenny walked by.

  “Honey, we’re going to the beach with Mr. Bronzan.” Hannah realized she didn’t sound very enthusiastic.

  Jenny stopped in her tracks and stared at her mother. “Mr. Bronzan?”

  Hannah met her gaze. “Yes. The prosecutor, remember?”

  “I know who he is. Why are we going to the beach with him? Today? On Christmas?”

  Hannah shrugged. “He asked.”

  “Oh, I get it. That way we can spend the day plotting how to ruin Brian Wesley’s life. Is that it?”

  For the first time in days Jenny sounded angry, and Hannah almost enjoyed it. Anything was better than the indifference that had come over her lately.

  “He said we can walk along the pier and talk.”

  “About what?” Jenny put a hand on her hip.

  “I don’t know. Maybe about how lousy it is that drunk drivers get to celebrate Christmas and the ones they kill never will again.”

  Jenny rolled her eyes. “Like he would know.”

  Hannah turned to face Jenny. “I will not have you talking that way about Mr. Bronzan. He’s the one who can take away the pain we’re in. He’s on our side. And yes—” she swallowed—“he would know. He had a close friend killed by a drunk driver many years ago. It’s not something you forget.”

  Jenny considered that for a moment, and hope sparked in Hannah’s heart. Then her daughter shrugged. “I’m not going.”

  Hannah wanted to cry, but she felt as though there were no tears left. She sighed and reached her arms out to Jenny. “Come here, Jenny. Please.”

  Jenny took one step backward. “No. I don’t want a hug, Mom. Just leave me alone. I’ll be fine.”

  Hannah struggled to her feet as if every movement was an effort. She closed the gap that separated her from Jenny and reached for her shoulders. “Come with me, Jenny. It’ll do us both good.”

  Jenny pulled away. “No! I won’t. I’ll be fine …” She turned and headed for the stairs.

  “Jenny, please … you’re making this so much worse.”

  Jenny stopped on the fourth stair and spun back around. “Mom, there’s nothing I could do that would make this worse than it already is.”

  “You are not an adult, and if I tell you to come, you’ll come.” Hannah followed her daughter toward the stairs.

  “I’m not going, Mother. I don’t want to be with Mr. Bronzan. I want to be with Daddy and Alicia. If I can’t do that, I want to stay home. I wish I never had to leave this house again!” She turned and ran the rest of the way up the stairs.

  Hannah realized she would have to call Matt. She had no right spending Christmas Day with him while her daughter lay alone on her bed. She reached for the telephone and stopped. Maybe Jenny needed to be alone. Maybe that would give her time to sort out her feelings. Besides, she and Matt needed to talk about the trial.

  She leaned into the stairwell and spoke loud enough for Jenny to hear. “Since you’re not willing to go, you can stay home. Don’t leave the house, though, is that understood?”<
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  Silence.

  “Jenny?”

  “Yes, I understand.” The cool indifference was back.

  “Jenny, try and use this time to think about your attitude. You’ve changed so much since the accident.”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  “We both lost when that man killed Daddy and Alicia. Maybe you could think about that and stop taking it out on me.”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  Hannah sighed. She was rambling, and Jenny wasn’t listening to a word. She heard a car pull up, and Hannah glanced out the living room window to see Matt climb out and make his way up the front walk. “Jenny, Mr. Bronzan is here. I’ll be home in a couple hours.”

  “Enjoy your date, Mother.”

  The word was like a sharp slap, and Hannah froze. How could Jenny say such a horrible thing? Hannah felt tears sting at her eyes. She pushes and pushes … She shook her head. Maybe we’ll never get beyond this …

  “Enjoy your date.” Jenny’s words echoed in Hannah’s mind, accusing her, pulling her down. Oh, why had she ever agreed to go with Matt in the first place?

  He was a business acquaintance, a friend. Nothing more. There couldn’t be more because she was still in love with Tom.

  She would always be in love with Tom.

