Color of Forgiveness

by Madeleine Beckett

  “Thanks,” she mumbles as she straightens.

  “You all right?” he asks, letting go of her hair. His brows crease as his eyes search her face. He doesn’t like how pale she looks.

  She nods, wiping her mouth on the back of her sleeve. “I’m just going to go in and clean up,” she mumbles.

  His eyes stay on her until she’s safely inside Jackie’s house. He stumbles back to his truck and climbs inside, groaning when he steps on a couple of beers cans on the floorboard.

  * * *

  “You forgive me for yelling at you and Dylan?” Jackie asks her eyes watery.

  “Yes,” Myra responds, smiling, “as long as you forgive me for aiming a gun at your head.”

  “I don’t know. It’s going to take me a while to recover from that one,” Jackie says with a grin. “But I’m still mad at Dylan. It’s his fault that we got into a fight in the first place.”

  Myra continues to smile as she nods at Jackie.

  “Well, I’m off to work,” Jackie announces. “Oh wait, I was going to ask you how much longer you were planning to stay with me because my mom and dad want me to come stay the weekend with them in Boise. I told them about the break-ins, and they weren’t too happy about it. They can’t wait for me to move back. And please know that I’m not trying to kick you out or anything because you can stay as long as you like. I mean, I’d love it if you—”

  “Jackie.” Myra folds her arms across her chest.

  Jackie smiles cheekily. “Sorry.”

  “I’ll probably just stay one more night since nothing else has happened.”

  “That sounds perfect. I’m going to try to leave Friday afternoon, and I’ll be back Sunday night. If I can’t get anyone to cover the shifts at the bookstore for me, I’ll probably just close up shop. I’m signing the papers to sell it next week anyway so I don’t think it’ll matter if it’s closed for a few days.”

  Myra nods.

  “All right, well, I’ll see you tonight,” Jackie says. “I really wish you were staying with me longer. I love coming home to your delicious dinners.”

  “I’m spoiling you,” Myra says with a smile.

  Myra closes the door behind Jackie and locks it. She still has to get her stuff together before she goes back to her house. Moving to the window, she stares outside for a few minutes, frowning as she looks around Jackie’s property. She rubs her stomach when it starts to rumble again.

  This time around, her morning sickness wasn’t just caused by the baby. Her nerves are seriously shot. Last night while in the truck with Dylan, she’d seen movement – something or someone – in the small line of trees on the edge of Jackie’s property. It had been as if a person was standing between two pine trees, facing her, before quickly stepping out of sight and completely disappearing. Later in the night, she’d been jolted awake by another sound, almost like something had hit the side of the truck, like maybe a large rock. She had rolled the window down and looked around to try to find the origin of the sound, but saw nothing.

  The shape she’d seen and the sound she’d heard had made her pull her gun from the floorboard and keep it in her hand. But when she fell asleep, it must have slipped from her grip and ended up near Dylan’s neck. She’s almost sick again when she thinks about what just happened – or what might have happened – when Jackie knocked on the window. She’s already been through enough; she doesn’t need to place accidentally shooting Jackie on her worry list. With a long sigh, she heads upstairs to pack her things and nibble on her trusty Saltines.

  * * *

  “Are you sure you don’t want anything to eat?” Myra asks Dylan as she sets some aspirin and a bottle of water on the table for him.

  His lip curls up as he shakes his head and pops open the aspirin bottle, downing a couple.

  “Are you sure there’s nothing else you need?” Myra asks.

  “Nah, thanks…” he mutters as he runs a hand through his damp hair. The shower he just took felt really damn good.

  “Okay. Well, I’ll be upstairs if you need me.”

  He nods as he picks up the bottled water. He takes a drink while he watches her walk down the hallway. He finds it awfully interesting that nothing has happened here at her house since they got back from Boise. Once she’s out of sight, he pulls out his phone and dials Porter.

  “Hey, Dylan… How’s Myra?”

  “Good.”

  “What can I do for you?”

  “How’s the investigation going?”

  “I actually just got some information on a new lead that I’m working on. I’ve talked to just about everyone I can think of around town. I was hoping someone would start talking… bragging or running their mouth, but nobody’s said a word.”

  “Well, I wanted to talk to you about something. It might explain why you’re having a hard time finding any leads here. My ex-wife, well, she confronted Myra last week. Showed up on her doorstep and told her that she wanted me back and that she was going to fight for me.”

  Porter’s quiet for a moment before he clears his throat. “Um, have you talked to Myra about this?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well…” Porter hesitates then sighs loudly. “Myra told me about it right after it happened. We discussed it, and I decided to take a look at her, as a suspect. It took me a little while to track her down but I did. I have a friend on the force in Boise that I asked to look into her for me. She’s not been home, but he finally caught up with her this morning. I actually just got off the phone with him. He said that she was angry and kept yelling that she had nothing to do with it. He tried to get her to account for her whereabouts for that weekend, but she refused to cooperate.”

  Dylan frowns and rubs the back of his neck.

  “With your album and clothes missing, that leans towards someone who knows you personally. And with Sabrina confronting Myra and the sheer hatred that was taken out on Myra’s car… Well, I think when you put all of the facts together… Sabrina becomes our number one suspect.”

