by Nesly Clerge
I need to hear you say you forgive me.
The door opened. The nurse who’d evicted him walked to him and put her hand on his arm.
“Is he okay now?” he asked.
“I’m so sorry.”
Garrett looked at her then at the door as the other two nurses moved the cart over the threshold.
The nurse said, “We have things to do for him, but would you like to go in and be with him awhile?”
Garrett nodded. He stepped toward the room and stopped. “Please give these to one of your patients.” He handed her the balloons and box of candy, entered the room, and closed the door.
CHAPTER 129
Six-year-old Richard Hall tightened his grip around the bedpost. “C’mon, Garrett, lemme stay. If you don’t, I’ll tell Mom you won’t let me in your room. She said you had to be nicer to me.”
Garrett struggled to pry Richard’s hands loose then gave up. “Go ahead, crybaby. Tell her. But it’s my room. Why do you have to pester me, anyway? That’s all you are. A whiny, bratty pest.”
“Mom said you shouldn’t oughta talk to me like that. She said I’m your little brother and you should be nice to me, ’cause we’re family.”
“You’re a bug. You know what you do with bugs, don’t you? You squash ’em. You don’t get outta here and leave me alone, I’m gonna squash you.”
“Aw, Garrett, lemme stay. I won’t bother you.”
“You’re bothering me now.”
“Chloe keeps breaking my toys and screaming when I take ‘em back.”
“Go outside and play.”
“It’s raining.”
“So maybe you’ll drown and put me out of my misery.”
“Why can’t I stay?”
“Because I’m busy.”
“Yeah. And I know what you’re busy doing. I’m gonna tell Mom.”
“You do and I’ll clobber you every day for the rest of your life.”
“Where’d you get it, anyway?”
Garrett’s face flooded with color. “What?”
“The icky magazine you shoved under the bed when I came in.”
“You’ve been diggin’ in my stuff. I told you I’d break your head if you ever did it again. Keep your grubby hands off my private stuff.”
“You’re the one who needs to keep your hands off.” Richard yelped when Garrett punched him in the arm. “It’s nothin’ but a bunch of naked girls. That’s so gross. So was what you were doing. I’m gonna tell Mom. Then you’ll really get it.”
“You’re too young and stupid to understand.”
“I’m telling Mom you called me stupid again. You know what she said.”
“Seems like that’s all you can say—‘I’m gonna tell Mom.’ Well, little baby, just remember what she said about being a tattletale. She may punish me, but she’ll punish you, too.” He dragged Richard to the door and shoved him out. “But it won’t be in my room. Now stay out!”
He slammed the door in his tearful younger brother’s face. And thought about the shame he’d feel if Richard really did tell on him. He opened the door. “All right. You can come in. But only if you never tell Mom, or anyone, about the magazine and—you know.”
Richard grinned and bounced into the room. “I won’t tell. What do you wanna do?”
“I dunno. Wanna start on that big puzzle I got for my birthday?”
Richard extended his arms and imitated a jet, with sound effects, making a four-point landing on the floor.
Garrett poured the hundreds of puzzle pieces onto the middle of the carpet covering the varnished oak boards. He watched Richard study the image on the box, his tongue running back and forth across his lower lip, evidence he was determined to do a good job, good enough to impress his older brother. Richard caught him watching. Garrett shook his head as Richard’s goofy smile dented his chubby cheeks, as it always did when his big brother agreed to play with him.
They’d worked on the puzzle until they were called downstairs for dinner. The puzzle remained in place for months, unfinished, until his mother told him she was tired of getting pieces stuck in her vacuum cleaner. He’d put the remaining pieces of the puzzle that would never be complete back in the box and the box on the shelf, where it remained until he’d thrown it away.
God, he’d thrown so much of his life away.
Garrett was exhausted from the day’s events—arriving too late to see Richard alive and hear his voice one more time, calling his parents and Anna to tell them Richard was dead, feeling like a leper in a room of saints as the family wept over Richard’s shell, the shell he’d caused to empty and never have life again. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the back of the sofa in his hotel room.
He stayed in that position, letting tears stream unresisted down his face. Until his cell phone buzzed. He left the memories behind, wiped his eyes, and read the text message from Chelsea. Read that Chloe had told her about Richard. And about his part in the accident. About why it had happened. Had sworn her to secrecy. Read how sorry she was that Penelope had used them to this end, and her plea for him to call her.
Why had Chloe told Chelsea the truth?
What the hell did it matter?
He turned his phone off and brought the bottle to his lips.
CHAPTER 130
Chelsea’s text message to Luke, asking if he could talk, received a response seconds later. He’d take his break early and call her in about fifteen minutes. The quarter hour dragged by.
“Hi, love. Missing me as much as I’m missing you?”
“Luke, I have something to tell you.” She told him everything, with little emotion, still numb from the shock, as well as too afraid to fall into what she believed might be an emotional abyss. Made him promise to tell no one.
“I’m so sorry, love. It sounds as though you were close with your brother-in-law.”
