Gracie stepped closer. “I can put it through the shredder. We can pretend we never saw it.”
The soft hope in her voice was something he could taste, something so good he could never have enough. But this time it wasn’t working.
She reached for the envelope.
He pulled it away. “I think this should be my decision.”
Gracie frowned and took a step back. She was a decade younger and wildly beautiful with her long limbs and dark hair, bronzed by the autumn light. Though she was barely showing, she wore maternity jeans and a pearl-buttoned, red gingham western smock with a matching red cowboy hat. When their daughter, Lizzie, turned two, they tried to get pregnant again and had nearly given up when Gracie took yet another home pregnancy test. She had raced down to the barn and leaped into his arms like a hundred and ten pound rocket. It was one of the most joyful moments of his life. Out of thin air, a new baby was coming.
Now, she was five months pregnant with a boy. In truth, he’d secretly hoped for another girl. Lucas had been his golden-haired boy and he wasn’t sure how he felt about another son. Wasn’t sure he could love him as much as he loved Lucas. Radhauser hadn’t shared this concern with Gracie, who was ecstatic about a little brother for Lizzie and a son to continue the Radhauser name.
She took another step forward and touched his arm. “Only your decision?”
Though she never claimed to be an angel, she and Lizzie, who was now four years old, had saved him. No doubt about that.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “You know I care what you think. It’s just that…” He shifted the envelope in his hands. Maybe she was right. Maybe it would do no good—this brutal reopening of wounds. He could forego his right to appear at the hearing and let the board make its decision unbeknownst to him.
But was that what he really wanted? This might be his chance to lift the burden—make a final payment to the ghosts of his first family and put them to rest at last. Maybe opposing parole would do that, but at what cost to him and Gracie?
Often, when he woke in the night, he looked over and watched the rise and fall of her chest just to make sure she was breathing, put his head against her back to feel the warmth and softness of her skin as she slept. Gracie, alive beside him, was one of the greatest miracles he’d ever experienced.
Now, she took his arm and led him down the barn’s center alleyway. The air smelled like cedar shavings, alfalfa, and molasses from the evening sweet feed he gave their horses.
Once inside the closed-in stall they’d converted into an office, Gracie gently pushed him onto the desk chair.
He knew it hurt her, the way the grief sometimes caught up with him. Times when he missed his other family with a wrenching sorrow he tried to hide by never speaking of it. Still, there were nights when demons came calling. Nights when nightmares took him back to that hospital morgue. And he awakened in a cold sweat, shaking and choking back panic.
His anger toward the man who killed Laura and Lucas was an all-consuming, living thing that had lain dormant for a while, but now threatened to infect his life again. “I registered to receive notifications before I met you,” he said. “But I thought it would be another five or ten years before any possibility of parole. What if he gets out and drives drunk again? What if he kills another family?”
He felt the gentle weight of her hand on his shoulder. Something always shifted inside him with her touch and the smell of her apple-scented shampoo.
“I suspect he’s learned a pretty hard lesson. Please,” she said. “What you do will affect Lizzie, me and our son.” She caressed the bulge of her belly. “We should at least discuss your options.”
When something bothered Gracie, she needed to talk about it with another person. But it wasn’t his way. “He didn’t think about me or my family’s options when he drove in a drunken stupor.”
Forty-four-year-old Lawrence Arthur Flannigan had served less than eleven years of a fifteen-year to life sentence for four counts of third-degree murder. After the trial and sentencing, Radhauser hoped he would never see that man again. The thought of looking into his eyes was worse than touching a bad tooth. But he and Gracie lived in Oregon now. What were the chances he would see Flannigan again, even if he were released? “His old man is a former Arizona congressman. He probably pulled some strings.”
As if she could feel the heat of his frustration and indecision through his shirt, Gracie took her hand from his shoulder. “His family suffered, too. It’s time to let it go.” She flipped the switch on the office shredder. It made a shrill, scream-like sound that sent chills up Radhauser’s spine.
