by Girard, Dara
“No, I’m fine.” She plastered on a smile, but he didn’t believe her and continued to watch her. She made a face. “Stop that.”
He blinked. “Stop what.”
“Staring at me like that, it makes me nervous.”
“Oh.” He moved his gaze to Byron. “He said the case should be over by tomorrow.”
“The closing arguments,” Bryon clarified.
“How do things look?” Brenna asked.
When Byron hesitated, Hunter said, “Let me guess. It doesn’t look good for Stephen.”
Byron sent him an ugly look. “It wasn’t an easy case from the beginning. There’s a witness that saw him meet with Seaborn. Another witness who saw them at the bar and the house. And there’s the woman across the street and the man next door with his wife. They all say they saw him enter and leave the residence at the time of the murder. No one else. There was no break in, nothing. The next day Parkov noticed something was wrong, but went inside because of watery eyes.”
Hunter folded his arms. “Why did he have watery eyes?”
“He didn’t say. Perhaps he had a cold.”
“Or an allergy.”
Byron and Brenna both stared at each other as a possibility came to their minds. Brenna’s hopes lifted. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
Hunter shook his head. “It could be nothing.”
“But it could be something.”
“It’s a far leap.”
Byron headed for the door. “It’s all we have.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
“The defense would like to recall Ralph Parkov to the stand,” Byron said.
Ralph approached the stand with a self-important air. “Mr. Parkov,” Byron said, “Is it true that you previously stated you saw the defendant leave the house that night?”
“Yes.”
“And the next morning while you were cleaning your car you noticed the victim’s morning newspaper in the mailbox?”
“Yes.”
“Why were you cleaning your car?”
“As I said, I was expecting visitors.”
“Isn’t it true that as you were cleaning your car that you had to go inside because your eyes were watering. Does that happen often?”
“No.”
“What do you suppose caused it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is it true that you emptied out the vacuum bag that day?”
“Yes. I hate dirty bags.”
“Hmm. So unfortunately, we won’t know what caused your eyes to water, right?”
He shrugged. “I guess not.”
“Isn’t it true that your daughter who is visiting out of town also developed watery eyes that day?”
“Yes.”
“Who does the laundry in your house?”
The DA stood. “Objection. Your Honor where are we going with this line of questioning?”
Byron said, “Your Honor I am getting to the reason.”
The judge rested his chin in his hand. “Overruled, but please get to the point.”
“Isn’t it true that your daughter has the same allergies you do?”
“Yes.”
“Do you own a cat?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I’m allergic to cats.”
“That’s interesting because your daughter is willing to testify that there were cat hairs in the lint dryer that caused her to start sneezing and we found cat hair on a hat of yours. Where did the cat hair come from?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’ll tell you. It came from your neighbors’ house. He doesn’t own a cat either, but the defendant owns a long haired cat that likes to travel with him in the front seat. So anyone who sits in the passenger seat usually ends up with some cat hairs on them. So cat hairs were on Mr. Seaborn and on his couch.”
“I don’t see how—”
“I have an expert willing to testify that the cat hairs from your hat are an exact match to the defendant’s cat. If you weren’t there that night, how did the cat hairs get on your clothes?”
“I don’t know.”
“Isn’t it true you wanted Seaborn to sell his house?”
“Yes, that’s no secret.”
“Why?”
“Because our property value would go up, but he was a stubborn old man. Yes, I remember now I got the hairs from the other day. The first time your client came by. I went over to talk to Seaborn.”
Byron shook his head. “No, it wasn’t the first time you saw him that night. I know this because the cat hairs from the sample were from a flea treated cat. She hadn’t been treated that first day. I think after my client left you went into the house and killed Seaborn knowing you had the perfect alibi and scapegoat, isn’t that right?”
“The damn bastard wouldn’t sell!”
After the DA and Byron made closing arguments it took the jury less than seven hours to reach a verdict of Not Guilty.
Stephen slumped forward relieved. Moments later his mother hugged him then his wife and sister. A little distance away, Tima caught his eye and winked. He now had a chance at a new life and he meant to take it. The courtroom quickly emptied and Brenna stayed behind as Byron shook the DA’s hand then closed his briefcase.
“We did it,” she said.
Byron held out his arms to her feeling buoyant and renewed.
Brenna hesitated then went into them, but drew away before he could make it more. “Thank you.”
He grabbed her wrist before she could leave. “This isn’t over Brenna.”
She tried to free herself. “It has to be.”
“No, it doesn’t. I can’t deny what’s in my heart. I love you. I haven’t stopped loving you. Letting you go all these years was a big mistake.”
She briefly shut her eyes, his name a whisper. “Byron—”
“Let me finish. Run away with me.” His eyes clung to hers. “I’ll take care of you.”
She turned away. “No.”
He cupped her chin and forced her to look at him. “You’re not happy with Hunter and either rich or poor you never will be. Hasn’t everything that’s happened proven that? I know you’re afraid, but you don’t have to be. I realize it will take time for you to trust me again, I have the money and you’ll be with me. Remember how you dreamed about a house near a carnival where you could hear the sound of a carousel every spring and summer? Brenna, I’ll build one myself. I can make your dream come true.” His eyes lowered to her lips then returned to her eyes. “Randolph isn’t the man for you. You can’t make this work and you shouldn’t have to. No, don’t say anything yet. Think about it. I’ll wait for you.”
