by D. L. Wood
“No. I mean, yes,” Cecilia sputtered, discombobulated. “I’m fine, Allison. Sorry, I’m just exhausted already.” Cecilia cleared her throat and forced a smile.
“No problem,” Alison replied, still looking wary. “I just wanted to tell you that you’ve got about twenty minutes until everybody starts arriving for the Pyles deposition.”
“Got it. Let me know when the client gets here.”
Alison nodded, closing the door behind her. Cecilia inhaled another settling breath.
If Holt knew anything more he would have told you, she assured herself. He wouldn’t play games with you. He knows you, likes you.
Trusts you.
But it wasn’t Holt she was most worried about. It was this Eli Drake person. Someone who apparently had reason to believe that she had special knowledge that would be of interest to Holt as he investigated Donner and prepared Sims’s defense.
Her thoughts assaulted her for several more minutes until Allison buzzed in, letting her know that her client had finally arrived. She told Allison to wait five minutes, then send him in.
She reached for the client’s file, her mind still spinning. Was that all Drake knew? That she “might” have information relevant to Donner’s murder? Or did he know more?
And if he did, how long would it be before everyone else knew it too?
THIRTY
The California sun shone down pleasantly on the oversized golf cart driven by the Ending of Days production manager, Todd Michelson, as it rolled through the movie lot. It rocked as Jack shifted in the passenger seat.
“Come on, Todd. You can spare me for a few days,” Jack insisted. “This can’t wait.”
Michelson sighed laboriously as he slowly navigated the cart through a congested thoroughfare on the PremiereMax Studios backlot. “Look, if I didn’t need you, I’d say go. But we’re already behind schedule. If by some miracle we catch up, or heaven forbid, we need to reshoot something and you’re off in who knows where—”
“It’s Nashville, Todd, not Timbuktu.”
“Whatever, I just know it’s not Burbank. You know what a day’s delay costs around here?”
“I do. But it won’t happen. There’s no way we’re catching back up at this point. Right now, you aren’t scheduled to need me until Monday at the earliest. I’ll be back Sunday night.”
“I don’t know.” Michelson scrunched up his face and rubbed it.
“Look, I’ve really messed up. This…she…is very important. I need to fix it.”
Michelson studied him for a minute. “This is about a girl, then?”
Jack’s eyes pleaded with him. “It’s about the girl.”
Michelson pursed his lips and huffed, turning to watch a group of Victorian-costumed actors entering a large sound stage to their left. “I wish I could say go. I really do,” he uttered, genuine regret in his voice. “But it’s just not possible. If I tell you to go and then they decide they need you, it’ll be my head. Or worse, my checkbook. Can’t you just call her?”
“No. I need to fix this, and I need to do it in person. The thing that matters most to me is on the line here.”
Michelson shook his head. “You know as well as anybody here—sentimentality plays well on screen but it gets you nowhere with the studio. You’re scheduled to be off this weekend. If you really need to go you’ll have to wait until then. And you’ll have to be back Monday.”
Jack sighed, squinting in disappointment. “Fine,” he said, hopping out of the cart while it was still rolling, his bad leg catching just a bit. “But don’t think I won’t remember this when you try to schedule reshoots next spring.”
“Come on, Jack,” Todd urged, slamming on the brakes and rocking the cart to a halt. “Get back in.”
Shaking his head, Jack waved him off and turned, walking in the opposite direction.
Saturday was still half a week away. Too long, he thought, ducking between two horse-drawn carriages headed for unknown parts of the lot.
I need to fix this.
Now.
THIRTY-ONE
Holt had a full afternoon of court appearances and office appointments, so after Puckett’s, he and Chloe split, giving her time to do research on local shopping venues. From Main Street she took the trolley to The Factory, a shopping and arts complex just blocks from Reese’s home. Built in 1929, the assortment of old brick buildings with high glass windows and wrought iron stairs had served as a factory for a number of concerns, including a stove works and a bedding company before being abandoned. After sitting vacant for decades, it had been renovated and repurposed, preserving the historical look of the place while giving it new life. Now it was jam-packed with unique shops and galleries that would keep any tourist busy for several hours.
