If I Live

by Terri Blackstock

  “My life for a hundred bucks?”

  “It’s like gold in jail. There were probably other payments promised.”

  I don’t know why I’m so emotional, but I can’t stop my tears. I hug Emma against me, hiding my tears from her. “Are we going to be safe? I don’t want to bring danger to my family.”

  “We’re going to keep you in the safe house for now. All of you. I’ll take you there myself.”

  I hug him again and whisper in his ear, “Will you be able to hang out with us there?”

  “Just try and get rid of me,” he says with a grin.

  60

  DYLAN

  I’ve just gotten Casey and her family to the safe house when a phone call from Elise Pace comes. I didn’t expect to hear from her, but she asks if she can come visit me at home and talk. I tell her I still don’t have a place to live, but I agree to meet her at a restaurant.

  I’m curious what she has to say.

  She shows up at exactly four o’clock, a perfect meeting time since the restaurant is almost empty. I don’t know whether or not to hug her, but she leans over and hugs me and presses a kiss on my cheek.

  We sit down, and she squeezes my hand. “I’m so sorry about your apartment burning, Dylan. I really don’t think Jim knew about any of that. He wouldn’t have allowed it.”

  “No, I didn’t think he did.”

  Tears rim her eyes. “It’s wrong, what happened, on so many levels. I wish he were still here so I could ask him what he was thinking, giving in to blackmail. Bringing all this on us.”

  I don’t know what to say, so I just stay quiet.

  She dries her eyes and sits up straighter. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to fall apart again.” She draws in a long breath. “I wanted you to know that I’ve been digging back through financial records, trying to figure out what part of our finances was criminally gained, what part was legitimate income. Back about fifteen years ago, Jim went through a rough patch in his business. He’d made some risky investments, and he lost a lot of money. I think it must have been then that he sold corporate secrets to a rival company. Keegan was probably targeting him to blackmail for something—anything—because Jim was rich. By the time Keegan figured out what Jim had done, Jim was the CEO of the company he had betrayed, and he had investors and shareholders to answer to. He couldn’t let that get out. If Jim had just told me he was in trouble . . . I didn’t have to live in that big house. I often wondered if it was best to bring Brent up in that way. I would have been happy living in a regular neighborhood and downscaling our life. But I never got the chance to weigh in on that, because he never told me we were having problems.”

  “I know you always made Brent your priority over everything,” I say. “You were just a great mom. That’s how I thought of you.”

  She bursts into tears again and squeezes my hand. “I can’t tell you how much that means to me, Dylan.” She looks up at the ceiling tiles. “I miss Brent so much. All this . . . if I could turn back time and know what was going on. If I could intervene somehow.”

  “What could you have done?”

  “I don’t know,” she whispers. She forces her posture straighter again. “I really didn’t come here to do this. I came to tell you something else. Something good. At least, I hope you’ll think so.”

  “What?”

  “I wanted to tell you how sorry I am for thinking that girl—Casey Cox—did this to Brent. I’m proud of you for figuring all this out and exposing everything, even when it meant going against Jim and me. Brent would have wanted you to do that. I know he would.”

  “He sure wouldn’t have wanted the wrong person accused of his murder.”

  “No, he wouldn’t. I feel like I was part of the reason Casey was put in all that danger.”

  “Well, by that logic, you’re part of the reason she got out of it. If you hadn’t hired me, if God hadn’t given me clarity and discernment about the evidence, then she might still be hiding, or she might be dead by now.”

  “I want to do something for her. For you.”

  I shake my head. “No, Elise. We don’t need anything. You have enough to deal with.”

  “No, I was thinking about what I could do. I’ve taken all the money that looks like it came from illegal means, and I have a trustee who’s finding victims’ rights groups to donate it to. But out of the money that was in Brent’s trust fund, I wanted to give you a gift.”

  I smile. “You can’t,” I say. “I’m a police officer now. I can’t take gifts from you.”

