“Look, Laurelin, I have tried to be congenial about this and respect your feelings. However, instead of being a grown-up about this, you have wasted my time with the rantings of a spoiled high school girl who doesn’t get to go to the prom. It really is ridiculous. It seems I spend more and more of my time trying to justify my actions to you. Now, my flight leaves in five minutes, and I hardly think the pilot will be sympathetic when I explain that he had to hold the flight so I could listen to my fiancée act like a child. I will call you when I get to Dallas, and we can discuss this then. For now, please trudge on like the trooper I know you are, and spare me the melodramatics.”
Darrin stopped and took a deep breath. No doubt he’d crossed the line, but he didn’t care. There was a time and a place for everything, and Laurelin would definitely have to learn that.
“I can’t believe you! You are so. . .so. . .” “So late. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a flight to catch. Why don’t you go sit down and figure out some nasty, yet oddly witty names to call me and write them down so you don’t forget them when I call you later? Good-bye.”
Darrin waited for her to say the same, but instead, he was left listening to a dead line. She’d hung up on him. Again. What difference did it make? Darren replaced the receiver and gathered up his carry-on bag. Three minutes to go. Wonderful. Dashing through the labyrinth of security, Darrin finally boarded his plane.
There was one thought on his mind – marriage to Laurelin was steadily losing its appeal.
❧
Darrin fastened his seat belt and melted into the chair. Closing his eyes, he tried desperately to clear his mind but couldn’t. His life was in utter turmoil, and he had no control. It was not a position he relished.
When had Laurelin started to irritate him so? He tried to think back to better times between them, but frankly there weren’t that many to reflect on. Laurelin had been thrown at him in a rather unavoidable manner, and like a hound to the fox, she had taken it from there. They’d met at the grand opening of his antique store, Elysium. The shop was designed to carry not only the finest American antiques, but also specialized European articles. This immediately appealed to Laurelin, whose freelance interior design work could greatly benefit by having such lovely articles at her fingertips.
From that first moment, however, Darrin knew Laurelin had been after more than a good discount on antiques. She’d managed to artfully maneuver herself so completely into Darrin’s life that when he found himself needing to either shut down the shop while he went to Paris or send someone in his place to inspect a new cache of antiques, Laurelin offered to keep the home fires burning.
After that, there was no stopping her. She made herself indispensable in ways that Darrin found impossible, or at least difficult, to refuse. The business was consuming his days and nights, and taking on a partner or at least an associate seemed the smart and reasonable thing to do. Laurelin made certain that Darrin was completely charmed by her looks, her manners, and her personality, and it wasn’t hard to believe her capable of being all the things he wanted her to be.
He sighed, wondering why the plan delayed its takeoff. It was bad enough to carry the added burden of Laurelin’s anger, but facing what he had to deal with in Dallas was enough to make him jump out of his seat and flee the plane.
“This is your seat,” the flight attendant announced, and Darrin glanced up in time to find the flight attendant and an attractive, petite blond hovering beside him.
He could see that the seat in question was the only empty place in first class, and he was blocking access to it. “I’m sorry,” he said and unbuckled his seat belt. Getting to his feet, he let the young woman into the window seat and returned to his position. Rebuckling the belt, he turned to find the woman looking around her with a rather startled expression of helplessness.
“Do you fly often?” he asked casually, wondering if it might just be first-time-flyer jitters.
“Not really,” she whispered. “Not for a while.”
He noticed she was clutching her carry-on bag as if it might suddenly escape her hold. “Would you like me to put that in the overhead compartment for you?” he questioned, nodding to the bag.
“No!” she exclaimed, then seemed to force herself to relax. “I mean. . .that is. . .I want to keep it close.”
“You’ll have to put it under the seat then,” he told her in a conspiratorial manner and grinned. “It’s rumored that the plane can’t achieve lift without the baggage properly stowed.”
She looked at him with wide, reddened eyes as if trying to decide whether he was telling the truth or not. Darrin felt almost guilty for having made the joke. He shrugged and smiled again. “Sorry, I was just trying to humor you.”
She nodded and loosened her hold on the bag. “I guess you’re right,” she murmured and slipped the bag under the seat in front of her.
The flight attendants were instructed to prepare the cabin for takeoff, and after running through their routine of seat belt instructions and nearest exits, they made their way through the cabin for one final check. Darrin had fully planned to sit back and doze for the hour and ten-minute flight, but with the woman at his side now softly weeping into a well-spent tissue, he couldn’t begin to relax. For some reason, his heart went out to the petite blond. She looked exactly the way he felt on the inside.
Once the plane had taken off, Darrin rummaged around in his own carry-on bag and produced a monogrammed handkerchief. Sheepishly, he offered it to her, his look a cross between consuming sympathy and embarrassment. “Here. This won’t fall apart on you like that paper.”
“Thank you,” she squeaked.
“No problem,” he said, immediately composing himself. “My name is Darrin Malone. If there’s anything else I can do for you, don’t hesitate to ask. I’m headed for Dallas.” At this the woman’s tears began anew. After a brief, yet heart-wrenching deluge, she managed to pull herself together.
