CHAPTER 28
Sam rested in the hammock, weary from the previous night but somehow lighter than he had been in months. From the back porch he could see the girls exploring the property, enjoying their unscheduled day off from school. He had decided to let Rachel sleep in and called Erin to suggest a picnic brunch at the Hitching house where he would fill her in on the details of the past two days.
He glanced at Erin sitting in a lawn chair across from him, trying to read her disposition. Was she preparing to give him the riot act, which Maggie would probably do, and which he probably deserved? Or would she share his perspective, her criminal court experience allowing her to understand his motive? She sipped her lemonade, and when she finally spoke, Sam realized it was neither.
“Do you miss it?”
Sam tilted his head. “Miss what?”
As she raised her glass to her lips again, her focus moved to the girls playing in the backyard.
“Miss what?” Eyebrows raised, Sam shifted to one shoulder and stared at her, but she continued to ignore him. He tossed an apple core her direction.
“Hey.” Erin grinned as if she knew a secret. “You know. The challenge of the investigation. The thrill of the arrest.”
Sam inhaled, shook his head, and settled back into the hammock. “It doesn’t matter if I miss it. I can’t do that job and be this dad.”
“But, you admit you miss it?” She continued to sip her drink and watch the girls.
Sam contemplated. If he took Rachel out of the equation, if he only considered last night’s plan, the perfect execution, and the arrest, then yes, he could admit the satisfaction was unequalled. That’s what had fueled his drive as a detective.
“You should go back.”
“Erin, that’s crazy. There’s no way I can go back. I can’t do this alone—not without Maggie.”
“Maybe you don’t have to do it alone.” Erin leaned forward, elbows on her knees, hands clutching her glass.
Sam struggled against the hammock and sat on the edge of it, so he could look directly at her. He didn’t need this. Instead, he needed her to understand that any thoughts of returning to detective work he may have entertained were now nothing but fantasy. It was time to sign the retirement papers. He was certain of that. But before he could explain, Erin spoke again.
“What would you say if I told you I’m moving to Cape Spring in a few weeks?”
Sam laughed. “And leave your assistant PA job in Louisville? Look, we’ve gone through a rough spell, but for the first time, I feel like we’re going to pull out of this. Don’t make a rash decision.”
“Actually it’s not a rash decision. This has been in the works since Christmas. Of course, I came to spend the holiday with my nieces, but I also had an interview set up with your prosecuting attorney. I had some cases I wanted to see through to the finish, so he gave me a few months. I won my final case in Louisville last week.” She raised her glass to toast the occasion.
Sam stared at her, waiting for his brain to catch up with her words. So many questions whirled through his head as he tried to process what she suggested—and where it was leading. “Wait.” He narrowed his eyes, thinking out loud. “So you’re moving here? In a few weeks? And you’ll be working for the prosecutor’s office?”
Erin laughed. “Yes, Sam. Is that so hard to believe?”
“Actually, it is.” He couldn’t imagine his sister-in-law, who they were lucky to see more than twice a year, interrupting her career, taking a step down like that.
“No, it’s not, really. Maggie was the best big sister a girl could have. She was always the giver, taking care of everyone first, herself last. Me? I’ve always been the taker, focused on college, then my career. It was all about me. Now it’s time for me to think of someone else. My sister, my nieces, you. I can never replace Maggie, but Rachel and Olivia need me right now. And if I’m here to help with the girls, that means you, Lieutenant Samuel Blake, can go back to the work you love.”
Too much was coming at him too fast. He tried to envision the plan, to determine what could work, to uncover hidden flaws. He fought the idea as it rose from his heart to his head, what he wanted to do competing with what he’d finally accepted he should do.
“There is no reason for you to give up your career. You make a difference, Sam. You catch the bad guys. And now, I’ll get to put the bad guys away for you.” She smiled. “We’ll coordinate our schedules the best we can. It may not be perfect, but we’ll make it work.”
“I—I don’t know, Erin.” He squeezed one hand, then the other. He rubbed his thumb across his wedding ring.