Chloe walked through the mall, strumming gleaming hand-crafted guitars at Artisan Guitars and stepping inside to watch a bit of an open, live-model class at SouthGate Art Studio. At one of the gift stores, a stunning turquoise bracelet caught her eye. Knowing her friend and editor, Izzie, would love it, she bought the unique piece for her as a “thank you” for giving her extra time off to stay with Emma and Tyler.
She canvassed several more boutiques specializing in distinctive clothing, gifts, and home goods, all tempting and making her second-guess the current state of her wardrobe and home decor. But, summoning her will power, she settled for stopping by Five Daughters Bakery for a ‘100 Layer’ Milk Chocolate Sea Salt Donut which, she was informed, took three whole days to make.
She topped it all off with the best Cafe Americano she had ever had at Honest Coffee Company. Sitting on a polished cherry stool along the wall opposite the barista, Chloe spared a few moments to dunk her doughnut, sip the steaming brew, and scan through the hundred or so photos she had taken for her article over the last hour and a half. To her left, a couple sat in the corner, laughing and sharing earbuds as they listened to whatever music they had pulled up on a cell phone. She couldn’t help but think of Jack. Of what he might be doing right then. Who he might be talking to. Laughing with.
Without thinking about whether she should, she checked her texts just to make sure she hadn’t missed one from him. True to his word, he had not contacted her since sending the flowers. He was giving her plenty of space.
But did she want that much space? Yes, she had needed to sift through how she felt about his omission about Lila, and yes, that wasn’t something she could do in one day. But this was starting to feel like too much. Like a spinning top that had gotten away from her. In the end, it wasn’t that complicated. Of course she would forgive him. Of course she would let it go. So why had it taken her this long to come to that conclusion?
“Because you’re stubborn,” she mumbled, then drained the last drop of coffee from the cup and stood. I’ll call him tonight, she vowed to herself. After the kids go to bed.
Chloe lingered as long as she could before having to leave to get Tyler, making a pass through Antiques at the Factory, a warehouse comprised of several dozen dealers offering antiques, estate jewelry, industrial pieces, and other rare finds. Finally, she pulled herself away from an early 1900s Chippendale desk and walked the three blocks back to Reese’s house to get her car.
When she reached the head of the school carpool line, Tyler dashed into the passenger side, slamming the door and immediately launching into a full description of how he and his friend, Sam, “completely owned Mac and Ethan in football during recess.” When Tyler finally took a breath, Chloe managed to tell him about Reese waking up briefly, at which point he insisted on visiting his father. Emma wasn’t due home from work until 6:00, so after swinging through a drive-thru to get Reese’s favorite shake, they headed for the hospital.
“Just remember,” Chloe hedged as they pulled in, “he’s probably still asleep. The hospital would have called if he had woken up again. So don’t be disappointed if he can’t drink the shake.”
“But chocolate’s his favorite, and if he knows it’s there maybe that’ll help,” Tyler
reasoned.
As expected, though, the nurses informed them that Reese hadn’t regained consciousness since Chloe’s visit earlier in the day. After Chloe promised Tyler that they would return the next day, and one of the nurses agreed to store the shake in the refrigerator in the lounge, they headed home.
“Chloe?” Tyler asked from the back seat as they drove, his gaze directed out the window at a passing field bordered by a long white fence. A solitary horse stood on the crest of the meadow, his mane nearly even with the setting sun.
“Yeah, bud?”
“Is Dad going to be okay?” His voice was shaky, like he was trying to be braver than he felt.
“I think so. So do the doctors. He was awake today, talking and everything. His body just needed some more rest. The doctors said he will probably be up tomorrow, or the day after at the latest, and that everything looks good.”