  “Then it’s a gift to Casey. I think she was a good friend to Brent, and she helped find his killer.” She reaches into her purse and pulls out a check. She writes Casey’s name in the “Pay to the Order Of ” blank, then slides it across the table to me. “I thought it might help her with the down payment on a house or something. I know you’re in love with her. And from what I’ve seen of her, I can see why. She’s strong, Dylan. She has integrity. And I want the two of you to have what you deserve.”

  I look down at the amount, and I’m blown away. It’s not just a down payment. It’s enough for an entire starter home. “Elise, this is too much.”

  “No, it’s not. Brent had all this money just sitting there. I’ll sell his apartment, his car. I don’t want to spend it on myself. It’s just too . . . you know. I want it to go to something that would have made him happy. You were the best friend he ever had. Maybe Casey was the other one. I think he would be thrilled to see the two of you together.”

  I look down at the check, not sure Casey will accept it. “I’ll have to run this by the department, make sure it doesn’t somehow go against policy, even if it’s Casey’s. Like, for instance, if I did marry her, it would come to me too, and I don’t want to create any problems. The department is overcompensating for all the corruption, so we have to play by the rules.”

  “Marriage?” she asks, smiling. “Was that a hypothetical, or do you plan to marry her?”

  I can’t help smiling. “I haven’t proposed, but I can’t see my future without her.”

  “Then you’d better get on that.”

  “Yeah. Maybe I’d better.” I chuckle lightly, and she seems to enjoy that. Her eyes light up.

  “It’s just . . . I’ve never been with her when things were normal and boring, when life was going along like it does without someone about to kill us. She hasn’t been with me like that either. I’m thinking we need some time to hang out like that, when we can see if we still like each other when things aren’t so intense.”

  “I know you pretty well, Dylan. You’re not an adrenaline junkie. I think you’ll be fine together. Don’t waste too much time. Life is really short.”

  When she leaves, I stare at the check and wonder what it might be like if we did shop for a house together. If we moved in and bought furniture, watched TV and cooked and did laundry . . . The mundane, daily activities seem so pleasant when I think of doing them with her.

  Maybe Elise has a point. Maybe I shouldn’t waste any more time.

  61

  CASEY

  Dylan insists on staying with my family at the safe house, which makes my freedom even sweeter. The three-bedroom house is guarded by state police, but Dylan doesn’t trust anyone, so he plans to sleep on the couch.

  My sister bought products for the multistep process of getting the black dye out of my hair and bleaching it back to my normal shade of blonde. When that’s all done, I feel more like myself.

  Dylan plays with Emma and me on the floor, and I delight in her ability to walk to me. It’s like I haven’t even been away. She still loves me and comes to me willingly. When Dylan catches my eye, I have to look away because tears are ambushing me.

  “You okay?” he asks.

  “Yeah. Just thinking . . . God is good.”

  “Yes, he is.” He scoots over next to me and kisses my cheek, and keeps his eyes on me. “Your laughter is so healing.”

  “Yours too,” I say.

  Hannah buzzes a
round the kitchen, talking nonstop and catching me up on all that has happened in the last few months. When Jeff puts Emma to bed, Dylan sits with us as we watch Monty Python and the Holy Grail, and I’m surprised that Dylan knows the same lines I do.

  When everyone goes to bed, I try to as well, but I lie awake, unable to sleep. Finally, I get up and go into the living room. I find Dylan sitting on the couch with his computer on his lap.

  “What are you doing?”

  He looks up, his face lit by the screen. He pats the cushion on the couch next to him. “Couldn’t sleep?”

  “No. It’s weird. You would think I’d sleep like a baby tonight. Maybe it’s because you’re here.”

  “I’m supposed to bring you comfort.”

  “You do, but it’s not the kind of comfort that makes me want to sleep.” We smile at each other, a smile that does relax me. “Besides, I was thinking I need to wash a load of clothes.”

