by James Dobson
Perhaps it was because Renee had spent every waking moment of the past few days trying to lift him out of the dumps. She had apologized at least a dozen times for banishing him to the sofa on the night before the terrible day. And then there was the refrigerator surprise. He found an unopened Hostess snack sitting on the shelf right next to a gallon of soy milk. Never mind that he hated soy milk. It was the thought that counted.
But that wasn’t the reason. Something else had made Renee more appealing.
Tyler reached for the mystery plate to peek under the makeshift lid before feeling a slap at his hand.
“Not yet,” Renee said playfully. “Wait until I serve everyone.”
He grinned sheepishly toward Gerry and Katherine. Neither paid him any attention. Gerry was enamored with the spoon that doubled as a mirror he was using to peer up his left nostril. Katherine sipped her glass of water, staring in blissful contentment as usual.
Tyler continued watching Renee in search of what had changed. She had the same perky face, cute hairstyle, and slight figure. A guilt-induced cupcake notwithstanding, she maintained the same obsession with all things healthy and tasteless. And her nonstop hovering while trying to cheer him up, while appreciated, had started to make him feel claustrophobic. He almost wanted to go back to work. Almost, but not quite. He couldn’t bear to take on another jealous-lover case. Not after coming so close to doing something important again.
Tyler noticed Renee sitting down to join them at the table. Then she smiled in his direction.
“Smells delicious,” he said. “What is it?”
“You’ll find out in a minute.”
Despite low expectations Tyler prepared himself to react with delight. He’d love to find a pile of garlic-and-bacon mashed potatoes next to a pecan-crusted chicken breast. But he knew it was more likely he’d discover steamed cauliflower with a tofu garnish. Either way, Renee deserved an enthusiastic response.
He looked across the table at Gerry and Katherine. Then he looked back at their daughter, now placing a napkin on her lap.
“Ready?” she asked like a giddily excited girl.
“I’m ready,” Tyler replied in the most energetic voice he could muster as Gerry finally placed the spoon back on the table.
“Then take a look.”
It was worse than Tyler had imagined. Some sort of green slimy base possibly made of boiled spinach beneath what appeared to be a baked slab of…what? Certainly not any kind of meat he had ever eaten.
“Baked eggplant!” Renee announced proudly. “I’ve been trying to find a good recipe forever. This one said it tastes just like fried chicken but with less than half the calories and much, much less fat.”
“Mmm,” Tyler said in anticipation of a meal he was sure to hate. “Sounds wonderful.”
He took a big bite. The texture felt more like warmed squash than crispy chicken. He chewed, slowly at first. He considered saying something but realized a second and third mouthful would mean more to Renee than the most perfectly worded compliment.
“Do you like it?” her eyes asked.
Tyler recalled a comment from Smitty. “Love is a choice, not a feeling.”
“I love it!” he willed himself to say.
Renee leaped from her seat to hug Tyler’s neck. Startled at first, he moved his arms around her waist and invited her to sit on his lap.
“Tyler Cain!” she pretended to protest. “Not in front of the children.”
Renee’s parents smiled at the comment. That’s when it struck him.
Gerry and Katherine!
“I need you to understand something,” Renee had said a few days before. “My parents are my priority right now. I mean, I love you. I want you. But they’re my flesh and blood.”
With a single gutsy declaration Renee had transformed herself from a weak, clingy lover into something else. Something better. She had made a choice to do what was right by her folks even if it meant losing the man she loved. Losing him! And rather than pushing Tyler away, the resolve had drawn him toward her like nails to a magnet. He knew that Renee loved him. But he also realized that she didn’t need him. The subtle change made her someone he wanted to pursue rather than flee; someone strong enough to expect him to do what was right, and to become his best. A woman who deserved better than she had received. Better, perhaps, than he could possibly ever give.
For the first time in a while Tyler felt lucky to have her in his life. Possibly because he realized he had almost driven her out of it.
