God? What on earth did God care about any of this? Al had never asked for help from anyone, no less some ethereal deity whose existence was at best, debatable. There was no loving God in the picture of his life, or Maggie’s life; not that he could see, anyway. They’d just made do on their own.
Then Willow started praying, and Al’s thoughts slowed, stilled. Every cell in his body seemed to hone in on her voice and the name she spoke. “Jesus, Jesus. You set up this meeting today; you had this planned all along. That letter in my box? You put it there, didn’t you, Jesus? Thank you. Thank you.” She paused, and he held his breath, secretly hoping she wasn’t done. “But we need help. We’re facing our own walls of Jericho, and we’re not feeling very equipped to bring them down. You’re going to have to give us your strength, Jesus, your power.”
Al had never heard anyone talk to God like this. It almost sounded like she was ordering him around. Except that she wasn’t. No, she sounded…confident. She wasn’t begging, or over-dramatizing, or getting all holy-roller with her prayer. She was just talking.
But religion made him uncomfortable, and he shifted on his stool. Wrap it up, Willow Goodhope. We’re good.
“And I’m asking you now, Lord, to give Al your peace, too.” Al actually flinched. It had been a long time since he’d heard a woman say his name so gently, tenderly. It soothed him and made him want to crawl out of his skin at the same time. She needed to stop. He couldn’t take any more of this. “You tell us we only have to ask, and you’re there, ready to give it, so I’m asking, Jesus. Peace. Pour out your peace on this home today. Thank you, Jesus.”
His eyes were open and he watched her, waiting for her to lift her bowed head. His palms were clammy, and even in the air conditioning, he’d begun to sweat. But to his dismay, instead of saying, “Amen,” she reached out a hand toward Doc, who stood behind her, a little apart from them. Her fingertips found his forearm, and she spoke again. “Jesus, thank you for Doc; for his tender heart. His very presence is healing to me. Thank you.”
And she was done. She took a deep breath, opened her eyes, and stepped back. The place on his shoulder where her palm had rested was warm, damp, and his whole body seemed to tingle a little.
“Whew. I feel much better.” Willow smiled self-consciously, but the look on her face confirmed her words. “I hope I didn’t make you two uncomfortable.”
Doc barked out a laugh and reached over to pat her cheek. “That’s the understatement of the year, little girl.”
Willow blushed, but turned to Al, a determined look in her eye. “You’re going to wait before you do anything, right?” She raised her eyebrows in question, and her voice didn’t quaver at all this time. “You need to give me a little time to make some phone calls.”
“I’ll wait.” Al nodded affirmatively.
“He’ll wait. I’ll make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.” Doc chuckled, then slid the door open for Willow.
Morning arrived, and with it came the reality of his life, flooding back in like a tidal wave, just like it had every morning since that phone call. Maggie was dead, and he was going to jail, two things that should have happened long, long ago.
~ ~ ~ ~
Al dragged his feet out from under his blankets and headed for the bathroom. It was still early, but his body had grown too accustomed to waking up at five o’clock every morning for it to adjust quickly to his new schedule. He’d turned in his notice at the factory last week, but when he told them his wife had died, they gave him the option of using some of his banked sick days before officially quitting. That way he could continue getting paid, but he didn’t have to show up for work.
“You might as well use them, Al,” Sherri, the boss’ secretary said gently. “That’s what they’re there for, whether you’re sick in the body or sick at heart. You rarely use those days, which means you have a lot of hours of sick time stored up, but they’ll just disappear when you leave. We don’t pay you for any unused sick time.”
He was grateful at first, because there was a surprising amount of paperwork and various arrangements to make for Maggie’s remains. But now, time was moving slowly, and Al was waiting again.
Willow Goodhope. That girl could turn a man upside down and inside out with just the flash of her smile. In a way, she reminded him of the way Maggie had looked, way back when he’d first spotted her sitting in that vinyl chair, swinging her foot back and forth like the pendulum of a clock, waiting for Billy Raven. Waiting to be rescued. But when Willow sat in his small living room and listened intently to his sad tale, she didn’t once make him feel like the monster he figured he was.
