The more he tried not to
think about Bryn Hennesey,
the more she crowded his
thoughts.
33
Garrett sat hunkered on the floor in front of the sofa, stroking Boss’s head, waiting for the news to come on. It seemed all he did when he was home anymore was wait in front of the TV.
Tonight his heart was heavier than usual. Bryn’s sentencing was today.
He had a bad feeling about it. What she’d done was classified a felony. He fully expected to hear that she’d been given a prison sentence. And if she was headed to prison, he would carry at least some of the blame.
His eyes gravitated to the crumpled letter on the coffee table: Susan Marlowe’s plea with the surviving spouses to attend the arraignment in a show of support for Bryn. He picked up the letter and read it for at least the dozenth time:
In case you’re not aware, the penalties for involuntary manslaughter in Missouri are serious. Surely none of us—no matter what we think about Bryn’s negligence—believe that she deserves time in prison. Bryn was one of the best volunteers to ever work at the shelter.
You’ve probably heard by now about Charlie Branson, one of the shelter’s residents who thought so much of Bryn that he confessed (falsely) to the crime himself. I think that speaks loudly of Bryn’s character.
Those of you who talked to her, or received a letter from her, know how devastated she is over what happened. And please don’t forget that she lost her own husband in the tragedy. Please think how you would feel if you were in her shoes. What happened to Bryn could have happened to any one of us. We’ve all done foolish, thoughtless things that could have resulted in harm or death to another human being. The only difference is that we weren’t “caught.”
I beg you not to let the tragedy of your own loss end in more tragedy—the useless act of a good woman being sent to prison, possibly for the best years of her life, for what was clearly an accident.
Susan had asked them all to meet at the front of the courthouse so they could walk in together, in a show of solidarity.
He’d considered going. He truly had. But in the end, he simply couldn’t make himself do it. The media would be swarming afterward, looking for interviews. They no doubt knew about his and Bryn’s friendship—former friendship. He would be the first one they’d swoop down on, hoping for a sensational story.
And what could he say? That he’d forgiven Bryn? He wasn’t sure he had. That he was there in support of her? Could he have said that honestly?
He didn’t know the answer to those questions. There was a part of him that wanted her locked away. Far away. Not as punishment for what she’d done, but so he could forget about her. Put her out of his mind. So he could somehow go on with his life. Or what was left of it.
He wondered how many of the others had shown up. Was he the only one who’d disappointed Susan? Disappointed Bryn? Had Bryn even noticed that he wasn’t there? Did she still think about him?
So many questions. He’d never had questions about life—about anything—before Molly died. Everything had made sense before. Everything had been so easy.
The pulsating theme music for the evening news jangled his thoughts, and he pushed Susan Marlowe’s letter aside and punched the volume on the remote.
The sentencing was the top story. A young male reporter posed in front of the courthouse and delivered the news in exaggerated tones.
“A Hanover Falls woman who admitted to causing the fire that destroyed the Grove Street Homeless Shelter in Hanover Falls and killed five firefighters entered a plea of guilty this afternoon. Judge Anthony Clyne placed Bryn Hennesey on five years’ probation, suspending imposition of a sentence, meaning Hennesey will have no conviction if she completes probation. Judge Clyne set several probation conditions, including two hundred hours of community service to be performed over the next two years.
“We talked to Hennesey’s attorney, Judson Meyer, following the arraignment and sentencing earlier today.”
The camera cut to the attorney. “I thought Judge Clyne’s sentencing was fair. My client insisted on pleading guilty despite the possibility of a harsh sentence. It’s rare for someone to refuse to pursue a lesser sentence, and I think Ms. Hennesey is to be commended. By comparison, two hundred hours is a significant proviso, but Judge Clyne feels my client can make restitution and be a far better example by performing community service. I’m glad the community seemed to agree.” Meyer put his head down and walked away from the camera.
The reporter continued, “About twenty citizens were present at the sentencing, including Hennesey’s father and several spouses of the deceased firefighters, most of whom appeared to be there in support of Hennesey.”
A clip of Susan Marlowe played, her voice faint and wavering, her hair blowing in front of her face. “I believe today’s decision is best for everyone involved. It is obvious Bryn is devastated by what happened. I think she’s suffered enough, and I hope today was a day of forgiveness, a day of moving forward.”
“That was Susan Marlowe,” the reporter explained. “Marlowe’s husband, Lieutenant David Marlowe, died in the blaze. Marlowe was also the director at the Grove Street Homeless Shelter at the time of the tragedy.” The reporter’s tone changed to a more somber note. “Not everyone present, however, spoke in support of Ms. Hennesey.”
A handsome middle-aged couple appeared on the screen to the voice-over of the reporter. “The parents of Engineer Zachary Morgan, the first fireman to die in the blaze, spoke out against what they saw as a much too lenient sentence.”
“Justice was not served today,” the man said through clenched jaws as his wife wept openly beside him. “The sentence that woman received was a joke. Five heroic people lost their lives in that fire. Our son lost his life in that fire, and this woman basically walked away scot-free.”
Garrett pressed his back hard against the sofa, feeling his defenses rise. Beside him, Boss whimpered and looked up at him, obviously sensing his anger.
