by Pamela Crane
**
I folded the newspaper back up and tossed it on the coffee table where Tristan’s socked feet were propped up. It was early morning, and we had stayed up all night talking and cuddling. Outside the dark galaxy had deflated into a slice of yellow, nudging the moon from its anchor in the sky while our voices chased away the stars and invited the sun to join us. A window hung open, inviting the fresh dawn air to enter.
“Looks like Battan will be behind bars for a long time. That’s got to be a relief for you.” Tristan unceremoniously pulled me against his lithe body stretched out across the sofa. I leaned into him, relishing the security and safety I felt when I was with him.
“Yeah, though I wish they’d fry him.”
“At least he can’t hurt any more kids.” He paused, kissing my temple. “I’m sorry about your dad. I know that can’t be easy for you watching him go to jail.”
I shrugged. “It is what it is.” What it was felt devastating, but I couldn’t admit that. I was tired of feeling like a lost puppy. And if Kevin was right about anything, it was that my father deserved jail. He abetted criminals, profited from it, and contributed to the death of his own daughter. When I had last spoken to him, Dad seemed content with his lot, not a quiver of fear in his voice as he reminded me that his punishment was the only way to right his wrongs, but he did it all out of love for his family ... me included.
“At least things with my mom are getting better. Now with the threat of something happening to me gone, she actually wants to be my mother again. Crazy, right?”
Tristan nuzzled his nose against my neck. “Not crazy at all. Anyone who got to know you would love you like I do.”
I scrambled around to look at him. Had I heard him right? He winked, his smile a riddle I couldn’t figure out, his gaze hungry for a reply.
“Come again, Big Fudge?”
Cupping my chin in his hands, he searched my eyes with his. “I love you, Ari. There, I said it. You don’t have to say it back. But I wanted you to know how I felt.”
“I ... I ...” I hadn’t felt the capacity for love in such a long time. Any place where my heart and trust once resided long ago had been replaced with a vacant, gaping hole. But slowly Tina worked her way in, and now Tristan. Was this what love felt like—a sense of belonging, a guard-down freedom, an I’d-die-for-you loyalty? It was deeper than passion, more powerful than attraction.
“I love you too.”
As he wrapped his arms around me, I knew I had found my soul mate. The one who encouraged me to pursue my dreams, who tolerated my stubborn streak and reckless impulses and compulsive quirks and weird friendships. I’d travel to the ends of the earth with this guy, and enjoy the cuts and bruises along the way, because for once someone was there to help mend me when I felt broken.
“By the way, I meant to tell you I love your new haircut,” he added belatedly. Such a short ribbon of words, yet so meaningful. The observation meant almost as much to me as the L word, because it meant he was paying attention.
Tristan loved me and noticed me. Every little part of me.
Everything finally felt complete in my shattered but mending (and perpetually crazy) little world that I loved with every beat of my heart.
Epilogue Ari
Our hands were clasped as we stood at Carli’s grave, the first time we’d ever done this together since she died. Mother and daughter, relishing fond memories of the sweetest little girl we’d ever been lucky enough to know, even if only for a short while. We were mother and daughter again. While the years apart had created a schism between us, the resentment had started to erode. The bridge of healing was being built one baby step at a time.
The trees skirting the perimeter of the cemetery had begun to hibernate for the winter. My thoughts were pleated with various memories of Carli.
“Remember when Dad used to hide under Carli’s bed in the morning and he’d grab her ankles when she got up?” I laughed at the memory of Carli screeching so loud that it’d set the neighbor’s chihuahua to yapping.
“The poor little thing was traumatized to the point she was afraid to get out of bed some mornings and was late for breakfast.” Mom chuckled as she said it, knowing that Carli adored her father’s antics, cruel and unusual though they could be. “As punishment Carli made Daddy read you girls Goodnight Moon over and over again at bedtime for three months straight after that first time.”
“He even used different voices every time he read it.”
We stood in silent harmony, relishing the good memories. The only thing that would have made it perfect was if Carli and Dad could reminisce with us. In a way, Carli was, because I could feel her presence.
“How about when you first learned to ride your bike without training wheels? Do you remember that hill you were flying down, with Daddy running the whole way behind you?”
“Yeah, I was weaving all over the place. I’m pretty sure Dad had a mini heart attack after we got home.” He had kissed my owies after I’d fallen and scraped my knees and elbows.
“I almost had a heart attack listening to you two tell me about it, and I wasn’t even there. But you got back on that bike the next day, my tough girl.”
“That’s because Dad bribed me with ice cream.”
“I’m going to miss him ... while he’s away.”
I smiled. It was just like Mom to talk like Dad was going on a business trip, rather than to prison.
“You have me. I’ll be here for you.”
“I don’t deserve you, sweetie.”
They had given Dad a light sentence since he had agreed to testify against everyone involved and single-handedly shut down Battan’s criminal organization. Norman Bledsoe lucked out with a life sentence for multiple homicides. If I had been on the jury, he would have been on death row. Despite everything my father had done in the past, I was proud of him for standing up like a man in the end, doing what was right in the face of a high price: his freedom. He could have hidden, ran, denied, lied ... but he didn’t. It was his parting gift before they dragged him away in handcuffs. And it was the best gift a daughter could ask for.
