by Maggie James
‘He’s OK. Trying to rebuild his life, now he’s been released.’
‘You want to grab another coffee back at my place? Once we’re finished here?’
‘Sure. Mum’s heading into town anyway.’
Half an hour later, after bidding goodbye to Dana, Lori and Aiden drive in tandem to his house. The rooms are silent, empty. ‘Damon’s at work?’ she asks.
Aiden nods. ‘He’ll be home soon, though. I’ll get the coffee sorted.’
Lori watches him as he spoons Kenco into mugs, pours on boiling water. ‘I misjudged him,’ she says. ‘The same way I did Jake. And my uncle.’
‘Damon’s a good guy,’ Aiden says. ‘You’d see, if you’d just give him a chance.’
Lori doesn’t reply, because what can she say? She’s been blinkered where Damon Quinn’s concerned. Not to mention her own brother. Worst of all, Ross Reynolds.
Aiden hands her a mug of coffee. They perch at the tiny breakfast bar, the pale winter sunshine striking through the window. ‘Damon’s an open book,’ he says. ‘What you see is what you get. And he has the hots for you, big time.’
Lori blushes. She can’t go there, not yet.
‘I’ve come clean with him about a lot of stuff,’ Aiden says. ‘He’s asked loads of questions, especially when I told him my adoptive father was also killed in a blaze. I can’t risk him knowing about the arson, though. It’s not something he’d ever understand.’
‘Sounds like you’re already putting it behind you.’
Aiden shakes his head. ‘I’m not so sure.’
Lori’s mouth turns dry. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I almost lapsed the other week. Discovered a boarded-up warehouse, couldn’t stop thinking about it.’ His hands tremble around his coffee mug. ‘Like I said, pyromania’s a tough nut to crack.’
‘I get that. But this is a battle you need to win, Aiden. What does that proverb say? Sometimes the fire you kindle for your enemy burns you more than them.’
Aiden nods. ‘Maybe I should step up the counselling sessions.’
‘Do that. And call me when you get the urge to set a fire. Any time, day or night.’
Before she can say more, a key sounds in the door. Damon’s back from his shift. ‘Any action?’ Aiden asks, and Lori’s aware his fascination with fire may never completely die. He’s doing his best, though, and that’s all she can ask.
‘Nah. All quiet on the Western Front,’ Damon quips. His eyes stray towards Lori. ‘Hi,’ he says, his expression wary yet hopeful.
Lori smiles at him, a thread of connection establishing itself between them. As if she’s seeing him for the first time. Which, in a way, she is. She takes in his height, all six feet three of it, his muscular build, his neat goatee, and she approves. Hell, she’s always thought the guy’s a looker, and now she’s kicked her prejudices into touch, maybe they can become friends. Although the possibility of more hovers tantalisingly in Lori’s mind. What was it Aiden said? He has the hots for you, big time.
Not going to happen, she decides. It’s too soon; first she needs to slough off the slime of Ross Reynolds, and who knows how long that will take? The idea teases her, though, offering hope for the future. One day, perhaps.
Later that evening, Lori’s urge to be close to her sister returns full force. So much has changed, and continues to do so; she’s desperate to touch base with something that’ll never alter: her love for Jessie.
So here she is, standing in her sister’s bedroom, seeking to recapture her essence. Lori picks up a bottle of perfume, inhaling deeply. In an instant, Jessie’s beside her, her laugh ringing out high and excited. Lori closes her eyes, her sister’s fragrance still strong in her nostrils, delighting in her exuberance, so well remembered. If she reaches out a hand, she’ll surely touch skin, flesh, hair, so acute is her sense of the girl she’s always loved so much.
‘Hug time!’ pleads Jessie’s six-year-old voice, and Lori smiles. Deep in her mind, her arms swing her sister off the floor, spinning her round, provoking squeals of delight. Then, in her head, she envelopes her in an everlasting hug, one that’s bittersweet yet wonderful.
‘I love you, Jessie Bear,’ she murmurs.
As she does, something shifts within her. The horror of her sister’s murder remains, of course; how could it not? Some wounds run too deep to heal, and murder sullies the souls of those it touches. But Lori is dealing with the pain, minute by minute, day by day. What does that American prayer say? God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change. For the first time in weeks, she allows herself to picture a future without Jessie, and while she’d give anything to alter that, she can’t. All she can do is bury the nightmare of her sister’s death beneath happier memories. Those will never die.
Lori returns to her own bedroom, her hands opening the bottom drawer of her dressing table. She takes out a notebook, a gift from Jessie two Christmases ago. Like the one Lori gave DC Lightfoot, it has a richly embroidered cover and contains Jessie’s favourite haiku, all ones she penned herself. Lori flicks its pages until she finds the poem she’s after. Her eyes fill with tears as she reads it again. Its words leave nothing more to say.
I love you, sister.
You are always in my heart.
Now and forever.
As you are in mine, she thinks.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks to Gillian Holmes, my wonderful editor, and to Caroline Mitchell for her advice on police procedure.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo © 2013 Martin Wise
Maggie James is a British author who lives in Bristol. She writes psychological suspense novels.
Before turning her hand to writing, Maggie worked mainly as an accountant, with a diversion into practising as a nutritional therapist. Diet and health remain high on her list of interests, along with travel. Accountancy does not, but then it never did.
The urge to pack a bag and go off travelling is always lurking in the background. When not writing, going to the gym, practising yoga or travelling, Maggie can be found seeking new four-legged friends to pet; animals are a lifelong love!