“Do the crime, do the time?”
“Yes. And then, maybe, we’ll be forgiven.”
“Maybe? I don’t remember that part of the lesson. Jenny, there is no maybe with God. I’m fairly sure God forgave you for whatever you think you did wrong the moment you asked. You happened to be driving and, sadly, your husband and son died. I can see where you’d be pissed… sorry, angry with God. It’s especially hard to make sense of the death of an innocent child. But what I don’t get is whose forgiveness you still need, except your own.”
Jenny rose from her chair and paced the room. “See, that’s what everyone keeps telling me. I have to forgive myself.” She turned and gazed at him. “How do I do that?” And why am I having this conversation?
“You have to know what you stand to lose by letting yourself off the hook.”
She whirled around. “What kind of pop-psychology crap is that? What could I possibly lose by forgiving myself?”
He shrugged, not reacting to her anger. “Oh, I don’t know. How about the excuse for not moving on? The right to be the victim and dress in sack cloth and ashes?”
“I am a victim in this! Even my former in-laws are suing me for the wrongful deaths of their son and grandson. Are you suggesting I don’t have a right to feel responsible for what I’ve done?”
“Oh, you have every right to feel responsible for your actions. But I wonder what you gain by continuing to shoulder the blame for every bad thing that’s happened to those you love.”
“I don’t gain a damned thing!” Her body shook, and heat filled her chest. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t swear in here, at you.”
“Why not? You’re angry, aren’t you?”
She pulled in a deep breath. “Yes.”
“Feels good, doesn’t it?”
She stared hard at him. “Are you crazy?”
“It’s been suggested.” He leaned forward, his forearms resting on the table, hands clasped. “Anger can be much more empowering than guilt.”
“Are you some kind of therapist, too?”
He shook his head. “No. And I won’t pretend I’ve been at this priest thing for a long time, or that I’ve heard stories of all the horrible events people survive. I haven’t. But I know what it’s like to carry guilt and use it as a shield to protect you from living again. It doesn’t matter how I know this, just that I know it.”
She noticed the shift in his voice, pain shadowing his eyes. “How do you know?”
“This isn’t about me. If you’re looking for condemnation, you’ve come to the wrong place. It’s not my job to judge.”
“I’m not looking to be condemned.”
He sat back and sighed. “Then what are you looking for? What drew you here today? You stood me up for lunch, but you came here today for some reason. You could just as easily have called.”
“I wanted to apologize in person, and I wanted to finish the discussion we started.”
He peered at her over his water glass. “Did we finish it?”
“I suppose we have.” Jenny fished her car keys from her purse. The heart-shaped keychain, a gift last Valentine’s Day from Cooper, felt heavy in her hand. “I have to be going.”
“Wait a minute.” He left and returned momentarily with a small brown paper bag. “Cake, for later.”
She accepted the gift. “Thanks.”
Gavin reached into his pocket and removed a business card. “This has my private phone number on it, in case you ever want to talk. When you’re back in town, please stop by. I’m here every day. I even have two shows on Sunday.”
She smiled. “Are you sure you’re a priest?”
“I’m trying to change the stereotype. How am I doing?”
“Great. I’d never pick you out of a lineup.”
He fell into step beside her as she headed for the door.
She stopped. “Oh, wait.” She pulled her wallet from her purse and removed a twenty-dollar bill. “Please accept this donation.”
“Thank you. I’m saving for a new car.”
She lifted an eyebrow.
He laughed. “I’m teasing. Old priest joke. Couldn’t resist. This money will go to help those less fortunate who have lost everything.”
She considered his words. “Everything. Yes, I can imagine.”
He walked with her to the car and held the door open. “I’ve enjoyed talking with you, Jenny. I hope you find the peace you’re looking for.”
“Now you sound like a priest.”
He chuckled. “Good. I’m working on my presentation. The bishop’s coming to visit next week.” His smile faded. “Seriously, I do hope you’re able to get free of that guilt you’re carrying. It serves no purpose except to steal the joy from life. And I am here to listen, any time.”
She slid behind the wheel and squinted up at him. The sun burst in a halo around his shaggy brown hair, giving him the look of one of the saints in the stained glass windows of the church. “Thanks for lunch.”
“You’re welcome.” He waved as she pulled from the curb.
Jenny glanced into the rearview mirror. Had she just confessed her entire life to a priest? And why?
Chapter Fourteen
Jenny’s cell phone bleated as she prepared dinner, and she glanced at the screen. Patrick Doyle. “Hi.”
“You made it okay?”
The concern in his voice warmed her through. “I did. The deposition is all set for tomorrow morning. I’ll be glad when it’s over.”
“Do you have someone to be with you, besides your attorney?”
“Patrick, I’ll be okay. But I appreciate your concern.”
Silence hissed through the phone.
“Patrick?”
“I’m here. Will you call me when it’s over? I’m worried about you, Jenny. I know we haven’t been close for a long time, but you… We have a history, and we cared about one another once. You don’t just turn that off. Maybe some men could, but I can’t.”
Tears stung her eyes.
“Are you still there?” he asked.
“I’m here.” She sniffled.
