Shattered Justice

by Karen Ball

  At his rueful look, she giggled. “No, I didn’t think so. But that’s okay. They probably wouldn’t be enough to calm her down anyway. So here’s the deal. I’ll go talk to her, call her Kylie—”

  “The childhood nickname.” Dan almost chuckled. “The one you used to use when you came into her room at night after a nightmare.”

  “The one that turns her all soft and maternal? Yup, that’s the one. Anyway, I’ll convince her you need a little more time alone. But listen up. Those forty-five minutes we agreed to earlier, big brother? They’re ticking down, starting now.”

  “I’ll be there. I promise.”

  She slipped out, and as the door clicked shut behind her, Dan leaned his head back. He hadn’t realized how tired he was. But suddenly he felt as though a lead blanket lay over him, making it hard to move, to breathe, to think. His eyes drifted shut. “Sarah …”

  As though in response to his whispered plea, images swam through his mind, pictures of their life together … Sarah floating down the aisle, the most beautiful bride he’d ever seen … Sarah holding their newborn babies, tears in her eyes … the way her lips tipped when she teased him … On and on they came, one after another, each one ripping an ever larger hole in his heart.

  Dan let them come. For here, immersed in memories, he could, for a brief moment in time, be where he most wanted to be.

  Where he would never in this life be again.

  With Sarah.

  A knock at the door sent a stab of shock through Dan. He bolted out of his chair. “Sarah?”

  Another knock, this one a little louder and followed by a worried voice. “Avidan? Are you all right?”

  Not Sarah. Kyla.

  He closed his eyes. Sarah was gone.

  Sucking in a ragged breath, he looked down at his watch. Two hours since Annie and the kids left the room. So much for promises.

  Dan went to pull the door open. “Kyla, I’m so sorry—”

  She stopped him with a gentle hand on his face. Her green eyes softened, and there was a catch in her voice when she spoke. “Oh, Avidan. You’ve been crying.”

  He brushed his cheek. She was right. His skin was more than damp. “I was … dreaming, or something. I was in the woods again. With Sarah.”

  Kyla wrapped her arms around him, patting his back, the action as gentle and soothing as her voice. “I wish I could make it better.”

  Oh, that a sister’s wishes could be granted. “So do I.” But nothing was going to make this better. Not for a very, very long time.

  FIVE

  “The only cure for grief is action.”

  GEORGE HENRY LEWES

  “The LORD will work out his plans for my life.”

  PSALM 138:8

  “I CAN DO THIS.”

  Dan stood in the doorway, steeling himself. “Come on, Justice. You’re an adult. A cop, for cryin’ out loud. Nothin’ scares you, right?”

  Right. Except, of course, the empty room before him. And the thought of sleeping in that empty bed by himself.

  He sagged against the doorjamb. Six months. How could that much time have passed already? Six months since the funeral. Six months of living in a house and town where everything reminded him of Sarah. Of all they’d lost.

  All they’d never have again.

  Six months of putting the kids to bed, then heading for his room with grim determination. Of standing here, in the doorway of his bedroom, telling himself to stop being a fool and get some sleep. Of staring at the quilt Sarah had pulled in place as she made their bed the morning they headed for their hike. Of walking to the bed, lifting the pillow that had cushioned his wife’s head, and pressing his face into it, drawing every last bit of her fragrance from it.

  Six months of carrying that pillow to the living room. Amazing how accustomed one could become to sleeping in a recliner.

  As Dan headed for the recliner one more time, he sighed. At least he seemed to be the only one struggling with the memories at night. The kids had their moments during the day. Like yesterday.

  Oh, yeah. That was a doozy.

  On Saturdays Sarah always got up early and fixed them all a special breakfast. Pancakes. Waffles. Crepes. Apple-dumpling oatmeal. They never knew what they’d find waiting for them at the breakfast table. But it was always delicious.

  Yesterday Dan came to the kitchen for breakfast and found the room in a shambles and Shannon in tears. She’d gotten up early, determined to make a special Saturday breakfast. But nothing went right.

