“Did he touch you?”
She shook her head.
“Nurse Hazel is going to examine your private parts, but only because I’m here, and I’m saying it’s okay.”
Quinn glanced up at the nurse, who smiled. “I’ll be quick and it won’t hurt, I promise.” She plucked a pair of rubber gloves out of a bin on a tray table and pulled them on.
After she examined Quinn, the nurse turned to Brett and smiled, shaking her head. “No bruises or any signs of forced entry.”
Brett closed his eyes and sighed. Thank you, God.
Quinn shivered. Hazel covered her with a blanket, tucking it under her chin. “The X-ray tech will be here in a few minutes to take a picture of your ankle.” She turned to Brett. “The doctor wants to admit you for observation, so as soon as we have a room we’ll be transferring you up.”
Brett nodded and nudged Hazel’s arm. “Is Sarah Grinwald here? The sister of the man who was shot?”
Hazel shook her head. “I haven’t seen her.”
Poor Sarah. He longed to hold her. She’d suffered so much loss in her life. How do people move on? He wanted to apologize for believing she had been in cahoots with Dean, but he’d had to follow every lead and suspect. Certainly she would understand.
#
The next day, Brett lay in the hospital bed, his father at his side and Quinn in the bed across the room, sleeping. The drapes were drawn to keep the sun out of the room. Nurses chatted in the hallway, lunch trays clinking as the staff distributed them. Brett smelled coffee and baked chicken. His stomach growled. When was the last time he’d eaten?
His father sat in a chair next to his bed, his glasses sitting on the tip of his nose while he read his Kindle. He’d been there all night—since Brett was admitted. He wouldn’t leave his side. He told Brett he’d been gone long enough and had a lot of time to make up for.
The nurse cranked Brett’s bed up slowly and placed his tray in front of him. His dizziness and double vision had subsided. The pain pills had taken the edge off his throbbing headache. The CAT scans hadn’t revealed any internal bleeding or skull fractures. He’d been lucky. He guessed he had a hard head.
An aide brought an extra tray of food for his father. While they ate, his father said, “I was wrong, you know.”
“About what?”
“About Ali, you, your life. You did the right thing.”
“No, I did the wrong thing. I should have listened to you. Maybe if I’d never married Ali she’d be alive right now, and Quinn would be living with a stable family.”
“Ali would have aborted her.”
Brett nodded. “Maybe. But maybe not. We’ll never know. But look at this mess.” Brett waved his arms, pointing at himself and the hospital room.
His father’s eyes misted as he skimmed the room and looked back at Brett. “All I see is you and Quinn, and what’s not to love about that? I was selfish. I wanted you to myself, in the business, successful. I had so many hopes and dreams for you, but they were my dreams. Not yours. I was embarrassed in front of my colleagues because I’d bragged about you for so many years—that you’d be the best attorney in our group.” He paused. “I never wanted you to be a cop because I never respected them.”
His father exhaled and shook his head. “I do now. I respect you. You’re a cop because you love it, and it’s what you’re good at. You chose it because you wanted to do the right thing—the unselfish thing—for an unborn child. You wanted to give her the best life possible. You took responsibility—which is more than many young people do today.”
His father’s face seemed to relax as he spoke, as if he’d wanted to tell Brett these words for a long time. “I needed to let you go, to become Brett, but I didn’t see that at the time.”
“What changed?”
His father took his bifocals off and folded them, then set them on the lunch tray. “Watching you. Getting older. Knowing life is too short.”
“Your cancer?”
His father nodded. “Yeah, coming face-to-face with my mortality definitely played a part.”
“I’m sorry for what you’re going through.” Brett reached for his dad’s hand. “You’re still here though, and so am I, and we’re going to make up for lost time. Forget the past. We’ll only look forward.” He gave his dad’s hand a squeeze. “You’re wrong about one thing. I don’t like being a cop. Shoot, I hate obeying the rules, especially when people’s lives are at stake. And I get lost all the time.”
His father smiled.
