HF01 - Almost Forever

by Deborah Raney

Her head jerked up. “I—I just came for groceries. For my dad.” She pointed to her car. “I wouldn’t have come if I’d known . . . you would be here. I’m not that cruel.”

  “What?” He stared at her. “Why would you say that?”

  She shrugged and bowed her head again. She looked awful, her face pale, her clothes hanging on her thin frame.

  “Why didn’t you answer my calls?” The question was out before he had time to think about whether he wanted her answer or not.

  “Surely you don’t have to ask that. You . . . you did get my letter, didn’t you?”

  “I got it.” He kicked at a hard clump of asphalt that had broken off of the pavement. It skittered beneath her car. “You couldn’t talk to me in person?”

  No response.

  “You took the coward’s way out, Bryn. I think I at least deserved to hear what you had to say in person.”

  “Garrett . . .” She rubbed the space between her eyes. “I didn’t think you would want to see my face after what I’ve done.”

  “Well, you could let me decide that.”

  “You didn’t answer my letter. I took that as your answer.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “That you couldn’t—can’t forgive what I did.”

  He turned his head away. He wasn’t sure he could forgive. Why did he have to come here tonight, of all nights? “So what will happen?”

  Confusion clouded her eyes.

  “The paper said you turned yourself in . . .”

  She nodded. “The arraignment isn’t until next month.”

  “Arraignment?” She’d said it so matter-of-factly. And for the first time, he realized she might go to jail over this. The thought gave him no pleasure.

  “Yes,” she said simply.

  “So it will go to trial?”

  “No. I’m pleading guilty. There . . . won’t be a trial. I’m living with my dad until . . . until I find out what will . . . happen.”

  “I’m sorry, Bryn.” She seemed so broken. Defeated. He hadn’t expected to feel sympathy for her. “I don’t know what else to say.”

  In spite of the gleam of unshed tears, her eyes went dull. “You don’t need to say anything.” She reached for her car door. “I’m sorry. I truly didn’t mean for you to have to . . . run into me.”

  He could tell she was close to tears and, for one awful moment, he could only remember that she was his friend, that she was the one who’d made his grief bearable because she was the only one who truly seemed to understand what it was like to lose the one who completed you.

  He forced himself to look at her for who—for what—she was. He had to make himself remember what she’d done. Remember Molly. And more than that, to remember Bryn’s betrayal. He had grown to love her heart. But now that he knew hers was a heart of deceit—even if it was mostly herself she’d deceived—he couldn’t allow himself to be captivated again.

  He took a step backward, planned his route back to his truck. He couldn’t face anyone after this encounter. Besides, his appetite was gone. He couldn’t leave her without a word. So he said the kindest thing he could muster. “I’m truly sorry for you, Bryn. I wish none of this had ever happened.”

  Let her interpret it how she would. What he really meant was, “I wish I’d never met you.”

  He wanted the last three months of his life back. He wanted Molly back.

  Forcing himself to turn away, he strode back through the parking lot the way he’d come.

  “Seems we have an

  interesting and fortuitous

  twist in your case,

  Ms. Hennesey.”

  29

  Tuesday, February 19

  Thanks, Daddy.”

  Bryn forced a smile as her father held the door of the courthouse for her. Judson Meyer had called early this morning, requesting that they come an hour before the arraignment was scheduled. Bryn worried that Meyer’s “emergency meeting” was just another attempt by her attorney to get her to make a lesser plea. Didn’t he get it? There was no lesser plea for what she’d done. It was time to get this over with. She was eager to be sentenced so her father could stop worrying, and so the families of the dead could move on with their lives, knowing that some sort of atonement had been made.

  She turned to watch Dad as he came through the door behind her. His color wasn’t good today, and his voice seemed feeble. Twice this week she’d seen him pop a nitroglycerin tablet when he thought she wasn’t looking. Please don’t let this kill him, Lord.