“I was. God, I hate talking about him in past tense.”
”Are you okay, Chelsea?”
“Nowhere near it.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“There is something.”
“Name it.”
“We need to slow everything down. I’ve got a lot to take care of, things you can’t be involved with, starting with telling Kimberlie about her uncle when she gets in from school. I’m not going to tell her about her father’s part in what happened, but she’s never had to face this kind of loss before. I need to be there for her, and for Garrett’s family. No telling how long all of this will take. It may be a while before you hear from me.”
“I understand why you feel that way, but I’m not comfortable about it. I’m worried about Garrett and that volatile temper of his. I don’t want him to have the opportunity to batter you again, especially if he partially blames you for what he did.”
“Whatever else Garrett is, he’s not a violent man.”
“Chelsea, he killed his brother in a fit of temper.”
“It was an accident.”
“He tried to rape you and struck you when you resisted. That was no accident.”
“And was ashamed. You’d know that if you’d seen how distressed he was when he left. He’d never done that before and never will again.”
“You’re saying that because you don’t want to believe or admit what he’s capable of. You still want me to believe your bruised cheek wasn’t from him.”
“Because it’s true.”
“Damn it! Why do so many battered women think they have to protect the bastard who hits them? I won’t be able to stand knowing you’re living in fear, even for a short while.”
“You’ve got it wrong, Luke.”
“Are you trying to protect me or him?”
“There’s nothing to worry about. I’ll be fine. Garrett definitely wouldn’t do anything like that again, not after this tragedy.”
“I don’t want anything to happen to you, not as long as I’m able to protect you. You have to let me do that.”
Chelsea rubbed her forehead. Exha
ustion was setting in, and she had a long road to travel over the next several days, or longer. “I appreciate how you feel. Please don’t worry. There’s nothing to worry about. I need to go now. But I had to explain why I may not be available for even text messages for a while.”
“I hate the thought of you going through this alone.”
“You know how it is. You’re seldom alone until the funeral is over and everyone has gone back to their lives. Besides, Kimberlie will be with me.”
“Text or call me when you can. I need to know you’re okay.”
“I will.”
Chelsea ended the call but kept her phone in her hand. She knew Luke had been waiting to hear that she loved him, but the words wouldn’t come. At least, not at the moment. She should at least text that message to him. But it would be too much like swearing in church.
He was wrong about Garrett, and had no cause to concern himself with her safety. Luke had no way of comprehending how Richard’s death would devastate Garrett. Had no way of understanding that although the brothers’ relationship sometimes went off the rails because of the differences in their beliefs, Garrett was protective of his family, especially in the role of older brother. He’d demonstrated the depth of his sense of duty and devotion when Richard had been in the hospital in December.
Whatever her feelings were for Luke, in family matters such as this one, for now at least, he was an outsider and had to remain one.
She checked the time. Kimberlie would be home in a few hours, the start of a long night.
Chloe had said she’d call later with details about the arrangements. That it was better if she, Chelsea, waited until the right time to see the family. That all things considered, it might not be until the wake. She hated being excluded to this extent, but understood Chloe’s reasoning. If she needed another reason, her last conversation with Garrett was enough. She hadn’t told Luke about it, because it would have amplified his concern. There were only so many burdens she could bear at one time.
However, there was one thing she could do.
CHAPTER 131
Chelsea listened as the call went to voice mail. Again. Penelope, it seemed, was wisely choosing to ignore her calls. Or perhaps she was afraid to take them. Not that it mattered. But once Penelope saw Richard’s obituary in the paper or word reached her from someone who knew them both, she might delude herself into thinking she needed to be available to console Garrett. And buddy-up to the family.
The last thing she’d allow was for Penelope to show up at the wake, the service, or graveside.
Twenty unanswered calls later, made one after the other, Chelsea started a string of text messages.
You lied to Garrett about Richard and me.
You knew what that lie would do to Garrett.
Richard is dead—a horrible accident.
Because of this and because of you, Garrett is destroyed.
But he knows the truth now—the real truth, which has nothing to do with your lie.
Richard’s death and how Garrett feels after misjudging his brother is on YOU.
How many lives will you need to ruin before your perverse appetite for destruction is sated?
Forget making any kind of apology.
Not one of us can or will ever believe anything you say—it’s too deadly to do so, so leave us alone.
Can you really live with yourself, after all you’ve caused?
If you can, then you’re even more evil than I or anyone imagined.
Stay away from me and every member of my family.
Be clear about that—they’re MY family.
They’ll NEVER be yours, especially not after what you’ve done to us.
Stay away, or pay the price.
She didn’t expect or want a response from Penelope. Would the woman even be that stupid? Perhaps her text messages would prevent Penelope from contacting Garrett; though, she knew him well enough to guess what he’d tell her, if she dared to call or show up where he was.
Dr. Moore would have told her not to contact Penelope. She wouldn’t have been able to have a fraction of peace had she not informed Penelope about the consequences of her actions.
Tears turned to uncontrollable weeping.