“I still have dreams of being in the courtroom, and I wouldn’t get lost there.”
They both laughed.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Sarah stopped in the hospital’s gift shop, the smell of carnations and roses filling the room. She bought a stuffed horse and a box of chocolates, and took the elevator up to the fourth floor, where its doors opened with a clunk. She sighed, nervously. She’d hesitated a thousand times before finally mustering the courage to visit Brett and Quinn. She had to know if they were okay, if Brett would talk to her. She couldn’t sleep until she knew, and even then it would be difficult. Her eyes were puffy, and they stung from crying. Did he still blame her for her brother’s actions? Did he still think she had protected Dean the entire time?
She stood in the doorway of room 404 and heaved in a big breath, licking her lips. Her boots clicked on the tile as she entered. Quinn lay in the dark room in a bed to Sarah’s right, sleeping. Brett lay with his head raised on the opposite side of the room with his eyes closed. His father, who sat at Brett’s side reading, turned to her. He motioned for her to come in and take his seat.
“No, don’t get up. I’ll just leave these and go.” She motioned to her gifs.
Brett’s eyes opened. He smiled. “Hi.” He reached for her hand.
His father closed his Kindle case and said, “I’m going to go get a cup of coffee.”
After he left the room, Sarah set the chocolates and the stuffed horse on the bedside tray. Brett took her hand. She sat in the chair next to him, her hand trembling in his. “How are you doing?”
Brett nodded. “Better. My headache is almost gone.” He squeezed her hand and let it go. “I’m glad you came. How are you?”
She dropped her eyes to her lap. “I needed to know if you hated me, or Dean.”
“I don’t hate you or your brother.”
She met his eyes. “I can’t believe he’s gone. Forever. Just like that. He was such a kind little boy. He didn’t understand. He always wanted to protect me, protect Mom. I should have seen he was troubled.” She looked over at Quinn. “I’m sorry he took her.”
Brett squeezed her arm. “It’s not your fault. It’s over. She’s safe now. If he hadn’t taken her from that pervert’s house that night, she might have been assaulted for who knows how long. He saved her.”
Her lip quivered. “Really? Moore hadn’t harmed her?”
Brett nodded. “The exam confirmed she hadn’t been touched. Quinn said she’d hidden under the bed.”
Sarah sighed and placed her hand on her heart. “Thank goodness. That makes me feel a little better. Dean would never have harmed her. He wasn’t cruel like that. He thought he was protecting her from you—something he was never able to do at home—protect me from Dad.” She pressed a tissue into her palm.
“I know. It’s okay. You don’t have to explain.”
She shook her head. “No, I need to get this out. Please?”
He nodded for her to go ahead.
“When Mom was alive I never suspected anything was wrong with Dean. It wasn’t until Mom died that father teased him all the time. Dean was slow to talk, and when he finally started talking, he stuttered. I always thought Dean was just a socially blind boy who had no friends.
“But once he began to read, I’d bring him library books about animals. He was shy but hyper-focused on learning about dogs, cats, horses. By the time he was ten, he knew every dog and cat breed, what they looked like, and where they originat
ed. By the time he was seventeen he knew how to neuter and spay them from studying books on the procedures. For a while he was fixated on watching video after video of animal procedures.”
She shook her head. “He was fifteen when I left for college. I promised to visit him, but returning home wasn’t a high priority. I knew Doc Spear was looking out for him—had practically adopted him. I thought he’d be okay.” Her lower lip trembled. She bit it. “I didn’t return home for almost six months. That’s when I found Dean at the cabin curled in a little ball in the corner, rocking. I think he’d been there for days. Facial hair had grown on his face, and he’d soiled his clothes. I sat on the floor rocking him.”
She stared at her hands, unable to meet Brett’s eyes. “He latched onto me like a child who’d seen a ghost. When I helped him out of his soiled clothes, I saw his wounds. The marks on his back, the blood in his underwear, the bruises on his buttocks. I screamed, ‘Who did this to you?’ But I knew. I’d had the same bruises.”