Days later, Byron’s words still echoed in Brenna’s head. There was nothing between Hunter and her now. She did not want to be just some mother figure to Hunter or a burden. Byron was better for her. He was steadfast. He never wavered. He didn’t have Hunter’s unpredictability. She knew what to expect from him and he loved her. Loved her! Her father was right, she deserved to be loved. There was nothing to keep her here.
“Brenna, do you know where my cufflinks are?” Hunter called.
He was preparing for an important meeting today. She didn’t know what it was for, but he seemed excited.
She sighed. How could a man not know where things were in his own home? He’d have no idea where anything was without her. He’d probably go around naked and starve to death. She shoved the suitcase further under the bed and went to the living room. She picked them off the bookshelf. Why he had a habit of leaving his cufflinks there she had no idea.
She walked up to him as he searched the living room. “Here.”
He turned to her. “Thanks.”
She grabbed his sleeve. “Stand still.” She put them on him then smoothed down his shirt. “Did you iron this?”
“Of course I did,” he said offended. That was one thing she’d forced him to learn. To her relief he didn’t mind it and even ironed her clothes (although she had to explain he
didn’t need to iron bras).
She looked at his shirt critically. “Did you turn the iron on?”
“The shirt is fine.”
“It’s not fine. Take it off.”
He grabbed his jacket. “I don’t have time.”
Even the jacket looked crinkled and as she adjusted his collar she figured out why. He’d lost weight. Clothes hung on him now. Damn. Orson was right. He could slowly kill a man by taking away all that he cherished.
But she wouldn’t let him do that to Hunter. With her gone, he’d be free. Without her there would be no more medical bills, no more sleeping side by side without touching, no more pretending. Of course she’d miss the scent of cinnamon that seemed to cling to everything he wore, the distinctive sound of his footsteps, his energy, his drive. She hoped the meeting would go well. He hadn’t shown this type of enthusiasm in months.
“Good luck,” she said.
“Thanks.”
She kissed him on the cheek. “Goodbye.”
He opened the door. “Bye.”
She listened to his footsteps pound down the stairs then closed the door. She rested her forehead against the door, imaging the relief he’d feel when he returned home and she was gone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“Did you get it?” Fiona asked as Stephen came through the door.
“No.” He bent down and patted Lillian as the cat greeted him by wrapping around his leg.
She stretched her legs out and sighed. “I knew you wouldn’t. You should have waited. It’s crazy for you to think that just because the case went well everything else would.”
Stephen sat beside her and looked at her with a probing query in his eyes. “Couldn’t you believe in me just once? Just once couldn’t you be on my side?”
Fiona cupped the side of his face and smiled into his troubled eyes. “I am on your side. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
“Do you think it doesn’t hurt that you have no faith in me?”
“I’m just afraid—”
“Afraid of what? That I might fail or that I might succeed?”
She moved away and tucked her feet underneath her. “Why can’t you just be happy with the way things are? Why isn’t anything ever enough for you? You’re just an ordinary guy, Stephen. Like my Dad and that’s okay. He worked for the same company in the same position for thirty years then retired.”
“I’m not your father.”
“I know—”
He rose to his feet feeling a desperate need to get her to understand. “I don’t want to just exist. I want to live, feel alive. Take risks.”
“Why?”
“Because.”
“I don’t know what you’re looking for.”
“A different life. Something more exciting. Brenna really likes my lighting ideas and thinks I should start my own business. Perhaps someone would see my designs and –”
“And what?” she sneered. “Make you rich and famous? That’s not going to happen. If you were truly special you’d have been discovered by now. You’ve tried things before and they haven’t worked out. You didn’t get the fabulous job that certificate program promised you or even a promotion. You’re just a dreamer, Stephen, but this is the real world.”
Stephen stared at her, letting her words sink in. He loved her. No. That was the trouble. He didn’t. That was the truth he’d been afraid to admit for years. Afraid to admit that he’d loved her once, but not anymore. That he felt a fleeting fondness, a responsibility and nothing more lasting. Perhaps he was a dreamer, but he didn’t plan to change. He suddenly felt a sinking feeling of inevitability. He knew what he had to say.
“It’s not going to work.” He rested his hands on his hips. “We need to divorce.”
“Don’t be silly. You’re upset.”
“No, I’m—”
“If you want time apart that’s okay. We’ve separated before.”
“Fiona it’s different this time. We’re only hurting each other. We’ll grow more and more apart. This is for the best and you know it.”
“But I—”
“I’ve always wanted the best for you and the best isn’t with me. Before I was afraid to let go, I was afraid of a lot of things, but I’m not anymore. It’s time to say good bye.”
She jumped up and ran into the bedroom. Stephen sat expecting a feeling of relief instead a deep pain filled him as he faced his loss. He buried his face in his hands.
