[Sasha McCandless 10.5] The Humble Salve

by Melissa F. Miller

  “I should have forgiven you then, but I do now. Now, I understand.”

  He tilted his head. “What do you understand?”

  “Your nature. You think it’s the right thing to do, to acknowledge his existence and remind him of ours. You always do what you think is the right thing—whether it’s the easy thing or the ridiculously hard thing. And I should know that by now.”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It does matter.”

  He exhaled. “No, actually, it doesn’t.”

  His eyes flitted from hers to the lake, and the telltale muscle in his cheek twitched. She waited.

  He looked back at her and said, “He marked the envelope ‘Return to Sender’ and sent it back.”

  “He refused pictures of his grandchildren?”

  “Yes.”

  She was quiet for a moment, thinking. “Of course, he didn’t know there were pictures of the twins inside. He didn’t open it.”

  He laughed bitterly. “The envelope would have been opened at intake. You can’t just mail things to a federal prison, you know. And I’m sure the officer who gave it to him told him what it was.”

  “You don’t know that,” she insisted.

  “I’m pretty sure. But, like I said, it’s okay.”

  “Connelly—”

  “You’re right, I sent them because I felt I should. Well, I fulfilled my duty. Now, I have no further obligation. It’s a relief, to tell you the truth.”

  She twisted her mouth into a bow of disbelief but held her tongue. He’d told her he wasn’t upset. It wasn’t for her to tell him how he felt.

  After another moment, he smiled at her. “But I do appreciate what you said—that you should have accepted my apology when I made it.”

  “Try not to get used to it,” she warned as he pulled her tight and nuzzled her neck.

  He laughed into her hair. “Don’t worry. I know it’s not in your nature to admit that you were wrong.”

  “Too bad I’m not a Buddhist. Then this forgiveness thing would be easy.”

  His shoulders shook and he laughed harder. “You might want to run that by Bodhi. I’m pretty sure being a Buddhist isn’t easy.”

  She relaxed back into his arms and let the sun’s first rays wash over her.

  One down, two to go.

  9

  Monday morning, after a pre-dawn run and an hour in the studio, sparring with Daniel, Sasha strode through the office lobby like a woman on a mission.

  She didn’t stop to chat with Lucy at the reception desk. She didn’t even drop off her bag in her own office. Instead, she made a beeline for the other end of the hall, her heels clicking against the gleaming floor.

  She waved a greeting at Caroline, who had just arrived at her work station, and was stowing her purse in her desk drawer. Then she breezed into Will’s office.

  He looked up at her from behind the Wall Street Journal.

  “Good morning.”

  “Morning. Did you have a good weekend?” she asked.

  “I did. The boys are both home, getting ready for their graduate programs to start, so we played board games and ate tacos. It was a delight to have the kids in the house again. Even if they’re both taller than I am.”

  She smiled. “Sounds like fun.”

  “It was. I hear you had an eventful weekend.”

  “Not really. We took the boat out on the lake on Sunday, but mainly we just went on a few hikes, had a bonfire. I made brownies.”

  He snapped his newspaper shut. “Head butt any murderers?”

  “Oh, right. That.” She deposited herself in his guest chair. “That happened, too.”

  His eyes glinted behind his glasses. “Well, it rendered your victim impact statement somewhat obsolete. It’s a pity you spent so much time perfecting it.”

  “Oh?”

  “In light of Wally Stewart’s evidently unprovoked attack on a visitor Friday evening, the board has determined he’s not eligible for a parole, no hearing needed.”

  “Huh. Imagine that.” Then she said, “But what do you mean ‘evidently’? I’m sure the corrections officer’s report made it clear that the visitor was viciously attacked out of the blue.”

  He studied her. “Hmm.”

  She smiled innocently.

  “The report did state as much. It also included a recommendation that the police reopen the investigation into Stone Fredrick’s death, based on certain statements the reporting officer happened to overhear.”

  “That’s handy.”

