The Hero’s Sin

by Darlene Gardner

“No, Mr. Coleman,” Michael said firmly. “We both know Chrissy died because of me.”

  Coleman’s head shook back and forth. “Not true. Used you as a scapegoat. Knew it all along.”

  “Knew what?” Michael asked.

  Coleman’s eyes closed, and Sara thought he might have passed out from the pain. She heard the rustling of leaves, the songs of birds, the whoosh of the wind. Then Coleman opened his eyes and said, “Knew you weren’t driving the night she died.”

  Sara inhaled sharply, waiting for Michael to deny Coleman’s claim. Long moments passed, and she realized he wasn’t going to. He crouched there, the young man who’d been so grievously wronged beside the old man who’d wronged him, and said, “It doesn’t matter now.”

  But Michael was wrong, Sara thought as she made her way back up the hill to meet the rescue team, having decided not to intrude on their private moment.

  It mattered a great deal.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  BY THE TIME night fell on Indigo Springs, the darkness didn’t seem as black. It could have been due to the glow of the moon, which cast enough light for Michael to navigate the steps carved into the hillside, but it could also have been so many other things.

  Quincy Coleman, bruised and battered on the mountaintop, apologizing for the hell he’d put Michael through after Chrissy’s death.

  So sorry. Used you as a scapegoat.

  Chase Bradford shaking his hand after the emergency team lifted Coleman to level ground in a Stokes basket, apologizing for letting the trouble he’d been having with his girlfriend stop him from making the effort to get to know Michael.

  Johnny kept telling me you were one of the good guys, and he was right.

  Chief Jackson sidling up to Michael as he took a shift helping carry Coleman’s stretcher through the woods to a waiting ambulance.

  I’m sorry, son. I was wrong about you.

  Aunt Felicia, her eyes watering and her lips trembling, speaking words she’d never before said to him.

  I love you, Michael.

  And the night wasn’t yet over.

  He needed to set things right with Sara before it was. He hadn’t seen her since they’d found Coleman. She hadn’t stuck around when the rescue team arrived, an appointment she had scheduled with a potential client drawing her back to town.

  He found her behind her house on the private deck that overlooked the woods, a glass of red wine in hand as she swayed gently on her new porch swing.

  “Hi, Sara.” He announced his arrival so he wouldn’t startle her, but she didn’t seem surprised to see him. “I called your phones but didn’t get an answer. It finally dawned on me you’d be back here.”

  Her own little slice of heaven, she’d called it.

  “A strange thing happened this afternoon,” she said. “Some deliverymen showed up to install a porch swing. When I called the store to ask who sent it, they said you had.”

  He sat down beside her, understanding perhaps for the first time what had attracted her to the town. Tranquility, once you’d found it, would be hard to give up. Now that the mystery of what had happened to Quincy Coleman had been solved, life in Indigo Springs would return to normal. For Sara, the tranquility would return. He’d tried to help it along.

  “I knew you wanted one,” he said, “but I’ll leave the mint juleps up to you.”

  They both knew he wouldn’t be around to drink them.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “You’re welcome,” he said.

  In the ensuing quiet, an owl hooted.

  “Did you hear that Quincy Coleman’s going to be all right?” Sara asked, breaking the silence.

  “I heard.” He’d wormed the information out of a nurse at the hospital where the EMTs had taken the injured man. Coleman was dehydrated and had a broken leg but he’d held up surprisingly well for a man his age.

  “I talked to Laurie a little while ago. She said Kenny denies he planted that evidence in your trunk, but he’s going to apologize for lying to the police. She says he wants to make peace with you.”

  Her remark dovetailed nicely into what he’d come to tell her, but he had difficulty squeezing the words out of his suddenly dry throat. “That’s not going to happen unless he catches up with me tonight. I’m leaving in the morning.”

  She drank the rest of her wine, setting the glass down on the small table next to the porch swing. Her face was angled away from him so he couldn’t see her expression. “So you’ve decided to take that assignment in Ghana?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Once I let my recruiter know I’m on board, things will move pretty quickly.”