  Dan comforted her, saying they could do it together. Aaron had been less than thrilled, but he joined in. Until Shannon turned too quick and knocked a dozen eggs from the counter, sending them crashing to the floor.

  The eggs exploded into goo.

  Aaron exploded into a rage. “This is stupid!”

  “It is not!” Shannon’s tears erupted again.

  Before Dan could say a word, Aaron spat out his fury. “Give it up! Who do you think you are? Mom?”

  Oh, yeah. That was a lovely way to start the weekend. By afternoon they had the kitchen cleaned up, and Aaron and Shannon reached a kind of uneasy peace. As for Dan, he went through the rest of the day forcing his lips to smile and his words to be encouraging.

  Not an easy task when all he wanted to do was hit something.

  Now he sat in his recliner, got the pillow arranged just right, and pushed back. He closed his eyes, slowing his breathing, trying to convince himself he was sleepy. This wasn’t so bad, really. Probably better for his back in the long ru—

  “Dad?”

  He cracked one eye open. Two forms stood beside him.

  “We want to sleep in here. With you.”

  “What …” He pushed up on one elbow. “What’s wrong with your beds?” It only took a look from one child to the other to know. His kids had been acting, too. They weren’t dealing with the nights any better than he was.

  He opened his arms, and both kids climbed up onto his lap, each snuggling down in the crook of an arm. Good thing he had an oversized recliner.

  He’d just about drifted back to sleep.

  “Daddy?”

  He forced his eyes open. Shannon lay with one hand clutching his shirt, the other wrapped around the lion’s head pendant. “What is it, Shannon?”

  “Can we sing the song?”

  He stared at the ceiling, felt Aaron shift and lift his head to look at him.

  “Yeah, sing the song, Dad.”

  A flash of anger left his voice stuck someplace in his throat. He and Sarah used to sing the song to the kids together. From the time they were infants. Just as Dan’s mother sang it to him.

  Singing it now … without her …

  He glared at the darkness. He couldn’t do this! How was he supposed to raise these two without Sarah? How was he supposed to face one more day knowing she wasn’t here? Wouldn’t ever be here again?

  Suddenly a small, sweet voice filled the quiet room.

  “Be not dismayed whate’er betide, God will take care of you.

  Beneath His wings of love abide, God will take care of you.

  God will take care of you, through every day, o’er all the way;

  He will take care of you, God will take care of you.”

  Shannon’s voice was so like her mother’s. Dan’s eyes closed, his arms tightening around his children. Aaron laid his head on Dan’s shoulder and lifted his voice to join his sister’s.

  “Through days of toil when heart doth fail,

  God will take care of you;

  When dangers fierce your path assail, God will take care of you.

  God will take care of you, through every day, o’er all the way;

  He will take care of you, God will take care of you.”

  As he listened, it was as though he could hear other voices joining in. His mother’s. Sarah’s. Each letting him know they weren’t gone. Not really. They were there, in his children. In his heart.

  Finally, with a shuddering breath, Dan opened his mouth an
d sang.

  “All you may need He will provide, God will take care of you;

  Nothing you ask will be denied, God will take care of you.

  No matter what may be the test, God will take care of you;

  Lean, weary one, upon His breast, God will take care of you.”

  As the sound of their voices drifted into silence, Dan placed a kiss on Aaron’s, then Shannon’s foreheads. Yes, Sarah was gone. But part of her lived on in the two he held in his arms.

  For that, he would always be grateful.

  The next day, when the kids were off to school, Dan called his sisters, asking them to pray for him. “We need a change. I’m just not sure what kind.

  Kyla and Annie each agreed to spend time every day for the next week reading the Bible and praying, asking God to give them a special verse for guidance. At the end of the week, Kyla and Annie would drive to his house to talk.

  Dan sat down for his morning devotions, and words from his reading jumped out at him: “Leave the boat, all of you.”