  Still, in spite of his health challenges, Dad had been the strong one through all this. Yesterday he’d helped her list her townhome with a realtor, and he’d handled most of the communication with Judson Meyer.

  She probably would have dismissed the attorney if it weren’t for the fact that Dad was so proud of landing Meyer to represent her. She was grateful, yet she had to wonder if things might have moved more quickly if she’d refused an attorney altogether. Why did justice take so long when she wasn’t even on trial? When she’d admitted to the crime? It made no sense.

  More than three weeks had gone by since her encounter with Garrett in the grocery store parking lot. She hadn’t seen him or heard from him since—not that she’d expected to, but she’d found herself thinking about the days of their brief friendship even more since their chance meeting. It grieved her to realize that not only had she lost the gift of Garrett’s companionship, but now she dreaded the prospect of accidentally bumping into him again—something that was bound to happen in a town the size of Hanover Falls.

  Of course if she wound up going to jail—which she fully expected—bumping into Garrett would be the least of her worries.

  “This way, honey.” Dad pointed to a sign bearing arrows indicating the various meeting rooms. They found the room where Meyer had said to meet them. The door was ajar and when they entered, he rose from his chair at the folding table and greeted them with an odd grin. What was going on?

  After she and Dad were seated, Meyer’s smile bloomed. “Seems there’s been an interesting and fortuitous twist in your case, Ms. Hennesey.”

  Fortuitous? That meant something good, didn’t it? What had happened?

  She looked at her father, who mirrored her puzzled expression and queried the attorney. “What’s happened?”

  Meyer leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands behind his head. “A resident of the homeless shelter has stepped forward and admitted to starting the fire.”

  Bryn gasped. “You’re kidding? Who? Zeke Downing?”

  Meyer shook his head and leaned forward. “It’s not Downing. But they are questioning another man as we speak. That’s all I know right now, but if this guy actually confessed to the crime, today will go down on your calendar—and mine—as one happy day.”

  Bryn was speechless. After all that had happened, she might actually go free?

  As if he’d read her mind, Meyer beamed at her. Then his smile faded and he shook his head. “I don’t get it . . . two people both insisting on claiming guilt for one crime? I tell you, this is one for the books.”

  Dad reached to put a hand on her back. “Does this mean Bryn . . . is free?” His voice wavered with emotion. “How soon will we know something?”

  “Hard to say, but I would think—unless the guy changes his story—we could know something yet today. And yes, if this guy did it, you’re home free. There’s no way they can prove that you didn’t blow that candle out. I always thought your story was shaky.”

  “But—” Words failed her. Had she been wrong about the candle? Had her mind conjured up something so real that it had convinced her, convicted her falsely?

  Meyer sobered and held up a hand. “There’s always a chance this guy will plead not guilty and then it could go to trial. His attorney would try to point the blame back to you. But given that he turned himself in, that’s an unlikely scenario.”

  “You hear that, honey?” Dad pulled her close. “Maybe this whole mess is finally over
.”

  She nodded. But instead of slipping loose, the knot in her stomach cinched and tightened. She remembered how hard Meyer had tried to persuade her not to plead guilty.

  Yet, for the briefest moment she let herself imagine what it would feel like to be free of the guilt and shame she’d lived with all these weeks. Was it possible God had rescued her in a way she’d never dreamed? Her pulse stuttered.

  She dared to consider the possibility that her friendship with Garrett might be restored. But she quickly pushed away the thought, afraid to entertain such an impossible dream for even an instant.

  Meyer said a man had confessed to starting the fire. Maybe she had lit the candle, but it was a coincidence that it happened at the same time as an act of arson. Maybe someone else had started the fire, and when they saw that she was getting the blame, they felt guilty.

  Who would have done such a thing? And why? Oh, please, God. Let this be the end of it. I just want it to be over.

  She tried to enjoy the moment, allow relief to wash over her. But the release wouldn’t come. This was too easy. Something wasn’t right.

  Mr. Edmonds?”

