Blood and Sympathy

by Lori L. Clark

  Belle gave me a pitying smile. "It'll be okay, sugar. I promise, ain't no one ever died of a broken heart."

  "I wouldn't want to bet on that," I mumbled, and stalked out.

  PART FOUR

  FIVE MONTHS LATER

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  Claire Copeland

  "When are you going to stop being so damn bullheaded and admit you're still crazy about Braden Sayer?" Belle was never one to beat around the bush, so why her words surprised me, I wasn't sure.

  "I don't know what you mean."

  "He's been coming in here at least twice every week for more than five months now. Do you really think he's stopping because he's in love with my muffins?" She folded her arms over her chest and shook her head. "Life's too short to hold grudges."

  "Okay, yes. I admit it. Every day he walks through that door, it hammers away at my resolve to keep him out of my life. And I guess if he were to ask me out, I might say yes. There, does that make you feel better?"

  "Yes, as a matter of fact, it does." A devilish smile caused her eyes to sparkle. "So, why don't you ask him?"

  My mouth popped open. "I couldn't do that. Besides, just because I might still have feelings for him, that doesn't mean he gives a shit about me."

  "Oh right. I forgot. It's the muffins."

  I pursed my lips. "Shut up."

  She chuckled and started to brew a fresh pot of coffee. "Don't look now, but here comes the sex on a stick."

  "I can't believe you just said that." I felt my cheeks heat up.

  Braden walked through the front door and I swear to all that's holy, he got better looking every day. He approached the counter with his hands behind his back. He had a mile-wide grin on his face.

  "Why do I get the feeling you're up to something?"

  He plopped a package down in front of me. It was wrapped in gold paper with a big red bow on it.

  "For me?"

  "No, pretty girl. It's for Belle." My face fell and he started laughing. "Of course it's for you. Merry Christmas, Claire."

  "I don't know what to say."

  "How about 'Sure, Braden, I'd love to have dinner with you Friday night'?"

  "Oh, I don't..."

  "She would love to, Braden. Don't you dare take no for an answer," Belle hollered from the kitchen.

  I bit my bottom lip and nodded. "Okay, but why don't you let me cook for you? I'm not taking cooking classes for nothing. You can be my guinea pig."

  "I'd like that."

  Braden's usual were the caramel apple muffins, still warm out of the oven. I bagged up a couple and poured him a fresh cup of coffee to go. "See you then."

  He nodded at the present on the counter. "You going to open that?"

  "My fingers are all sticky right now. Maybe I'll wait until Friday. It'll be closer to Christmas." Truth was, my hands were shaking so bad I didn't think I could manage to tear the wrapping paper without looking like a basket case.

  "Oh, well, if you're sure?" A shadow of sadness crossed his face, gone with the blink of an eye. He picked up his coffee and took a sip. "Just how I like it. Strong and sweet. Kind of like you."

  I knew my face was fifty shades of red, but I couldn't help it. When had that happened? How had I allowed him inside the walls around my heart? And when had I ever let a man make me blush? The answers always revolved around him. "I bet you say that to all the girls."

  He winked. "Just the ones I can get to blush."

  My insides puddled. "You're so full of shit, Braden Sayer. Get out of here." I bit back a smile and tossed a wadded napkin at his chest.

  "Fine. Did you need me to bring anything Friday night?"

  Your toothbrush and a pair of clean underwear? "No, just your appetite."

  He gave me an odd look, tipped his head to the side and asked, "My appetite makes you blush?"

  I pointed toward the door. "Go!"

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  Braden Sayer

  I started to make music boxes again as soon as the marina slowed down for the season. Uncle Jeb had been generous with my wages, and I'd been able to buy some fine quality wood and supplies. None of that second-rate crap I had while in juvie. I'd been selling them at a small consignment shop in Hensteeth, conveniently located just three doors down from Belle's and Whistles.

  Twice a week, I'd drop off a newly crafted box or two, and pick up the money from the ones that had been sold. And twice a week, I'd stop to see Claire. For five months, I'd found just about every excuse in the book to see her. At first, she ran and hid in the back, and made Belle wait on me.

  It took awhile, but she finally stopped hiding. One day, she smiled, and then finally, she actually said more than "thanks, come again." Somehow, it had evolved into dinner Friday night. She was going to be cooking for me.

