Come Morning

by Pat Warren

  “I warned you that you shouldn’t get involved with me.”

  So the onus was on her. All right, she’d play along. “Yes, you did.”

  He gazed down at his sodden, ruined shoes, but saw only her sad brown eyes. “I don’t know what I’m feeling right now. So many things. I need to sort things out.”

  “All right.” After all the hours and days and weeks, he still wasn’t certain about his feelings. After coming to grips with the truth about his father and his mother, after redeeming himself by rescuing Irma, she’d thought he’d be celebrating. Instead, he was pulling back inside that protective shell he’d arrived with.

  There was nothing to do but let him go.

  He didn’t know what else to say, didn’t know if he ever would. Despite everything that had happened, he was still the same man he’d been before, one filled with doubts. Things would never work between them because he wasn’t like other men. If he couldn’t trust himself, couldn’t respect himself, how could he ask her to?

  He would be doing her a favor to walk away now before things went any further.

  “I… I’ll call you later.” Eyes downcast, he walked away.

  Briana watched a brave new sun breaking through the wispy clouds. Gramp used to say that things always looked better in the morning. Not always, Gramp, Briana thought, blinking back the tears that wanted badly to fall.

  I care about you, but it doesn’t make any difference. Maybe Slade was right and she’d only been indulging in a pipe dream.

  Slade climbed onto his porch and went inside, wishing he could simply turn off his mind. He flipped the switch and saw that the electricity was back on. He walked through the downstairs, turning on lights as he went since the windows were still shuttered up, looking over everything. A stroke of luck that nothing here had been damaged except the upstairs bathroom window, while just a block away, Irma’s house was in ruins. The gods, it seemed, had been with him. He hadn’t lost his house, just the woman he cared for more than his next breath.

  Oh, he could still have Briana, for he’d seen it in her eyes. But how long would her warm feelings last if the demons that lived inside him never went away? She deserved better. He cared too much for her to put her through that. He’d always been a loner and he would continue to be, foisting his dark moods on no one.

  He badly needed a shower and some rest. His head hurt and the cuts on his hands were stinging. The external aches would heal long before his internal pain.

  On his way upstairs, he paused in the dining room, noticing the mail he’d tossed there two days ago, before the storm had hit. He’d been on his way to Briana’s and hadn’t even glanced at it. He never got much of importance, anyway.

  Casually, he fanned through the small pile until one envelope caught his attention. It was addressed to him in a tight, feminine handwriting. He flipped it over and saw that the sender was Edith Crane, Rachel’s mother. Tapping the envelope against his palm, Slade debated whether or not to open it. There was no way it was good news.

  For all he knew, Rachel could be suing him, perhaps on some wrongful death suit. Lawyers were always willing to take on such cases, especially if the accused involved had money to go after. He’d given Edith his address when he’d left, explaining that his father had died and he was going to Nantucket to check things out. He hadn’t had contact with either of them since.

  Why put it off? he decided, and ripped open the envelope as he walked into the kitchen. He sat down at the table. He was bone weary and thought he shouldn’t learn bad news standing. Slumped in the chair, he began to read. By the third paragraph, he was sitting up, narrowing his eyes at the page. He finished the letter, then read it again, just to make sure he hadn’t misinterpreted what Edith had written.

  Could it really be true?

  On the one hand, he was saddened by the news she’d sent him. On the other, he was most grateful she’d written, and suddenly elated by what Rachel’s mother had revealed. Pulling in a calming breath, Slade put the letter back in the envelope.

  This changed things considerably. His first thought was that he wanted to share the news with Briana right away. And he would, as soon as he cleaned up.

  Was it possible that there might be a small measure of hope for them yet? His heart racing, Slade took the stairs two at a time as he hurried up to shower, unbuttoning his shirt as he went.

  Maybe the gods would smile just one more time.

  Chapter Sixteen

  In her laundry room, Briana stripped down to skin and tossed everything she’d had on, including her canvas shoes, into the washer. The acrid smell of smoke lingered. Adding soap, she pushed the button and started the cycle.