Tyler had taken the Santiago case hoping for a high-paying gig that would inch him closer to freedom from what he saw as Renee’s needy, demanding presence. Had he successfully prevented the assassination he would have received a handsome bonus. He could have paid off their joint loan. Today might have been the day he sent Renee packing and returned to the carefree existence he thought he wanted. Instead, he was starting to realize, it was the day he would invite Renee to add meaning to his miserable excuse for a life. But when? How? Certainly not while sitting across from her nostril-ogling dad.
Tyler did his best to remain enthusiastic while enduring the rest of his meal. As soon as he finished, Renee scooped a second serving onto his plate. He wanted to say, “No more, thank you. I’m stuffed!” But her beautiful eyes won the moment. He took another bite.
“Oh,” she said. “I nearly forgot to tell you, Smitty called today while you were napping.”
He had been “napping” much of the past two days.
“He asked if you could drop by tomorrow afternoon.”
Not a chance, Tyler thought. The last place he wanted to be right now was the police station. He didn’t need another reminder of his ineptitude or another sniggering glare from the likes of Kory Sanders.
“I said you’d be there around two o’clock.”
“You said what?”
“Come on, babe. It’ll do you good. You need to get out.”
He swallowed back a protest. Renee was probably right. Nothing good would come of another day moping around the house. Besides, Smitty had been kind. He had refused to let Tyler own the blame for Judge Santiago’s death. “You were right about Matthew Adams,” Smitty had insisted. “The guy was no assassin.”
So who was? There were countless possibilities. Unlikely as it seemed, the letters from Matthew Adams were an uncanny coincidence. He’d happened to write a series of benign letters at the same time someone else was planning an assassination. Someone, perhaps, with more to gain than Matthew. Or more to lose.
“I don’t know,” Tyler objected weakly. “I’m not sure I’m ready to—”
“You’re ready,” Renee interrupted. “And you’re good at what you do.”
He looked away, wishing he could agree. Then he felt Renee’s hand on his jaw forcing his gaze in her direction.
“Do you hear me?” she said. “You’re a very good detective. That’s what Smitty thinks, anyway.”
It took five seconds for the comment to sink in. “What?”
“He told me you followed the evidence where it led and that every detective on his team would have reached the exact same conclusions you did.”
“He said that?”
“He did. I bet he wants to talk to you about a job.”
“Unlikely.” Tyler knew better. The force was still over budget. Smitty needed to cut rather than add positions.
“Or maybe he has another case for you to solve.”
The possibility sounded good to Tyler. He certainly had no appetite for another House of Delights stakeout.
“OK,” he relented. “I’ll go.”
Renee grinned with satisfaction while taking another bite.
Tyler couldn’t help smiling back.
Gerry chose that moment to enter the conversation. “Doggone it,” he said. “When do you plan to stop pussyfooting around and make an honest woman out of my daughter?”
“Daddy!” Renee shouted with a blush while Katherine looked up in apparent delight.
“Well
,” Gerry continued, “it’s obvious neither one of you is going anywhere. Why not make it official?”
Tyler said nothing at first. A few days earlier he would have assumed Renee had orchestrated the moment. But the look on her face said she was equally surprised, equally embarrassed.
What none of the others could know was that Smitty had raised the same point two days before. “You should marry Renee,” he had said after asking about their relationship. “She deserves to be happy. So do you.”
Smitty had come to see marriage as a gift rather than a burden; a source of happiness rather than stress. He’d even invited Tyler to meet with a pastor from his church. “Premarital counseling would help you get off on the right foot,” he had suggested.
Renee looked at Tyler. She appeared unsettled. “I’m sorry,” she whispered toward his ear. “Daddy shouldn’t have said that.”
“You’re right,” Tyler whispered back. “He shouldn’t have said it.”
Then Tyler stood up from the table.
“Come on, Tyler, don’t be upset,” Gerry began. But Tyler raised his hand to silence the old man.
“No,” he said insistently. “I have every right to be upset. And I am. I’m very upset.”