“I’m going to Dallas, too. My parents were killed in a car accident down there.” She paused, as if listening to herself. Then, almost as an afterthought, she offered her right hand. “I’m Leslie Heyward.”
Darrin was stunned into silence. “I’m so sorry” was all he could say. His mind blurred with unspoken questions. And I offered to help this woman? What could I possibly do to aid her? Feeling very awkward, Darrin stared at the headrest of the seat in front of him. Should I ask her for more details? Or would that only make her feel worse?
As if knowing the dilemma she’d created, the woman spoke again. “There were there for their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary.”
Darrin turned his gaze to the woman, surveying her jeans and pale blue sweatshirt. She looked as though she hadn’t slept for at least a day or so, and her face had a soft, yet haggard appearance. Makeupless and ponytailed, Leslie Heyward was still one of the most beautiful women Darrin had ever seen.
“I had just talked to them on the phone before they left for dinner last night. . .” Her voice trailed off.
“Last night? How awful.”
He watched as she fought off another round of tears. “Yes,” she nodded. “I was babysitting, and we went out for ice cream. When I got home, there was a message for me to contact the police, so I did and –” She stopped abruptly. “I’m sorry. I’m rambling. It’s just such a shock.” She appeared almost embarrassed by her grief. “Please forgive me.”
“It’s no problem, Ms. Heyward, really. I don’t mind listening. I can tell that you must have loved them very much.”
“Please, call me Leslie. I don’t feel very much like a ‘Ms. Heyward’ right now. Though I’m sure I’ll hear a lot of it in the days to come.” For several moments, neither one said anything. Then Leslie added, “Anyway, at least I know they’re in heaven, and that comforts me.”
“They were Christians, then?” Darrin asked.
Leslie nodded emphatically. “Yes, Mom and Dad were strong Christians. I was brought up in a very loving and supportive environment. We w
ent to church together, and Mom led a women’s Bible study group, and . . .” Tears began to streak her face again.
“It’s good that you have that kind of faith,” Darrin encouraged. “It will, no doubt, ease a lot of the pain to come if you know where they are.”
Leslie looked up suddenly at him. “Are you a Christian?” She seemed almost pleading.
“Yes, I am.” He noticed a sense of relief washing over her and decided not to add that while he considered himself a Christian, he knew he was sorely lacking in that area.
“I’m glad.”
Darrin waited for some further comment, but none came. It was as if that matter was settled, Leslie had climbed back into her own private world and locked the door behind her. Darrin leaned back against the thickly cushioned seat and closed his eyes. Laurelin found his faith a pain – something to be dealt with only when absolutely necessary. Yet this stranger, this pain-filled young woman, was glad to know that he was a Christian. The comparison between the two women hit him like a load of bricks. Guiltily he remembered his mother’s and grandmother’s admonition to only marry a woman of like faith.
“You’ll never know a minute’s peace,” his grandmother had told him when he’d been nothing more than a gangly adolescent, “if you marry a woman who rejects God.”
His mother’s words had been similar. “You know the truth about God, Darrin,” she had told him not long before dying. “And because you know the truth, God will expect you to live by that truth. Find a mate who will live that truth with you.”
Darrin felt bittersweet pain at the memory. He’d somehow allowed all of his mother’s and grandmother’s wise words to vanish when Laurelin had arrived on the scene. Oh, but that woman could make a man forget a great many important things, he thought, with the weight of reality bearing down on him.
THREE
“Thank you for arriving so quickly, Ms. Heyward.” Leslie studied the tall man, reading the pin that identified him as Detective Holder. “Please, come right this way.”
She followed his commanding form to a spacious room with bare walls, several chairs, and a large table covered with odds and ends. The fluorescent lights provided a dreamlike quality in their illumination, and Leslie moved as though she were underwater. Maybe this is a dream, she thought hopefully. Please, God, let it be a dream. The fuzzy serenity of the scene was soon shattered as she began to recognize various items on the table.
Her mother’s purse – she’d shopped for hours at the outlet mall back home, trying to find one with just the right compartments in just the right places, and Leslie had spent the afternoon laughing with and at her because of her finicky nature.
A black pump that, no doubt, belonged to her mom.
Two suitcases.
Suddenly, everything became blurry, and Leslie realized she was crying softly as she touched the items that represented her parents. Turning away, she felt a strong hand on her shoulder.
“Are you going to be all right, Ms. Heyward?” It was Detective Holder. She knew his voice now.
“Yes,” she managed. “I just need some water, I think.” Her throat felt tight and dry. Detective Holder left the room and reentered with a small Styrofoam cup. Leslie took a long drink and tried to clear her thoughts.
“Are those the dental records we requested?” Detective Holder asked, motioning to the envelope. Leslie clutched with her purse.
“Yes.” She looked at the envelope as though remembering it for the first time. She put the cup down and handed it to him.
“Thank you,” he said. “I’m sure this will take care of everything.” He wrote something across the top and put it aside. “Now, what we need you to do is positively identify these items. The purse and show were apparently expelled from the car at the point of impact. We found the rental car registration inside the purse and traced the names to their hotel. The suitcases are from there. Do you think you can handle it?”