  Garrett looked up from the stack of geography tests he was grading. Kathy Beckwith stood in the open doorway to his classroom, beckoning.

  “Keep reading, class, I’ll be right out in the hallway.” He slipped from behind the desk and went out into the hall, where Kathy waited.

  “Garrett,” she whispered, glancing back toward his open door. She wore an expression of eager expectation.

  He gave her a questioning look. Something had happened.

  “You haven’t by chance been watching the news, have you?”

  He shook his head. “No, what’s going on?”

  According to last night’s paper, Bryn’s arraignment was today, and though he’d tried to put the date out of his mind, he’d thought of nothing else all morning. Kathy must have heard something. “Is this about . . . the fire?” He’d started to say, “Is this about Bryn?” But that would have given Kathy the wrong idea.

  She was nodding. “Someone else confessed to starting the fire. Some homeless guy who was at the shelter that night. Jim was watching Channel 3, and the local news broke in with the report.”

  Kathy’s husband was home on disability leave, and she’d bemoaned the fact that all he did was sit around and watch TV. She didn’t look upset now, though. She was absolutely beaming. “They’re not giving many details, but Jim said they’re saying Bryn might be off the hook.”

  “How could that be? She turned herself in.”

  “I don’t know.” She glanced at her watch. “There will probably be more on the noon news. Do you want me to take lunch duty so you can watch?”

  He bent his head, studied the pattern in the gleaming waxed tile. The only television was in the teacher’s lounge, and he wasn’t about to watch the news with an audience.

  He looked up at Kathy. Why did she seem so pleased about the news? Kathy had guessed at his relationship with Bryn, but he’d told her that it was over between him and Bryn. She’d deceived him. There wasn’t anything else to say. They’d respected his desire not to discuss it, but Kathy and Mary Brigmann had both defended Bryn to him the day after the news broke that she’d turned herself in.

  “Believe me, Garrett,” Mary had said, “if it had been me, I would have done everything in my power to convince myself it wasn’t true. That’s a heavy load to live with.”

  Kathy had shaken her head and winced. “When I think about how many times I’ve come home from the grocery store to discover I’ve left a candle burning . . .” Her voice trailed off, but Mary clucked her agreement, and Garrett had remembered a time when Molly had done the same thing. And she was a firefighter. An argument he’d thrown in her face. She of all people should have known better. What was it with women and candles? Not that he didn’t like the effect a little candlelight and the warm scent of vanilla had on his wife . . .

  He ran a hand over his face, shook himself from the tender memories. “I’ll catch it on tonight’s news. I need to get back to my kids.”

  He turned away, but Kathy put a hand on his arm, forcing him to face her again. “Garrett, if she’s innocent, you’ve got to forgive her. This is eating you up.”

  He clenched his jaw and held up a hand. He was not going to stand in the hallway outside his classroom and have this discussion.

  Kathy’s face crumpled. “I’m sorry. I just thought . . . you’d want to know.”

  He nodded, tried to apologize without words. Her expression told him he’d failed. Well, she’d get over it.

  He left her standing there and went back into his classroom. But he had a million questions. Why—knowing that someone else had already taken the blame for the crime—would a homeless guy confess to the same crime? He remembered conversations he and Bryn had had about her work at the shelter. She’d told him that sometimes people were so desperate for a “home”—any place to “belong”—they would commit a crime for the security of jail. Maybe that’s what this guy wanted.

  That had to be it. Otherwise, Bryn had admitted to something she didn’t do. What if she was innocent? Hope tugged at his heart. What if this was all some huge misunderstanding?

  But that made no sense. According to the papers, Bryn’s confession fit with what the fire investigators found. She had told him herself—in the letter she’d written. But what if she’d been lying? He couldn’t guess at what motive she’d possibly have, yet neither did it make sense that she couldn’t remember what she’d done until months after—after the fire. After he’d fallen in love with her.

  “Mr. Edmonds? . . . Mr. Edmonds?”

