Hannah glanced at Jenny’s sleeping form—and was struck suddenly by the thought that it was the first day of school. Hannah’s church friends would all be at breakfast—an annual tradition on this day—talking about how quickly children grow up, the merits of their various teachers, and how much time they would all have now that the fall routine was back in place.
Hannah’s heart grew heavy and tears filled her eyes. She had cried more since the collision than all the other times in her life combined. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes … but images drifted across her mind of her friends’ children greeting classmates, working out the kinks in their schedules, and making plans for weekend get-togethers.
She had called the principal of West Hills High and told him about the accident. He would have told the others, so by now Alicia’s friends and fellow cheerleaders would probably be convening in the lunch area, consoling each other and crying over the loss of their friend. Certainly many of them would be at the funeral.
But in time they would get over her absence—life would get in the way, and they would be drawn to the thrill of Friday night football games and weekend dances. They would talk about Alicia on occasion, but she would eventually fade into the recesses of their memories.
Hannah sighed and fiddled with her pencil. She felt as if she had aged ten years overnight—she knew she looked haggard. Her clothing was rumpled from sleeping in the chair by Jenny’s bed, and her hair was pulled back into an unruly ponytail. Only her crimson, manicured fingernails gave any indication of her former appearance. She had checked the bathroom mirror earlier that morning, and the person staring back at her with empty red eyes and cheeks ravaged by tears did not look even remotely familiar.
Focus. Concentrate on the matters at hand. That was all that kept her from falling into a bottomless pit of despair—something she could not do because she knew if she ever gave in, there would be no return.
She studied her notes again and pressed her lips together. It was time to contact Sgt. Miller. She wanted to know exactly what happened. The other driver had run a red light. She knew that much. But had he been drinking? Was he on drugs? Hannah had a horrible suspicion that there was something more to the accident story, but until she knew for sure, she tried not to think about it. The hatred she already felt toward the other driver was frightening enough without dwelling on it.
Suddenly Jenny stirred and rolled slowly from one side to the other. Hannah moved next to the bed and took her daughter’s hand. A torrent of anxiety and dread consumed her, and she willed herself to stay calm. How would she tell this child, this precious daughter, that her father and sister were dead? She had no idea.
God … she started, but then cut the prayer short. No, she would not ask. She didn’t want to think about God until she had time to examine her feelings. Besides, she didn’t know what power her prayers would have. They hadn’t kept her family safe.
Jenny moaned and turned toward Hannah. Her eyes opened and she squinted against the sunshine streaming through the hospital window.
“Mom?”
Hannah figured her daughter could make out her face, but Jenny didn’t sound sure of herself.
She leaned over the girl’s prone body, hugged her, then pulled away slightly and caressed Jenny’s forehead with a single finger. There was nothing she could do about the heavy sadness in her voice. “Hi, sweetheart, how do you feel?”
Jenny glanced around the room. “Where … am I?”
Hannah continued to run her fingers gently over Jenny’s hair. “You’re at the hospital. There was an accident, honey.”
Jenny moved her left hand over the cast on her arm. She thought a moment and her eyes grew wide. “The white truck—”
Hannah said nothing.
Jenny seemed to struggle with her memory, then she jolted into a semi-sitting position. Suddenly she looked wide-awake and frightened. “Mom, he was coming right at us … right where Dad and Alicia were sitting!”
Tears filled Hannah’s eyes and she pulled Jenny close once more. “I’m so sorry, baby, so sorry you had to see that.”
“I wanted to scream, Mom. There wasn’t time … I can’t … can’t remember anything else.”
Hannah started to cry and the sound broke the silence. Jenny looked at her, alarm sweeping her young face.
“Mom, what is it? Where are Dad and Alicia?”
Hannah drew back just enough to see her daughter’s face. She held her shoulders firmly and looked deep into her eyes. “Honey, the accident was very serious. Alicia and Daddy … they didn’t make it, honey. They’re gone.”