His voice was soothing, almost coddling, as though he were speaking to a child. Leslie didn’t take offense. His manner was exactly what she needed at that moment, and she was grateful for his compassion.
“I think so.” She walked over to the table again. “That’s my mother’s purse. I was with her when she bought it.” She caressed the handbag, remembering the afternoon. “I think those are Mom’s shoes, and that looks like their suitcases.”
“You can go ahead and open it, if you think the contents will confirm it for you.”
Gingerly, she snapped the clasps, and her eyes fell upon neatly folded piles of clothes. There was Mom’s favorite red sweater and the tie that Travis picked out for Daddy’s Christmas present. Leslie smiled as she fingered the obnoxious yellow and orange patterned material, remembering how proudly her father had worn it. Travis had insisted it was “just the thing for Dallas,” and Aaron had obligingly packed it so as not to offend his son’s undeveloped sense of style.
Digging deeper, she found a brown paper sack and opened it. Inside she saw an electronic children’s book about Texas. It was unmistakably intended for Travis. Slamming down the lid, she fought back tears and managed to choke out, “Yes, these things are all theirs.”
She looked up, as if seeking reassurance that she had done well. Detective Holder nodded and scribbled a few words onto a clipboard. Leslie exhaled sharply. Had she been holding her breath? When the detective motion her out of the room, she followed without question, anxious to be out of the surrealism of her parents’ possessions.
“Now, if you’ll have a seat in here.” He opened a door across the hallway. “I’ll get these dental records on their way to the coroner, and then I’ll be right back to speak with you.”
Numb, Leslie sat down in an oversized blue chair. She vaguely remembered from college psychology that blue was supposed to calm the mind. She hoped it would work for her but felt no immediate relief. Studying the cornflower velveteen, she tried desperately to feel the effects of its color. Her search for solace was interrupted abruptly by the entrance of Detective Holder, and her head jerked up as though she’d been slapped.
“Okay, Ms. Heyward. What I’m going to do now is explain what happened, and then I need you to tell me how you want things arranged. Okay?” He seemed genuinely concerned, his gunmetal blue eyes trying to read what she was feeling. His mouth appeared to be in a perpetual frown, as though he’d been surrounded by death and despair for far too long to remember how to smile.
“Yes, please tell me what happened.” She sat back, deep into the chair, seeking comfort and security in the abundant stuffing, bracing herself.
“Well, they were driving toward their hotel at around nine o’clock, Saturday night. From the other direction, a drunk driver jumped the curb and hit the rental car at approximately ninety miles per hour. Your parents and the other driver were killed instantly. They didn’t suffer. In fact, they probably never even knew what happened.”
Leslie nodded, glad to know they hadn’t been in prolonged pain.
The detective continued. “The rental car burst into flames. Sparks and gasoline were to blame most likely. The police arrived shortly after 9:07, but by that time, the bodies were unrecognizable. They were able to salvage a few of the items, and from them, we were able to locate their hotel. That’s where most of the items are from – the ones you identified in the other room.”
He seemed to wince a bit before he went on. “Now, Ms. Heyward, I don’t know how you feel about dealing with the remains, but I will be honest with you. I wouldn’t want you, or anyone else, for that matter, to see them as they are. I suggest that you go ahead and allow them to be cremated, just for the sake of preserving their memories.”
“I don’t, that is to say, my family doesn’t have a lot of money to spend.” She hated the way the words sounded. Funerals were supposed to be a final good-bye to the physical evidence of your loved ones. Leslie felt frustrated by the fact that money would be an issue.
“I understand. I’m sure we can work out all the details, however,”
the detective told her. “The Dallas Police Department will be more than happy to help you arrange for something to be done here. Frankly, a simple cremation will be the cheapest way to go. You avoid the big cost of transporting coffins . . .” His voice trailed off as though he could see how his words were hitting her. “We’ll try to do what we can to help. But it is your decision, and it will be respected.”
Leslie couldn’t find any words. She’d never considered planning her mother and father’s funeral. She’d always assumed they would be old and that one or the other of them would be left alive to help her make the decisions. Cremation was something she’d never thought about, but given the details that Detective Holder had just shared, Leslie knew he was right. Travis couldn’t see them like that. He wouldn’t understand that the charred and mangled bodies weren’t really his parents anymore. Aunt Margie didn’t need to see them that way, either. And Leslie herself knew that she certainly didn’t want to have her final memories of her parents to be in that form.
“I suppose you’re right, Detective Holder. It would be best to have them cremated here, and I will just fly home with the urns and try to explain it to the family. Please, just get me the paperwork, and I’ll sign it.”
She felt exhausted and her jean-clad legs felt like they were made of lead. Detective Holder gave her his best encouraging smile-frown and left the room.
Leslie felt overwhelmed. For the first time, she had all the information o- and all the pain. Before Detective Holder’s explanation, it was almost as if it hadn’t happened. Now, how could she deny the cold, hard facts? She had seen her parents’ things – lifeless reminders of the people who’d once been so very much alive. She had heard the police account – official, unemotional words. She had consented to their cremation. It was real. And she was alone.
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