  He looked up, half surprised to find himself in his classroom. “Yes, Jillian?”

  He had to find a way to end his obsession with this mess. With Bryn. He’d been able to think of nothing else. It had utterly consumed his life, and his students were suffering for it.

  A dim spark of hope

  kindled inside her,

  and she breathed in,

  hoping to ignite it.

  30

  Bryn glanced at her watch. It was almost noon. Her arraignment had originally been scheduled for ten a.m. She’d thought she would know her final fate by now. Instead, they’d been waiting for over two hours for Judson Meyer to come back with news about this new wrinkle in her case.

  Dad dozed upright in the chair across from her, his breaths coming in soft snores. Bryn had mentally run through the list of residents who’d passed through the shelter while she was there, trying to think who could conceivably have a reason to set the place on fire. Zeke Downing was the likely suspect. But Meyer had said that it wasn’t Zeke.

  How the attorney knew that, Bryn couldn’t guess, but now she wondered if it might be James Friar, the man who’d attacked the teenage resident back when Bryn had first started working at the shelter. Friar was the reason she’d been sneaking around behind Adam’s back in the first place.

  Like many of the shelter’s residents, Friar was mentally ill and had struggled with addiction to drugs and alcohol. That alone made it unsurprising that he might have sought revenge for being kicked out. If he had indeed set the fire, Bryn’s relief would know no bounds.

  She’d lived under this cloud of guilt for so long she could hardly imagine what it would feel like to be exonerated. Yet she knew that nothing could change the fact that her acts of negligence had carried the potential to snuff out the lives of Adam and the other heroes.

  Even if, by some fluke, the fire had started some other way, she could never truly be absolved of her guilt. But oh, it would be a far lighter burden to shoulder if the fire had been intentionally set. A dim spark of hope kindled inside her, and she breathed in, hoping to ignite it.

  The door opened and Judson Meyer stepped through, briefcase in hand. Dad jerked to attention, and he and Bryn both leaned forward.

  The attorney placed the briefcase in front of him and heaved out a breath. “Okay, here’s what
we’ve got.” He eyed Bryn. “The man they have in custody is named Charles Branson. Do you know him?”

  “Charlie? Yes. I know him.” What did any of this have to do with Charlie?

  “He was there that night, right?”

  Bryn nodded, thoroughly confused.

  Meyer shifted the papers in front of him. “Branson has apparently been staying at a shelter in Springfield.”

  “Is that the man you got Sparky from?” Dad asked.

  “Yes, but I don’t get it. Charlie told them he started the fire? On purpose?”

  Meyer nodded. “Said he went up to the office and set a fire in the trash can there. Said he didn’t mean to burn the place down, just wanted to create a little excitement.”

  “No . . .” Bryn shook her head. That didn’t sound like Charlie at all. “Why would he do that?” Her mind reeled, trying to figure out how Charlie could have done such a thing. And when? It didn’t make sense.

  “Who did Charlie talk to? Perlson?”

  “Yes. He apparently called the Hanover Falls police from the Springfield shelter and made his confession over the phone. Springfield police brought him in last night. He was there the night of the fire? You’re sure about that?”

  Bryn nodded slowly, chewing a corner of her lip. Something was fishy. “Charlie didn’t start that fire. Why would he say that?”

  Meyer pinned her with a glare. “Exactly. There’s no reason for him to lie about something like this.”

  “I don’t know why he would tell anyone that, but there’s no way it was Charlie.” She recounted the events of the evening again. “I was with Charlie practically the whole night. I had the key to the office around my neck. Susan had the other key. There’s no way he could have gotten into the office without one of us knowing. He’s lying.”

  Meyer’s eyes narrowed. “Why would a guy lie about something like that?”

  “Bryn . . .” Dad gripped her arm, his voice wavering. “Why are you so determined to be guilty about this? The man confessed—”

  “Because I am guilty! Why are you—” she leveled her gaze at the attorney, then back at her father—“both of you, so determined to try to get me out of it?”