  I take a load to the laundry room and dump my clothes into the washer, and he brings me some popcorn before I’ve located the detergent. He pulls himself up onto the counter as I set the washer and start it. I smile. “I love that sound.”

  “Really? You’re easy to please.”

  “It sounds like peace. Like . . . you don’t wash clothes when you think someone might kill you. You only do it when things are normal, right? When you’re safe.”

  “I never thought of it that way.”

  “I love laundromats. The warmth in them. The noise of the machines. The way they smell. People who aren’t in a hurry, just waiting for their clothes to dry.”

  “I like them too,” he says. “Always have.”

  I take a handful of popcorn and wonder when I last had some. It’s such a luxury. “So what were you doing on your computer? Working?”

  His eyes seem to soften even more. “No, I was looking for a place to live. You want to help me?”

  “Sure,” I say. “I have to do that too, eventually.”

  We go back to the couch and sit next to each other, and I peruse the choices with him. “Wow. I guess you can afford a lot more than I can now that you have a steady gig.”

  He grins. “I was waiting until I got you alone to tell you. Plus I had to get clearance from Chief Gates, but he gave it to me this afternoon.”

  “Clearance for what?”

  “To give you this.” He pulls a folded check out of his pocket and hands it to me.

  I open it and catch my breath at the amount. “What?”

  “From Elise Pace. It’s part of Brent’s trust fund. She wants you to have it to get a place to live.”

  I just stare at the amount. “I don’t want to profit from Brent’s death.”

  “I know,” he says. “But to her, it’s a gift from Brent himself. It was his money. He would be sorry about what happened to you. You spent the money your dad left you. You have injuries, lost wages . . .”

  “But still—”

  “Use it. It made her feel better to give it to you.”

  “Well, I do want her to feel better.” We both grin.

  We look through the houses that Dylan has brought up, and flip through the rooms. We seem to have the same taste. Simple, homey. Shabby chic, though he would never call it that.

  We both fall in love with the same house, but I tell him he should get it. It’s perfect for him. He clicks on the fenced backyard. It has a fort-like swing set.

  We both get quiet, longing.

  Finally, he closes the lid.

  “What?” I ask. “You don’t want to look anymore?”

  He shifts on the couch and says, “I want to look at you.”

  I smile, basking in that.

  “The thing is, Casey, I don’t really want to get a house . . . without you. I don’t want you to get one without me. I want us to do this together.”

  “Live together?” I ask. “Because I don’t think that’s—”

  “No,” he cuts in. “I know this isn’t a very romantic way to do this. I should make a grand gesture, give you a story to tell your friends and family if you want to. I should have had a little box ready, and a speech and everything.”

  He slips off the couch and kneels on the floor, and I don’t know what he’s doing, so I get down there with him, thinking he’s picking up toys or something.

  But he has another idea.

  “Casey, I know this is soon, and maybe you won’t feel the same, and if you don’t, that’s fine. We can slow down all you want. But if you do feel the way I do . . .”

  I’m starting to understand what he’s doing. “I do,” I manage to say.

  “I feel like you’re already a part of my future, and I want to start our future right now. Today, if we can. Tomorrow or the next day if there’s a waiting period.”

  I whisper a laugh. “What are you asking me, Dylan?”

  He laughs as if he’s botching it big-time. “I’m asking you to marry me, Casey. I’m asking you to be my wife.”

  I rise up on my knees and touch his face, and tears roll down my face as I whisper, “Yes! Make me your wife!”

  He kisses me then, and I feel his heart beating in his neck, and the love in his touch is greater than any ring he could have shown me. I can’t stop crying as he pulls back and looks at me.

  “I’ll get you a ring,” he whispers.

  “No, I don’t want one. I just want you. I want to marry you as soon as it’s legally allowed. No big hoopla. I don’t want people looking at me and the press going nuts. I just want Hannah and Jeff and my mom there. I want to go house hunting and get furniture and make a home with you. I want to be safe with you, and have a normal, boring life.”