  How strange life was, she thought, wrapping a large towel around herself and walking to the kitchen. Something as devastating as a hurricane undoubtedly destroyed much property and even, she supposed, cost a few lives, though so far the shortwave hadn’t detailed any actual casualties. Yet there were also isolated instances of heroism. And heroes who didn’t wish to be recognized.

  At the refrigerator, she took out the orange juice and poured herself a glass. Sipping, she wandered to the back door, peering out through its small, high window, the only one that hadn’t been boarded up. The storage shed lay on its side, but other than that, the old house and grounds had sustained no damage. A good testament to how well built these homes were, and to the capricious fates that had spared this end of the block.

  With her heart in her throat, she and several others had stood watching Slade slowly make his way to Irma. She’d been afraid for the old woman, but afraid for Slade, too. Yet she’d felt strongly that he could do it, even though first, he’d had to set aside his own fears.

  And miraculously, he had. He’d also overcome the hesitancy of the area residents to accept him. After seeing Irma brought to safety, she was certain that the people who’d witnessed his selfless act had told half the town. Irma’s savior was none other than the reticent newcomer, J.D. Slade.

  Many were probably saying they’d known all along what a fine man he was. People enjoyed taking credit for spotting the good in others. Yet no one, including Slade himself, had truly believed like she had.

  But what did all the faith matter if he didn’t believe in himself?

  He’d offered to help her with the house when she’d been less than pleasant to him. He’d rescued a small girl’s kitten when the memory of another kitten rescue was part of his nightmares. He’d found Annie when she’d wandered away and handed her over to her grateful parents. He’d rebuilt a widow’s porch, then saved her from a fiery death. And he’d healed her own tattered and torn heart. As Irma had said, Slade was quality goods. Why was he so reluctant to acknowledge that?

  Time healed all things, another clichÉ she was beginning to doubt. After Slade thought things through, would he come around? There was a time she’d have quickly said yes, but after the way he’d looked, the way he’d walked off today, she was no longer certain of anything.

  With a final glance out into the backyard, now bathed in sunshine, Briana drained her glass. And if he didn’t come around, well, she would cope. Somehow, some way. She’d lived through worse. She had learned that a strong person could survive almost anything.

  But, dear God, she didn’t want to lose yet another person she loved. A lump clogging her throat, she went to shower.

  The water wasn’t exactly hot, since the power had been off for hours and along with it, the hot water heater. But it was warm and wet and cleansing. Stepping out, she wrapped a small towel around her wet hair and dried off with a big one, rubbing her skin until it was rosy. Slipping on a yellow T-shirt and clean jeans, she slid her feet into scruffy slippers. Huffing out her hair so it would dry, she walked back to the kitchen. She’d put on some coffee because maybe Slade would change his mind and…

  “Oh!” Startled, Brie paused in the kitchen doorway, hardly believing what she saw. Craig Walker, looking uncharacteristically dirty and disheveled, was standing just inside the
door. “What are you doing here?”

  “Brie, I’ve been wandering all over, looking for you.” Looking exhausted, he pulled out a kitchen chair and dropped into it.

  Confused and annoyed, she stayed in the archway. This was something she really didn’t need right now. Craig’s timing was rotten. “How’d you get in?”

  “Your back door was unlocked.” He rubbed a shaky hand across his face. He was unshaven and his eyes were bloodshot. “I don’t suppose you have any coffee?”

  The door had been left unlocked? How could she have been so careless? Her mind filling with questions, she answered, “I was just about to make some.” She filled the pot with bottled water she kept in the fridge, just in case there was a problem with the island water, all the while keeping a wary eye on him. “I just talked with you, wasn’t it yesterday?” She remembered the odd, conciliatory conversation they’d had where he’d apologized, sounding more humble than she’d thought him capable of.

  “I told you then mat we were having hurricane warnings.” When had they closed the airport? she wondered. “Why would you come over, knowing that?”