  And then, for the next two years of his life, he could concern himself with solving the problems of other people instead of his own.

  “I assume your aunt told you she can keep her house,” she said.

  “She did. We’re both grateful to you for that.” He paused because that wasn’t the most important thing his great-aunt had told him. “Aunt Felicia apologized for not standing up to her husband when he kicked me out.”

  Sara nodded once, giving away nothing.

  “She said you were the one who encouraged her to say she was sorry,” he added.

  “I suggested she tell you what was in her heart,” Sara said. “To get everything out in the open where it couldn’t hurt either of you anymore.”

  “Thank you,” he said. Considering she’d given him back something invaluable—the love of family—the two simple words seemed inadequate.

  “Speaking of getting things out in the open, I overheard Mr. Coleman talking to you on the mountain,” she said. “I didn’t mean to, but I did.”

  He’d been so caught up in Coleman’s confession that it hadn’t occurred to him that Sara was within earshot. He waited, wishing she’d drop the subject, knowing she wouldn’t.

  She turned and looked at him fully for the first time since he’d joined her on the porch swing. “Is it true you weren’t driving the night Chrissy died?”

  The question was simple but the answer more complicated than an algebraic equation. He’d bottled up the truth for so long that he wasn’t sure he could set it free, but this was Sara. Sara, who’d never judged him.

  “It’s true.” He stared into the darkness, but saw Chrissy at the wheel, crying hysterically, refusing to slow down. He’d failed her so miserably that night he hadn’t even been able to convince her to put on a seat belt. “She was thrown from the car after it left the road, but she was still alive when the ambulance came. She was drunk so I told the police I was driving. I didn’t want her to get a DUI.”

  “You were protecting her,” Sara stated, getting it right and wrong at the same time. If he’d succeeded in protecting her, Chrissy never would have gotten behind the wheel. “But there’s something I don’t understand. Why do you think of yourself as a murderer?”

  He leaned back in the chair, wondering if he had the courage to share the rest of the sordid story. She reached out, covering his hand with hers, and he started to talk.

  “Things between Chrissy and me weren’t good after we left Indigo Springs. I worked long hours and she was home alone a lot. She was always accusing me of sleeping around. It wasn’t true, but that didn’t seem to matter. It got to where I couldn’t live like that anymore, especially because I didn’t love her.” He paused, then added, “That’s the worst part, that I never loved her.”

  She squeezed his hand, silently encouraging him to continue.

  “So I told her I wanted to break up. She got into my car and went tearing out of the driveway. I finally got a friend to drive me around looking for her. We found her in a bar.” He fell silent, remembering how Chrissy had staggered out to the parking lot, crying and yelling.

  “I still don’t get it,” Sara said. “Why blame yourself for what happened?”

  “Because I didn’t take the keys from her. I didn’t want to make any more waves so I shut up and got in the car with her. I just wanted to get her home so she could sober up.
”

  “What happened wasn’t your fault!” Sara cried.

  “Yeah,” Michael said. “It was.”

  “No, Michael. It wasn’t.” Her eyes pleaded with him to believe her. “You can’t hold yourself responsible for the decisions other people make. Chrissy made her own choices.”

  “I could have stopped her from driving.”

  “Maybe, but maybe not. If you’d driven home, she might have gotten back in the car and driven off again. And what’s to say she wouldn’t have gotten drunk again the next day?” She enunciated the next three words slowly and carefully. “You weren’t responsible.”

  “She never would have left Indigo Springs if not for me,” Michael said stubbornly, unable to let go of the guilt he’d held on to for so long. “Her father held me responsible for that.”

  “You don’t know that she wouldn’t have left,” Sara argued. “You said she was headstrong. Besides, Mr. Coleman forgave you, the way you forgave your aunt. So why can’t you forgive yourself?”