  “A normal, boring life,” he whispers, as if it’s the best thing he’s ever heard.

  It turns out there’s a seventy-two-hour waiting period in Louisiana to get married, but we apply for the marriage license the next morning. Then Hannah goes shopping with a bodyguard to buy me a dress. She comes back with a white gown and a veil that she got off the rack at a local bridal store. Dylan surprises me by bringing home a rented tux.

  The day before our wedding, his pastor comes to see us at the safe house. He counsels us for three hours before granting his blessing and telling us he’ll see us when he performs our small ceremony. We swear him to secrecy, not wanting anyone to get wind of it.

  The hour our waiting period ends, the preacher is there, and he performs the sweetest wedding ceremony I’ve ever heard in my life. It’s as if a movie score is playing over my life as we exchange our vows, seal them with a kiss, and are pronounced husband and wife.

  That night, Dylan doesn’t have to sleep on the couch. Curled in each other’s arms as man and wife, we celebrate our love and sleep more soundly than either of us has ever slept before.

  62

  CASEY

  Gordon Keegan has seen better days. He shuffles into the courtroom for his sentencing, shackles on his feet and his hands cuffed together in front. He’s got two black eyes, his nose is swollen and cut, and his cheekbone is gashed. Dried blood festers on it.

  For six weeks, he’s been in the population with people he helped put away, whether rightfully or wrongfully. They each probably have a case now if they have good lawyers who can help them untangle the mess of their convictions, based on the fact that a known liar and criminal was the one who arrested them. I don’t like that aspect of Keegan getting caught, but I suppose it can’t be helped.

  I sit among the other victims, including Elise Pace, who looks like she’s lost at least thirty pounds and aged about twenty years since her son and husband were taken from her. On the other side of me is Sy Rollins’s sister, and next to her is Sara Meadows’ brother-in-law and her neighbor and best friend.

  When the judge makes Keegan take his seat, he looks over toward us. Our eyes meet, and I don’t let myself look away. I hold that gaze.

  The judge drones on about the nature of his crimes. “And now I’m going to give a few minutes for the victims’ families to testify, st
arting with Miss Cox. Are you ready, Miss Cox?”

  I get to my feet and look back into the gallery where my husband is sitting. He nods at me, encouraging me to go on.

  I step to the podium with my printout of the remarks I want to make. I had to type them up because I didn’t want to leave anything out.

  I clear my throat and swallow. “My father, Andy Cox, was an honorable, hardworking, trustworthy police officer. He was also a strong family man and the best father a girl could have.”

  I look at Keegan and realize he’s not even watching me. He’s looking down at his fingernails as if there’s something there that’s more important than what I have to say. “I’ve come to terms with losing him thirteen years ago,” I say. “What I have trouble coming to terms with is how I found him. You murdered my father in cold blood. He fought you, and there was evidence of that at the crime scene. You covered up that evidence, then called it a suicide and let our family face that stigma. But worse, you staged the body for me to find. I was twelve years old, and the worst thing that had ever happened to me before that was my cat dying when I was six. My dad insisted on burying her in the backyard, and he had a very solemn funeral service in which he told her how much she meant to us. He did it all for me, because he wanted me to be okay with the very first death I experienced.”

  My mouth shakes, but I force myself to go on.

  “Fast-forward six years. I had gotten an A on a math paper that I didn’t expect to pass, but my dad had stayed up with me into the wee hours the night before, studying for it. I couldn’t wait to get off the bus. He had come home early to meet me and see how I had done. His car was in the driveway, so I bounced off the school bus and hurried to the door. I ran inside, yelling, ‘Daddy!’”

  My throat constricts and the words cut off. I don’t want to go on, but I have to. “I found my dad hanging there in the middle of our living room, dead.”

  I look at Keegan, and he looks up at me. His eyelids are heavy, dull, and he seems to be taunting me, saying, “What are you going to do about it?”