He shut it off. “Whose side are you on anyway?” He removed his Stetson and raked his fingers through his hair. “If Lucas had lived a normal life, say to eighty, Flannigan took sixty-seven years away. And another fifty from Laura. How could less than eleven short years in prison be enough?”
Gracie shook her head. “I don’t imagine those years seemed short to him or his wife and daughter. But think about it. Of course I’m on your side. But what if you give your victim statement and they let him go anyway? Is that going to put you back in the hospital?”
Her words were a slap in the face. He wished he’d never told her about his breakdown or his confinement to the Paloverde Psychiatric Hospital after losing six-year-old Tyler Mesa, his first kidnapping victim. It was a rookie’s bad decision. Tyler’s death was on him. And that two-week hospitalization almost cost him his badge.
In truth, the last eleven years had been difficult for Radhauser, harder than he ever imagined life could be, but somehow he managed to stay out of the psych ward. “This isn’t about me or you. It’s about justice for Laura and Lucas,” he said, louder than he intended.
She dropped her gaze as she did whenever her compassion came up against his anger. “Are you sure it isn’t about revenge?” Gracie looked at him again, as if searching for a man behind the one he projected—a kinder, more worthy and authentic husband.
Revenge. Could she be right? Was it vengeance he sought? No. Gracie was wrong. He’d spent his entire adult life as a detective—a daily battle on behalf of victims who couldn’t fight for themselves. Why wouldn’t he fight just as hard for his wife and son?
“This is about justice,” he finally answered. “How would you feel if it were Lizzie or the new baby? Wouldn’t you want the person who took your child to suffer consequences?”
The look in her eyes turned breakable. “First of all, Lizzie and this baby are not only my children. They’re our children.”
His mind raced, thoughts coming too fast to sort. “You know what I meant.”
She swallowed hard and looked away from him. “I learned a long time ago I couldn’t change your past, no matter how badly I might want to. But I’m your wife now and I’m tired of sharing you with ghosts. If Lizzie could articulate it, she’d tell you the same thing. She’s four years old, Wind. She doesn’t understand death or having a big brother she’s never seen.”
He closed his eyes and saw his daughter’s face, her long black lashes, the way her dark curls slid over one eye when she danced around the living room, or when she ran and jumped into his arms. His feelings for her were huge and complicated. But Radhauser’s mother once told him, ‘the dead are alive when we think of them’. He tried to keep Lucas alive by showing Lizzie pictures and telling her stories. It didn’t bring him back, but it felt good to remember him full of life. Radhauser opened his eyes.
Gracie turned to face him, two bright pink circles on her cheeks. “Dredging this up will only cause pain. Laura and Lucas are gone. Nothing can hurt them now. But you allow them to go on hurting us. It’s a losing battle. And if I thought this hearing would bring you closure, I might encourage…” She stopped short, as if realizing how he felt about that meaningless word.
Closure. How could he find closure when the two people he once loved most in the world were dead? He tried to stop the funeral images in his mind and respond to Gracie, but they kept coming. Tw
o bronze coffins with flowers on top. Sunflowers in the shape of a horseshoe for Lucas. A heart of red roses for Laura. White ribbons that read wife and son in ornate gold letters.
Her face shadowed by the early evening light through the window behind her, Gracie pulled a yellow legal pad and ballpoint pen from the drawer. She slapped them onto the desk. Her dark eyes flashed. “Do what you have to,” she said, a slight edge to her voice. “But don’t expect me to be happy about it.”
An awkward silence fell over them.
Her mouth clamped into a tight line, her eyes straight ahead. “I need to pick up Lizzie from her play date and get her ready for bed.” Gracie lowered her gaze to the floor as if she couldn’t bear to look at him again. She slipped through the door without looking back, leaving him alone with his ghosts.
He got up from the chair, then stood in the doorway and watched as her boots kicked up dust in the aisle of the old barn as she headed toward the driveway. Outside the office window, the sun sank behind the mountains, turning the pastures dark.
