Like Arthur and Claire. Grant had accompanied the police captain in his role as fast squad to be present when the cop delivered the terrible news to Arthur and Claire. But there was nothing he could do for them as their world imploded, and it was that very helplessness that had finally sent him back to Larry’s truck to contemplate where he was really going with his life.
So, what was he planning to do now? Bail out on Larry and leave him with all the work? Fail his partner, too? But what about Cassie? How was she going to deal with this? They couldn’t keep her sedated. She was going to have to come to terms with what had happened. What was his part in that? Would she want him around? Would he tell her why he was so devastated by it all? What would she think of him then? Would she hate him forever? But how could he not tell her? What kind of support could he offer her if he wasn’t truthful with her? Or would she simply be better off if he just bowed out of her life? Why did he think his presence would actually help her to deal with the death of her best friend? How could he even justify trying to be part of her life now?
Marcia. An image of Marcia, wounded and bleeding but not yet dead, kept cycling through his mind. Why hadn’t the police tried harder to get inside while she still might have been alive? Why hadn’t they stormed the house and killed Teddy themselves on the chance that the victims could still be saved? What might Grant have been able to do if he could have gotten inside to help her?
He was going to go crazy with all of this. And he had no one to talk to. His parents would never understand his anguish and would dwell on Marcia’s moral character instead. Besides, his mother was a terrible gossip and should never hear the things he had to say. He wasn’t about to lay his torments on Cassie. Larry was out of the question. Corey might be sympathetic, but she wouldn’t respect Marcia as a person worthy of his concern.
Shane. He could talk to Shane. But first, he needed to make sure Cassie would be taken care of today.
He returned to the obstetrics floor and spoke with the nurse. Cassie was awake and wanted to go home. There was paperwork to be completed, but she should be able to leave by noon or so. If he wanted to see her, the nurse would check to be sure he was welcome. He waited in the hallway until she gave him the green light to go into Cassie’s room. Cassie was sitting in the armchair on the opposite side of the bed, watching him come in.
“Hey, Cass.”
“Hey.” She did not bother to smile. “I’m going to go home as soon as I can. I just have to get Sonny to come sign the birth certificate.”
Grant held his breath. As far as he knew, Sonny was still unaccounted for. “Have you called his house?”
“Yeah. I spoke with his ma. She said he was sleeping, but she’d wake him up by ten and send him here.”
Grant let himself breathe once more. “So will he take the baby then?”
Cassie closed her eyes and shook her head wearily. “I don’t know. I guess we’ll have to talk about it.” Her voice was devoid of emotion; she obviously had other things on her mind than the fate of her unwanted newborn.
“So what happens now, while you wait to leave?”
“I don’t know. I guess they’ll show me how to bathe the baby and stuff. Nobody knows it’s not going home with me in the end.”
“Do you want me to stay? Or to come back and drive you home?”
Cassie shook her head. “No. Thanks. Jeanine’s going to come.” She looked up at him, and tears welled in her eyes. “Thanks for coming last night. Thanks for being there. They said you stayed all night. You really didn’t need to.”
“I wanted to.”
She tried to smile, but it was more of a grimace. Grant watched her closely as he said, “It’s okay. I know we’ve got some hard times coming. It’s going to be hard on all of us.”
Cassie kept her eyes on her lap as she nodded. “Were you … there?”
Grant’s heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean?”
“When it happened. Were you called? To go there?”
“Yes. But I couldn’t get past the police.”
“It was too late?”
“I guess.”
Cassie began to sob. He started to move toward her, around the end of the bed, but she put up her hand to stop him and shook her head. “I can’t, Grant.”
“I’m not asking for anything, Cass.”
“I’ll be okay. It’s just going to be hard … for a while. Like you said.” She rubbed the tears from her cheeks with her fingertips and looked up at him. “You must be exhausted. Please go home. I mean that nicely.”
“Okay. But can I check on you later?”
“Maybe tomorrow. Okay?”
Grant nodded, then turned and left the room. She was a strong person; he knew that. But somehow he felt the worst was yet to come.
Sonny was sitting on the deacon’s bench at the top of the stairs, staring out the window toward the fields of snow beyond the barn. Outside, the morning sun glinted off the ice crystals as another beautiful day took shape.
“I thought you would be asleep,” Miriam said as she reached the top of the stairs.
Sonny kept his face turned toward the window.
“I know you’re not in the mood for this, but Cassie called. She had her baby yesterday and she needs you to come sign the papers. Unless you’ve changed your mind.”