They were all paying for the consequences of their actions.
Including the innocent.
CHAPTER 132
It took most of the next morning for Garrett to help his parents and Anna make arrangements at the funeral home, setting the services for Friday—two days of waiting that he dreaded. He stopped at the superstore and loaded up his back seat and trunk with prepared foods from the deli, beverages, and paper supplies—anything he could imagine they might need. Anything to free his family’s time to mourn and be comforted by others.
He pulled into their driveway. Richard’s car was still there. The urge to back out and run gnawed at him. Sweat beaded across his forehead. He had to go in. Facing this time with his family was part of his penance.
He turned his engine and cell phone off. The only people he wanted to speak with were inside his childhood home.
That was a lie.
The one person he wanted to speak with had been silenced.
By him.
He’d made it to the house an hour or so before streams of relatives and friends started to arrive or trickle in to pay respects. He was grateful for that time because it gave him and his parents and Chloe an opportunity to say what they each needed to say. And to agree about what wasn’t to be said to anyone outside their immediate family, including Anna, about how it had happened.
Being there with his parents and sister was the hardest thing he’d ever done. Until they asked him to kneel with them at the hearth and pray. He lasted a few minutes then ran from the room, apologizing between sobs.
His mother, father, and sister finished their prayers then wrapped their arms around him. Told him all was forgiven. That they loved him. That Richard would want him to forgive himself rather than punish himself for an accident.
Their compassion was unbearable.
Garrett kept busy tending to their many guests who came with more food, running out with his father’s giant umbrella to cover those who arrived in the steady rain that showed no sign of stopping. Did the same when anyone left. Made sure everyone had something to eat and drink. Stayed out of the living room. Fell apart when Anna arrived with her parents. And again when she, now his brother’s widow, because of him, knelt in prayer at the place where the beginning of the end had happened.
At eight minutes to midnight, exhausted and seated in his car, Garrett turned his cell phone on. Ignored the numerous missed calls and text messages. He got the bottle of Scotch he’d hidden under his seat and opened it. Took several hard pulls before he tucked the bottle between his legs and turned the engine and windshield wipers on high. He drove. Sipped. Wept. Cursed himself.
He got onto the highway and drove past the exit that would take him to the hotel, drove past the next town, and the next.
Rain pounded the windshield. Loud, but not loud enough to drown out his thoughts. Came down so hard he couldn’t see more than a few feet past his hood. At the last minute, he saw the sign for a rest stop a few miles ahead. He drove until he pulled off the highway and into a slot.
The wipers beat a message on the glass—you killed him, you killed him, you killed him.
Where’s your arrogance now, you pathetic sonofabitch?
There weren’t enough statements of condemnation he could tell himself. His actions had impacted so many lives, for so many years. He’d polluted the pond then caused ripples that would last decades.
A text message would reveal his plan too soon. A voice mail might be deleted without ever being listened to. He grabbed the small notebook and pen in the glove box, turned on the overhead light and wrote Dear Chelsea, I—
What the hell could he say to her? To anyone?
He put the notebook and pen back into the glove box. Took a hard swig of Scotch then put his car in gear.
<
br /> Garrett pulled onto the mostly empty highway and pressed on the accelerator—70, 75, 80, 90, 110 miles per hour. He said the words I’m sorry aloud, kept repeating them, until he was shouting them.
He ignored the tears that blurred his vision, put the bottle to his lips and pressed his foot down as far as it would go. It was imperative he reach his destination as soon as possible.
CHAPTER 133
Chelsea woke with a start and her heart drumming in her chest. She sat up in bed, checked the time—just after three in the morning. The doorbell rang, followed by several hard knocks.
She slipped on her robe. It had to be Garrett. Drunk, and in more pain than he could bear. How could she blame him for wanting to be with his wife and daughter at this time? She’d talk with him a while then put him to bed so he could sleep it off. She’d spend the night in the upstairs guest room. Or should she lie in the same bed and hold him while he cried? While they cried together.
Kimberlie would be relieved and comforted to see her father there in the morning. She’d attach herself to Garrett and not leave his side. It had confused and angered her not to be with her father and the family. She’d explained to Kimberlie that the family had to take care of arrangements and such; that the two of them would go to the house immediately after breakfast.
Chelsea reached Kimberlie’s room and closed the door, not wanting her exposed to an inebriated, wrecked Garrett. She continued to the stairs then down, flicked on the light in the foyer and opened the door. She blinked, confused. “Can I help you, Officer?”
“Are you Mrs. Garrett Hall?”
“Yes.” What had Garrett done now? “Please come in. It’s so cold and wet out. Would you like a cup of coffee? It’ll only take a few seconds to make.”
“No, ma’am, but thank you. I’m sorry to bring bad news, Mrs. Hall. Your husband was in an accident.”
Her hand went to her chest. “Oh, God. Is he okay? Which hospital was he taken to? I need to wake my daughter. We’ll get dressed and down there as soon as we can. Where is he?”
“Maybe there’s a place we can sit.”