Jenny’s eyes filled with horror, and she searched her mother’s face. “They’re dead? Both of them?” She sounded on the verge of hysterics. “Mom? Are you serious?”
Hannah nodded and pulled Jenny close one more time. “No!” Jenny moaned softly, burying her face in her mother’s shoulder. “No, not both of them.”
She did not scream and carry on the way Hannah had done. Rather she sobbed convulsively, clinging to her mother the way a drowning swimmer clings to a life preserver. Hannah could feel her daughter’s pain, and she was heartbroken, knowing there was nothing she could do to take it away.
Finally, when Jenny’s weeping slowed, she pulled back and studied her mother. Hannah wondered if the girl was going to faint. “Mom,” she whispered, her voice stricken. “It’s all my fault.”
Hannah frowned. “No, dear, of course not. The driver of the other truck ran a red light. Daddy never saw him coming.”
Jenny shook her head, her cheeks red and tear stained. “No, not that part. Earlier. We were getting out of the fishing boat, heading back for camp … Alicia nearly stepped on a rattlesnake. She didn’t see it but I did. I yelled at her and she stopped.… One more step, Mom, and she would have been bitten.”
Hannah hesitated. “Sweetheart, I don’t understand. You helped your sister by saying something about the snake. That doesn’t make the accident your fault.”
Jenny drew a deep, shuddering breath. “You don’t understand, Mom. If I hadn’t said something, Alicia would have been bitten. Dad could have helped her; she would have been okay eventually. But we would have gotten a later start. Maybe an hour later.… And we wouldn’t have been going through the intersection when that other driver was running the red light. Don’t you see, Mom? It’s all my fault.”
Hannah began to cry softly. “Oh, honey, it’s not your fault. You have to believe that. The only one at fault is the other driver.” Even as she said the words, she thought for an instant about the Lord. He could have saved them, but he didn’t. Wasn’t he at fault? Just a little?
Jenny began weeping harder. “What are we going to do, Mom?” She looked so vulnerable it tore at Hannah’s heart, and her hatred toward the other driver grew until she thought it would choke her. “We’re going to go home and get you better. Then we’re going to make sure the man who did this is punished.”
“They’re in heaven, right, Mom?” Fresh tears trickled down Jenny’s cheeks.
“Yes, honey, they’re in heaven. Together.”
Jenny nodded and swiped slowly at her tears. She was sobbing so hard it was difficult to understand her. “I want Daddy …”
Hannah held her for twenty minutes, allowing her to cry and grieve the way she, herself, had not yet done. Finally Jenny grew quiet, and after several minutes she leaned her head back and studied Hannah’s eyes.
“I’m … I’m glad Alicia isn’t alone.”
“Oh, Jenny …”
The girl lay back down and buried her head in her pillow. She stayed like that, sobbing quietly, while her mother rubbed her back until she finally drifted off to sleep.
Leaning back in the chair and pulling the bedside telephone over, Hannah clenched her teeth. She glanced at the business card in her hand, then dialed Sgt. John Miller and introduced herself.
“There’s something I need to know about the accident.” She kept her voice quiet; the last thing she wanted to do w
as disturb Jenny.
“I have the report right here,” Sgt. Miller said. “Go ahead.”
“The man who killed my family, was he drunk?”
There was a pause, then, “We think so. He was arrested on suspicion of drunk driving. The lab tests aren’t back yet, but he did fail a field sobriety test.”
Hannah felt like she’d been punched in the stomach. With one careless decision that man had ruined her life. She steadied herself and sucked in a steadying breath.
“Where is he now?” She knew the question was angry, but she didn’t care.
“He had only minor injuries. He was booked at the station that evening and released on a bail bond. When the results of the sobriety test are in, he’ll be formally charged, and then he’ll have to enter a plea—guilty or not guilty.”
She had one more question. “Was it his first time? Drunk driving I mean?”
“No, ma’am.” Sgt. Miller sighed. “His sixth.”
The room was suddenly spinning, and Hannah gripped the arm of her chair for support. She reached for the only solid thing she could grab onto—her anger.