“I thought you would be surprised, excited even—”
Sam hated the disappointment he heard in her voice, but she didn’t understand. After everything he and the girls had been through, after the battle he fought within himself to walk away from his badge, he was petrified to allow her grandiose plan become his own. What would he risk if he did? But what would he risk if he didn’t? He needed to talk to somebody. Not Erin, she was convinced she had it all figured out. Maybe the chief? No, the chief would think his sister-in-law was a veritable genius. He needed to talk to someone without an agenda. Gary. Sam reached for his cell phone but stopped. This was a face-to-face conversation. He searched his memory. Where did Gary live? Meadow Heights townhouses? The last unit on the south end? Gary mentioned his wife wanted to plant azaleas. Maybe he could find the right place.
Sam stood. “I am surprised, to say the least. And I want to be excited, but, well, you’ve been thinking about this a long time obviously. And I had finally accepted that wearing my badge again was outside the realm of possibilities. I appreciate what you’re saying, what you’re doing for the girls, for me. But you have to give me a few minutes here. I need to process all this.”
Erin nodded. “I guess this must have come of out of left field for you. I didn’t think about that. I’ve been waiting so long to tell you, and I didn’t want to say anything until I knew for sure.”
“Do you mind if I take a drive? Will you and the girls be okay? I’ll be back in an hour or so.” He dug his keys out of his front pocket.
“We’ll be fine. I’ll steal your hammock there, and the girls are having fun. Go process.”
Sam stopped in front of the townhouse that fit the description he remembered: south end, azaleas. But he didn’t see Gary’s pickup. Maybe it was the wrong unit. Or maybe Gary was out doing his good deeds. He had texted Gary that it would be a few days before he could work on the house again, so he likely found another project in the meantime. Sam decided it was worth a knock on the door. If Gary’s wife was home, she would probably know where Sam could find him. When the door opened, he was greeted by a woman he was sure was Mrs. Hill. She had a familiar kindness in her eyes.
“Hi, I’m Sam. You must be Gary’s wife, Susie.”
“Yes.” She tilted her head and smiled. “I’m Susie. Who are you again?”
“Sam. Sam Blake. I’m the guy your husband has been helping with a renovation.” Her smile faded, replaced by knitted brows and confusion. “He’s surely told you about it, the old house, how he rescued me from disaster because I got myself into a mess I didn’t have the skill to get out of.” Sam grinned, imagining the stories Gary must have told about him. But Gary’s wife just stared at him, puzzled. He decided to get to the point. “Is Gary here?”
Sam could not read her reaction, but she was certainly reacting, somehow, to something. Her mouth twitched as she tried to force it into a curve. She started to speak, then paused. After a moment, she tried again. “That sounds like Gary, but you must be thinking of someone else.”
“Gary Hill,” Sam said.
“Yes, Gary Hill.” Her fingers pressed against her lips. “Wait a minute. Wait right here.” She stepped inside and returned with a picture frame. “This is my husband.” She pointed to the man standing next to her in the photograph. “He’s not the Gary Hill you’re looking for.”
Sam looked at the pic
ture. “Yeah, that’s him. He’s the one.”
She pulled the frame to her chest, shaking her head. “It can’t be.” Sadness shaded her voice. “You must be mistaken.”
“I’m certain it’s him.” Sam was losing patience. “I’ve spent five days a week working with him for the last four months. I’m not mistaken.”
Color rushed from her cheeks. She reached out and gripped Sam’s arm to brace herself. “That’s impossible. My Gary passed away in his sleep. On the second of January.”
It was Sam’s turn to be confused. He glanced at the picture again. Yes, he was certain. That was Gary Hill. January second? The first day he started to work on the house, the day Gary unexpectedly showed up. Sam looked from the picture of Gary to his wife. What should he say? What could he say? Would she believe him? Did he believe himself?
“Suze?” he said softly.
“Suze.” Tears filled her eyes. “My Gary called me that.”
“I know.”
They stared at each other, but neither spoke. Sam was in awe of the possibility of something he couldn’t explain, but it was the only conclusion the evidence led to. How could it be? Mrs. Hill finally broke the silence.
