Ripples

by DL Fowler

  I swallow a lump in my throat. “Years of nightmares and a tidal wave of broken hearts later, here I am. Jesse said it in his suicide note, ‘I gambled with her life and lost.’ Every time I hear sirens or see emergency lights, my shame doubles. My mind reels with a constant loop of instant replays of that day—FBI agents and police swarming to the scene on learning the kidnappers had fled with Celine, me botching their plan.”

  Teresa screws up her face. “Being part of a family is all I ever wanted. Mom’s loneliness taught me that.”

  “I’m sorry. I wish I’d shown your mother the respect she deserved. Sounds like she was a special woman.”

  Teresa brushes away tears. “She was … the best.”

  “Tell me about her.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Everything. Was she a good mother?”

  “She was beautiful, funny, strong, the smartest person I ever knew—my best friend. Always there for me, telling me I was beautiful, I could do anything I set my mind to, boosting me up when life got overwhelming. But deep down, she was sad. She’d cry at night after I went to bed. Some mornings her eyes would be red and swollen. I asked her why she never married—she didn’t even date. She told me she was in love once, and it didn’t work out. I could tell there was more to it than she would let on. When I learned about you, I knew for sure you were the reason she was so miserable.”

  I sit up straight. “I know I can’t undo the past, but I’d like to do right by her. Do what she’d do if she was still around. Stand with you through what lies ahead. Will you let me help? I can line up the best criminal attorneys—”

  “That’s not right. I did terrible things. I need to face up to what’s due me.”

  I lean forward in my chair. “Teresa, they don’t have Bryce’s body. For all we know, he’s still alive. At worst, killing Roy was an accident—he might have lived if it hadn’t been for that bastard Bryce. And as for that homeless guy who Bryce sent up to the shack to kill you—the cops weren’t able to lift any fingerprints off the shotgun. It was too charred.”

  She looks up at me, her eyes red, etched with pain. “That’s not the point. I’m fully responsible for my actions. You may deserve for me to loathe you, but those poor girls didn’t deserve what I let happen to them ... what I did to them.”

  I massage my temples, trying to stifle a headache that’s growing more intense. “If there’s any way I can help …. This time I’m not leaving my only daughter out there twisting in the wind.”

  “Hearing you acknowledge I’m your daughter means the world to me. That’s something no jury can take away.”

  Celine

  It’s been a couple weeks since I found out my real name is Celine, and my family did come for me after all. Only, by the time someone got there, Grandpa Jake was all that was left. I get sad, wondering what it would be like to have a mom and dad, a grandma. It’s not that I don’t love Grandpa Jake. It’s just that …. Anyway, the counselor he’s been taking me helps. And the nightmares that wouldn’t go away aren’t as bad as they used to be, and they don’t come as often.

  Grandpa has taken Mercedes and me up to the lake to show us his plans for our new home. I’m not crazy about coming back to the lake, especially the idea of living here, but he says we don’t get stronger by running away from our pain. We have to become bigger than our fears. I don’t know. Whenever I think of Bryce, I want to crawl in a hole.

  We stand on the foundation and look across at where Bryce and Tess’s shack used to be. Without the trees blocking it, the spot where it stood is in plain sight.

  I take Jake’s hand, then Mercedes’. “Do they know what happened to RJ, yet?”

  Jake rubs his forehead. “I guess there’s no good time for bad news. The body they found up on the ridge was his. I’m afraid RJ didn’t make it out.”

  Me and Mercedes wrap our arms around Jake and start bawling. He cradles my head and holds me close to his chest. I hear his heart beating—slow as if telling us about RJ has made him tired.

  “I’m so sorry,” he says.

  I pull away. “Does missing people you love always hurt this bad?”

  He brushes a tear from his cheek. “The hurt’s always there … but eventually it gets easier to bear. At least we have each other to lean on, to help us be strong.”

  Mercedes still clutches on to him. “Do we know what happened to Bryce?”

  My heart races. All the colors are brighter for a second … then everything turns grey. “Oh God! He’s coming back … I know it.”

  Grandpa Jake grabs my shoulders and pulls me close. “If he comes back on my watch—it’ll be the biggest mistake of his miserable life.”

  He digs into his pocket and hands each of us a cinnamon candy, wrapped in bright red, crinkly wrappers.

  Mercedes whispers, “Even if he’s dead, he’ll be with us—forever.”

  Grandpa puts an arm around each of us and kisses the tops of our heads. “We have to move ahead, not backward. Sure, we’ve got some horrible memories, but together we’ll build new ones—good ones. When bad memories sneak up on us, we’ll remind each other the difference between what’s real in the present and what’s only in the past. To know what to let go of and what to hold onto. None of us can handle the future alone. We’re in this together—so don’t be ashamed to ask for help.”

  I lean back and look up at him. “Maybe we can have a funeral for RJ. In the end, we’re the only real family he had.”

  Jake nods. “I’ll talk to the sheriff and see what we can do about that.”

  Acknowledgements

  I am deeply grateful to my wife, Judi, for giving me space to do what brings me joy and satisfaction. Without her encouragement, none of my stories would ever come to life.

  My editor, Cheryl Feeney, is another jewel. She makes me work hard, which she says builds character and characters. Her perspective never fails to make the story stronger. She also designed the book cover.

  Annmarie Huppert is a key inspiration behind Ripples. Her insights into the emotions imprinted by trauma and the process of healing from those wounds have been invaluable. Her wife, Rebecca Cooper, also made key contributions, including the prism through which Amy views her world—crinkly, red candy wrappers.

  Finally, with deepest respect, I thank my critique partners (all extraordinary writers) who don’t let a single weak word, phrase, or idea make it into print; Michael Smith, Brett Gadbois, Barbara Winther, Jan Walker, Cheryl Feeney, and Richard Heller.

  About the Author

  Bestselling author DL Fowler gets inside people’s heads and invites readers along for the ride. He spent much of his youth backpacking through the San Gorgonio Wilderness Area and Sierra Mountains, and earned a bachelor’s degree in Humanities/English from the University of Southern California. His MBA studies at California State University-San Bernardino focused on human behavior. A career in financial counseling gave him ample opportunity to gain a deep understanding of how various people operate in stressful situations.