Except for this. This beautiful moment with my mother remembering life before.
The air exhaled a breeze that made me wrap my sweater tighter around me.
“You know, I’m proud of you, honey,” Mom said. “And that boyfriend of yours—it’s looking pretty serious. Do you think he’s the one?”
She winked at me the way girlfriends do, the way Tina would when gossiping about a budding romance.
“Too early to tell yet. But he’s definitely a keeper.”
She squeezed me against her side. “After all the family lies and secrets and hurts and betrayals you’ve had to endure, you sure turned out pretty good, sweetie. And starting your own private investigation firm soon! So much to be excited about.”
“Yeah, I’m afraid if I blink I’ll wake up from this dream.”
“Well, I have something for you.” She rifled through her purse and pulled out an envelope, holding it out to me. “Here. It’s a little down payment for when you open up your new business. I’m sure you’ll need surveillance equipment and office space, so your father and I wanted you to have everything you needed to get started.”
The envelope hung in the air between us, my fingers uncertain about accepting it. After all, Dad had been involved in some very shady dealings. How could I be sure I wasn’t accepting the proceeds of his ill-gotten gains? Screw it, I thought. Hadn’t we all suffered enough? I took the envelope. It contained a check. An incredibly generous one.
“Mom, you don’t have to do this. With Dad in jail, don’t you need to save your money?”
She shook her head. “I’m selling the house and downsizing. And this money isn’t from your father’s dealings. I’ve been saving up over the years—a private savings account. A gal’s gotta have a rainy day fund, you know.” She winked.
“Oh, you sly devil, you!” I laughed.
“I even got myself a nic
e little job in retail doing something I enjoy to keep me busy. I’ll be fine. I insist you take this, Ari. Use it for your future ... with Tristan.”
My eyes filled with happy tears. Throwing my arms around her neck, I gushed my thanks in a delirious mix of laughter and sniffles.
“Mom, this is so generous. I don’t know what to say.”
“Just say we’ll never lose each other again. That’s all I want.”
Forgiveness was an easy gift to give her as we hugged in the warm sunshine, her burnt orange sweater soft against my cheek. But the scars still marked me, created me, toughened me. I could forgive, maybe even forget a little more each day, but it would take time.
I was starting a new life, filling it with a reunited family, a delicious romance, and the challenges and excitement of a dream career, and I couldn’t wait to see what my future would bring me. I was ready for just about anything.
**
Across town Eve Baxter nursed her infant while Giana pieced together an animal puzzle on the floor. In Eve’s hand was a letter they’d received, addressed in perfect cursive to Giana on your 18th birthday.
Eve hesitated to open it, fearing what could possibly be inside. The significance of the birthday weighed heavily on her. They had always planned on telling Giana that she was adopted, but as the months fell away one by one, the decision of when and how to bring it up slipped further out of thought. Why complicate things for a child so young? Would she even understand what it all meant? What if she didn’t want Eve as her mother anymore? And so the fears drove her to silence.
But truth always had a way of resurfacing. And Eve’s nauseous gut told her this letter was exactly that.
Sliding her finger across the sealed edge, she opened it up and pulled out a single page framed in rainbows, unicorns, and hearts. Perhaps it wasn’t hers to read, but she needed to know what some stranger was sending her daughter.
And so she read, the words artfully scrawled down the page:
Dear Giana:
Now that you’re eighteen years old, it’s time you met me. I’ve spent your entire life thinking about you, wondering what kind of woman you’ve grown up to be, hoping you’re happy, loving you with every bone in my body.
My name is Tina Alvarez, and I’m your biological mother.
When I first held you in my arms, I knew at that very moment you had completed my life. You made me whole. You healed my broken heart. I’d been in a horrible situation (I’ll tell you more about it if you decide you want to meet me), but having you was the one beautiful miracle I got to experience in my life.
You might be wondering why I gave you up. The sad truth is that you were stolen from me—not by your parents, in case you were wondering. But by someone who will never be able to steal another child again. With the help of a friend I found you again when you were three years old, but I saw how happy you were with your new family, the Baxters. I can tell how much they love you. How could I compete with them—a happily married couple, a sibling for you to play with, a nice home? So I had a decision to make.
I could involve myself in your life and complicate things for you, or I could let you grow up with the perfect life you deserved. It wasn’t easy walking away; I regretted it daily. But I knew it was best for you, especially after all I’d gone through and how much I needed to mend myself on my own before I could ever be worth your love.
Now that you’re an adult, I hope you’d be willing to meet me. I’d like to get to know you. I want to be there for you, maybe not as a mother since you already have a good one, but as a friend. As someone who truly loves you. No matter how much time passes, you will always be the baby girl I held in my arms, the one who breathed life back into me. By the time you read this I don’t know where I’ll live or if I’ll have a family, but know that I’ll always be waiting for you, watching over you, making sure you’re taken care of. Consider me your guardian angel.
I love you, Giana. And I hope you’ll give me a chance to show it when you’re ready.