  The music box I'd made for her was my best work yet. I couldn't wait to see her eyes when she opened it. Every detail, every corner, every surface, had been crafted with all the love my soul had left to give. I admit I was fucking scared to death. She'd be opening the present in front of me tonight, and I wanted to see the look on her face, but what if she hated it?

  ***

  I stood in the entryway of her cracker box sized apartment and took it in. "Nice place you got here."

  "It's perfect for one person."

  "Kind of like my trailer." I glanced around and spotted the gift I'd given her sitting on the small kitchen table.

  She snickered. "Hate to break it to you, but that tin can is barely fit for one person."

  I shrugged and handed her the bottle of Chardonnay I talked Uncle Jeb into buying for me. "I hope it goes with what you're fixing."

  "Ha! Who are you kidding? Wine goes with everything."

  After dinner, we polished off the rest of the wine, and I was feeling kind of woozy and warm all over. Some of that had to do with how she made me feel. "That was the best noodle stuff I've ever eaten."

  "Fettuccine Alfredo."

  "Yeah, that."

  We laughed and fell into an easy conversation, kind of like it used to be between us, even if we both knew we were skirting around the obvious. The subject we were too scared to talk about because we didn't want to ruin the moment or undo everything we'd done to get this far again.

  As though sensing my thoughts, she cleared her throat and picked up the unopened gift I gave her at the bakery. "Can I open this now?"

  I swallowed hard and nodded. "I hope you like it."

  She bit her lip and slid a fingernail under the edge of the wrapping paper, peeling it away and revealing the gift. "Oh, Braden. It's ... God, it's perfect."

  I cupped her cheek. "Just like you, pretty girl."

  She held her hand over mine and gave it a quick squeeze. Her eyes dropped to the music box. I'd worked forever getting it just right. The wood was as smooth as satin. The color was walnut brown like her eyes. Even though her name meant light, she was more subtle than the sun--she was the moon. Beautiful and mysterious.

  She lifted the lid, and the music began to play. She listened wordlessly until the song ended, then she rewound the key and played it again. When her eyes met mine, they were brimming with tears ready to spill down her face. I swallowed and wiped them with the pad of my thumb.

  "Clair de Lune," she whispered.

  "I was going to use Moonlight Sonata but remembered..."

  She shut the music box and grasped my hands in hers, pulling them to her mouth. "Olivia was my best friend. We were as different as night and day. She was the good sister--me, not so much. I didn't understand how it was possible for two sisters to be so completely different."

  I stared at our intertwined fingers, watching them rise and fall with each breath she took. I opened my mouth to speak, but she shook her head.

  "No, let me finish. We were like salt in one another's wounds. She'd say white, I'd say black. No matter our differences, no matter how many times I fucked up, she always forgave me, and she loved me in spite of it all."

  Her bottom lip
quivered, and my heart squeezed inside my chest. She wiped the fresh tears on the sleeve of her shirt and kissed me on the forehead.

  "I don't agree with what you did. But, I think I get why. It makes you a bigger person for accepting your brother, even when he couldn't have deserved it less. I get that. Just like Olivia and me." She sniffled, and I pulled her to me.

  "Can you ever forgive me?" I asked between kisses.

  "You wouldn't be here right now if I couldn't. Now shut up and kiss me like you mean it."

  That was as good an invitation as I needed. I bent and lifted her into my arms.

  EPILOGUE

  NASHVILLE, TN

  Davidson County Tennessee law enforcement personnel have launched an active investigation and manhunt in an attempt to apprehend the wanted escapee. Davidson County Sheriff's Office received an emergency assistance request from officials at Riverbend Maximum Security Institution just shortly after 6:00 p.m. this evening.

  Officials reported while transporting inmate Brogan Anthony Sayer to Riverbend Maximum Security Institution in Nashville, Tennessee, he managed to escape from officer's custody, possibly in the area of Centennial Blvd. and Briley Pkwy.

  Sayer is described as an eighteen-year-old white male adult, 6'2", black hair, blue eyes, medium build, and a "Sympathy for the Devil" tattoo on his right inner forearm.

  Sayer is a convicted murderer who has been sentenced with the death penalty. He is to be considered armed and highly dangerous. Law enforcement officials are asking anyone with information as to Sayer's whereabouts to dial 911. Do not try to contact or apprehend if located.

  THE END