A part of him wanted to chase after her and tell her that despite its difficulties, the last decade held some beautiful moments for him, like meeting and marrying her, moving to this small ranch in southern Oregon, and finding out she was pregnant with Lizzie and now their son. His life would be over for sure if Gracie left him.
Feeling claustrophobic in the small office, he stepped outside and stood beside the double barn doors. He never imagined owning a thirty-two acre horse ranch in Oregon with its lush pastures and looming mountains behind it. Radhauser never lived anywhere except the Sonoran Desert. This was Gracie’s dream. And if he were truthful, guilt sometimes gnawed at him, knowing how much Lucas, who’d prized everything connected to horses, would have loved this life.
Radhauser watched Gracie back her red Honda CRV out of the garage and drive down the long gravel lane to the main road. He was still standing there long after the crunch of her tires was replaced by the chirping of crickets.
When he returned to the barn office, the air felt charged. He took a pack of Marlboros from the back of the drawer, tapped them against the desk, then removed the wrapping. He stuck one in his mouth without lighting it. Six months after burying his family, he’d stopped smoking, but sometimes he needed the comfort of a cigarette dangling between his lips, the slight taste of tobacco on his tongue.
He ripped open the envelope and read the letter. Just as he suspected, the man who killed his family was eligible for parole and would be presenting his case to the clemency board on Monday, December thirteenth—in a little more than two months. The letter invited Radhauser to attend and give a victim impact statement.
For five minutes, he stared at the blank notepad in front of him. Sometimes when he was alone and troubled by his latest case or struggling with a decision, he talked to Laura. They’d fallen in love at fifteen and she was his first girlfriend—the first woman he ever confided in. His mother had died when he was a small boy. Laura had opened his heart and taught him how to love. And though she never answered him, it made him feel better to check in with her. “We were happy and Flannigan took so much away from us. Our boy had his whole life ahead of him. What would you do?”
If anyone heard him, they’d think he’d lost it again, but who knew, maybe on some level she listened and understood he hadn’t forgotten her or Lucas.
With shocking clarity, a voice spoke inside his head. Fight for us, Wind. It was Laura’s voice—a voice he hadn’t heard for more than a decade. The hairs on his arms lifted.
Gracie wanted him to ignore the hearing and let the man who murdered his family and nearly destroyed his life go free. How could he do that after Laura told him to fight? He loved them so much he would have walked a thousand miles, crossed all the oceans and deserts on earth just to see his wife and son one more time.
Radhauser made his decision. He would fight for them—they deserved that and so much more. He needed to write his victim statement in a way that was clear, concise and poignant. He picked up the pen and wrote three sentences. My beautiful wife, Laura, was my high school sweetheart—my first love. Our thirteen-year-old son dreamed of being a rodeo cowboy. When Lawrence Flannigan decided to drive drunk, he took that dream and every other one away from Lucas… When heat built behind his eyes, he put down the pen and closed them.
If only the past could be more fluid and he could find his way back by a route less painful than memory.
Chapter Two
Caleb Bryce, whom everyone called by his last name, pressed the tiny knob that lit his watch dial. 12:50 p.m.—exactly ten minutes later than the last time he checked. Dana’s shift at the Lazy Lasso Bar and Grill ended at midnight. Where could she be?
He opened the car door. Careful not to bear too much weight on his right leg, he scanned the nearly empty, moonlit parking lot. Bryce had ruptured his Achilles tendon at a softball game two months ago while sliding into third base. He felt like a fool, even as the pain pierced his right calf. The urge to show off for Dana and the boys hadn’t been worth the price. But progress had been made, his cast removed, and physical therapy begun.
After limping across the asphalt lot, he entered the Lasso’s lobby, then pushed through the polished oak saloon doors into the restaurant and bar. The air was rich with the smell of steaks, ribs, and hamburgers sizzling over an open fire.
Bear Evans, Dana’s boss and the owner, greeted him with a wink. “If it isn’t my favorite deaf dude,” he said, careful to face Bryce so he could read his lips. Bear was a mountain of a black man, around six feet five inches tall, with salt and pepper hair, a matching mustache and more curls on his arms than any black man Bryce ever met. Bear’s easy way served him well in his business. With his composed and ready smile, he could calm a drunk or angry customer so fast it was as if a switch was flicked off inside them.