“Please come in and tell me again about the house you’ve been working on.” She opened the door wider.
Sam stepped inside. She offered him a chair in the living room and sat across from him. He proceeded to tell her the story, that the bed and breakfast was his wife’s dream, how he was in over his head, about the morning Gary offered his help. After listening to himself, he wondered if he’d gone insane. Was everything that happened just some crazy dream? He studied the woman sitting across from him. She was real, living, breathing. He inspected his hands, rough and scarred from months of remodeling. All that work had been real. “This, this isn’t possible, is it?”
Her eyes locked on his as she shook her head slowly. “I don’t know.” Her voice softened. “But if it is, does that mean my Gary is . . . like an angel?”
Sam looked blankly at Mrs. Hill, uncertain what any of it meant. He was grateful she continued without expecting a reply.
“You know, I often dream about Gary. In fact, sometimes it seems he’s right here with me. Last night I dreamed he said he had a gift for me, a surprise. Maggie’s Bed and Breakfast, but that didn’t make sense.”
Sam sat back, stunned. His pulse pounded at his temples. “I didn’t tell you my wife’s name.”
“No, I don’t believe you did.” She was clearly unaware of the impact of her words.
“Maggie,” Sam said. “My wife was Maggie. That’s going to be the name of the B&B.”
Mrs. Hill put her hand to her mouth. Tears swelled in her eyes. “What does this mean?”
“I’m not sure. But why do you think your husband would tell you it’s his gift to you?”
A far away look surfaced in Mrs. Hill’s face. “We’d always talked of running a bed and breakfast after he retired. In fact, we almost bought one when we moved here.”
“The Hitching house.” Sam nodded. “I know. Gary told me. That’s Maggie’s B&B.”
Again, silence settled between them. Finally, Mrs. Hill leaned forward and placed her hand on Sam’s knee. “Will you take me there?”
Neither one spoke during the fifteen-minute drive to the property. Sam replayed conversations, the tricks of the trade Gary taught him, the projects they had completed. It didn’t make sense. By the time he pulled into the drive, he was convinced there had to be some other explanation.
“This is it,” Mrs. Hill nodded. “The house we were going to buy.”
As Sam imagined Maggie welcoming the Hills to the Hitching house that September evening, he realized Mrs. Hill was unaware of the backstory, of how intertwined the lives of four strangers had become.
“And there’s the sign.” She pointed toward the front yard that joined the road. “The one Gary showed me in my dream.”
“What sign?” Sam turned his head. He threw open the door and strode to the beige sign standing in the yard. Dark plum lettering declared “Maggie’s B&B.” Sam inspected the fresh dirt around the bottom of the post.
“Hey there.” Erin rounded the corner of the house. “I thought I heard you pull up. Looks nice, doesn’t it?”
“Where did this sign come from?” Sam stood like a statue beside it, unable to move.
“Some guy named Gary brought it. Said he’d been working with you to fix up the place. You just missed him.” Erin peered down the road as if Gary’s truck might still be visible in the distance. “He said to tell you that you’ve got it from here.”
“Gary’s my husband.” Mrs. Hill smiled at Erin then looked at Sam through her tears. “You know, I think something like this happened before. I wanted to plant azaleas this spring. One day I came home from the grocery store, and there they were. I never found out who planted them.”
Sam pressed a fist to his lips. There had to be a reasonable explanation. He recalled his last conversation with Gary. All the structural work was finished, Gary had said. He was confident Sam could do the rest on his own. Was that his way of saying goodbye? Sam examined the sign again. No, this—the sign—was his way of saying goodbye. To him. To Susie.
“What’s going on here?” Erin glanced from him to Mrs. Hill. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah.” A cautious grin spread across his face. “I think everything is going to be okay.” Then he turned toward Mrs. Hill and took both of her hands into his. “Mrs. Hill, Suze, when it opens, would you like to manage Maggie’s B&B for me?”
Her eyes opened wide with surprise. She pulled her hands from his and pressed them to her heart. “Well, I think you already know the answer to that.” Her tears spilled over.
