by Dawn Mattox
“You were breaking and entering with a loaded gun. Your job does not include killing people. If you want to kill people, go back to school, and I will give you a letter of recommendation to take to Mark Anderson for the SWAT Team.”
“That is so—”
“Everywhere you go—people die!”
A chill fell, as stark and icy as anything I had experienced in the wilderness.
Jack retracted. “That was wrong . . . I am sorry. Really, I didn’t mean—”
The sound of the door slamming behind me echoed throughout the complex.
I woke to Kissme’s nudges and tongue lashes the next morning; it took a moment to realize that the events of the previous day had actually happened. In fact, it took a while to come to grips with the entire affair. It was time to take stock.
Jack was right. Paige died because I left her. Cali’s death was linked to Paige. Kenny died because I asked him for help. And Chance was dead because I had distracted him. Now, four people whose names I didn’t even know—okay, I knew Deirdre’s name— and I knew those men were trying to kill me. I had shot them in self defense. Whatever. Just like me, Jack did what he had to do.
Kissme leaped down from the sofa, whirling and barking in a Pomeranian frenzy in response to the knocking at the front door. I opened to an excited Shane, whose joyous expression froze, then melted faster than soft ice cream under hot fudge. “Sunny—are you sick? Ashley told me to come get you.”
I was still in my pajamas. “No, Shane, I’m great.” Never better, I thought dryly. “What’s up?”
Shane shook it off, too buoyant with joy to be weighed down. “Ashley’s water broke. Come on. We’re on our way to the hospital. We’re gonna be a father—I mean, I’m gonna be a father. You know what I'm saying.” Shane swooped me into a bear hug and planted a big wet, sloppy kiss on my cheek. “Hurry up, double-time.” He spun me around and pushed me back into the house. “Get it together and get dressed. Ashley’s packing for the hospital. Go-go-go. Meet us at the hospital.”
Ashley wasn’t the only one whose water broke. Shane’s heart was overflowing, and he looked weirdly out of character—big, burly, tough-guy biker Shane with tears of happiness running down his face as he laughed and cried and sprinted back to their car. “We’re leaving in five,” he called back as he jumped in and slammed the door, peeling out and leaving me staring wistfully after him.
Ash and Shane were like the sun and the moon all shining at once, and it was impossible not to be touched and enlightened by their radiant glow. Ashley had never been more beautiful in all her life, and burly Shane put Santa Claus to shame with his sparkling eyes and generous spirit of love that he freely passed out like gifts from a bottomless bag. There was magic in the air, and the magic was called love.
“Hello, Mac. Hello . . . uh . . . Oma.” Within an hour the waiting room had begun to look like church. Most of the congregation had shown up, everyone laughing or praying together for Ashley, the doctor, and the babies. Everyone was happy for the soon-to-be parents. My clothes were clean, my hair was brushed, and I had gargled. What I needed now was for God to “create in me a clean heart.”
I asked. God listened and He answered.
I found myself sitting at a little patio table outside the front of the building.
“Sunny. I haven’t seen you in the longest time. I’ve missed you.” Oma looked happy as she walked up to the table.
“I’ve missed you too. In fact, I’ve wanted to talk with you.” It was a humbling moment.
“I remember the day my son was born,” Oma chatted. “It was the happiest day of my life.”
“Is it true—is your son really in prison?” I could feel the warmth of shame traveling from my feet to my face. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business. I have no right to ask you. In fact—”
“No dear, it’s okay. I am not ashamed of the fact that my son is in prison. I know it sounds crazy, but I am actually happy for him. He has gotten his GED and has plans for the future. Best of all, thanks to prison ministry, he has come to know the Lord.” Oma sat in the chair next to me. “Sometimes things happen in life that seem like the worst thing that could ever happen, and then somehow, it turns out to be the best thing.” She gave me an encouraging, knowing smile.
Chance would have called it a God thing.
“There’s my girls.” Mac came out holding two cups of hot chocolate. “Would you like one?” Mac asked, holding a cup out to me. I knew Mac was being polite.