  “I just have to get this over with, to finish. I had to see you because … because time is running out. I only have until the first and …” Seeming to realize he was rambling on, he licked his lips nervously, glancing toward the back door. “I got caught in it, you know. I wanted to come see you, but I couldn’t find a cab on account of the weather. So I started walking.” He shook his head, his face bleak. “Damn rain. I got drenched, then you weren’t home. The winds were so strong. I wound up going into this movie theater just to get out of the rain.”

  Eyebrows raised, she glanced at him. “A movie theater was open during the hurricane?”

  “No, I broke in. I had to get out of the rain, don’t you see? And it was too far to go walk back to the Nesbitt Inn where I’d checked in. No cabs running.”

  Briana remembered he’d stayed at the Nesbitt the last time he’d visited. If he’d gotten a room, it must mean he intended to stay awhile. She really didn’t want to deal with him right now. But she plugged in the pot, then turned to face him, leaning against the counter. Keeping her distance. Something wasn’t right here. Craig was acting very much out of character and she needed to find out why. “I don’t understand what was so important that you couldn’t wait until the weather improved. You didn’t mention anything pressing on the phone.”

  But Craig seemed focused on something else. “I stopped to help this woman on the way over here. She was pregnant and she’d fallen. I tried to get her over to this clinic. She kept telling me she was going into labor. Jesus! I don’t know anything about delivering babies.”

  He wasn’t making sense. Usually he was so centered, so in control. Was he just overtired? Had the hurricane freaked him out? Perhaps if she played along, he’d finally get his story out. “What happened to her?”

  “This cop came along and I handed her over. I didn’t know what else to do. Then there was this old man. He was caught in this building and the roof had blown off. A wall had caved in and he was trapped under some furniture. You could hear him yelling out on the sidewalk.” He shook his head, as if it were all too much for him.

  “Did you help him?”

  “Yeah, but it took hours. These two guys showed up—big, strong truck driver types—and the three of us shoved and pushed and pulled.” He glanced down at his hands, dirty and scratched. “I didn’t think we’d do it, but we finally got him out.” His hazel eyes seemed to plead for understanding as they met hers. “I’m not a bad guy, Briana.”

  Puzzled now, she frowned. “I never said you were, Craig. You’ve already apologized and I told you we’re still friends. There certainly was no need for you to come in person. I mean, what more can I say?”

  He waved a hand, dismissing that. “No, this isn’t about that. It’s about … oh, shit! I never wanted things to get out of hand like this.”

  Thoroughly confused, Brie poured them each a mug of coffee, took his over to him. As she placed it on the table, she noticed that he smelled like whisky. “Craig, have you been drinking?” It was about nine in the morning. Had he needed some liquid courage after the incidents he’d described to her?

  “This cafe on Main Street was passing out free drinks to rescuers, guys who were helping out, so I had a couple. To warm up, you know.” He glanced down at his ruined Armani suit. “Damn, but it was cold in that rain. And the wind!” Shivering, he picked up the mug and sipped the coffee.

  Brie went back to stand at the counter, keeping the island sink and counter between them. This whole conversation was making her uneasy. She supposed he couldn’t be faulted for having a drink or two. Perhaps he’d even been in shock. By the look of him, he might still be. “Listen, I still seem to be missing something here. Just why is it you felt it necessary to come back over here?”

  His hands folded around the mug, as if trying to get warm. “I stopped at the Island Camera Shop before coming here,” he said, totally ignoring her question. “The owner was there, cleaning up the plate glass window that had blown in. He said you’d picked up the film a couple of days ago.” He looked up frustrated, angry. “Just give it to me, all right, Brie? Forget what you saw and I’ll go away and never bother you again.”

  Unease turned to apprehension as Briana noticed his sudden shift of mood from beseeching to demanding. “What film?”

  “Don’t play games with me!” Craig shouted, rising. He didn’t go to her, but instead began pacing his side of the kitchen, his muddy shoes leaving a trail of footsteps on her new tile. “You have to know I never wanted it to come to this. If only you’d cooperated in the first place, everything would have worked out.”