  “It is, isn’t it?” Will gave her a wondering look. “Did you manipulate, charm, or otherwise connive anyone else into doing your bidding this weekend?”

  “Will Volmer, I do not connive. But, no. Actually, I came in here to do your bidding.”

  “My bidding? I wasn’t aware I had a bidding.”

  “Our meeting on Friday was interrupted before we formally voted on Naya’s partnership.”

  He bristled. “I don’t think there’s any reason to stand on formality. You’ve made your objections clear and—”

  “Let’s vote anyway,” she said meaningfully. Sometimes Will could be awfully dense for a Rhodes Scholar.

  “Fine.” He sighed resignedly. “I move we admit Naya Andrews to the partnership.”

  “I concur.”

  He drew back. “You what?”

  “I concur. I still think you and Naya were misguided when you forced me out on leave, but I forgive you. I wouldn’t have made the same decision you two made. But then, again, I imagine neither of you would have ambushed Wally Stewart and head butted him.”

  Will chuckled. “You imagine correctly. But please think this through. Are you completely sure you’re comfortable with this? Assuming we’re bringing Naya in as a full partner with voting rights, she and I could overrule you on a decision in the future.”

  Sasha’s stomach fluttered at the reminder but she forged ahead. “I’m sure.”

  He held her gaze for a moment. Then, apparently satisfied, he nodded.

  “Well. In that case, let’s go find Ms. Andrews and share the good news.” He stood and ushered her toward the open door.

  To say the mood in the Law Offices of McCandless, Volmer, and (soon-to-be) Andrews was celebratory was a bit of an understatement. Sasha smiled at the noise and made a mental note to order a new sign. And new mugs. And letterhead. Business cards. Updated website and email addresses.

  Happily her spiraling to-do list was interrupted when Caroline unearthed a bottle of champagne from the back of the mini-fridge. Within minutes, Jake had sent up a pitcher full of orange juice and a tray of pastries from the coffee shop.

  The mimosas were flowing. Music was blaring from Jordan’s iPhone. Caroline and Will were singing along. Lucy and Jordana were dancing. Carl had arranged for armloads of roses to be delivered to the office, and the air was full of their heady fragrance.

  And the phones were ringing off the hook. Luckily, none of it was actually work related. Every time Sasha grabbed the phone, the caller was a client or former coworker who had somehow learned of Naya’s promotion, even though they hadn’t sent out a formal announcement yet.

  In the middle of the chaos, Naya tracked her down. She jerked her head toward the conference room. Sasha rested her champagne flute on the reception desk and followed her into the empty room.

  “What’s up?” she asked. She shut the door to muffle the music and laughter from outside.

  “Why the change of heart?” Naya asked bluntly, without preamble.

  Sasha shrugged. She could have a heart to heart with Connelly or Will. But her best friend was far less sentimental than either of the men in her life.

  “Mac?” Naya prompted.

  “I really had no choice. You brought in this huge IPO. I’m sure as heck not working on a public offering. Somebody has to run that mess. A partner—so there’s someone to blame when it all falls apart. That someone is you,” she said lightly.

  Naya’s wary face broke into
a grin. For the briefest second, Sasha thought she saw tears glinting in her eyes, but Naya blinked and her eyes were clear.

  “Thanks, Mac.” She leaned in and gave Sasha a tight hug.

  “Don’t thank me yet. You haven’t had to sit through one of Will’s partner meetings.”

  10

  Sasha watched as the twins turned their backyard sandbox into a puddle. Finn painstakingly positioned a handful of twigs into a neat row in the sand while Fiona filled a bucket with water from the hose.

  “Ready?” Fiona called.

  Finn eyed his work. “The men are ready.”

  Fiona heaved back and tossed the water over the twigs. Then she joined her brother in the sand. They squatted and watched the twigs sink into the wet muck.

  “Quicksand!” Finn yelled. “They need our help, Fee!”

  Fiona was tying a jump rope to the toy firetruck, preparing to rescue the twig people.