  As her mother slammed the door shut, Jenny skittered across her bedroom floor and gazed out the window. How dare that man take her mother to the beach on Christmas Day. Her dad had only been dead four months. Jenny watched the way he opened the door for her mother and slid into the seat beside her. The high and mighty Matt Bronzan could tell her mother whatever he wanted. Jenny could see the writing on the wall.

  She slumped back across the room and locked her bedroom door. Maybe Mr. Bronzan was a blessing in disguise. Maybe he would move into her mother’s life and make it whole again. But where did that leave her? Jenny thought about the answer and realized it was a simple one. If her mother was preoccupied with Mr. Bronzan, then maybe the time had come.

  She reached under her bed, pulled out a small plastic bag of pills, and dumped them on her bedspread. Her mother would be home in two hours, maybe three. She stared at the heap of pills and ran a finger through them. If she took them now, she would be unconscious in fifteen minutes, but death would take a while longer. Maybe an hour, maybe more.

  Jenny knew how long it took her to die depended on the number of pills and how quickly her metabolism worked. Factors she couldn’t control. If she did it now, she might even be dead before her mother came home. But if not, she needed to have the door locked so she could buy a little more time. That way, though her mother might find a way to break into the room, she wouldn’t have enough time to save Jenny’s life.

  The pills were multicolored, coated with a gelatin for easy swallowing and digestion. Sleeping pills and some outdated pain medication she’d found in her father’s medical bag. The Internet had taught her that there was little mess with pills. That meant her mother wouldn’t have a lot of trauma.

  Jenny hesitated. She was so close, so desperate to be with Alicia and Daddy. Suddenly she heard the voice. It spoke to her often these days and it always said the same thing: Take the pills. Take the pills. Do it, Jenny. Take the pills.

  If she did it now they could be together in one hour. She drew a deep breath. God, give me the strength.

  The pills looked ominous, dozens of them heaped up in the center of her bedspread. Jenny picked up a small handful and rolled them around in her palm. Don’t be mad at me, Lord.… You know I love you.

  Suddenly there was a soft thudding sound. Then another and another. Three thuds, coming from Alicia’s room. Jenny dropped the pills and stared at the wall. Three thuds. The signal she and Alicia had used all their lives.

  I love you.

  Jenny’s hands began to tremble and then her arms, until finally her scalp was tingling. There was no one in the next room. The sounds echoed in her mind, and she wondered if she had heard them or only imagined them.

  Jenny willed herself back to last Christmas when she and Alicia were in their rooms, racing to clean them before dinner. But it wasn’t Christmas past. It was Christmas present.

  “Alicia …” Tears spilled from her eyes and she squeezed them shut. “I love you too.”

  Jenny wasn’t sure how long she sat that way. Eventually she fell asleep, huddled against a mound of pillows, her hand resting on the wall that separated her room and Alicia’s.

  The beach was empty that afternoon, and Hannah figured it was because most people had better things to do. She and Matt walked along the pier slowly, gazing out to sea. The day was cool and overcast, not quite seventy degrees, and a breeze blew off the Pacific Ocean. Hannah was glad for her bulky sweatshirt.

  Matt was so easy to be around. During the drive he’d talked about a few other cases he was working on, and the time had passed quickly. Now, as they studied the succession of waves hitting the shore, a comfortable silence fell between them.

  “Your case is coming along.” They stopped walking and Matt leaned against the white wood railing. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted to talk about it.”

  Hannah nodded. “Is it looking strong?” She folded her arms and studied him, making sure that several feet separated them.

  He gazed back out to sea. “I keep looking for a loophole, a weakness, some way the defense will be able to convince the jury this wasn’t murder one.”

  “And?”

  “I don’t see one.” He turned toward her, and his eyes held a wealth of sincerity. “It’s a strong case, Hannah. I really think we can do it.”