“Yes.” I laughed at the flicker of dismay on his face. “But I’ll go get my own. But before I go, I have something I need to tell both of you.” Their eyes turned to me expectantly. I hated to be the one to take those smiles from them. I hated to see their love turn to hurt and anger. But my apologies were long overdue.
“It’s all my fault,” I said. “All of the malicious gossip that went around about Oma—it was me. I did it, and I hope you’ll forgive me. I really do feel terrible.” The next few seconds seemed like an eternity as I waited for the joyous spirit of the day to turn into scathing rebukes. I stared hard at the table, bracing myself. I was ready. Whatever was going to happen next, I had it coming.
Oma flinched, and the color drained from her face. “Did I do something to offend you?” she asked, placing her hand on mine.
“No—absolutely nothing. Anger couldn’t excuse what I did even if I had of been angry—and I wasn’t mad about anything. I did it because . . . I was trying to fit in with a group of people who were gossiping. I was lonely, and I wanted them to like me, so I made stuff up.” I fidgeted in my chair. I could feel the warm heat of a flush on my cheeks. “I’m embarrassed and ashamed, and so very, very sorry.” I stared at their cups of cocoa.
I was surprised at what happened next.
Oma reached over and gave me a kiss on the side of my head and a little squeeze on my shoulder. “Thank you. Thank you for telling us. That was very brave.”
My eyes shifted right and left. “So, that it? It’s over? You forgive me? God’s forgiven me?”
Mac scrunched his face as if I had just stepped on his bare toes with my motorcycle boots on. His lips pressed into a tight line, and he rolled his eyes toward heaven before answering.
“Sunny—here’s the thing about grace. With God, it’s instant, but it is not a ‘Get Out of Jail Free’ card. Everything that you set in motion has a ripple effect. Love, hurt, everything. You’ve thrown a lot of rocks, and you’ve hit the two of us hard. You’ve hurt us, Oma and me.”
I dropped my gaze. Tears threatened. “I’m sorry. Really sorry.” If I said it a hundred times, it would not come close. I could never say it enough.
“The good thing about ripples,” said Mac, “is that they stretch out over time until they disappear. I’m not happy with you, but I love you, and Oma and I love each other.” Mac turned to Oma with a glow that rivaled Shane’s. “In fact, we’re getting married.”
What a day for new beginnings. My congratulations tumbled over Mac’s next words. “And now—I think there are a pair of babies inside waiting to meet us.”
“They’re born? Oma-gosh!” We all laughed together.
God commands us to “sing a new song.” We did, and I was certain that the angels in heaven cracked up, joining us in our laughter.
Mac couldn’t have looked happier if he had fathered those babies himself. “Come on, ladies. Let’s go say hello to Elijah and Ephraim.”
Oma was right. The moment that I thought would be the worst had turned out to be one of the best.
My heart lit like a fistful of glow stick at the sight of those two little boys in their parents’ arms. Ashley had more sparkle than a hundred-karat diamond and Shane looked as bright and solid as pure gold. They were rich, Shane and Ashley. They had wealth and treasure immeasurable, and for a refreshing change, I was not jealous. Not even a little bit.
I hugged my best girlfriendnd and her amazing husband and caught an apologetic glimmer in their shared expressions as if they fe
lt a twinge of guilt for finding so much happiness in the face of my recent losses. All smiles, I hugged them again and whispered, “It’s okay. I’m sorry I’ve been so distant. We are truly happy for you, me . . . and Chance too. . . you know?” The love we shared was genuine, and it felt good to have my family back again. Their family had grown, and somehow throughout the long cold winter, so had I.
Forgiveness is right up there with sacrifice. Both are about letting go, and every time we let go of anything, our burdens are lightened. That is a God thing.
Home looked good for the first time in a long time. And right when I thought my day couldn’t get any better, I froze at the sight of something on the doorstep. A mysterious heart-shaped box of chocolates and a dozen red roses. I had forgotten all about today being Valentine’s Day.
So much had happened since coming home from the hospital on New Year’s Day. The funerals, the bomb, losing my husband, losing my job. It felt good to celebrate life and love.
I traded in wine for spiced tea, and the smell of oranges and cinnamon perfumed the air.