  “Worked out how? I’m not playing games. I really don’t know what you’re after.” Heart thudding, she watched his agitated pacing, wishing Slade hadn’t picked today of all days to pull back from her. She’d give anything if he’d suddenly appear at the door, walk right in. She’d known Craig for years, yet his behavior was scaring her. And his raving about some film she was supposed to have was really off the wall.

  Pausing at the table, he gulped down the rest of the coffee, hoping to steady his nerves. He had to make her see. This was his last hope. “There’s not much time left,” he said, rattling the loose change in his pants pockets. “There’s so much at stake. There are others involved here, people who won’t hesitate to kill me if I can’t continue to produce. If I blow my cover. I can’t risk being identified and exposed, not when I’ve come so far.”

  Blow his cover? Calm. She needed to stay calm, even though she was having trouble following his ramblings, trouble thinking clearly. He was acting so irrational, so crazy. She’d read where in the face of someone threatening, someone obviously disturbed, the thing to do was to appear calm. “I still don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “The goddamn film! I know you have it, so just hand the pictures over.”

  She clutched her coffee cup in both hands. If he came at her, she would throw it at him, mug and all. The coffee was no longer hot enough to do any real damage, but it was her only defense. He was watching her closely now. Her knives, unfortunately, were on his side of the room. Why hadn’t she left Grandma’s big iron skillet out where she could easily grab it? Dear God, she prayed, don’t let it come to that.

  “I don’t have any pictures you’d be interested in. The roll I picked up from Island Camera was taken months ago, snapshots of Bobby on … on his last day. And I …” The scene popped into her mind, snapping pictures of Bobby walking away, his hand in Robert’s, the green balloon bobbing along. She’d continued taking pictures after they’d reached the other side of the street. Then the sounds, the car that had sped by.

  Her eyes widened as a terrible thought slipped into her consciousness, but it was too awful to consider. No! It couldn’t be, could it? “Is that the roll of film you want?”

  “I can tell you haven’t looked at them yet, right? Maybe there’s
nothing there, but I need to see for myself. I need to make sure.” He took a step around the table, towards her.

  “Make sure of what?” Brie asked, her voice steady as an icy calm settled on her. Surely what she was thinking wasn’t so.

  “That no one can ID me, damn it!” He’d been through so much, couldn’t she see? He hated for her to hear the truth, hated for her to look at him with loathing the way she would. Maybe if he told her all of it, she’d understand. “The others who’re involved, they’re not patient men. I have to come through. It’s the domino effect, don’t you see? If they catch me, my arrest will lead the investigators to others. These are violent, dangerous men. I couldn’t convince Robert of the danger. He just wouldn’t listen. As soon as he found out, he confronted me, told me I had to confess, to make restitution or he’d expose me. I couldn’t let that happen so …” He paused, as if searching for the right words.

  As if in the middle of a bad dream, she stood perfectly still. “Go on.”

  Sweat poured down his face, but Craig ignored it. “I never intended to kill Robert. I … just wanted to scare him, you know. He stood there that day, arguing with me, telling me I had until Monday to make it right or he was going to Mr. Brighton. He was so damn sanctimonious, so judgmental. I told him, everyone skims a little here and there. You just have to be careful.”

  His voice cracked in his anxiety to explain himself. “But not Saint Robert. He wouldn’t bend the rules a little, not even for his best friend. So I knew I’d have to do something, scare him so he wouldn’t turn me in. The shot was meant as a warning, supposed to just graze him, but I was nervous. Driving fast, my fingers sweaty. My aim was off and the first shot hit the kid. Damn!”

  The kid! The first shot hit the kid! Briana felt a choked sob burst from her.

  Craig struggled with tears. “I wouldn’t knowingly have hurt Bobby for the world, Brie. You know that. You have to believe me. It was an accident.”

  The horror of his words struck Briana like a fast, furious fist to the gut. “You killed my son. But why?”