  He blinked, read the words again, and broke into a grin. He supposed there was a message in that somewhere. He read the whole chapter, but nothing stood out except those six words.

  Yeah, well, that’s what he got for thinking he could just open the Bible and get a word from God.

  During the week, he read the entire book of Genesis, and still that same verse kept coming back to him, over and over, like maddening song lyrics that wouldn’t go away.

  It wasn’t until he met with his sisters that it made sense. Annie arrived that afternoon, so they came to Dan’s for dinner. After putting the kids to bed, the three of them gathered in the library.

  Annie had barely shut the door when Kyla jumped in. “Okay, Avidan, what’s your verse?”

  He fidgeted, scooting to the edge of the couch cushion. “I’d rather one of you went first. Mine is a bit … odd.”

  “Odd or not—” Kyla sank into the cushion next to him—“let’s hear it.”

  Dan started to argue with her, then sighed, watching Annie take her usual spot, perching on the arm of the couch. “Okay. You asked for it. My verse is Genesis 8:16. It says, ‘Leave the boat, all of you.’ ”

  Their reactions weren’t even close to what he’d expected. He thought they’d laugh, maybe tease him. Instead, they just stared, first at him, then at each other.

  Kyla swallowed. “Well. That settles it.”

  Dan frowned. “Settles what?”

  Annie looked at her sister. “Yours, too, huh?”

  Resignation glimmered in Kyla’s green eyes. “I kept hoping I got it wrong.”

  “Me, too. I mean, mine didn’t quite fit with what I thought God was saying, but now—” Annie folded her hands in her lap—“it makes sense.”

  Dan crossed his arms and stared at his sisters. “You two care to let me in on the secret?”

  Annie folded her knees to her chest. “Go ahead, Kyla.”

  She turned to Dan, and he wondered at the hint of sadness in her eyes. “My verse is Acts 7:3. ‘God told him, “Leave your native land and your relatives, and come to the land that I will show you.” ’ ”

  Dan’s mouth fell open.

  “Annot?”

  Annie followed her sister’s lead. “My verse is John 14:16. ‘And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Counselor, who will never leave you.’ ”

  It didn’t take a genius to put it all together: The change they needed was a move.

  As hard as it was to even consider the idea—to imagine leaving the home he and Sarah had made or the sisters who meant so much to him—Dan had to admit he felt a certainty, deep inside, that it was the right thing to do.

  The first confirmation came in the form of a job opening posted on the wall at work. Dan seldom looked at the job postings, but today he was drawn to them. And one sheet in particular caught his eyes. It was a job description for a sheriff’s deputy in a rural mountain community about an hour north. Dan read the sheet three times. Each time his heart beat a little faster.

  Finally he stuck his head in his boss’s office, dangling the job description in front of him. “What’s this?”

  John Grayson, Jackson County’s sheriff, looked up, one bushy brow lifting. “What? You forget how to read?”

  Dan stepped inside the office. “No, I mean … we don’t have deputies in those mountain communities.”

  “Yeah, well, we do now. Or we will, when they fill the position.”

  Dan frowned. “How? I thought the county couldn’t afford—”

  “They couldn’t. But some rich guy decided he wanted to donate money for a new program to get deputies to those remote areas, and this is where the county decided to start. So, the money’s there. All they need is a deputy.”

  Dan looked down at the paper. “I want to apply.” He didn’t know who was more surprised: Grayson or Dan himself.

  The sheriff leaned his arms on the desk in front of him. “Figured you would.”

  Okay. Dan was more surprised. “You did?”

  The sheriff shrugged. “Just seemed a good fit. From what I hear, it’s a nice little town. Great place to raise kids. And it’s in the middle of the mountains.”

  He picked up his pen and waved it in the air. “You’re always spouting off about how the valley’s getting too full of people.” He turned back to the report he’d been reading. “Can’t hurt to check it out.”

  Nope. Couldn’t hurt at all.