Renee looked distraught, as if her father had ruined their otherwise perfect evening.
“I’m upset at myself for letting you beat me to the punch,” Tyler continued. Then he bent down on one knee in front of Renee, who seemed uncertain how to respond. Was she protecting herself from thinking what was happening was actually happening? “Renee,” Tyler said after kissing her hand, “I have a question to ask you that’s long overdue.”
Tears of uncertain joy began forming in her eyes.
“Will you marry me?” he asked.
A flood of emotion released as Renee nodded breathlessly.
Tyler accepted her kiss while Gerry and Katherine reached for one another’s hand.
“Oh, wait!” Tyler said suddenly as if realizing he had made a big mistake. “I take it back.”
“What?” Gerry said. “Take it back?”
“I need twenty-four hours.”
“What for?” Katherine asked timidly.
“I need a ring to do this properly,” he said to Renee’s obvious relief. Then he stood. “Can I ask you again tomorrow?”
“Yes. Yes. Yes,” she shouted through tears with an even more vigorous nod.
Tyler returned to his seat, proud of his own courageous act. Reckless? Perhaps. But he knew it felt right. Knew it was right.
Renee accepted a hug from her mother while Tyler stabbed his fork into another bite of food. He raised it mindlessly to his mouth and began chewing. The flavor, he suddenly realized, was starting to grow on him.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Matthew rubbed the patch of irritated skin that had formed beneath the metal bracelet he had been forced to wear around his ankle. The tracking device was gone. But the itchy reminder of his virtual incarceration made him boil with a fury he couldn’t have suppressed even if he’d wanted to. And he didn’t want to. He had every right to be angry, every reason to hate. But hate whom? Everyone!
He hated Maria Davidson. He would have given anything to make her happy. But she’d lied to him. Betrayed him. Pretended he had a chance with her. It was all a lie!
He hated Tyler Cain. The detective had said he believed Matthew. So why hadn’t he let him off the hook? Why suggest the police arrest him for sending a few harmless letters?
He hated the police. They knew full well Matthew hadn’t murdered the judge. Why force him to wear a digital dog leash until they got to the bottom of the case? They had already asked him every possible question. He had no more answers to give: no idea who might have written the final letter, why the person had used Matthew’s pen name, or how the person had mimicked his earlier letters to near-perfection.
He hated whoever had written those letters.
And Matthew hated his professor. The detective had said Thomas Vincent had helped them connect the dots to Matthew’s interest in Manichean philosophy. Dr. Vincent was no priest, and certainly no saint. But he still should have kept their conversations confidential.
Matthew had even decided to hate Judge Santiago. Why hadn’t he issued a favorable opinion on the NEXT appeal? If he had done so sooner all would have been well. The judge would still have been alive and Matthew would have been able to access the money in his mother’s estate. Money that rightfully belonged to him!
The sound of Reverend Grandpa’s stupid bell rang again in Matthew’s ears. He had been ignoring the sound for five minutes. Let the old man get his own dinner for once! Or go hungry. Maybe then he’d think twice before poking fun at matters he was too muddleheaded to grasp.
“Such a tragedy,” Reverend Grandpa had said while watching the news about Judge Santiago’s demise.
Matthew had looked in the old man’s direction, at first holding his tongue. But that didn’t last. He was in no mood for passivity. He needed to win at something. Why not demolish the Bible-thumping fool in a head-to-head debate? “It’s not a tragedy. Death is freedom, the spirit’s escape from a decaying body.”
His anger boiled again at the recollection of words his former mentor had taught. But the words were still true, even if the man teaching them wasn’t.
“Nonsense!” Reverend Grandpa retorted. “The body is every bit as sacred as the spirit. Human beings aren’t ghosts. We’re embodied spirits.”
“You should have thought of that before you drove your car into a ditch,” Matthew said. “Now look at you. A worthless body that’s nothing but a burden…on you and everyone else. The real tragedy is you taking up space and using up money that could help Marissa, Isabelle, and Peter.”