“If you’re looking for Dana, she left about an hour ago with Reggie.” Bear glanced around the almost empty restaurant. “It’s been a slow night. You wanna wait at your usual table?”
Bryce swallowed his jealousy and nodded. He thought Dana was over her ex-husband. Maybe she had a legitimate reason for being with Reggie Sterling, but as far as Bryce was concerned, Reggie was bad news. No matter what Dana might believe, he didn’t care about her or the kids.
A handsome young man, barely more than a boy, wearing a white apron over his jeans and long-sleeved T-shirt sauntered by them, pushing a broom. He was the son Bear raised on his own.
“Henry,” Bear said. “Say hello to Mr. Bryce and then hustle over and bus his table. The one in the far back by the window.” He paused, a look of sweet compassion in his eyes. “And by the way, you’ve done a great job with the sweeping, son.”
“Hi Mr. Bryce,” Henry said, looking a bit sheepish from the compliment. “How are Scott and Skyler? Can I give Skyler his bottle later?”
The boy had some mental health issues. Bear once told Bryce his eighteen-year-old son had the mind of a seven-year-old.
“Not tonight, Henry. He’s fast asleep. But soon, okay?”
Henry smiled.
Bryce was both impressed and amazed by Bear’s dedication and patience with his son. Bear was the kind of father Bryce aspired to be.
Bear led him to the booth and took his usual order for a Diet Coke. He had no more than slid onto the bench seat and looked out the window into the parking lot before tumbling into the memory of the night he first met Dana.
The hostess had already seated Bryce at this booth when he noticed the new waitress. In no hurry to order, he watched her move about the room. She was younger than most of the other waitresses, compact and dark, with curly black hair spilling over her shoulders and down her back. Her laugh was infectious and loud enough for even him to hear. He wanted to join right in.
After a few minutes, she paused beside his table and began to talk about the specials that night, pointing out all the items on the menu she liked best.
He turned sideways in his seat so he could more
easily read her lips.
Dana remained cheerful while she answered mundane questions she was probably asked a dozen times each night. Her smile was open and bright and she didn’t react to his speech impediment or ask if he were drunk.
Bryce would have loved to spend more time talking with her, but her gaze left their conversation and clung to the window looking out on the parking lot.
“My name is Caleb Bryce,” he said to call her back. “But everyone calls me Bryce. I’m hearing impaired, but good at reading lips as long as you look at me when you speak.”
The smile that spread across her face was so wide and warm it hugged his whole body. She shook his hand. “Pleased to meet you, Bryce.”
Her attention shifted to the parking lot again.
“Is there a carnival going on out there?” he asked.
When she looked at him again, he saw a splinter of concern, swimming like a minnow in her eyes.
He didn’t look away.
She must have seen something in his expression that enabled her to trust him. “I’d give a week’s salary for a carnival clown and a lion tamer instead of those two boys I’ve got sleeping in the car. Scotty’s a handful and if he wakes up, he might use the baby as a punching bag.” She paused and shook her head. “Sibling rivalry, my butt. Scotty is just like Reggie. He’s my ex. Neither of them can stand to be around that baby.”
They locked on each other’s eyes. He saw her regret and a fierce anxiety she was eager to hide over the uncertainty of her future.
He hesitated to ask, but somehow needed to know. “Are you homeless?”
She put one hand on either side of his face, framing it. “Don’t look so worried, darlin’. It’s only for a few more weeks. Thanks to Bear, I’ll have first month’s rent and my security deposit by the end of the month.”
Her hands were warm and it was such a gentle gesture. Perhaps the most tender touch he’d ever received.
Bryce stayed at the Lazy Lasso another hour, until closing, sipping the same Diet Coke and hoping for another chance to talk to her. “I have two extra bedrooms in my house. No strings attached,” he said. And he actually meant it.
A River of Silence Page 2