Tyler turned to face her, his eyes big. “So I guess our prayers are working?” The remark was completely genuine, without sarcasm or doubt. Just a child-like, frank assessment.
Chloe smiled. “Well, I definitely think God is answering them. But you know, even if things hadn’t turned out this way, it wouldn’t mean God didn’t hear you, or didn’t care. It would just mean He had a different plan.” She briefly cut her eyes to him and saw he was still gazing intently at her, waiting. “You know, I had to learn that the hard way. I didn’t really have anybody that explained it to me when I was growing up. But now you know and you can trust that whatever happens, God still loves you. Even when we don’t always understand why some things happen.”
“Like Mom leaving.” Again the words were not a challenge, just a statement of fact. Chloe was reminded that even though Reese had done immeasurably better as a single parent than Chloe’s mother had, Tyler’s abandonment by his mother still left raw wounds on the little boy.
“Yes. Like that.”
“It still hurts sometimes.”
“I know,” she commiserated, reaching over to squeeze his arm. “Better than anybody. But you have to know that her leaving wasn’t your fault, and that God still, even in that, will have a plan for you.”
“Emma said Dad left you like Mom left us.” His words struck a nerve in her heart. She hadn’t known how much Tyler knew about the rocky past she and Reese shared.
“Yes,” she answered gently, hoping honesty was the best policy in the situation.
“Does it still hurt?”
She sighed, knowing the truth wasn’t an easy answer to give.
“Yes. And for a long, long time I was really, really mad.”
“Me too,” he admitted as his face drifted downward.
“But you know what? Eventually I realized something.”
“What?” he said, his countenance perking slightly.
“When your dad left me and my brother, Tate, he was very broken. And broken people do broken things. It doesn’t make it right, but it’s why he chose to do what he did.”
“Because he was broken and he made a mistake?”
Chloe nodded. “And once I realized that, I realized we’re all broken in different ways. I mean, I’ve done things that I wish I could take back. Things I needed to be forgiven for.”
“Yeah,” Tyler agreed.
“And that made me a little less mad. And it made me realize I need to forgive him.”
“Is that why you came? To forgive him?”
Chloe reached over to tousle his hair. “You’re pretty smart for an eight-year-old.”
“But it’s hard to forgive people sometimes. Like one time, Sam at school pushed me off the slide at the top and it really, really hurt. The teacher made him sit out of recess for a whole week, but I was still mad. I didn’t want to talk to him anymore.”
“Yeah. Sometimes it is hard. And that’s when I have to ask for help.”
“What kind of help?”
“Well, I ask God to help me forgive the other person the way I ought to. Even when it’s hard.”
Digesting this, Tyler turned back towards the window as they pulled in Reese’s driveway.
“Maybe that’s why God didn’t let Dad wake up yet,” he began sagely. “Maybe that was His plan so you’d have to stay and you’d get to know us and you’d decide to really, really forgive Dad for real.”
The insight floored her and once again she was stunned by this child’s ability to see something that would have eluded most adults. Including her.
She switched off the engine and reached over to hug her little brother. “Maybe so, Tyler,” she said as he hugged her back even harder. “Maybe so.”
THIRTY-TWO
“Not over there!” Tyler yelled. “They’re waiting for you!” Jamming his fingers on the controller, he fired a barrage of bullets at an oncoming zombie horde.
“I…can’t…move fast enough!” Chloe wailed as a huge red ‘X’ flashed obnoxiously on her side of the screen, signaling her player has died its last death. “I’m dead. Again!” she whined, falling back against the carpet to stare at the ceiling. “I give up.”
“Yeah, you’re awful at this,” Tyler conceded, taking the horde on all by himself as a knock sounded from the side door.
“You expecting someone?” Chloe asked, noting as she rose that Emma wasn’t due home for another half hour. Consumed by the game, Tyler ignored her as she moved through the kitchen to answer the door. A quick peek through the blinds revealed Holt standing on the landing.