Much love,
Tina Alvarez
Eve folded the letter and slid it back into the envelope. Unlatching the baby, Eve shifted her against her shoulder. “I’ll be right back, sweetie,” she said, rising from her chair and patting Giana on the head. “Save the last piece of the puzzle for me, okay?”
“Of course, Mommy. You always get to do the last piece,” Giana affirmed, looking up at her with a smile.
Eve headed upstairs to Giana’s room, then opened her closet door. Reaching up awkwardly, her fingertips fumbled against a pink-painted wooden box, until her tiptoes gave her just enough height to grab the corner. Pulling the box down, she placed it on the bed and lifted the metal latch. Inside was a collection of newborn baby photos, the outfit they had first received Giana in, and other sentimental things she had collected over the years. Placing the letter inside, she closed the box and returned it to its shelf.
“I promise you’ll be reunited,” she whispered to the empty room. She knew what it was like to love a child so much that it hurt and hated that a mother was forced to suffer the loss of her daughter.
Moving across the hallway, she laid the baby on the bed and opened her bedside drawer. Inside she found an empty journal that Giana had made her for Mother’s Day, decorated with pressed flower petals on the cover, shiny and still clinging to their colors under the lamination. Opening it up, she grabbed a pen and began to write:
Dear Tina:
Thank you for the gift of letting me raise Giana. So that you don’t have to miss out on her childhood, I want to chronicle her life for you. I’d love for you to get to know her so that when the time is right for you to meet in person, you’ll have shared in the memories she’s created with us.
Giana turns four soon. She’s a beautiful little girl, so smart too. She’s already reading short words, her favorites being dog, cat, and pretty much any animal. And puzzles—she loves puzzles. We have a tradition where she saves the last piece of the puzzle for Mommy or Daddy. One day I hope you’ll get to fill in that last piece of the puzzle in her life.
Ever grateful,
Eve
Want to know more about The Little Things That Kill Series and find out what Ari will be up to next? Check out my website at www.pamelacrane.com where you can find free books, join my mailing list, and enter my awesome giveaways!
Author’s Note to the Reader
It was a trauma I would never get over, even now, years later. I had just popped out my fourth baby, and my hands were full. I was sleep-deprived, lonely, and with my oldest child only five, I felt like I was running a marathon just to keep up with daily life.
My oldest was helping Daddy on a home project while I entertained the little ones. My three-year-old autistic son wanted to go outside, so I told him to wait while Mommy changed the newborn’s dirty diaper. Except that my son wasn’t the best at following directions.
It only took me about two minutes to change the diaper—I’d had lots of practice over the years. But two minutes was all it took for my son to unlatch the deadbolt and slip out the front door, guiding his one-year-old sister by the hand down the front porch into the yard.
Now, we had a five-acre farm and our driveway was pretty long, so when I realized they had snuck out, I figured they’d be playing in the henhouse or in the barn, where they always explored. Except by the time I searched both places, they were nowhere to be found.
This is when the panic set in.
This was when a nightmare becomes reality for a mother.
I was fortunate that they hadn’t wandered too far up our street, thankfully into the hands of a kind stranger who kept them safe until I sprinted up there, baby bouncing on my chest, while I screamed their names. The problem with an autistic child is they don’t always respond back when you call, and the return of silence is petrifying.
That day marked the first time I understood how easily a child could get abducted. What if that man hadn’t been so kind? What if he had taken them? The two
minutes I lost track of them could have been two minutes of him speeding off with my children in tow.
Abductions happen. I often read about them in the news, but I hadn’t lived that possibility of it happening to me until that moment.
In The Death of Life, I wanted justice for all the children who don’t make it home into their mother’s safe arms. It’s a small consolation for their loss, but for those horrible minutes when I felt that hysteria, worried about a tragic ending, I understood them.
Few children who are kidnapped have a happy ending like Tina’s daughter, Giana. For all the Kats and Marlas in the world, your voices are heard, you are not forgotten. I hope as a society we can bring justice to those who hurt children and raise our own kids to be people who will spread the reach of love in a world of hurt.
I hope you enjoyed The Death of Life and will walk away from it knowing that there are people like Ari Wilburn who are passionate about changing the world for the better, no matter what the world has done to them. Let’s do all we can to help them achieve this goal. Hugs to you all!
Want more from Pamela Crane?
The Little Things That Kill Series
The Scream of Silence
The Art of Fear
The Death of Life
The Mental Madness Series
A Fatal Affair
The Admirer’s Secret
The Killer Thriller Series
A Secondhand Lie
A Secondhand Life
Pretty Ugly Lies
Acknowledgments
When someone offers to help me, I don’t decline it. As a writer-editor-mother-wife-farmer-zookeeper-multi-tasker, I’ll take whatever support I can get. I’m fortunate enough to have an amazing support team.
My husband is always at the top of my praise list. I wouldn’t have become a writer without his encouragement, and I wouldn’t have the time to write if he didn’t watch the kids for me weekend after weekend, evening after evening. He’s my everything. Thank you, honey, for pushing me to keep going.