Sonny’s shoulders rose and fell.
“She wants to go home today. She needs you to come to Cottage Hospital by ten, she said.”
“Does she know?”
“Yes.”
“What do I say to her?”
“You’re sorry.”
Sonny turned angry dark eyes on Miriam, and his face was tight. “That’s not going to be enough.”
“What more can you say? You’re not responsible for what happened there.”
Sonny’s lip curled as he gave a short, humorless laugh. “But I am, Ma.”
“How?”
“Because that could have been me. It almost was me.” He stared at her, waiting for her to react. “Why do you think I was almost there when it happened?”
Miriam did her best to keep her face impassive even as her anger rose. “I heard a little while ago that it was Loretta Beaumont’s boy.”
Sonny nodded and looked away.
“You knew?”
“I saw his pickup.” His voice broke as he spoke.
“The state police want to talk to you.” She reached into the pocket of her sweater and pulled out the police officer’s card, then set it down on the bench beside him.
“I heard Marcia scream,” he said, his face still turned toward the window. “I was that close. I heard Marcia scream, and then I heard the shots.”
Miriam waited.
“I almost went in. I thought maybe I could stop him … or maybe she’d still be alive … but then I figured if he shot me, too, there’d be no one to go for help.” His voice broke again. “But now I keep thinking maybe …”
“You couldn’t have saved her, Sonny. He shot at close range. He didn’t miss.”
Sonny leaned away from her so she couldn’t see his face. Miriam’s heart ached as she watched him, but she knew there was nothing she could do or say to ease his guilt. He finally drew a deep breath and brought himself under control once more. “I’m going to ask Cassie to marry me.”
Miriam frowned at him. “Why?”
“I owe her, Ma. It’s the right thing to do.”
“Because her friend died?”
He turned to look at her, and his voice was defiant now. “Because our friend died. Because we have a lot in common. Because we can help each other through this.”
“Those aren’t good reasons to marry someone, Sonny.”
He turned away to stare out the window again. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Shared sorrow is not the basis for a marriage.”
Sonny’s dark eyes narrowed. “I went to Marcia for years, Ma.”
Miriam’s jaw tightened. “You did not kill her, Sonny. I’m not saying
what you did was right, but you are not responsible for what her husband found yesterday. She died because of what she was doing yesterday, not what she was doing last week or last month or last year!”
“Maybe he came home early because of something I did that made him suspect her!”
Miriam’s own eyes were flashing now as she pointed her finger at him. “You may be filled with guilt, Sonny, because you know what you did was wrong! But you didn’t cause her to have the Beaumont boy in her bed yesterday! She did that without your help! She would have done it whether or not you had ever gone to her! As for Cassie, you’re not going to make up for cheating on her with Marcia by marrying her now.”
Sonny’s face was dark with anger as he rose to his full height, towering over her.
“Call the police, Sonny,” Miriam said, looking up at him. “Tell them what you know. Bring this to an end so Marcia and the other two can rest in peace. Then be ready to go to the hospital. And by the way … it’s a girl.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Tuesday, April 5, 1989
Shelby sat on the couch, her left elbow propped on the armrest, the tightly swaddled baby nestled in the crook of her arm. The tiny infant was sucking contentedly from the bottle Shelby held in her right hand, and the sound made her smile.
“Cassie wants her name to be Marcia Elizabeth,” Miriam said from beside her. “But Sonny says he can’t call her Marcia.”
“Didn’t they have to put her name on the birth certificate before they took her home?”
“I guess not. They said some people wait until they get to know the baby’s personality or something before they choose a name.” Shelby could hear the skepticism in Miriam’s voice at the thought of such foolishness.
“So calling her Marcia is too uncomfortable for Sonny?” Shelby took a deep breath to calm the ache rising in her chest. “Is that because he … loved her?”
“I don’t know anything about Sonny’s relationship with her,” Miriam said, but the sudden coldness in her voice told Shelby this was not so.
“Well, no matter what name they choose, you can still call her whatever you want. Maybe something that’s short for Elizabeth.” The baby started sucking air, and Shelby gently popped the nipple from the child’s still-puckered mouth. She set the empty bottle on the table beside the couch, then ran her finger along the side of the baby’s unbelievably soft cheek. The little girl did not stir; she was sound asleep. Shelby raised her to her shoulder and gently patted the tiny warm back to encourage her to burp out excess air.
“What would you call her?” Miriam asked.
“Beth. That would be my first choice.”
“I like that. I think Sonny would, too.”