Brett exhaled, and with the tip of his finger guided her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. “I’m so sorry for what you and Dean went through. I can’t imagine how difficult your lives were. And I’m sorry he’s gone.”
“Thank you.” She stared into his deep-blue eyes, his sympathy freeing her from her anguish, causing a knot to form in her throat. She blotted her tears with the Kleenex. “I thought he’d learned how to channel his anger by working with animals, caring for them in a positive way. Doc Spear had kept him busy at the clinic.” She shook her head. “I should have realized sooner that he’d lost it.”
He leaned toward her, his voice just above a whisper. “You’re not God. How could you have known?”
“I was so busy I hadn’t taken the time to see him and talk to him after Dad died. He’d been quiet after the funeral, but I thought it was because he didn’t care. He was unemotional, which was normal for him.” Tears fell, and she looked over at Quinn again. “He would have done anything for me.”
“He loved you. Don’t blame yourself.” Brett pulled her toward him and wrapped her in his arms, holding her tight.
She hugged him in return, savoring the warmth and strength of his arms, her fingers touching his bare back, the part where his hospital gown had gaped open. She hiccupped a sob, finally releasing her pent-up sorrow.
He reached for a tissue on the table tray and wiped her tears, meeting her eyes. “Quinn had an exam. That pervert Moore never touched her.” The palm of his hand rested on her cheek, and his thumb traced her bottom lip. “She’s okay.”
Sarah’s lip quivered from his touch. “Thank God.”
#
He wanted to console her, to let her know things would be okay. He wanted to kiss her. Moving his hand away from her cheek, he reached for a strand of hair that had fallen onto her face and brushed it away.
She shuddered, her eyes meeting his.
He drew her closer to him, her breath so close it tickled his nose. Would she let him kiss her? She wasn’t backing away. She was close enough that he could see the speck of gold in her brown eyes and the fullness of her lips, and smell the scent of her lavender perfume. Her cheeks flushed. His heartbeat thundered in double-time.
Her closeness stirred sensations in him he hadn’t felt in years. The parts of his body where her hands had rested tingled. He touched her bottom lip with his finger. She shuddered again, her lips parted, she closed her eyes, and leaned into him. He pressed his lips to hers, drinking and tasting the tangy morsel of hope she offered him. Maybe they could have a future together.
The tension of the last few weeks melted away. He forgot everything except for the way Sarah felt in his arms, filling them with a void he’d needed to have filled for a long time. She moaned. He held her tighter before slowly releasing her.
They broke apart and stared into each other’s eyes, speaking at the same time.
She said, “I better go.”
He said, “Can I see you again soon?”
She smiled and suddenly looked shy. “I’ll be at your custody hearing on Tuesday.”
He smiled. “Let’s hope the judge likes me this time.”
“She will.”
A man’s voice sounded from the doorway. “Can I come in?”
Chief Dunson.
Sarah turned to him. “Please, come in. I was just leaving.”
The chief stopped short when he saw Sarah. A faint gasp escaped from his lips, and the blood seemed to drain from his face.
Brett said, “Sarah Grinwald, this is Chief Dunson. Chief, I believe you knew Sarah’s mother, Rebecca Samuel.”
Chief approached Sarah with his hand outstretched. He took her hand in both of his, his eyes not leaving Sarah’s. “I knew her as Rebecca Wright. You look like her. Forgive me for staring.”
“You knew my mother?”
He smiled, still holding her hand. “I wanted to marry her, but that was a long time ago.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Sarah said. “I never knew.”
The chief finally released her hand. “She was one of the best things that ever happened to me.”
“Really? I’d love to hear about that sometime. I don’t know much about her childhood.”
“Oh, I could tell you all kinds of stories.” He chuckled. “We went to high school together.”
Sarah smiled. “That’s amazing. What a small world.”
“We’ll have lunch sometime.” He finally turned to Brett as if remembering why he’d come.
“I’d like that,” she said, and turned, waving one last time to Brett.