Wait, she’d said.
Willow Goodhope. Good hope. She truly brought good hope with her when she moved into The Coach House Trailer Park and her little cottage across the creek. Now here he sat, waiting to see what word she’d bring him today, what help she was going to offer him.
By noon, Al was getting impatient. Not that she owed him anything, but he’d been so set on his course of action, and now he felt derailed, just standing around doing nothing.
When the phone rang an hour later, he just about jumped out of his skin. He hadn’t had an ounce of beer in over twenty-four hours, on the off chance he ended up ditching this crazy waiting game and drove himself to the police station, but the longer he went without it, the more irritable he felt.
“Al here.”
“Al, it’s Willow.” His knees buckled and he dropped like a rock onto one of the barstools. “Do you have a minute?”
“Too many of them.”
“Okay. I spoke with my…with the guy I told you about. He’d like to come see you. He wants to help you.” She took a deep breath and sniffled a little.
“You getting sick?” She sounded awful.
“No, I’m fine. But I need you to know a few things about this guy before you agree to see him.”
“Okay.” Al said the word slowly, not sure about this now. Things had seemed so simple a few days ago, before she got involved. For some time, she didn’t speak, and he thought maybe they’d lost their connection. “Willow?”
“I’m here.” She sniffed again. “Just trying to figure out where to begin.”
“Take your time.” He didn’t mean it, but she sounded like she really needed it.
“Al, this guy is—was—is, well, according to him, he’s my husband. His name is Christian Goodhope.”
~ ~ ~ ~
Chapter 6
Shadowman. Christian Goodhope. Willow’s husband.
“I told him just enough of your story to give him an idea of what happened, but that wasn’t much. He wants to hear it straight from you, without my spin on it.”
“Right. That makes sense.” Al’s thoughts were racing. “Is he some kind of a lawyer or something?”
“Yes, in fact, he is. He’s an associate at Pendelton Law Offices in Ontario. He’s the new guy—only been with them a little over a year now—but he’s been around the block a few times and he….” She paused, as though trying to come up with the right words. “He knows what he’s doing.”
“I don’t want a lawyer, Willow. I’m turning myself in.” He had no interest in trying to prove his innocence, because he wasn’t.
“He’s not offering to be your lawyer. Not yet, anyway. He just wants to talk to you.” Her voice had a little edge to it that he’d never heard before. “But the fact that you’re going to turn yourself in is all the more reason you need a lawyer. Don’t go to court without representation, Al; you’ll get thrown to the wolves. I don’t care what you have or haven’t done, you don’t ever want to stand alone in our crazy judicial system.”
“He won’t try to talk me out of it?”
“He’ll help you figure out the best way to do whatever it is you want to do, Al. That’s what he does best.” Now he was sure of it. The serrated edge of her voice cut into him. Al tried to figure out what she wasn’t saying, but didn’t know how to ask the right question.
“So, why does
he want to help me?” He heard her sigh deeply on the other end of the line.
“You want the truth?”
“Yes.”
“He doesn’t want to help you, specifically. He wants to help me. If helping you will get him access to me, he’s yours.”
Al stood up. Nope. Not going there. “I don’t need this, Willow. And clearly, neither do you.”
“Actually, you’re wrong on both counts.” Resignation seeped through the phone line and he waited for her to explain. “You need him. Believe me, you need him and whatever advice he can give you.” She paused only long enough to take a breath. “I need him, too. He’s paying my bills here, he’s paying my daddy’s bills, and he’s the man to whom I committed myself for as long as we both shall live. I haven’t seen him since January, Al. Don’t you think it’s time I grow up and face things? Like you’re doing right now?”
What did one say to a question like that? Not knowing what had transpired between them that they were now bitterly estranged, if not divorced, he had no way of knowing how to respond. “Okay. I’ll talk to him, but I’m not promising anything else.”
“Smart man. Are you going to be home this evening around five?”