  She gazed through the slats of wood that made up the pier, looking down to the water below. When she was a little girl she’d always been afraid of the slats, afraid she’d fall into the ocean and drown. The slats didn’t bother her now. She was in way too far over her head to worry about drowning. She lifted her eyes to Matt’s. “I’ve got four victim impact panels lined up for January and February.”

  “They’re making a difference. I’ve seen you on TV a couple times now.”

  Hannah glanced up, eyes wide. She’d been on TV? “You have?”

  “Yes. You look determined—and beautiful, in a tragic way. And very angry.”

  He thinks I’m beautiful. Hannah’s gaze fell, and she chided herself for enjoying the thought.

  “People watch that kind of thing, they read it in the paper, and pretty soon they start to see drunk driving a little differently. After hearing your story, some of them will be fed up. Once the public takes on that sentiment, murder one is only a matter of time.”

  An ocean breeze blew Hannah’s hair back, and a chill ran down her neck. She gritted her teeth. “Good.” She pictured Brian Wesley locked in a solitary, rat-infested cell. “I wish they still did hangings in the public square.”

  Matt raised his eyebrows and his voice grew soft. “Is that what this is all about?”

  “What?” Hannah snapped. “I hate Brian Wesley. Surely you of all people understand that.”

  “I understand.” Matt’s gaze fell for a moment and then found her eyes again. “But I don’t like what I hear in your voice.”

  “Oh, please.” Hannah didn’t have patience for this. “Brian Wesley is the reason we’re doing this. You know that.”

  Matt thought for a moment. “I want to see Brian locked up, but only because that’s the punishment he deserves. He’s not the reason we’re pushing for murder one.”

  “He’s my reason.”

  Matt shook his head. “He’s just one drunk driver, Hannah. We want to change the way people look at drunk driving on the whole. Then maybe we can prevent the kind of thing that happened to your family.”

  Hannah paused. Matt was right, of course. That should be the reason. Still, that wasn’t what motivated her to get up before a crowd and bare her heart about the collision.

  Picturing Brian Wesley in prison was what motivated her. Nothing more, nothing less.

  “Hannah—” Matt interrupted her thoughts. H
e rubbed his hands together to keep them warm. “Is everything okay with Jenny?”

  She shrugged and began walking again. She could feel the hard, angry lines creasing the skin around her eyes, and she pressed her lips together. I bet I don’t look beautiful now. She shook the thought away. There was no point worrying about how she looked. Smiles came from the heart. Her face was a direct reflection of her feelings.

  She thought about Jenny. “At first … after the accident, Jenny was mad at me. Not Brian Wesley. She doesn’t hate him like I do. She never has. She hated me, and we fought all the time.” Hannah’s heart ached as she remembered how quickly her relationship with Jenny deteriorated after Tom and Alicia’s deaths. Hannah searched for the words. “But now, I don’t know … it’s like she’s given up. She’s thirteen years old and she acts like she’s finished living.”

  Matt’s expression changed. “You don’t think—”

  Hannah caught the look in his eyes and shook her head. “No, nothing like that.” Hannah didn’t mention the school principal and her concerns that Jenny might be thinking about suicide. “Jenny’s a very stable girl. But she and Alicia were so close and now … it doesn’t seem like she knows how to go on.”

  Matt nodded as he walked alongside her. They were approaching the end of the pier. “I had this strange feeling earlier that I was supposed to pray for her.”

  “Really?” Hannah felt a twinge of anger. She didn’t want to talk about prayer this Christmas day. That life was behind her.

  But Matt nodded and went on. “I prayed while I was getting ready and the whole time I felt that something bad was about to happen to her.”

  Hannah rolled her eyes. “Great. Figures that’d be the kind of thought you’d get about Jenny. When God is against you, he doesn’t pull any punches does he?”

  Matt was quiet and they walked the last few yards to the end of the pier. A seal splashed near the pilings below, and they watched him for a few moments. “God isn’t against you, Hannah.” Matt’s voice was quiet, and she had the distinct impression he was trying not to start an argument.