“That man had been arrested five other times for drunk driving, and he was still on the road? Still drinking and driving? That’s insane!”
“I know, Mrs. Ryan. I’m sorry … I agree. Maybe this time they’ll put him away.”
“You mean there’s a chance they won’t? Listen, Sergeant. I know none of this is your fault, but I will not sit back and watch the courts let this killer back on the streets. I’ll fight him and the laws and the entire legal system if it costs every cent I have. Even if it kills me.”
There was a pause. “The process will be long and drawn out.” Sgt. Miller sounded frustrated. “But there are a few things you can do. You’ve heard of Mothers Against Drunk Drivers?”
“Yes.” Hannah was trembling with rage. How could this be happening to her? She didn’t want to think about Mothers Against Drunk Drivers. She was supposed to be having breakfast with her church friends, making plans for the school year.
She was supposed to have two, beautiful, healthy daughters and a husband who loved her.
Sgt. Miller continued. “There’s a woman at the West Valley office, Carol Cummins; she’s a victim advocate. Why don’t you give her a call and see how you can help? Might make a difference when it comes to a possible trial down the road.”
“Who is he?
“What?”
“The killer. What’s his name?”
“Brian Wesley. He’s twenty-eight, married, has a son.”
Hannah was furious. “Good for him! Before Saturday afternoon I was married with a daughter. But he killed them, and I’ll do whatever it takes to get him behind bars. When I’m finished with him, he’ll wish he’d killed me, too.”
“Ma’am …” Sgt. Miller hesitated. “I saw the Christian fish on your door the other day—”
“What of it?”
Another pause. “I’m a believer, too; that’s all. I’ve been praying for you.”
“Don’t bother.” It was all she could do not to spit the words at him. “I have all the prayers I can handle right now.”
“Mrs. Ryan, I’m not trying to interfere. It’s just that in these situations it’s so easy to lose perspective and turn away …”
When she answered, she didn’t even try to temper the coldness in her tone. “I’m sure you mean well, Sgt. Miller, but you’re just like every other Christian right now. ‘It must be God’s will.’ ‘They’re home in heaven now.’ ‘God still loves you.’ ‘The Lord has a plan—’ ”
A wave of emotion choked off her words, and she had to swallow hard before she could continue. “I don’t want to hear it. Do you understand? Brian Wesley, age twenty-eight, married with one son, just destroyed my life! He took everything from me and left me with nothing, not even hope. He murdered my husband and daughter, and so help me God, I’ll never forgive him as long as I live. Am I being clear? I don’t want to hear a list of platitudes or Bible verses right now. I don’t want sympathy or textbook answers. I want my family back.… And since I can’t have that, I just want Brian Wesley to pay for what he’s done.”
Jenny lay still, her eyes closed. Her head felt heavy and it was difficult to form thoughts. She knew that the woman she could hear ranting and shouting hateful things was her mother, but when Jenny heard her say those things about not wanting prayers or platitudes, she began to think perhaps the woman was an imposter.
Jenny opened her eyes slowly, waiting for the room to stop spinning. She squinted at the figure by her bed. “Mom?”
Her mother glanced at her. Jenny saw she was on the phone. “Hold on—” she covered the receiver and whispered impatiently—“What is it, Jenny? I’m on a business call.”
Jenny stared at her, her mind a blank. Why was Mom angry with her? Dread swept over her as she realized the truth: the accident had been her fault and her mother knew it. “Forget it.”
Her mother frowned, her hand still covering the phone. “Don’t be like that, Jenny. I’m sorry, okay? This is an important call. I’m talking to the police officer.” She sighed impatiently. “Did you need something? A drink? What?”
Jenny felt like a piece of her heart had been sliced off. She squeezed her eyes so her mother wouldn’t see her cry. “I said forget it.” She rolled over, turning her back to her mother.
