by Pat Warren
“He’s beautiful, Brie,” Slade said, and meant it. The boy radiated childhood at its carefree happiest He felt a lump form at the thought that her son had been taken from her, the pictures bringing home the message more clearly than her earlier words had. He reached to fold her hand in his. It seemed these days that he couldn’t get enough of just touching her, holding her.
“He was, wasn’t he?” She would at least have that as a memory she’d store away forever. Her son had been happy and loved.
The next picture showed Robert and Bobby walking away, Bobby waving to her across the street, the balloon tied to his wrist. In the following snapshot, a dark car could be seen in the right-hand corner, more of it visible in the next photo.
“You can easily make out the license plate number,” she told Slade. “Craig said it was a rental car.”
“It can be traced to him, I’m sure. Why would he have rented a car if he hadn’t intended to do something? That proves premeditation. That means old Craig is facing more than just prison bars.”
Brie stared at the shadowy form of a man behind the wheel of the gray car. “If I blow this up, and I will, I’ll bet it’ll identify him as the driver. This is the picture he was afraid of.” A shudder shook her body as she set aside the photo. “Oh, God. The horror of someone planning such a thing, carrying it out so cold-bloodedly, his first shot killing an innocent little boy who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Then he shot again.”
She felt Slade squeeze her fingers, letting her get it out. “To think he met me at the hospital that terrible day and I was so glad to see him. He pretended to be grieving right along with me. He’s a monster!”
“Yeah, he is. But he’s going to get what’s coming to him. Finally, it’s all over. No more phone calls, no more threats.”
Briana blinked back her tears. “You’re right. We can get on with our lives, finally.”
It was Slade’s turn. He reached across to the nightstand for the envelope he’d had in his pocket on his way over to see Briana that fateful morning. “And speaking of getting on with our lives, this is a letter from Rachel’s mother. I’d like you to read it”
He didn’t look upset she thought, taking the single sheet of paper. Had Rachel finally forgiven him?
Briana read quickly, emotions shifting on her face. Finishing, she raised suddenly damp eyes to his face. “Oh, Slade.” She reached to hold him close. After a moment, she leaned back. “How do you feel about this?”
He stared at the letter, trying to put his feelings into words, something he was getting better at. “I feel terrible mat Rachel thought the only way out was to overdose on pills, but I know what guilt can do to a person. She couldn’t handle living with the knowledge that she, not I, had caused Megan’s death.”
“I can’t believe she locked that small child in her closet to punish her for getting into the cookie jar. That’s such a kid thing to do, one probably every child tries at one time or another. Was she that harsh with Megan when you lived with them?”
“A little, but apparently she got worse after I left. Maybe that guy she’d had living with her for a while hadn’t liked kids and complained a lot about Megan. So, being a weak person, Rachel followed his lead.”
“After you told me that Megan was afraid of the dark, of enclosed spaces, I couldn’t imagine that she’d gone into a closet willingly.” Brie’s maternal heart went out to the child. “The poor little thing.”
“I’m sure Rachel had intended to punish her for just a short time by locking her in her own bedroom closet while she lay down on her bed. But she fell asleep. All these months, how she must have suffered, knowing what she’d done.”
“Doubly so because she’d let you believe it was your fault. She hadn’t been able to own up to her own guilt.” Brie sighed, feeling sorry for the woman whose judgment had cost her dearly, yet unwilling to overlook the fact that Rachel had allowed Slade to blame himself all this time.
“I hope she’s found some form of peace now.” As he hoped that Jeremy had.
She laced her fingers with his. “So you see, it wasn’t such a bad judgment call you made back in California. And besides, what you did for Irma would have wiped the slate clean in anyone’s book.” She’d had Slade check on Irma’s condition while she was still in the hospital and learned that their friend had a fractured hip and a badly bruised ankle, but she was doing well.
Brie studied Slade’s face, saw that he was still thoughtful. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m wondering why it takes a near death to wake up some people. Damn, I almost lost you. Longest night of my life.”
“You didn’t and you won’t.” She raised a hand to stroke along his cheek, then back up to trace the small scar above his left brow. Lord, how she loved this man.
He smiled down at her. “All right, then, if you’re sure, maybe we should do the thing.”
“Am I to understand that’s a proposal, then?”
Slade held her close, his fingers tracing her full lips. “It is.”
“Can I perhaps hear you say those three little words?”
“I love you. I want to be with you always, Brie. I want to go to sleep with you beside me and wake up holding you. I want to have a child with you.” He watched her eyes fill, soften. “I know Bobby can never be replaced. But we can have another child, one you and I make together.”
Blinking, Briana nodded. “I want that, too.”
“Is that a yes, then?”
“Definitely.”
The kiss was long, tender, breathtaking. Opening his eyes, Slade glanced across the room at the window open to the sea. The sun was just setting, streaking the sky gold and red. “Look at that, a red sky tonight.”
“‘Red sky at night, sailors delight,’” Brie quoted from the old mariners saying.
Slade snuggled down with her. “A delight. I like that. Maybe it’s an omen. Only good things ahead. All the bad times are behind us.”
“I know they are.” With that, she turned into his kiss, filled with the promise of bright tomorrows.