Reyn's Redemption

by Beth Cornelison

  She found him again in Lila’s room a few minutes later, and he treated Olivia to the same silent treatment.

  Olivia exchanged pleasantries with Lila and saw worry flicker in the older woman’s eyes each time Reyn coughed.

  “Are you catching a cold, darling?”

  He hesitated, shot Olivia a silent warning not to say anything, and nodded. “I guess so. I’ll be all right.”

  “Maybe you should go home and get some rest,” Olivia said.

  He turned his attention to Olivia, and the heat returned to his eyes. He stared for a moment then abruptly turned away, his jaw clenched tight. Yes, he wanted her. But something kept him from acting on his desire.

  A new thought occurred to Olivia. Perhaps pursuing the chemistry between them, starting an affair with Reyn, was the way to lower his defenses. Perhaps getting close to him physically would help knock down some of the walls he kept between them. Lord knows she wanted to try. But what if it didn’t work? Could she give her body to Reyn without losing her heart?

  “I think Olivia is right, dear. You look tired.”

  “Gee thanks, Gram. You sure know how to flatter a guy.” He twitched his lips wryly at Lila and glanced back at Olivia again. He obviously didn’t want Gram to know what he’d done, how he’d saved Sara. But why? Because he didn’t want to upset her? Or because he didn’t consider his deed worthy of the praise Lila would give him? Maybe both.

  “Actually, I need to scoot too. I’m going to be late for my chemistry lab if I don’t hustle.”

  “No speeding, Liv,” Gram warned.

  “Are you kidding? My bucket of bolts is lucky to reach fifty-five without falling apart.” She kissed Lila’s cheek, as did Reyn, and they headed out of the hospital together.

  Reyn was quiet, avoiding eye contact with her.

  Olivia broke the silence as they stepped off the elevator into the lobby. “You know she’ll hear about it—the fire and your saving Sara—through the grapevine.”

  He shot her a sharp look. “Probably.”

  “Definitely. This is Clairmont. Clairmont is an old Indian word meaning, ‘there are no secrets in this town’.”

  He gave her a nod of agreement. “Thanks just the same. For not telling her. She doesn’t need anything else to worry about.”

  “You can’t protect her from the news forever. And I know she’d rather hear it from you than a gossip.”

  Frowning, he rubbed a hand along his stubbled jaw and remained silent until they reached her car. He looked at the crack in her windshield and then at her. “Drive carefully.”

  Without another word, he stalked across the lot toward his truck.

  Reyn picked Olivia up at the pharmacy mid-morning on Thursday to make their postponed trip to Baton Rouge. He didn’t want to think about what the autopsy report might reveal and tried to keep a personal detachment from the task. Thinking of the information in the coroner’s report in light of his mother’s death simply hurt too much. He was just on a business errand, taking care of an unpleasant detail.

  Blinking away the blur of fatigue, he struggled to focus on the road and not the floral scent of Olivia’s perfume. He’d already wasted too much time thinking about her. He couldn’t have her and had no right wanting her when he had nothing to give her but heartache.

  He sighed and pinched his eyes. Plagued by thoughts of Olivia’s kiss and the Russells’ house fire, he’d spent a restless night pacing Gram’s guest room. Already accusations were being bandied about regarding his involvement in starting the Russells’ fire, despite Hannah’s admission of leaving a pan of grease on the stove while she hung out the laundry. By two a.m., he’d finally given up hope of sleep and put his time to good use, shoring up the steps of Gram’s front porch.

  Lack of sleep and lingering effects of the smoke left his eyes feeling gritty. He could draw a deep breath without coughing now, but his throat was still a bit raw. Not that he cared. Sara Russell was alive, and that was all that mattered.

  “Have you heard anything yet from the sheriff about the fingerprint tests on the note?” he asked Olivia, who, judging from the dark circles under her eyes, hadn’t slept much either.

  “No. Nothing. He said it could take a little while, since they sent the prints to Shreveport to run through the national database, and since it wasn’t as high a priority as a murder or rape case. Maybe later today though.”

  The wrinkle of her brow told him she wasn’t eager to learn which trusted member of the community had betrayed her faith. He could have told her that Clairmont harbored all kinds of ill will and deceit, but he still hated to see her illusions shattered. Her optimism and love for her home were a refreshing change from the cynicism and doubt he most often encountered. Even from himself. Especially from himself.

  “I know this is difficult for you,” she said as if reading his thoughts.

  “I’m all right,” he lied.

  “If you want me to look at the report first, to spare you the details of—”

  “Can we talk about something else?” He realized from the sympathetic knit in her brow that his gruffness said everything he’d just denied. He huffed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

  “Okay. How about you tell me what happened when you were a kid? How did you get such a bad reputation?” she asked.

  “I earned it.”

  “How?”

  He gritted his teeth. Next to his mother’s death, his youthful mistakes were his second least favorite topic.

  “I have a better idea. Let’s not talk at all.” He snapped on the radio to emphasize his request.