Al grunted. “Where else would I be?”
“Good. Now I need you to do something for me.” Now what?
“I’m not going to be alone with him. He’s coming here to meet with you, not me. We’re going to meet at the mailboxes so he can see that I’m alive and well. I told him I’d give him ten minutes tops, just the two of us, but out in the open where people can see us. Then we’ll walk over, I’ll introduce you two, then I’ll leave.” She listed off the details as though she’d thought things through carefully.
“What do you want me to do?”
“I want Doc there and I want you both sitting outside on your front porch where he can see the two of you watching us. I don’t want to be alone with him even for a second. Can you do that for me?”
“Is he dangerous?” Al did not like this one bit.
Willow snorted. “Only if you love him, Al. Then he’s the most dangerous man in the world.”
~ ~ ~ ~
At 4:38 p.m., Doc arrived and set up two folding chairs on the otherwise empty front porch of Al’s trailer. “Brought you some front row seating.” He pulled a silver flask from his back pocket, dropped into one of the chairs, then lit a cigarette. “I could use a glass of ice and an ashtray.”
Al obliged his old friend, accustomed to his frankness, then joined him, a cigarette of his own in one hand, a cold RC cola in the other. He desperately wanted a beer, but he needed to make sure he kept his wits about him for the next hour or so.
They didn’t talk, but just sat and stared out at the row of mailboxes not more than sixty feet away. Five minutes later, Willow crossed the little creek that divided the front of the property from the back. Doc whistled softly at the sight of her. She looked like a million bucks in a long copper skirt and a shirt that seemed to be woven from moss, hugging her every curve. Something about that color made her skin appear almost see-through, and the way the late afternoon sun shone on her hair, it looked alive, all loose around her face and shoulders like that. Willow Goodhope was armed and dangerous, and that man of hers better play his cards carefully. Al was actually glad when she just waved at them, and didn’t stop to chat, going straight to the end of the driveway just past the last mailbox. Practically the whole front half of the park could see her if they were looking.
At 4:55 p.m, according to the Timex around Al’s wrist, a shiny silver Toyota Avalon pulled into the drive and slowed to a stop next to Willow. The two men on the front porch got even quieter, if possible.
Willow stepped behind the mailboxes and waited, arms crossed. Doc let out another whistle, this one a little longer, as a young man unfolded himself from behind the wheel of the car. If ever there was such a thing as tall, dark, and handsome, Christian Goodhope was it. He probably wasn’t an inch over six feet, but everything about him seemed pronounced, defined, like he was chiseled from rock by one of the great sculptors of old, all combining together to make him someone not to be ignored. His gray suit only added to the affect.
Doc muttered something unintelligible, and Al shot a glance at him. The veteran was poised and ready to launch himself off the patio, if necessary. Al would be right behind him.
But Christian Goodhope just stood at his open car door studying Willow, like he was waiting for permission to approach her.
“Where’s your truck?” she asked, not even bothering to offer a polite greeting. Her voice carried the short distance to the porch, and Al remembered Eddie saying the guy had been driving a Dodge Ram the night he was escorted off the property.
“I sold it.”
“Good.” Willow kept her arms crossed tightly. She dropped her gaze, one foot kicking at a tuft of grass. “Thanks for coming.”
Christian nodded, then took a step back and closed his door. Coming around the front of the car slowly, he stopped several feet away from her. She didn’t step out from behind her barrier of mailboxes.
They stared at each other a few minutes, then she looked away, back toward Doc and Al on the porch. Al had a clear shot of most of the man’s face, and what he saw there was starting to embarrass him. Even from this far away, he could see the way Christian was taking her in, raw hunger all over his face.
“Willow.” It was only one word, but when he said her name, she flinched visibly.
“Ah, man,” Doc groaned. “He just took off the gloves.”
Christian took another step closer, like he was approaching a wounded animal. “Willow, please,” he said. He didn’t beg; it was just a request, but Al had no doubt the jurors in the courtroom sat up and listened when Christian Goodhope spoke. Authority and persuasion, compassion and determination, it all rolled off his tongue like an incantation. Al wanted to plug his ears for Willow’s sake.