Matthew could tell the old man felt the sting of rebuke. He wanted him to. Matthew hated Reverend Grandpa.
The bell continued ringing. Matthew finally got up with a huff and walked into the room where he had left the old man fifteen minutes before.
“What?”
“I don’t think this is going to work out any longer.”
“What are you talking about?”
The old man shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “I think we need to end your contract.”
The old man was firing him? It figured. Why not add CANNED to Matthew’s growing list of the week’s calamities, right after DUMPED, FRAMED, and ARRESTED?
He wouldn’t give Reverend Grandpa the satisfaction.
“Fine. I quit!” Matthew shouted while turning toward his room.
“I didn’t mean right this second,” the old man said with alarm. “I meant we should pick an end date and—”
“I don’t care what you meant,” Matthew said, walking back toward his client. “I’m telling you that I quit. Today. Right now! Consider this your ten-minute warning. Find some other bump-on-a-log babysitter.”
Matthew went to his room to pack a bag of his most important items. He would return for the rest of his things once he got settled in, where? Who knew? Someplace. Anyplace that wasn’t here.
Screw the police! He was innocent. They had no right to know where he went.
Screw Maria and Professor Vincent! They no longer deserved his admiration.
And screw Reverend Grandpa! He could find someone else to fix meals and change oxygen tanks.
Matthew heard a loud thud coming from the other room. His first impulse was to rush toward the sound. He instead spent several more minutes throwing socks and T-shirts into an open travel case and stuffing his toothbrush and shaver into the side pocket. He checked the bag. Then he checked it again. It appeared he had everything needed to make a dramatic, immediate exit.
As he moved back down the hallway Matthew heard panicked wheezing. He let the bag fall to the floor, then rounded the corner. That’s when he saw Reverend Grandpa on the floor reaching desperately in Matthew’s direction. His hand held the detached portion of an air tube that must have been damaged when the old man tried lunging toward a walker sitting t
hree or four feet beyond.
No sound of escaping air came from the oxygen tank. The time Matthew had been packing would have been more than enough for it to empty itself.
The old man pointed frantically down the hall. Matthew remembered the extra tank stored in the bedroom closet. But he hesitated, giving himself two seconds for an uncommon sense of clarity.
Why prolong the inevitable? The old man should end his misery.
The family needed his dwindling resources.
Every reasonable person would call Reverend Grandpa a debit, someone who should volunteer for the greater good.
For Marissa’s good.
Who needed a clinic or transition form? The old man’s death, no matter how achieved, would bring the same result.
A reduced burden on society.
And a spirit free to thrive.
Matthew looked back toward a man afraid to do what was right. He needed Matthew’s help. Matthew’s courage.
He thought of the questions that would be asked. Why hadn’t Matthew been around to prevent the accident? Simple. The old man had fired him. He’d left at the client’s insistence.
He wondered how Marissa would react to the discovery. Would she suspect him of neglect? Worse? Perhaps. But she would be too relieved, too grateful, to contradict Matthew’s explanation.
Then he thought of the kids. What if the boy or Isabelle found the body rather than Marissa? Would little Pete ever speak another word? He forced the question out of his mind. A greater good often comes at a price. Peter would be fine. In time.
Matthew retrieved his bag and walked quickly toward the door. He did his best to ignore the sounds of tortured suffocation. A transition would have been so much easier. Swift. Painless. Dignified. But the old man had made his choice.
Then Matthew made his exit.
As the door closed behind him Matthew stood on the front porch. In the sudden stillness he inhaled deeply, the fresh evening air offering a measure of calm to his rapidly beating heart. He instinctively turned back, his fingers wrapping themselves around the handle. He paused. This was a defining moment of belief. Walking away was right. It was compassionate. If by some small chance he was wrong, Reverend Grandpa’s God could intervene. He was a God, the old man had said, who had cared enough about physical bodies to assume one. A God of miracles who could prevent his demise, or even raise him from the dead.