  She gazed at him the way she always did, leaving no doubt that she believed in him. After a decade of self recrimination, it took only a small leap of faith for it to dawn on him it was time he started believing in himself.

  He turned her hand over and traced her palm with the pad of his thumb, letting go of the guilt, gratitude nearly overwhelming him. “I don’t deserve your support when I was such a jerk to you.”

  “I can’t even agree with that,” she said. “It took me a while, but I figured out you only said those things so I wouldn’t have anything more to do with you. I know you were trying to protect me. I know you care about me.”

  That was an understatement, but he wasn’t ready to put a name to what he felt. “I’m sorry, Sara. For everything.”

  She smiled at him then, more with her eyes than her lips. “I know.”

  He got off the porch swing, held out a hand and pulled her into his arms. She came willingly, touching his cheek, gazing at him with an expression that was both tender and sad. He had a crazy desire to tell her he’d refuse the Peace Corps assignment if she’d come with him to a place he could start a new life.

  But he couldn’t.

  He wouldn’t.

  Her life was in Indigo Springs.

  He lowered his head and poured everything he couldn’t say into his kiss. He took note of the silkiness of her hair, the softness of her skin, the breathiness of her sigh. Storing memories to last a lifetime.

  All they’d have was this single night, because he was still leaving in the morning.

  SARA WALKED DOWN the hospital corridor late the next morning, blinking to keep her eyes dry. She hadn’t given in to tears a few hours ago when Michael had left her bed, and she wouldn’t now.

  It struck her as ironic that her body could be sated from last night’s lovemaking while her spirit felt bereft, but the feeling would pass. She’d lived without Michael before. She could live without him again.

  She would content herself with the knowledge that she’d helped him slay his demons. Wherever he found himself living, whether it be Africa or the Middle East or South America, he’d be a happier man than when she’d met him.

  Sara would be happy again, too.

  She just wouldn’t be happy today.

  Today her mind was so full of Michael she couldn’t retain the most rudimentary information, such as the room number the receptionist at the front desk had provided.

  “Excuse me.” She flagged down a young nurse who was about to bustle past her. “Could you tell me what room Quincy Coleman is in?”

  Recognition filled the nurse’s face. “The man who got rescued from the woods?”

  “Yes.”

  “Room 217.” She gestured to a room at the end of the hall. “I just left him though, so I know he’s asleep.”

  “How is he?”

  “Remarkably resilient. He was dehydrated when they brought him in, and it’ll take a while for that broken bone to heal, but he’s rebounding nicely.” The nurse indicated the bouquet of daisies Sara clutched. “Are those for him?”

  “Yes,” Sara said. “Could you take them for me?”

  “I’m on my rounds right now. You can leave them at the nurses’ station. Or, better yet, give them to his wife. She’s around the corner in our waiting area.”

  Sara had no intention of taking the nurse’s suggestion. “Thanks.”

  She waited until the nurse disappeared into a nearby patient’s room before turning back the way she’d come, in the opposite direction of the waiting room.

  She hadn’t gotten five steps when she heard the tap of heels on linoleum. “Ms. Brenneman! Wait!”

  Jill Coleman hurried after her, her hair out of place and her clothes rumpled, as though she’d spent the night in a chair. “I heard you talking to the nurse.”

  Sara thrust the flowers at Mrs. Coleman. She briefly debated explaining why she’d brought them, but her rationale was murky even to herself. If she had to put her reason into words, she’d say they were a thank-you for helping Michael put the past behind him. “I’d be grateful if you gave him these.”

  Mrs. Coleman took the daisies, but barely glanced at them, her upper teeth chewing her lower lip, something obviously on her mind.

  “You probably figured out the women’s club canceled your speech because of me,” she said. “I’ll fix it. I’ll get you back on the schedule.”

  Sara nodded, figured there was nothing more for the two of them to talk about and started to turn.