  The second confirmation came that evening, when Dan got home and sat the kids down to tell them what he was considering. When he’d given them all the information, he waited, not sure what to expect. Questions? Maybe. Resistance? Possibly. Anxiety? He wouldn’t be surprised—

  “What’s the name of the town?”

  Dan searched his daughter’s face for signs of apprehension, resistance. He saw only curiosity. And a glimmer of something else … something he couldn’t quite pinpoint. “Sanctuary.”

  “Ohh—” that indefinable emotion deepened, bringing a warm glow to her chocolate eyes—“I like that.”

  Understanding dawned. Hope. That’s what Dan saw in her eyes. Hope.

  “Me, too.”

  Aaron agreeing with his sister? “You do?”

  The boy stuck his feet straight out in front of him, wiggling them. “Yeah. Sanctuary.” He repeated the town name, as though seeing how it fit not only on his lips, but in his heart. “It sounds like, I don’t know …”

  “Like home.”

  Aaron glanced at his sister, apparently letting her words roll around in his head, then nodded, a smile tiptoeing across his mouth. “Yeah.” He looked at Dan. “It does. It sounds like home.”

  Dan leaned back in his chair. Okaaay … God had to be at work here. His children never agreed on anything.

  Not ever.

  Clearly, he was witness to a miracle.

  Dan called personnel the next day, and a Realtor the day after that. The job was his in three weeks. His house sold in four.

  Before he knew it—less than two months after asking his sisters to pray—Dan stood on the front lawn of the home he and Sarah had shared, surveying the loaded moving truck.

  Kyla stood next to him, patting her brow with a mono-grammed handkerchief. She’d taken over the second Dan arrived with the moving van, orchestrating them all with precision and authority.

  The woman was born to commandeer.

  Normally Dan would have given her a run for her money—he was bigger and taller than she; he was sure he could take her—but today he was grateful that someone else took control. He had all he could handle dealing with the grief that kept popping up, seizing his heart and superseding his ability to make logical decisions.

  “Well—” Kyla folded her handkerchief into a precise square and slid it into her pocket—“I think that’s everything.”

  “It’d better be. I don’t think there’s an inch more of room in that truck.”

  His sister’s one raised brow warned him a repri
mand was coming. “Well, I did tell you to get the larger truck.” She gave a little sniff. “I do similar kinds of things for a living, Avidan. One day I hope you’ll actually listen to me.”

  “Only if he’s totally lost his mind.”

  They both turned, Dan to grin at Annie and Kyla to glare at her offending sister. Annie responded to the reprimand by sticking her tongue out.

  Kyla drew back. “How lovely, Annot. There’s a picture to capture in stained glass.”

  Annie was the picture of wide-eyed innocence. “Ya think? Hmm, it just might work.” She struck a pose, her tongue sticking out. “Take a picture of me?”

  Dan stepped around the two women, shaking his head. “I’d like to say I’m going to miss these little exchanges between you two …”

  Annie’s goofy face evaporated. “Aw, that’s so sweet.”

  He reached the front door of the now empty house. “I’d like to, but I can’t.” He winked at them. “ ’Cuz I won’t.”

  Dan stepped inside, closing the door against Annie’s protest and Kyla’s indignation. He made one last round through the barren house. It felt so sad … a skeleton of a life that used to be. Pausing in each room, he let the memories drift over him. Good memories. Memories that he’d keep with him always. Memories that gave him the strength to do what he knew he needed to do.

  Until, that is, he came to the bedroom he and Sarah had shared. There, the memories were overwhelming, bringing back his loss with renewed sting. He leaned against the wall, taking in the bare room.

  Early this morning, the moving truck pulled into Dan’s driveway. His sisters arrived mere minutes later, and the day raced by as he supervised the hauling and loading of his and Sarah’s life together.

  The kids had recovered from their stint in miracle land and were back to normal—aggravating each other at every opportunity. But they managed to keep their exchanges on a mostly friendly, bantering level, which Dan appreciated.

  Now, standing in his bedroom, Dan felt the weariness bore into him. He rubbed at his throbbing temples. How could he say good-bye to this place?