#
Brett drove his cruiser down Main Street, talking to himself. Quinn sat in the backseat playing the bubble game on his iPad. “I could have sworn the funeral home was here on this corner.” He continued driving to the next light. Cox Street. Where was it? Then it dawned on him—the funeral home was at Market and Main.
Sheesh, he could get lost in a bag. At least he was early.
He’d never taken Quinn to a funeral home before, and he hesitated about bringing her now. Would she be too traumatized knowing her mother was in the casket? At least Ali’s mother had decided to keep it closed. She wanted family to remember Ali the way she’d looked before the accident. His parents had thought it would be healthy for Quinn to go to the service before the funeral to say her good-byes.
But as he parked the car, he hesitated, reluctant to confront Ali’s death. He sighed heavily and turned to the backseat. “You ready?”
Quinn nodded without taking her eyes off the iPad. “Wait, let me pop a few more bubbles first. I’m trying to beat my score.”
Brett turned in his seat to watch her, knowing she was putting on a front, trying to act brave. “It’s okay to be sad. You can cry today.”
She pressed the Off button, looked at him, and tears welled in her eyes. “I’m scared. I don’t want to see her.”
“That’s normal to feel that way.” He patted her knee. “Her casket is closed. See a picture of her in your mind. Remember her that way. This is your chance to say good-bye.”
“Can I bring Lambie in?”
“Absolutely.”
She handed him the iPad and gathered the worn lamb under her arm.
She refused to go anywhere without the stuffed animal. Brett understood. She’d gone through a lot, so if Lambie helped her cope, all the more reason to keep him around. Once upon a time he would have turned red carrying it, but not now. He was all about being Mr. Mom, and he didn’t give a rip what he looked like.
He hiked Quinn into his arms. With her ankle wrapped, he carried her everywhere. Part of the reason was he didn’t want to let her out of his sight, but the other part was that it was faster to carry her than for her to use the crutches.
He and Quinn were the first to arrive. A billboard at the entrance listed the names of the deceased. Ali’s name was there, but so was Dean’s. Hursey Lake only had one funeral home, so it made sense that both viewings would be at the same place.
; Brett’s stomach tumbled at the thought of seeing Sarah again.
Mrs. Greer had arranged a photo board for pictures and mementos of Ali, which sat on the table at the entrance of the viewing room.
Brett held Quinn in front of the collage display of Ali’s life. They surveyed pictures of her as a plump infant, taking her first baby steps, learning to ride a bike, on Christmas morning as a teen, and in the delivery room with Quinn.
The same smile lit her face in almost every shot. In her younger photos she showed no restraint, smiling openly, innocence displayed in the dimples of her cheeks. But as she grew, her smile changed and became more guarded. She lost the confident look, and in its place was an angry and insecure Ali. Most people wouldn’t have noticed, but Brett had lived with her injured look for a long time. He saw it in the way she held her head and rounded her shoulders. If he closed his eyes, he could hear it in the vagueness of her dialogue too.
He couldn’t believe her life was over.
Quinn’s eyes filled with tears. “I miss Mommy.”
“I know, sweetie.” He wiped the tears off her cheeks with the back of his hand. “I know.”
He took her to the little room off to the side of the viewing area, the one for families of the deceased, and settled her in a chair, elevating her leg, and handed her the iPad.
His parents arrived and entered the kitchen. His mother held several aluminum foil pans full of lunch meats and potato salad. She placed one in front of Quinn on the table. The room smelled of turkey and Swiss cheese. “You’ll be here awhile today; you’ll need energy to keep you going.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Brett kissed her on the cheek.
His father pulled up a chair next to Quinn. “What game are you playing?”
“The bubble game. You have to pop the bubbles before they fall. You count your points.”
“Do you think I could learn how to play it?”
Quinn giggled. “Yes. It’s not hard. Do you want me to teach you?”
Brett watched as his father pulled up a chair next to Quinn, amazed at how easy it was for his father to talk to her. He wasn’t sure why it surprised him, though. After all, his father had played all those board games with him when he was a kid.
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