Shelby rubbed the baby’s back in small circles as the child snuggled near her neck. “Sonny hasn’t said one word to me in two days.”
“He’s … pretty upset right now.”
“Are people aware that you’ve taken Cassie’s baby?”
“A few.”
“Do they think it’s because Sonny’s the father?”
“Could be.”
“So, is that bothering him? He never wanted to be accused of being … you know …”
“Like his father?” Miriam’s voice had hardened now. “Well, he is, so one way or another that word’s going to get out.”
Shelby frowned at her. “What do you mean, ‘he is?’”
“He’s no saint.”
“He wasn’t cheating on a wife.”
“But he was cheating with somebody else’s. We’ve had this conversation before, Shelby. My boys learned a lot from their father. And they learned a lot from me. From me, they learned there are no consequences from having marital relations outside of marriage. I stayed with their father no matter what he did. And that’s what they took from it.”
“I think you’re oversimplifying.”
“Think what you wish.” Miriam stood up and left the room.
Shelby sat quietly on the couch, and the baby slept peacefully against her. She should have been at peace herself, with this child snuggled in her arms, but she was far from it. The people she had learned to care for so much—Miriam, Sonny, and Cassie—were all so terribly broken by the recent events. Even Grant McIan had gone to talk with Shane yesterday and, as a result, she and Shane had postponed her visit home once more.
The kitchen door opened and closed, but Shelby could not tell if someone had gone out or come in. She shifted the baby from her shoulder back to the crook of her arm. The little one was so small, Shelby could cradle the child’s entire length on one arm with her fingers closed around the baby’s feet, leaving her other hand and arm free. She pushed herself to her feet and worked her way from the couch to the doorway of the kitchen. “Miriam?”
“She’s not here.” Dawson spoke from across the room.
Shelby’s heart ached at the lifelessness in his voice. “How are you doing?” she asked quietly.
“Fine.”
“Can I talk to you?”
“About what?”
“About Marcia.”
Silence. Then, gruffly, “What about her?”
“I want to know more about her. I never met her. But I know she was Cassie’s friend. And yours.”
“I don’t want to talk about her.”
“Yes, you do.”
She could predict that he was now angry, but he had not left the room. Running her hand along the counter beside her, she worked her way toward him, around the periphery of the kitchen, then reached out her free hand to find him. He stood in place until her fingertips touched his arm. She looked up toward his face.
“Talking about her is what you need to do. Believe me, I know.”
“No, you don’t know. Not about me.”
She tightened her fingers around the fabric of his shirtsleeve. “Help me put the baby in her bed, and then come talk to me. Please. I mean it when I say I want to know more about her.”
Dawson let out a long sigh of exasperation, and she waited, expecting him to refuse and to pull away. Instead, he took her arm and led her back across the kitchen to the living room where Suzanne Dumaine’s borrowed bassinette sat at the end of the couch. He took the baby from her and put it down, then guided Shelby to the couch. Instead of sitting beside her, however, he moved away, and she was not positive that he had remained in the room.
“Dawson? Tell me about her, please. What was she like?”
His angry voice came from across the room. “She was alive, Shelby, and now she’s not.”
“What did you like most about her?”
“Drop it, Shelby, okay?”
“I remember Cassie telling me she was very funny. That she had a really irreverent sense of humor.”
“That’s right. She didn’t give a shit what people thought. She was who she wanted to be.”
“And who was that?”
“A trucker’s wife who smoked and drank and was a tease. Who liked to flirt and be noticed. Who dressed like a whore when she felt like it and enjoyed the reactions she got.”
Shelby forced herself to listen with her heart, knowing his anger needed to be endured. “But she was also pretty smart, right?”
“Yeah. She read a lot. She knew a lot about history and about anthropology.”
“And she liked good music?”
“She liked all kinds of music.” Dawson’s voice began to soften. “She liked classical music and opera, if that’s what you mean.”
“Is her family here? Is she a native?”
“No. She moved here with her mother when we were in middle school. Her dad was gone. Her mother worked at the hospital.”
“Where’s her mother now?”
“Somewhere with her latest boyfriend.”
Shelby sat quietly, thinking about the young woman she had never met but now wished she had. “I’m really sorry, Dawson. I know this is very hard for you.”
“Why is that?”
Shelby was taken aback by the sarcasm in his voice. “W
hat do you mean?”
“Why do think it’s so hard for me?” She could hear the sneer on his face.
“Because you … were there. Nearby. When it happened. Because she was your friend.”
“Don’t you want to know why I was nearby?”
“No.”
Lonely Souls Page 36