Paige’s scrapbook lay like a colorful autobiography on my lap. I was ready to revisit the young woman who had changed my life in so many ways. In the cool of the evening, I opened the scrapbook that Cali had given Chance. Sitting in bed, propped up by pillows and surrounded by dogs, wrapped in the warmth of one of one of Chance’s flannel shirts, I savored the moment. Balancing the heavy book that somehow still smelled like its author, I traced the soft padded cover and corded binding and then opened it up to the journey of a lifetime.
“Hello Paige,” I fingered the photograph of a newborn baby dressed in a white lace gown. “Look at you. You never changed,” I said, with a short laugh. “Beautiful baby. Beautiful woman.” And it was true. The school pictures that followed revealed a growing girl—first grade, second grade, third, and so on up to junior high—always bright and happy, always child-pageant perfect.
Admission tickets were mingled among the pictures. “Look, Kissme, your favorite dog movie, Balto.” And Disneyland. “Got to have Disneyland.” Other theme parks and events were woven throughout the pages.
I sipped my tea and reached for a chocolate, wondering again who might have left them on my doorstep and why the person didn’t include a card with a name. Travis crossed my mind, but I easily dismissed that idea. Travis was living with a lady, and she was his Valentine. Shane and Ashley would have done such a thoughtful thing—had they not been busy birthing love elsewhere. Duncan?
Hmm? Possible.
Seventh and eighth-grade pictures were notably absent from the scrapbook. Certificates of completion replaced the traditional school pictures where junior high should have been. Certificates and a couple of pictures of Paige taken at Christmas with her parents. One of her standing next to her birthday cake holding a big-eyed solid white Persian kitten with the name “Snow White” penned beneath.
“Hardly any activities,” I mused. “I’m sorry your childhood was stolen and perverted. I know a little bit about that,” I said to Paige. “I should have been nicer to you,” I added. And I meant it. I hoped it was never too late for kind words, and I hope that Paige heard me, wherever she is.
Kissme moved in and put her paws on my chest, begging. I broke off a piece of chocolate and sent her to the bottom of the bed. Mercy whined in protest, so I tossed her one that I ranked “least favorite.”
“Just one,” I warned the dogs. “Chocolates are bad for dogs—they turn you into cats.” They seemed to accept that and settled down.
Paige looked different in the pictures that followed. The glow of childhood was absent. The cuteness was gone, replaced by a young woman who looked more provocative than pretty.
There was the prom. Looking at Paige dressed in her formal, I felt a wistful tug in my heart as I reflected on that period of life. How passionately I had once dreamed of going to the prom. I was a victim of Cinderella Syndrome at the time, waing for Prince Charming to me to the rescue. Logan just laughed and ridiculed me for asking him to take me to prom night, telling me he had already made plans for porn night.
I turned another page in the scrapbook.
There. It. Was. Right in front of me. Pictures.
The evidence Chance had wanted to show me on the day at he died.
Oh. My. God. “It’s not possible,” I whispered through my fingers. “Oh, Chance . . . you were right.”
CHAPTER 49
Chocolates sailed like confetti in Times Square—much to Mercy’s delight and Kissme’s dismay—as I leaped from the bed. The clock by the phone showed it was nine p.m.
I know where Logan is. I know, I know, I know!
My brain was on speed dial and fingers shook so hard that I had to redial the number three times before getting through.
My heart thudded in my ears.
I frowned when Travis’s girlfriend answered. “This is Sunny McLane. I need to speak with Travis right away. It’s urgent.”
“I’m sorry. He’s not here right now.” Her voice was liquid, soft and sweet as Southern tea. “I can give you his cell number.”
“Already got it.” I hung up and dialed his cell.
“Travis—it’s me it’s Logan it was him all this time at the cabin I just know it, and I am going after him as fast as I can find my keys,” the words streamed.
“Whoa! Slow down. Sunny, I mean it, s-l-o-w down. Take a breath, and then tell me what’s going on.”
“He’s at the cabin. I know it, Travis. I can feel it. Gotta go.”
Nothing is going to stop me from getting Logan. I turned off my phone. Not even Superman.