  Dylan takes in a deep breath and blows it out slowly. “I honestly didn’t think she was capable of doing something like that.” He roughly clears his throat. “I talked to her the other day and some things she said just sounded ‘off’ to me. She told me she’d do anything to get me back. We lost a child together and—”

  Porter interrupts. “Oh, Dylan, I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s all right,” Dylan reassures him in a gruff voice. “But after that, she had some problems with drugs and alcohol, but she says she’s clean now.”

  “Hmm... did she experience any mental health issues at any point?”

  “Um, yeah… She was depressed.”

  “Well, I want you and Myra to be extra careful. If she makes any verbal threats against either of you, we can slap a restraining order on her.”

  “Okay. Thanks, Porter. I appreciate your help.”

  Dylan tucks his phone back in his pocket, a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He hopes like hell that somehow Sabrina is not the one responsible because if she is, he’s going to have a really hard time controlling his actions the next time he sees her.

  * * *

  Myra stands in front of the closed door of her master bedroom, the bedroom that she saw the black shadow in from Jackie’s window. She reaches her hand out and grips the ice cold doorknob. She swallows hard, her heart beating wildly in her chest. She turns her head, staring down the hallway behind her as a feeling of pure fear tightens in her stomach.

  Inhaling deeply, she turns the knob and pushes the door open slowly. As it swings open, it makes an eerie, creaking sound. She swallows hard again and reaches for the light switch. When her fingers find the light switch, a garbled gasp erupts from her and her eyes widen in terror. The curtains she saw open last night are now closed as if they’d never been touched. Myra knows that absolutely no one has been in this house. No one could have opened and closed those curtains, absolutely no one.

  Her eyes quickly scan around the
room, but nothing seems out of place. Swallowing hard, she takes a slow step forward and a chilly draft that seems to develop out of thin air hits her, causing the hair on her arms and neck to stand straight up. Turning on her heel, she slams the door behind her and runs back down the hallway to her bedroom. Closing her bedroom door, she leans up against it, her eyes closed, her breathing heavy and labored. It takes several minutes to get her heart rate back down to normal. Something is in this house. Something unseen and unexplainable… and it completely terrifies her.

  * * *

  “I’m never getting fucking drunk again, ever,” Dylan mumbles under his breath. He sets his hammer gently on the table and closes his eyes, rubbing his temples. All he has to do today is add the floor and ceiling molding in Myra’s kitchen. But that means using that damn hammer, and making noise… lots of loud, goddamn noise. Every time he slams the hammer against a nail, he cringes. He almost called it quits three or four times already, but he’s trying to tough it out. At this pace, it’ll take him all damn day to get this shit done.

  He sits down at the table and drinks some more water, his mind going back to last night again. He vaguely remembers saying something about how his heart was hers, but he can’t remember a damn thing after that. Was she insulted? Or pissed that he said something like that when he was drunk? He squeezes his eyes shut as he tries to remember more, but he comes up blank.

  If only he could remember…

  * * *

  Myra’s phone rings. She picks it up off of the bed and smiles. “Hello?”

  “Myra? It’s Sherri. How are you?”

  “I’m fine,” she replies.

  “How’s the morning sickness?”

  “Terrible.”

  Sherri laughs lightly. “I wasn’t sick a day with Dylan or Trish. With Nick, I threw up a few times, but with Chad…? Oh my goodness. The morning sickness with him didn’t officially leave until I was almost six months. That boy has been a pain since he was in the womb,” Sherri says with a giggle. “Ah, but I love my big brute of a son. He’s such a joy... and such a pain. Some days, it’s hard to decide which.”

  Myra laughs with her.

  “Hopefully your morning sickness won’t last too long. I’m sure you’ll be feeling fit as a fiddle before you know it.”

  “I hope so,” Myra says.

  “Natalie was such a mess last night. She was just devastated that she hurt you like that.”

  “I told her not to worry about it. I know she didn’t mean it; she was only concerned about Dylan.”

  “I told her that, too, but she still feels guilty. Did you hear that Dylan is talking to his therapist again?”

  “Yeah, he told me about it.”

  “Isn’t it wonderful?”

  “Yeah, it really is.”

  “Have you talked to Dylan about your doctor’s appointment yet?”

  “No.”

  “When is it?”

  “A week from today…”

  “Well, tell him about it, and let me know what he says. We’ll take it from there, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Chad’s going to come to Nyssa on Saturday.”

  “Yeah, Natalie mentioned something about it.”

  “Since Dylan isn’t answering our phone calls again, could you let him know that I made him another photo album and that I’ll send it along with Chad?”

  Myra’s eyebrows crease. “What do you mean?”

  “The album that got stolen from his house? I was the one that made it for him. I kept a copy of all the pictures so I just made him a new one.”

  Myra’s stomach clenches. Someone broke into his house too? What does this mean? Is the stalker after him as well? Why didn’t he tell her? When will he quit shutting her out? Will he ever really open up to her?

  Myra’s lips form into a grim line as she hums in response. Sherri promises to call her in the next couple of days, and they say their goodbyes.