The man reached the side of the driveway where gravel met grass; the row of mailboxes the only thing separating him from Willow. Al had to strain to hear the next words. “Will you take a ride with me? I’ll bring you right back, I promise.”
Willow looked back at them again, her eyes wide, then at her husband’s car, then back at them again. Doc shook his head and scowled. The spell was broken.
“I didn’t ask you here so you could show off your new wheels. Follow me. I’ll introduce you to Al Tanner.” She stepped around the barrier and whisked by him, so close that the hem of her skirt swirled against his shins as she moved.
“Weighed, measured, and found wanting,” Doc chortled to himself, but Al thought Willow was barely holding it together as she strode toward them, Christian just a few steps behind. She had that shell-shocked look he’d seen so many times in Maggie’s eyes, as though she suddenly couldn’t take anything more, and he felt his shoulders tense, the muscles reacting automatically to her stress. Both he and Doc stood as they approached.
But by the time she reached the patio, she’d regained enough of her composure to be able to turn and face her husband. “Christian, this is my next-door neighbor, Doc.”
Al didn’t miss the grimace on the younger man’s face when Doc didn’t release his hand right away. In fact, if he wasn’t mistaken, Doc was holding on pretty tightly. Good. Let the kid know where things stood right up front. Just because this pretty boy lawyer was a necessary evil, didn’t mean they all had to get along.
“And this is our friend, Al Tanner. The man you’re here to help.” The two of them shook hands, too, and when Al met his gaze for the first time, he felt a fissure of guilt at the haunted look in Christian’s eyes. He suddenly wished he knew more about the Goodhopes’ story.
~ ~ ~ ~
Chapter 7
Doc walked Willow home and Al watched Christian’s eyes follow his wife, as though memorizing every detail of her to take away with him when he left. Al cleared his throat. What had he gotten himself into the middle of?
Christian turned to him and in
the blink of an eye, the vulnerable hunger was replaced by a sincere smile. “I’m glad Willow called me, Al. Yes, it was good to hear her voice again, and to see her—” His voice broke off, but he started again. “To see her looking so well, but when she told me about your situation, I wanted to meet you. What you’ve been through is really remarkable, and from what I gather, rather commendable, too. I’d like to hear your story, if you’ll share it with me.”
An hour later, Al felt like a new man. Christian Goodhope was a guy worthy of his name, and in Al’s personal opinion, worthy of his wife. It wasn’t his place to say so, he knew that, but he had no doubt, whatsoever, that Christian was honorable and upright, a man of integrity.
With Al, Christian didn’t sugarcoat anything, explaining to him his rights, his options, and what he thought the best course of action would be for him to take. “The circumstances of your case are not common, Al, but I believe that even with a full confession, you’ll be able to get your case dismissed after a few court appearances. If you opt to have me represent you, that’s what I’d present to the judge, based on what you’ve told me.”
“I can’t afford you,” Al stated, matter-of-factly. He eyed the understated luxury sedan parked outside.
“I understand. I’d like to represent you anyway. Pro bono.”
Al knew Christian’s motivation was less about helping him than it was about getting to Willow. But if him letting the young lawyer take his case meant helping to repair the broken marriage, then he was all for it. He’d seen the way the guy looked at his wife, and Willow had all but admitted she still loved him, too.
Al knew what it was like to live in a loveless marriage. He knew what hopelessness looked like, and what was between the Goodhopes wasn’t hopelessness. Oh, they were both hurting, maybe even beyond repair, but he didn’t think they’d given it a full fighting chance yet. He wasn’t going to play matchmaker, but he was through with waiting. He wasn’t going to stand around and wait for the hammer to fall, for the other shoe to drop, for another tragic ending. If having Christian Goodhope as his lawyer meant the man would have an excuse to periodically show up at The Coach House Trailer Park, then Al was signing on the dotted line.
Elderberry Croft: Volume 3 Page 7