  “No, no. Don’t go yet,” Mrs. Coleman said, stopping Sara with the urgency in her voice. She was clutching the flowers so tightly Sara thought the stems might break. “I don’t have any right to ask this of you, but I was hoping you could apologize to Michael Donahue for me.”

  The older woman’s chest expanded before she finished in a rush. “I put that golf towel in his trunk after I used it to clean up the blood in the kitchen. I knew it was wrong, but I was so sure he was guilty.”

  Sara should have figured out on her own the puzzle of who planted the false evidence, but hadn’t. The woman was obviously trying to make amends, but she’d picked the wrong person. “Why didn’t you apologize to him yourself?”

  “I couldn’t face him. Not after what Quincy and I accused him of.” She put a hand to her face. “And to think, he wasn’t even driving the car.”

  “So your husband told you Chrissy was driving that night,” Sara concluded.

  “He told me everything, even about Chrissy calling and asking to come home.” She sniffed, struggling to hold back tears. “He blames himself for telling her she could never come home, but she must have known he didn’t mean it. The two of them, they were a lot alike.”

  Sara thought Mrs. Coleman had the same stubborn tendencies and couldn’t stop herself from saying, “I hope you don’t blame him for her death.”

  “I don’t,” she said. “We all make mistakes. We were wrong to hold Michael responsible for Chrissy’s accident. And I was wrong to put that towel in his car. I just hope he doesn’t go to the police, but I wouldn’t blame him if he did.”

  “Michael wouldn’t do that,” Sara said, “but I can’t tell him anything for you. He’s leaving town this morning.”

  Mrs. Coleman’s eyes grew wide and her mouth fell open. “But I thought you two were a couple.”

  Sara cleared her throat, ignoring the pain that felt as though it was slicing her heart in two. “It didn’t work out between us.”

  “There are plenty of reasons you shouldn’t take my advice but indulge an old lady,” she said. “Quincy and I spent the last eight years apart instead of helping each other get through the worst time of our lives. If I’ve learned anything this past week, it’s that if you love somebody you work it out.”

  “But I don’t…” Sara voice trailed off, the denial dying on her lips. The truth hit her like a thunderbolt.

  The reason she felt this raw ache where her heart should be was because the man she loved—the man she very
possibly had loved since she saw him rescue that boy on the river—was gone.

  And she’d done absolutely nothing to stop him from going.

  She backed down the hall, mumbling a hasty apology. “I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go.”

  She didn’t stick around to find out if Mrs. Coleman was through talking. Neither did she get out her cell phone because what she had to tell Michael needed to be said face to face.

  If she hurried, she might get to Felicia Feldman’s house before he left town. If not, she’d track him down. Even if she had to go to Ghana to find him.

  Because she loved Michael Donahue.

  And love changed everything.

  MICHAEL BREATHED IN the clean, river-scented air and let the babbling sound of the white water wash over him.

  The beauty of the Lehigh River had always had the power to reach deep down inside him with a soothing hand, bringing him solace even when he was at his most troubled.

  It was easy to understand why he’d sought the comfort the river offered when he was a teenager. Simpler still to figure out why the river had been his first stop when he returned to town.

  Explaining why he was here now, when he should be on the road putting distance between himself and the town he’d hated for so long, was more complicated.

  He shouldn’t need to be soothed.

  Quincy Coleman had stopped blaming him for Chrissy’s death. Chief Jackson had started thinking of him as a good citizen instead of a likely suspect. And, although they’d never be friends, even Kenny Grieb had admitted he was wrong about him.

  No, it wasn’t because of any of those three men that he was here at the river. They weren’t the people who would still be in his heart once he left Indigo Springs.

  That list was growing.

  Johnny Pollock and his dad. Aunt Felicia. Sara.

  He tried to take a breath, but the realization that he loved Sara seemed to have knocked the wind out of him.

  He’d known he loved her for a while, but admitting it meant acknowledging he didn’t want to live without her. It meant asking her to leave Indigo Springs with him and preparing himself to hear her say no.