Ashley called out from the front door. “Am I in the wrong apartment?”
“I’ve got to run, Patrick. Thanks for calling. I’ll talk to you when I get back home.” Jenny slid her cell phone into her pocket and met Ashley in the hallway. “You’re in the right place. Do you know your cupboards and fridge are like a chef’s challenge? What do you eat?”
Ashley hugged her. “Not what, but where. I usually eat take-out at the office. How was your drive?”
“Long. I can’t shake this damned flu.” She pulled a tissue from her pocket and dabbed her sore nose.
“You shouldn’t have bothered cooking. You look exhausted.”
“I had to do something besides pace and think. I have the deposition tomorrow morning.”
“I’m going with you.” Ashley removed two wineglasses from the cupboard and a bottle of white zinfandel from the fridge.
“You don’t have to.”
“It wasn’t a request. I’m not letting you go into this alone.”
“Now you sound like Patrick.”
Ashley claimed one of the barstools at the center island and patted the other. “Sit down and tell me what’s going on.”
Jenny checked the stir-fry. “This is done. Let’s talk over dinner.”
They filled their plates and settled back at the island. Jenny recounted the letter and her conversation with her attorney. “He doesn’t think they have a case, that they’re just acting out of grief, needing someone to blame. I understand that.”
“Yes, but they’re your in-laws. Can’t they see how much you’ve lost, too?”
“I was never that close with Matt’s parents. You know that. It makes sense that they’d blame me for his death. I was driving.” She shook her head. “Let’s talk about something else.”
“Okay, talk to me about Patrick.”
“He’s trying to be my friend.”
Ashley lifted o
ne eyebrow. “You think there’s still something between you two?”
Jenny swirled the last swallow of wine around in her glass. “I don’t know. He’s going through a lot right now with his dad. I wonder if we’re both gravitating to a safe port in the storm.”
“Doesn’t sound all that safe to me.” Ashley slid from her stool and took their plates to the sink.
“Familiar may be a better word. We move toward what we know. I know Patrick.”
Leaning back against the sink, Ashley studied her. “What about Jenny? Do you know her anymore?”
“I know that she’s vulnerable and scared, and that’s when she makes bad decisions.”
“Ah. So, no decision-making. What if you and Patrick are being given a second chance? What are the odds that this guy who was the love of your life would still be in that little town, unattached, just waiting for you after nine years?”
“He wasn’t. Just waiting for me, that is. Patrick lives in Grand Cayman. His father had a stroke, and he returned home.”
“And you don’t see that as fate?”
Jenny downed the last of her wine. “No. I see that as…as Patrick doing what he has to do, and me doing what I need to do. We just happen to be in the same place to do it.”
“But you care about him.”
“I’ll always care about him,” Jenny murmured. “Ashley, I have so much to deal with right now, and I can’t drag Patrick into the middle of this mess.”
“This mess won’t last forever.”
“That’s true. Nothing lasts forever.”
Ashley cocked her head. “You once told me the reason you love to edit romance novels is because you can be certain of two things: nothing will keep the hero and heroine apart, and they will have a happy-ever-after ending to their story.”
“This isn’t a romance novel. It’s my life—much more a tragedy at the moment.”
“You’ve had more than your share of tragedy. Maybe it’s time for something else, just think about that.”
“And maybe it’s time for bed.” Jenny coughed. “I’m going to turn in. I’m exhausted.”
“I’ll take care of the dishes. What time do we leave in the morning?”
“Nine-fifteen.” Jenny rinsed her wineglass and placed it in the dishwasher. “Hey, Ash?”
“Yes?”
“Thanks.”
Ashley gave her a quick hug. “You’re welcome.”
****
Milton Sachs was a fatherly man with an air of reassurance. Still, his calm demeanor as he ushered Jenny into his conference room did little to relieve Jenny’s anxiety.
“Can Ashley come in with me? Please?”
“If you want her there.” Milton faced Ashley. “You can’t say a word during the deposition, though.”
Ashley nodded and followed them into the room.
When they were all seated, Milton asked, “Jenny, are you ready to begin?”
Jenny looked at the faces of the court reporter and August Ryker, then back at Milton. “Let’s do this.”
Ashley sat beside Jenny, within reach for support. Milton sat across from her at the conference table. August Ryker occupied the head of the table, between them, facing Jenny. “For the record, will you state your full name please?”
“Jennifer Lee O’Connell Barnes.”
“You are the widow of Matthew Allen Barnes and were the mother of Cooper William Barnes. Is that correct?”
Her throat tightened at his use of past tense. “Yes.”
“You were driving a 2009 Nissan Quest minivan on the night of April twenty-sixth of this year?”
“Yes. We bought the minivan so I could take Cooper and his friends to…” The air conditioning kicked on, sending a chilly stream of air down her back. She shivered.
The attorney smiled slightly. “A ‘yes’ will be sufficient. It was raining that night?”
“Yes. It… Yes.”
“You had picked up your husband, Matthew, at his office and taken him and your son, Cooper, to the Rhodes School to attend your son’s play?”
Jenny’s mouth went dry, and she licked her lips. “Yes.”