***
Hunter balanced a bouquet of flowers, chocolates and his briefcase as he tried to open the door to his apartment. The meeting had been a success. Mylar Industries wanted to buy them out for thirty million! His strategy had worked. Brenna would never have to worry about money again. He stepped inside and paused surprised that the lights were off. Brenna must have gone to bed early. He dropped the chocolates and briefcase on the couch, left the flowers on the kitchen counter and raced into the bedroom ready to tell her the good news. He turned on the lights. The bed lay empty, a note on the pillow. He stared at it as though it would suddenly attack him. He didn’t have to read it to know what it said. She’d made her choice. He crumbled it up and stormed into the kitchen.
Maybe Brenna had made the right decision. She had no reason to stay without his money. He was of little use to her. If only she’d waited. Why couldn’t she have waited? And why did she have to do it this way? Was he some monster they all felt they had to run away from: His mother, Angelina, Janice, Brenna. Was he such a monster that he didn’t deserve a chance? He pressed his fists to his eyes. Then grabbed a knife by its blade and squeezed until drips of blood fell on the counter. A searing hot pain shot through his arm. It felt good. He wanted to feel the pain to dull the ache in his heart. He didn’t want to miss her. He didn’t want to believe that he still needed her, that their marriage had become real to him.
He dropped the knife onto the counter, when he heard the front door open. Brenna walked through the door. She turned to him and gasped. She tossed her bags aside and came towards him. “What happened? You’re getting blood everywhere. What were you doing?”
He stared at her tongue-tied.
“Never mind.” She gently cradled his hand and examined it. “We need to clean it.”
She led him into the bathroom and cleaned the wound. He stared at her bent head confusing clashing with an unfamiliar joy. “Where have you been?”
She carefully wrapped a bandage around his hand. “Errands. I left a note on the bed so you’d see it when you changed.”
He remembered the crumbled note with embarrassment. “Of course.”
Once finished she stood and went into the kitchen. “What were you doing?” she called over her shoulder.
He followed her. “Cutting.”
“I can see that.” She picked up the knife curious. “What were you trying to cut?”
Hunter glanced around searching his mind for a good response. “Umm.”
Brenna suddenly smiled. “I know.”
“You do?”
“Yes.” She picked up the bouquet. “You were trying to cut the flowers for me. You should have known I could have cut them myself when I got home.” She lifted the bouquet to her face and smelled them. “Hmm, they’re beautiful. Thank you.”
He made a noncommittal sound not knowing what to say. At that moment all he noticed was her. How the yellow lily petals looked against her cheek, the highlights in her hair.
Brenna laid the flowers down and grabbed a vase. “I guess your meeting went well?”
Hunter shifted from one foot to the other. “Um, yes.” He had so much he wanted to tell her, but the words wouldn’t come. He watched her spread the flowers on the counter and fill the sink with water.
“So what happened at this meeting?”
He told her all that he’d been working on and how things had progressed. She threw her arms around him. He held her close, brushing his cheek against her hair. “When I came home I thought you’d left me,” he said.
“I did.
”
A sheet of ice spread through him. He drew back. “Oh.”
“I left you for a full ten minutes. Then I came back.”
“Why?”
Brenna took a deep breath then said, “Because I love you.” It felt good to say the words. It felt good to admit that he’d swept into her life and shredded all past feelings she’d tended for Byron. Those feelings had been light superficial longings. Her feelings for Hunter were deeply embedded, flowing in her veins. Saying goodbye to him forever felt like her skin was being torn from her—leaving her raw and vulnerable. It felt scary too. But this was the moment she’d been afraid of. Being completely real with no pretending, trusting someone else to be kind, expecting them to be kind and not knowing if they would be. Why? Because Hunter felt no need to rescue her, no need to pity her.
When he didn’t respond, for a moment she wished she hadn’t come back. Wished she hadn’t revealed herself.
Brenna lowered her gaze and returned to the flowers. “These really are beautiful.”
Hunter spun her around to face him. His eyes intense, his voice deep filled with an emotion that awakened some foreign emotions in her. “I’m glad you came back.”
He captured her mouth with his own; his lips both persuasive and demanding. It was more than a kiss. It was more a secret not spoken between two people making the invisible visible. When his lips touched hers, she could see loyalty, she could feel honor, as though it was just within her grasp. She knew he could see her love for him as though it were twinkling in the dark sky.
As he held her she realized how much she’d blocked him out. How much of life she’d blocked out. How many feelings and experiences she had kept at a distance. And how much she had lost by doing so. She’d denied herself this moment. This terrifying, frightening yet freeing moment for years. Never had his touch felt so tender, his lips so gentle. Never had she felt this alive. She felt more alive than Byron had ever made her. “I’m—”
“Shh, we’ll talk later.”
But they were talking now and saying so much more. His lips were a warm, wet tantalizing invitation for more. Igniting vivid desires. She soon lay naked in his arms, the length of him on top of her. She could feel him sinking between her thighs, stirring emotions, once dormant now like a hurricane mingling passion and pain. A sweet, savage pain that needed to be brought forth in order to heal. Tears sprung to her eyes as she let go of the old Brenna and allowed the new one to emerge: This wife, sister, friend. This woman who would no longer hide from her feelings.