I figured since the Department of Corrections couldn’t keep Logan behind bars; ATF, BCSO, and SWAT combined had let him slip through their fingers when he had been cornered in a tunnel—hell, even the damned cartel couldn’t catch him—there was no reason whatsoever for me to wait for backup.
I pulled on warm jeans and boots and then slipped Chance’s shirt back on under a thick coat. My Glock was at the office, but my .22 had been released and returned from evidence after Paige’s autopsy. The .22 was less deadly, but I was more accurate. I loaded the clip and slid the pistol into my pocket. Then I took a picture from Paige’s scrapbook and tucked it next to the gun in my pocket.
My eyes swept the house, pausing on pictures and memories. It was time to go. This could be goodbye.
I let the dogs out for a minute, then put Kissme back inside. “Guard the house,” I told her with a hug and a kiss, then locked the door and called Mercy. She bounded expectantly onto the front seat of the truck with a huff, her tail thunking rhythmically against the door.
A slice of moon shone brightly within the crisp blanket of stars. Blacker than night, the mountains loomed like parapets on nature’s castle. I was pumped up, ready to slay the dragon and rescue the princess. Grim and determined as I felt, I was not naive. I knew that sometimes the dragon wins.
I parked the truck on the logging landing above the cabin where the dirt road began. “Mercy, come,” I said, as I let the big dog out of the truck. Tonight Mercy was like a well-oiled machine without the proper key. She understood basic and complex commands, but tonight I hoped she would respond to the language of love.
The snow was gone and the road was a deeper shade of night under the trees. I walked until the the cabin come into sight. A lamp was burning inside.
I positioned Mercy in the center of the circle drive and kneeled. Held her head in my hands and told her to stay. First she sat, then crouched down with a soft whine. “Good girl. Stay. Stay,” I whispered forcefully. And she did. Giving Mercy a reassuring pat, I repeated “stay” one more time, kissed the .22 the way Chance had taught me, and tucked it into my pants at the small of my back.
“God helps me,” I breathed, as I headed toward the cabin and knocked on the door.
“Logan? Logan! Logan—it’s me, Sunny. Open the door. I’m alone, and I’m unarmed. I just want to—”
“Well, well, well. If it isn�
�t the little woman. We have to stop meeting like this.” Logan appeared from the dark side of the house. “To what do I owe the honor of your visit?”
Startled, I turned to face the man I once loved, once feared. Emotions gripped like the layers around the core of the earth, layers that had developed over time and formed around the inner core of my teenage heart. Then came the mantles of disillusion and betrayal, molten anger, fear, and dread. But on the surface, I kept a thick protective layer. A world of evolving emotions—feelings that still bubbled and stirred beneath my tough outer exterior. I wouldn’t crack. I wouldn’t cave. I wouldn’t let Logan see anything beneath the shell.
“I just want to talk. Can we talk?” I asked, keeping my tone neutral. Strong, without threat or fear.
“Well, I don’t know. Let me consult my calendar. I’m a busy man,” he drawled as he moved out of the shadows. I could see that he hadn’t changed much. He was dressed in black jeans and shirt, his black hair slicked back, dark eyes, eagle eyes as hard as onyx peered over a gun that he aimed at my head. “Who’s with you?” Logan looked around. “You got a SWAT team workin’ their way through the woods?” He seemed casual, even amused by my presence.
“No. It’s just me. I swear—I don’t care about you. I just want to know how to find Quincy. Is she here? Do you have her?”
“Quincy, huh? I heard you named her.” Logan tipped his head back, his sneer stretching from ear to ear. “Still trying to have a kid,” he said derisively. “Tsk, tsk. Sorry to disappoint, but since she’s not around, maybe you can do like your rich friends and adopt some kid from a Third World country.” Logan laughed. “It’s very trendy, and who knows—maybe Quincy’ll pop up in some drug lord’s house in Mexico . . . or maybe she’ll be a sex slave for some oil sheik. Those old guys love diddling little white girls. And it will be All. Your. Fault.”
My hand twitched and crept toward the gun. I took a deep breath.
Steady.