Sam pulled her into an embrace and blinked back tears of his own. The moment held so much loss—his wife, his new friend and mentor, her husband. But at the same time, the moment offered celebration, new beginnings.
“Okay . . .” Erin interrupted again, smiling awkwardly, “will someone please tell me what’s going on?”
Before Sam could answer, Olivia’s shouts from the backyard startled him. “Daddy, Daddy! Hurry!”
The urgency he heard sent Sam sprinting across the front yard, his adrenaline surging as he prepared to face the crisis signaled by the shrillness of Olivia’s voice. As he rounded the corner of the back porch, both girls came into view, and he came to an abrupt halt.
“Look!” Olivia squealed and clapped. “Butterflies!”
“They’re so beautiful, Dad.” Rachel’s voice was barely above a whisper.
As Sam moved closer to the girls, he could not believe the scene before him. The butterfly garden—Maggie’s butterfly garden—was saturated with brilliant color. So many delicate wings danced from flower to flower, it was almost impossible to discern the butterflies from the foliage. Erin and Mrs. Hill stepped up beside him.
“I’ve never seen anything like it.” Mrs. Hill’s voice was soft with awe.
Olivia moved closer.
“Don’t, Olivia,” Rachel warned. “You’ll scare them away.”
But Olivia persisted and placed her hand beside a cluster of butterflies and waited. First one, then two, and then another and another lit on her palm until it looked as if she were holding a bouquet. “Look, Daddy.” Sam was captivated by the delight sparkling in his daughter’s eyes.
Rachel bit her bottom lip. “I wish I had my camera.”
Erin glanced at Sam. He filled his lungs with crisp spring air, welcoming the familiar words his daughter hadn’t spoken in so long. “I wish you did, too, sis. But maybe you can take some pictures with your phone.”
“Yeah, it’s not the same, but it will have to do.” Rachel pulled her cell phone from her pocket and began to frame pictures in its screen.
Erin put her arm around Olivia. “I think you have the most beautiful butterfly garden in the history of butterfly gardens.”
“Like the Garden of Eden.” Mrs. Hill reached forward and a butterfl
y lighted on her hand.
Sam marveled as his girls were absorbed in their private paradise, a moment of perfection. With no sorrow, no worry, no danger for him to protect them from. And in that moment, he realized he could no longer be their sole protector. No gun, no bulletproof vest could fully protect him or his family, and he was a fool to have ever thought otherwise. What was it Gary had said? Put on the full armor of God? He didn’t understand at first, but maybe it was beginning to make sense.
“Mrs. Hill,” Sam interrupted the hush. “Would you excuse me? I need to leave. Would it be okay if Erin drove you home?”
“Of course.” Mrs. Hill patted his arm. “I hope to see you again soon.”
“Yes, soon.” Sam winked. “We have a lot of planning to do.”
“Where are you going?” Olivia was still mesmerized by the butterflies gathered on her hand.
Sam grinned at Erin. “I have a meeting with the chief.”
CHAPTER 29
Rachel’s phone buzzed. She read the text and replied darkroom. She and Kristen had been texting nonstop all day, but Kristen would understand her reply meant she would be off grid for a while.
Rachel could smell the remnant of chemicals as she closed the darkroom door behind her. The space was close, secure, quiet. Her sanctuary. She reacquainted herself with the equipment, gently touching each piece as if to wake it from a long slumber—the developing trays, the timer, the enlarger. She shook a few bottles to see how much chemical each contained. Then she plugged in the red light and turned off the overhead switch. As she stood in the red glow, she tested herself to see if she remembered the process. Mentally she performed each step—place the film in the developing tank; wash with developer, then stop bath, then fixer. She imagined removing the newly developed negative, holding it up to the light, and searching the miniature images for a potential masterpiece. She recalled the satisfaction that arrived when one image stood out among the rest—the lighting or the angle or the moment frozen by the lens—the quality that made this one the one. Rachel envisioned placing the negative into the enlarger, framing it for focus, setting the timer, and hitting the switch to burn the image onto photo paper. Yes, she remembered.
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