“Seriously,” she said, opening the door, “aren’t you worried about wearing out your welcome? I thought you were headed home tonight for some peace and quiet and a good night’s sleep.” She leaned in the doorway, blocking his path.
“I was until little man there texted me a half hour ago and begged me to stay again. He said you would feel better if I was in the house tonight.”
Skepticism wrinkled Chloe’s brow. “And this was Tyler’s idea?”
“Completely unsolicited. Although, truth be told, I’m still not one hundred percent comfortable with you guys all alone in the house, so I don’t mind. But hey, if you’ve had all of me you can handle today…”
He stood there, self-assured as always, looking a bit worn but handsome, still dressed in his suit from a day of lawyering. She was surprised by how cheered she was at his unexpected arrival. Surprised, then bothered.
“Are you going to invite me in or do I stand out here like an idiot?” he asked, his eyebrows furrowed quizzically.
“Sorry…sure. If it makes Tyler feel better,” she said, smirking as she stepped aside to let him in.
He dropped his satchel on the kitchen counter. “I may commandeer Reese’s bed though. Today was exhausting and I don’t think I can do another night on the couch. I had four hearings—only one of which was mine. I was filling in for Reese on the rest. He had another one that I had to get continued—it’s a child support and custody case he’s been dealing with. It’s just too complicated for me to handle without knowing the details. I didn’t want to step in and muck it up so—”
“Hey Holt!” Tyler called without turning around, still focusing on saving the human race.
“Hey, little man,” he answered, pulling a soda from the fridge and popping the top. “So,” he continued, turning back to Chloe, “I had the hearing pushed back another week, but I’ll have to give it my best shot after that. The mom’s been waiting too long already for some relief.” He took a swig of soda.
“Deadbeat dad?”
“Stereotypical,” he said and took another drink. “I hear there’s been no change in Reese since this morning.”
Chloe shook her head. “None.” She paused. “How do you know that? I mean, I don’t mind, but I didn’t know the hospital handed out information to people other than immediate family.”
He grinned smugly. “The courthouse isn’t the only place I’ve got wired. Reese’s day nurse—Anne—seems to like me,” he boasted charismatically, wiggling his eyebrows.
Chloe fought a grin. “I can’t imagine why.”<
br />
“It’s a mystery,” he said, raising a mock toast with the soda can as he turned away. “So little man,” he called to Tyler as he plopped beside him on the floor. “Want me to show you how it’s done?”
“You wish,” Tyler goaded him, tossing Holt a controller while still blasting away.
Chloe leaned against the couch. “Hey, um, Tyler and I were going to head out soon to pick up dinner before Emma got home. But now that you’re here, do you think you can stay with him while I run out for it?”
“Go, go, I’ve got this,” Holt replied, both hands furiously gripping the controller, “and—BOOM! Four at once!”
“Lucky shot!” she heard Tyler exclaim as she slipped out the side door. “Just a lucky shot!”
* * * * *
Chloe headed north on Franklin Road towards Nashville, driving for about ten minutes before reaching the Hot Chicken House, one of three tenants in a small strip mall. The place was packed, and there was no parking out front. She followed the signs for additional parking, which led down a wide alley to another lot behind the building. By the time she had parked and walked back to the restaurant, dusk had set in and the sky was quickly giving way to darkness.
A rush of sound hit her as she pushed the restaurant’s front door open, the warmth of the space beckoning against the slight chill that accompanied sunset. The strings of multi-colored lights that were looped across the walls burned brightly, adding to the festive atmosphere as a guitarist set up on a small stage at the back of the dining room.
Tyler had insisted that dinner come from this place, one of his favorites. So Chloe had ordered enough hot chicken, honey biscuits, fries, slaw, and banana pudding to feed four, just in case Holt showed up. Which he had.
A twenty-something with a man bun stood near the register at the front, tallying tickets. “To go for McConnaughey,” Chloe told him, leaning against the counter as the guitarist started picking a little bluegrass on his Gibson.