  Sasha was about to inform them that—notwithstanding its central role in children’s stories and movies—quicksand had turned out to be much less of a concern in her adulthood than she ever would have thought, when Mocha ran to the back fence, barking excitedly.

  She shielded her eyes against the late afternoon sun and saw two tall men at the gate. She recognized them both instantly.

  “Look, guys. It’s Daddy and his friend, Dr. King.”

  Finn and Fiona abandoned the twig men to their grim fate and scrambled across the yard, calling to Connelly.

  As he swung them up into his arms, he grinned at Sasha. “Look who I ran into.”

  Bodhi was carrying a plant, or possibly a small tree. Whatever it was, it was a living thing that she would no doubt kill with her complete lack of gardening skills.

  He placed the potted plant on the porch. “It’s a lemon tree,” he told her.

  “Thanks.” She eyed it skeptically.

  “They’re very easy to care for. That’s why I thought it would be good for the twins.”

  “It’s for us?” Fiona squealed.

  He nodded. “It sure is. You and your brother can grow your own lemons.”

  Finn raced over to join them, and Bodhi squatted on his heels to show them the leaves and buds. He was halfway through explaining the tree’s water needs, when the twins dashed away with the bucket. They headed for the hose.

  Bodhi stood.

  “That’s a great gift for them. Thank you,” Sasha said. “I hope it’s thirsty.”

  While Finn and Fiona watered the lemon tree, Sasha bustled around the kitchen, making tea.

  She carried the tray out to the back porch, where Connelly and Bodhi were catching up. Connelly was filling Bodhi in on news about their old recreational volleyball team.

  She placed the tray on the picnic table and joined them.

  “How long are you planning to stick around?” Connelly asked.

  Bodhi lifted his palms and shrugged his shoulders. “I’m not sure. Saul’s invited me to come back to the Coroner’s Office, but …” he trailed off.

  “If not forensic pathology, what do you want to do?” Sasha asked.

  “I’ll have to give it some thought. I do miss the science, I’ll admit. But I don’t think I’m cut out for office politics.”

  Sasha choked on her tea. She wasn’t cut out for office politics. Bodhi might as well be a space alien when it came to the machinations of a local government department.

  Connelly gave her a knowing look. “You know, I sort of hit a wall in the federal system. It turns out that … independent contracting … suits me better. Maybe you should consider something like that.”

  Bodhi nodded. “Maybe,” he said in a thoughtful tone.

  They lapsed into silence and watched Finn and Fiona, who were busy with a new project. The twins had now moved on to working on a fort constructed out of a pile of boxes. Fiona was balanced precariously on the wobbly structure’s roof.

  Sasha forced herself not to call to her. Telling any child to be careful was a wholly useless warning; telling Fiona to be careful was tantamount to a dare.

  After a moment, she turned back to Bodhi. “So, you’ve talked to Saul?”

  “Yes.”

  She hesitated. She didn’t want to be the one to bring up Wally Stewart, but she burned with curiosity.

  Bodhi took pity on her. “He says Wally’s being investigated for Stone Fredrick’s murder.”

  “I heard that, too,” she murmured, constrained by confidentiality rules from mentioning the conversation with Mackenzie Lane.

  Bodhi exhaled softly. “I also heard that Wally tried to choke you. Why did you go to see him?”

  “I wanted to see if he’d changed.”

  “It seems he hasn’t,” Bodhi conceded. “I suppose prison remains the best place for him.”

  “I think so. But I’ve been thinking about what you said—about how I’m allowing myself to suffer by not forgiving him anyway.”

  Connelly cleared his throat and wandered off to admire the fort.

  “Yes,” Bodhi prompted gently.

  “How can I forgive him when he hasn’t truly admitted he did something wrong? He’s a psychopath.”

  “I think he’s probably a sociopath, more accurately. But you’re right, whatever he is, he’s not contrite. That was an act.”

  “So, does that mean you haven’t forgiven him?”