Garrett stroked the dog’s bristled coat. The news anchor moved on to a new story. Garrett clicked the volume on the remote, and the news became a mumbled drone. Could these people not see how shattered Bryn was over what she’d done? What purpose did they think it would serve for her to rot in jail? For the first time, he let himself imagine what jail would have been like for Bryn. The relief that pumped through his veins, knowing that she’d been spared that fate, left him feeling physically drained.
But you weren’t there for her.
The accusation hit him hard. Why could all the others forgive so easily? She had been his dear friend. More than a friend. Why had he written her off so easily?
Two sides of himself warred with each other.
She deceived you.
She said she didn’t know.
But how could she not? She should have told someone right away. Think of all the times you talked about the fire—about Molly’s death and Adam’s. Why didn’t she say anything?
She was scared. Maybe she wanted to believe she really hadn’t left that candle burning.
That’s what she told you. Why couldn’t you believe it?
And the two voices went on arguing until Garrett finally hauled himself off the floor and went to the kitchen for a bowl of cereal. Boss padded after him. He’d grown to love the homely mutt. He wondered how Sparky was doing out at Bryn’s dad’s. He’d heard that Bryn was staying out there permanently now, trying to sell her townhouse.
What would she have to do to fulfill her community service? An image of Bryn in an orange prison-issued jumpsuit, picking up trash along the side of the Interstate, formed in his head. He shook it off. She’d been granted probation. She wouldn’t have to spend even a night in prison. Again, relief flooded him.
He thought he’d quit caring about her after she admitted to him what she’d done. Why couldn’t he get her off his mind now? This ordeal was over. He was supposed to be able to go on from here. Put everything out of his
mind, chalk it up to a learning experience, and move forward.
But the more he tried not to think about Bryn Hennesey, the more she crowded his thoughts.
No one had to remind her
that what she enjoyed wasn’t
because she deserved it,
but because a judge had
mercy on her.
34
Thursday, February 28
The sun spread its warmth across the country road, and winter-bare branches cast a tracery of shadows on the gravel surface. Bryn’s breaths came rapidly as she tried to keep up with Sparky on their morning walk.
More than a week had passed since she had stood before the judge and declared herself guilty. In many ways, it seemed like a lifetime ago.
In the days since, she’d established a pleasant routine at Dad’s, no doubt made more pleasant when she compared it to the life she might well have been sentenced to. She filled her lungs with the brisk February air and reveled in her freedom.
She felt as if she’d been given a brand-new life. A little like the way she’d felt the night she gave her life to Jesus in seventh grade. A clean slate. No one had to remind her that what she enjoyed wasn’t because she deserved it, but because a judge had mercy on her. She intended to do everything in her power to make Judge Clyne look back on his decision as one of the best he’d ever made. And maybe in the process, she could sway those who weren’t convinced his decision had served justice.
Dad tried to protect her from the controversy—hiding the newspaper whenever there was something negative in the editorials or a blurb about her role in the fire, or about the fire itself. She’d played by his unspoken rule that the TV didn’t go on until after the evening news and was turned off before the ten o’clock news began.
But more than once, she’d allowed herself to google the news stories. It hurt to know that there were at least a few who thought Judge Clyne had been far too lenient with her sentence.
Approaching the intersection, she persuaded Sparky to turn around and start back home. In spite of the clear skies and warm sun, the winter breeze was chilly, and she pulled up her collar and quickened her pace.
She was taking Sparky to Springfield later this morning for another visit with Charlie. She hadn’t talked with him since he’d tried to take the blame for her, but she had some things she wanted to say to the man.
The minute Charlie rolled his chair into view—half-cringing, eyeing Bryn as if he were in trouble—she knew he was expecting a good scolding from her. She wouldn’t disappoint him, but first things first.
She hurried forward and bent to wrap her arms around him. Charlie let loose of the wheel grips on his chair and returned her embrace with an anemic pat on the back.
She didn’t care if it made him uncomfortable, she had to hug the man. She swallowed her tears and stepped back to look him in the eye. “Thank you, Charlie.”
He cleared his throat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She tucked her tongue in her cheek and gave him a don’t-even-start-with-that glare.
He chuckled and waved her off. “Okay, maybe I sort of know what you’re talking about.” He wheeled his chair toward the cramped seating area near the entrance to the shelter. “Come and sit with me for a while.”
“I brought Sparky again.”
“You did?”
She nodded. “He’s out in the car. It’s pretty cold outside. Do you think they’d let me bring him in for a few minutes?”
He rocked his chair back, then forward, then turned 90 degrees. “Hang on. Let me ask Timothy.”
He disappeared down the hall and was back in a few minutes with the director, whom Bryn remembered as “Red.”
Bryn rose and they shook hands.
“We’re really not supposed to allow animals in, but I’ll make an exception today . . . since it’s so cold out.”
Bryn started to thank him, but something stopped her. A thoughtless “exception” to a rule had caused untold grief. Even now, its ripples affected her life, Charlie’s . . . so many others.