  The more she thinks about Dylan keeping secrets, the madder she gets. Her stomach growls and she glances at the clock and sees that it’s one-thirty.

  With a huff, she hops off the bed and stomps downstairs to the kitchen. Her eyes narrow when she sees Dylan up on a ladder putting up molding. She throws open the refrigerator and pulls out the fixings for turkey sandwiches.

  As she starts making the sandwiches, she gets more and more angry. They’re not any closer to fixing the problems between them. If anything, it’s worse. He only told her he loved her when he was in a drunken stupor, he never bothered to tell her that his house was broken into, and he’s being a big jerk to his family by not answering his phone. He has the most incredible family she’s ever met. She’d do anything to belong to a family like that. He has no idea what he even has and he just treats them like crap. He doesn’t deserve to have that family.

  She slaps the turkey on the sandwiches and smashes the bread on top of it.

  Tossing all of the stuff back in the fridge, she slams the door shut. Leaving his plate on the counter, she grabs her plate with her sandwich on it and turns to him.

  “Your mother wanted me to tell you something,” she says through gritted teeth.

  “Huh?” he grunts as he turns to stare down at her.

  “Since you won’t take their calls and all…” she says, her eyes narrowing.

  A guilty look crosses his face.

  “She’s sending your new photo album with Chad on Saturday.”

  She feels a tiny bit of satisfaction when she sees his eyes widen and his mouth drop open.

  Her free hand goes to her hip. “So why didn’t you tell me your house got broken into, huh?”

  “It was no big deal,” he says with a shrugs. “You’ve got enough to worry about.”

  “It is a big deal. Here I thought someone was just out to get me for some reason, but now that you’re involved, it changes things.”

  He climbs down the ladder. “You’re right. It does change things. I called Porter today about Sabrina. I should’ve done it sooner.”

  “You did?”

  “Yeah. I talked to her the other day and—”

  “You talked to her?” she asks, her eyes widening. “You talked to Sabrina, but you won’t talk to me?”

  “No,” he says, reaching his hand out towards her. “It wasn’t like that…”

  Her eyes burn hotly as she feels tears begin to form. She has to get away from him. Turning, she hurries down the hallway, her shoulders hunched, her eyes on the floor.

  “Myra, wait,” he calls out as she walks faster. Just as she gets to the bottom stair, Dylan grabs her hand and spins her around.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the break-in. I didn’t want you worrying about any more shit than you had to. All that was missing was my photo album and some clothes. The only reason I took Sabrina’s phone call was because I wanted to confront her about it. I know in the beginning, I didn’t think she was capable of doing this shit, but now I’m not so sure. I was going to ask Porter to look into her as a suspect, but he said he already was. Someone questioned her this morning.”

  Myra sniffs and wipes her eyes on her sleeve.

  “Don’t cry, please? I’m sorry I keep hurting you. There’s just a lot of shit to deal with. The last few days have been really fucked up and I keep messing up with you. I’m still trying to figure out how to deal with the news of the baby, and now all this shit with the break-ins. I’m trying here, but it’s hard for me.”

  Myra wipes at her eyes again. “I’m going upstairs,” she mumbles.

  When she gets to the top of the stairs, she look back and sees Dylan still standing there looking up at her with a pained expression on his face. She hurries down the hallway to her bedroom, wiping tears from her face. Pulling out her phone, she calls Susie and gets her voicemail.

  “This is Susie. I’m either too busy to pick up, or I just don’t feel like talking to you right now. Can you guess which one? Adios!”

  “Call me,” Myra says to the recording be
fore she hangs up.

  She paces back and forth in her bedroom, wiping tears. She dials Susie’s number and gets her voicemail again.

  “Answer your phone,” she mumbles angrily before throwing her phone on the bed. She slumps down onto it and stares at her phone, praying that it rings soon.

  * * *

  Dylan steps outside through Myra’s back door and pulls out a cigarette. Cupping his hand around it, he tries and tries to get it lit but can’t because of the wind. “Goddamn it,” he mutters under his breath.

  Walking around to the side of Myra’s house, he tries again and finally gets the smoke to light up. He walks back around and sits on the back steps. He stares down at his cigarette in his hand and wonders how the hell he always manages to say and do the wrong things with Myra every fucking time. He knows it probably wasn’t right to not tell her about the break-in, but he didn’t want her worrying about it because he was concerned about her and the safety of the baby. Then she had to find out from his mother, making him look like he was hiding shit when he wasn’t. Well, technically he was hiding shit, but his intentions were good, damn it.

  With a heavy sigh, he pulls out his phone. He didn’t like the look on her face when she mentioned his family and their neglected phone calls. He dials Chad.

  “Bro? Shit, hang on,” Chad mumbles. He can hear him yelling out instructions to his workers in the background. “Dude… you finally fucking called. I know it’s because you didn’t want that pretty ass of yours to have black and blue bruises on it,” he says with a chuckle.

  “Fuck you,” Dylan grumbles.

  Chad cackles. “I love you too, bro. Dad told us you were talking to that therapist again. That’s some good shit, ya know? You need it, man. Stick with it.”