Please, please, talk to me … help me … I’m so scared …
But her mother didn’t notice. Instead, she resumed her phone conversation. “Okay, I’m back. What I’m trying to say is …”
Tears streamed down Jenny’s face as her mother continued to rant at the police officer. What had happened? Why wasn’t her mother worried about her, sorry for her? How could a phone call be more important than what she was feeling?
It’s because it was Alicia and not me who died. Mom had always loved Alicia more. Jenny wished with all her heart that she could trade places with Alicia. That she could take Alicia’s spot in heaven with Daddy and give Alicia back to Mom.
Jenny drew her knees into a fetal position. Then, while her mother continued to yell at the officer, she wept into her pillow, whispering the only words she could think of. “Why, God? Why? … If she doesn’t love me, why did you leave me here with her?”
Hannah hung up, her rage so potent it was almost a physical presence. But there was nothing there to vent it on. It seeped through her veins, more powerful than any drug, infusing her heart and soul. She clenched her fists. It was outrageous! How could the courts allow a convicted drunk driver back on the roads to kill Tom and Alicia? She gritted her teeth. She would change the laws—the entire system—if that’s what it took.
She ripped a sheet of paper from her pad and began making notations. Her mind raced with plans.… She would contact Mothers Against Drunk Drivers.… She would attend any court hearing involving Brian Wesley.… If she had to, she’d single-handedly change the drunk driving laws in the state of California. The thought of Brian Wesley fueled her rage, but as her notes began taking form, she found herself strangely comforted.
She had a reason to go on.
Brian Wesley—and his punishment.
The next two days flew by. Consumed with her decision to exact revenge on Brian Wesley, Hannah scarcely took in all that happened. In a blur of events, Jenny was released from the hospital, and she and Hannah attended the double funeral service. Family and friends surrounded Hannah, consoling her. But every time Hannah looked for Jenny, the girl was alone. She sat in the first pew, her head hung low, her casted arm in a sling.
Hannah felt a quick pang of guilt. She was ignoring Jenny, her only surviving daughter. But on the heels of the feeling came her new resolve. Jenny was young and resilient. Her injuries would heal and she would be fine. They would have time together later. Alicia and Tom, they were the real victims.
And, of course, Hannah. This disaster had happened to her, most of all. She would never recover … never find another man like Tom … never k
now another daughter so sweet and talented and precious as Alicia …
She had lost the most, and she had no energy for consoling Jenny. She was too desperately in need of consolation herself.
Besides, it hurt too much to talk about the loss, to face the present and the emptiness it held every day. No, it was much safer to spend her time living in one of two places: the angry, uncertain future or the bittersweet past. Her thoughts of the future were directed to one end only: seeing Brian Wesley locked up, knowing he would pay for what he did.
The rest of the time she spent in the past, where Tom and Alicia still lived.
Seven
The roads to Zion mourn, for no one comes to her …
All her gateways are desolate.
LAMENTATIONS 1:4A
It had been two weeks since the accident, and Jenny lay sprawled out on her flannel quilt, her fingers fanned against the cool wall beside her bed … the wall that separated her room from Alicia’s. Jenny studied her arms and legs and saw that the bruises were fading. But there were other scars—ones she knew would never disappear.
She studied the wall and drifted back to what seemed like another lifetime, the day they were packing for the camping trip. In her mind she heard three soft thuds coming from the other room: the signal she and Alicia had used for years. One thud meant Urgent! Come quick! Get in here right away! Two thuds meant good night. And three thuds were a simple three-word message: I love you.
Alicia’s bed was up against the other side of the wall, and each night whichever of them got in bed first would thud twice. Good night. When the other sister responded with two thuds of her own, the first would thud three times. I love you. And the other would respond similarly.
The day before the trip, Jenny and Alicia had been in their separate rooms, packing their bags; Amy Grant’s “Hearts in Motion” had been blaring from Alicia’s tape player. A single thud sounded in Jenny’s room. She had dropped her thermal underwear and skittered out the door, around the corner into Alicia’s room, where she flopped onto her sister’s bed.
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