Milton poured a glass of water and offered it to her. Her hand shook as she raised the glass to her lips and sipped, then set it on the table. The seams holding her together were straining under pressure.
Ryker attempted a comforting tone. “You’re doing fine, Mrs. Barnes. Just a few more questions. What time did you and your family leave the school to return home?”
“A little past eight p.m.”
“And it was still raining?”
“It was pouring.”
“Hard to see?”
“Yes. No, not really. I had the wipers on, and I was driving slowly.”
“It’s about a four mile drive from the school to your home in Cambridge?”
“About that, yes.”
“You had driven…” He paused and glanced at notes in front of him. “…two point six miles when the accident occurred?”
Her hands shook, and she placed them in her lap to still them, nodding.
“Would you please verbalize your response for the record?”
“I guess that’s how far. We were a little more than half-way home.” Spasms grabbed her lungs, and she coughed violently.
“I know this is difficult. Do you need a break?” The attorney was being kind.
Jenny shook her head and sipped at her water. “No. I just want to get this over with.”
“Then, would you please tell us the events as you recall them?”
She bit her lip, closing her eyes. “There wasn’t much traffic. I was driving slowly. I remember glancing at the speedometer. I wasn’t going over thirty. Water pooled on the road.”
“You glanced away from the road? And what were your husband and son doing while you drove? Were you talking? Listening to the radio?”
“We…We were arguing.”
“All three of you?”
“Cooper wanted to go camping over the weekend with our neighbors, and I’d told him he couldn’t go. I thought he was too young. He argued with me, and I said… I told him…” Her resolve broke, and her shoulders shook. “I told my son to stop whining.”
Ashley pressed a reassuring hand to Jenny’s shoulder.
Jenny regained control, wiping her eyes. She took in a shuddering breath and closed her eyes again, taking herself back in to the van. “Cooper was upset, and Matt said I should lighten up. Matt and I had argued earlier. He was angry with me.”
“Why was he angry?” August Ryker asked in a voice smooth as butter.
Jenny opened her eyes and stared down at her hands. “I had asked him for a divorce a few days earlier.”
“So you were upset that night while you were driving.”
Milton Sachs leaned forward. “Careful, Ryker. We’re here to get facts, not make accusations.”
The other man nodded. “None intended. Mrs. Barnes, do you remember the truck coming toward your vehicle?”
Jenny closed her eyes and moaned. “It came out of nowhere, it seemed. The car suddenly swerved, and then all I saw were lights.”
“Were you still arguing with your husband or son?”
“I remember telling Matt right before the crash that I couldn’t wait until this was over.”
“This?”
“The marriage. The fighting.”
“What did he say?”
Jenny shook her head, envisioning the moments before the crash. “He… I don’t…” She gasped. “Oh, God. Oh, my God.” She pressed a hand to her mouth.
Ashley put an arm around her. “Jen, what is it?”
Jenny gasped for breath. “Matt…he grabbed the wheel. He said… Oh, Jesus, no. It was Matt!” She collapsed into Ashley’s arms.
Ryker prodded, “What do you mean, Mrs. Barnes?”
Jenny turned her face from him, burrowing into Ashley’s shoulder.
Milton Sachs was on his feet. “Ryker, I think that’s enough. She can’t do this right n
ow.”
“She’s going to have to finish the deposition at some point,” Ryker countered.
“Not now,” Sachs said sharply. “I’ll call you and reschedule.” He opened the conference room door to allow August Ryker and the court reporter to exit.
Jenny clung to Ashley, sobbing and coughing.
Ashley rubbed a hand in soothing circles on Jenny’s back. “It’s okay. It’s over.”
Milton Sachs pulled up a chair. “Jenny, are you okay?”
Jenny sat up, quivering. “I remembered something.”
“Can you tell me?” the older man asked softly.
“Matt… Matt grabbed the wheel. He said, ‘I can end this right now.’ Then he…he steered us into the path of the truck.”
Milton removed his glasses and squeezed the bridge of his nose. “Oh, no.”
“Does she have to go through all of this again?” Ashley asked.
“I’m afraid so, if not here, then in court. But I’m sure I can put Ryker off for a day or two, give her time to regroup.”
Jenny had stopped crying and now sat, staring at the half-filled glass of water leaving a wet ring on the polished tabletop. She absently lifted the glass and blotted the water with a tissue, then handed the glass to Milton.
He took the water from her, fixing his gaze on her face. “Are you all right?”
She shivered. “Can I go h-home now? I need to go home.”
****
A high-pitched hum reverberated in Jenny’s ears, and buildings blurred as she stared out the window of Ashley’s car. When they reached the apartment, Jenny dropped her jacket on a chair and headed for the guest room. An overwhelming exhaustion sapped her energy.
“Jen? What can I get you?”
She shook her head. “Nothing.”
“Do you want to talk?” Ashley followed her down the hall.
“Can’t.” She crawled onto the bed and, kicking her shoes onto the floor, pulled the rose-patterned comforter over her. “I do need a glass of water and my purse. Please?”
Ashley fetched the water and set the glass on the nightstand, then handed the purse to Jenny. “I’ll let you rest. If you need anything, just call.”
Act of Contrition Page 9