  “No. I forgive him. I forgive him as a gift to myself. So that I don’t remain attached to thoughts of revenge or retribution.”

  “But, you just said …”

  He sat for a moment, looking into his cup of tea, then he lifted his head. “Think of it this way. Forgiveness is one thing. Reconciliation is another. You could, if you wanted to, forgive Wally for what he’s done without ever letting him know. You could do it for yourself, to attain some peace.”

  She wrinkled her brow but nodded. She followed, sort of.

  “But patisaraniya-kamma, reconciliation, that’s something more. To reconcile and reestablish trust, Wally would have to admit he did wrong. Forgiving him doesn’t require him to understand right and wrong. Reconciliation does.”

  She was quiet, wishing he’d just say it in simple English.

  Then he did.

  He leaned toward her. “Forgiving him doesn’t let him off the hook, Sasha.” He drained his tea and stood. “It lets you off the hook.”

  He smiled and ambled down the steps into the yard. Sasha sat with her tea and turned his words over in her mind.

  I hope you enjoyed Improper Influence. Turn the page to read an excerpt of Dark Path, the first book in a series of forensic thrillers featuring Bodhi King!

  Excerpt from Dark Path: A Bodhi King Novel

  Copyright © 2017 by Melissa F. Miller

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  1

  A faithful man will abound with blessings,

  but he who hastens to be rich will not go unpunished.

  Proverbs 28:20

  Whatever precious jewel there is in the heavenly worlds, there is nothing comparable to one who is Awakened.

  The Buddha, Sutta Nipata

  “Do you love the Lord?”

  The assembled group roared a hearty ‘yes.’

  “With all your heart?”

  Another affirmation rang through the auditorium.

  Pastor Bryce Scott waited until the echo died down. Then he raised his arms and searched the upturned faces at the edge of the elevated stage. “No, you do not. And do you know how I know?”

  The room fell silent.

  Bryce paced from one end of the platform to the other, as if he were a caged panther or a particularly nervous TED Talk speaker. The spotlights barely registered. He’d grown accustomed to their heat and brightness. He was full of the Spirit.

 
He continued, his voice taking on the cadence he used in his sermons, “Because if you love God, God will love you. And when God loves you, He will reward you materially. Do you have a Mercedes? No, you do not. A gorgeous home? No. A boat? Why not? Because you have not blessed God, so God has not blessed you.”

  The air in the room grew heavy, still.

  Bryce paused and allowed the uncomfortable silence to settle like a thick fog. Several members of the small, handpicked audience cast baleful, accusatory glances at one another. Several more studied their feet.

  He waited, standing stock still in the middle of the stage, until the tension had grown, until it had neared a breaking point. Then he resumed his walking and talking.

  “You have been anointed. Each of you—chosen. Now you must make a choice. Will you love God and reap His rewards? Will you answer the call? Or will you turn your back on God?”

  Bryce’s hands shot toward the ceiling again and, on cue, the music resumed its relentless beat. “You can be who you strive to be. Be what God wants for you! Be blessed in riches.”

  As the clapping and cheering crescendoed, he strode toward the wings. Offstage, he pulled the wireless mic from his head and thrust it into Becki’s waiting hands. She handed him a chilled bottle of mineral water.

  “How many still haven’t signed their contracts?” He gulped the water while he waited for her answer. The cool liquid soothed his always-strained vocal cords.

  Becki’s blonde head bent over the clipboard and her eyes scanned the sheet. “Um, six. No, seven.”

  Bryce took another long drink of water.

  Seven. Did these men not understand what he was offering them? Did they not want to live a life of abundance to glorify the Lord?

  He shook his head at the thought. “Is the financial counselor in the vestibule?”

  “Yes, sir. He brought his credit card reader, and we tested it. He’s all set to take installment payments when they come out.”

  He flashed her his trademark white smile. “Good. Is my car out front?”

  “Yes, sir. The driver called ahead to the captain. The yacht is ready, and the lobster and shrimp Mrs. Scott ordered from the fish market is below deck, on ice.”