As if he’d read her mind, Charlie reached out and put a hand on her arm. “It’s okay, sis. You’ve got permission. Timothy makes the rules here. He can bend ’em if he wants to.”
She swallowed hard, but nodded. “Okay. I’ll go get him. Be right back.” She mouthed a thank-you to the director. “I won’t stay long.”
Tim waved her off. “No . . . take your time. It’s okay. We’ll consider it therapy for this guy . . . right, Charlie?” He squeezed Charlie’s beefy shoulder.
She hurried to the car and was back in two minutes with a wound-up Sparky. Charlie met them at the door.
Again, Sparky seemed to remember his old friend and greeted him with a slobbery kiss. The smile on Charlie’s face made it all worthwhile. When Sparky finally settled down, parking with his big, soft head on Charlie’s lap, Bryn put a hand on the veteran’s arm.
“Thank you, Charlie.”
He just looked at her, waiting.
“What you did, Charlie, it wasn’t right. But . . .” She blew out a breath. “I can’t tell you how much it means to me. That you would be willing to take the fall for me like that.”
“I was afraid you were going to go to jail, sis. What did it matter if I went? But you . . .”
“It still wasn’t right. You didn’t deserve jail. I did.”
He looked around the shelter. “Jail, homeless shelter, what’s the difference?”
“Charlie . . . you don’t mean that.”
“Listen, I did what I thought I had to do. I’m sorry if it complicated things. But I wasn’t going to sit here and let you go to prison for a mistake anybody could have made. For all I know I distracted you that night, coming up, bugging you to play cards.”
She wagged her head. “No, Charlie. It wasn’t your fault in any way.”
“Still, I couldn’t have lived with myself if you went to the slammer over this.”
“Well, thank you. Believe me, I’m very happy to be free. And I don’t want to encourage your little shenanigans, but”—she flashed a grin—“my attorney thinks it may have helped my case to have you . . . do what you did.”
“Well, I don’t know nothin’ about that . . . I’m just glad you got off.”
She nodded. “It reminds me of Someone else who did the same thing for me. And for you, too.” She winked.
His eyes held a quizzical glint.
“It was a long time ago.” Bryn grinned. “About two thousand years ago, when a certain Someone took all the blame for all the bad things I’ve ever done or will ever do. You, too, Charlie.”
Charlie shook his head, looking disgusted, and backed his wheelchair up a few feet. “Now, don’t go trying to make me out to be as nice as that Jesus of yours, sis.”
She laughed and leaned forward, clapping him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. You’ve got a ways to go.” Her throat grew thick. “But that was a good start. A really good start. Thanks, Charlie.”
He shrugged. “So I hear you have to do community service, is that right?”
She nodded. “Two hundred hours . . . over two years,” she added quickly.
He gave a low whistle. “So you’ll be picking up trash in the ditches or something? That’s a shame. What a waste.”
“Actually . . . I thought I’d ask Susan if she needs help getting the new shelter up and running. Maybe you can come back to the Falls, Charlie. Sparky would like that.” Even as she said it, she thought about Dad and how attached he’d grown to the dog.
“You’re sweet to mention it, sis, but I think”—he glanced up at the ceiling—“the man upstairs seems to have me here in Springfield for a reason. I’ll probably stay.”
Bryn wanted to cry. She hugged Charlie so he wouldn’t see the tears welling behind her eyelids. “It won’t be the same without you.”
He made a pffttttt sound. “Nah, sis, you’ll take some other worthless geezer under your wings, and you’ll forget all about me.”
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Now she didn’t care if he saw her tears. She rose and took a step back from his chair. “Never, Charlie. I’ll never forget you.”
He plucked at a nonexistent thread on his sleeve. “Enough of this kind of talk.” He rubbed at rheumy eyes. “Now look what you did. I’ve got somethin’ in my eye.”
Through her own tears, Bryn laughed. “Those are called tears, Charlie. They’re good for you.”
“Yeah, yeah. So they say . . . so they say.”
Memories of that first
evening at the coffee shop
with Garrett swirled
through her mind . . .
35
Monday, March 4
The hay bales and pumpkins on the porch had been replaced with pots of purple kale and pansies, but otherwise Susan Marlowe’s house looked the way Bryn remembered it from the night Susan had called them all together to talk about reopening the homeless shelter as a living memorial for the firefighters who’d died.
So much had happened since that night. Memories of that first evening at the coffee shop with Garrett swirled through her mind, and she brushed them away like a pesky cobweb. She’d thought of Garrett so often in the days since her sentencing. She missed him. Missed the sweet friendship they’d shared. Missed having someone who understood how hard it was to be single again, how hard it was to have lost Adam so tragically.
She’d thanked God a hundred times for the leniency of her sentence, but sometimes she wondered if prison might have been easier than losing the man who’d become her closest friend. But she couldn’t blame that loss on anyone but herself.
She shook her head, trying to banish the thoughts. She had too much to be grateful for to worry about what might have been.
She reached for the doorbell and stood waiting, admiring the tidy country home in an effort to keep her mind off the nerves that prickled.
The door opened and Susan squinted through the glare of the storm door. “Bryn.” Susan didn’t quite smile, but she opened the inner door. “Come on in. How are you?”
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