  “Why does it bother you to talk about your childhood? It’s over and done. You’re not that kid anymore. Everyone does things that they aren’t proud of,” she persisted over the wail of Bon Jovi’s guitars.

  “But the things I did hurt people. I let people down.” He cursed. He hadn’t meant to say even that much. Why was it she could draw him out this way?

  He squeezed the steering wheel tighter and turned to watch a crow peck a dead animal on the side of the road as they drove past. He knew how that animal felt. Talking about his childhood was like having his heart and soul slowly pecked away, drawn from him one painful bit at a time.

  “Tell me about the fire that burned the Russells’ barn. What really happened?”

  “I ruined a man’s livelihood and destroy a large portion of his property. I don’t blame George Russell for hating me. It was a stupid and careless mistake that hurt his income and his family.” Bitterness colored his tone.

  “But it was an accident.”

  Leave it to Olivia to try to twist the truth and look for the escape hatch for him. But he couldn’t evade his responsibility for what had happened.

  “It was reckless. I can’t brush it off as simply a mistake.” He thought back to the feeling of horror and guilt that had slammed down on him when he realized the small flame he’d been experimenting with had gotten away from him.

  “But if you didn’t mean to set the fire, then it wasn’t arson. It was an accident.”

  Damn, she could be persistent.

  Billy Russell, who’d been with him when the fire started, had never claimed any part of the blame. Not that he should. He, not Billy, had brought the matches out to the barn. He, not Billy, had knocked the coffee can over when he burned his finger. He’d struck the match, lit the candle, disobeyed his mother’s warning about playing with fire.

  His curiosity and fascination with fire were to blame.

  His carelessness. His irresponsibility. His disobedience.

  Guilt and self-reproach as fresh and painful as that day when he was nine sliced through Reyn.

  “Call it what you want. I did it, and I’m not looking to shirk my responsibility for it. Besides, I set other fires on purpose. They had reason to think the barn fire was intentional.”

  “What other fires?”

  “Can we drop this?”

  “I’ll ask Lila if you don’t tell me.”

  H
e sent her a sharp, warning glance. “You leave Lila out of this. It’s none of your business what happened.”

  “It’s my business if it will help find the person who left a death threat on my windshield.”

  “You should have never opened this whole can of worms to start with.” Accusation hardened the tone of his voice, and he cringed inwardly. He didn’t mean to take his frustration out on her. Why did he keep doing it?

  “I should have ignored what I found in my father’s files? Just ignore the fact that your mother could have been murdered and her murderer is still walking around a free man?”

  His gut twisted, and he growled an earthy obscenity. “No. Hell, I don’t know. This is all such a mess. I hate this.”

  “I know. But I’m in this with you for better or worse. I want to help. I want to make this easier for you. Talk to me, Reyn. You need to talk about what happened. Keeping it inside is eating you up.”

  He dared to look over at her, despite the voice in his head cautioning against it. The tender expression in her eyes wound around his heart like a hug. He wanted to talk to her, wanted to unburden his soul. He wanted the peace that he’d found for too brief a time when he’d kissed her. He wanted to believe that telling her everything that haunted him would give him that peace. But he also knew the risk of doing so was far too high. For her. For himself.

  He couldn’t become emotionally attached to her, intimately involved, spiritually connected. The people he cared about were the people he hurt the most. Those were the relationships that hurt him most. He couldn’t risk the pain. For either of them.

  With a sigh he turned away. “I can’t talk about it.”

  “No, you won’t talk about it. There’s a difference.” Despite the chastisement in her words, her tone remained gentle. Thankfully she dropped the subject after that, and within a few minutes, they reached the outskirts of Baton Rouge.

  Discussion shifted to the business at hand and finding the parish coroner’s office. After locating the right room, filling out the proper forms, and showing his birth certificate to prove his relationship to the deceased, Reyn finally got a copy of the report on his mother’s autopsy.

  He began scanning the pages of the report as they walked back out to his truck. He skimmed over the opening lines with his mother’s name, last known address and place of death then started reading about the coroner’s external observations of her body, the degree and percentage of her body that was burned.

  “Mama, where are you?” He looked for her in the living room, but all he saw was black. Smoke. So much smoke. Mama had to be in there somewhere. But the fire was so hot. “Mama!”

  An unexpected wave of nausea washed through him, made his knees buckle. He stopped walking and braced a hand on the corridor wall, sucking in a restorative breath.

  “Reyn?” Concern filled Olivia’s voice, and she put a cool hand on his arm. He wanted to lose himself in her comforting touch. If only…

  “I’m okay.” He heard a strange ruffling sound and realized it was the papers he held. His hand shook hard enough to rattle the pages. Oh God, I don’t want to do this.

  Olivia pried the report from his fingers, and he didn’t protest.

  “Do you want to sit down somewhere to read this?”

  He cleared his throat and forced his legs to work. He shoved his trembling hands in his pockets and headed for the door. “No, let’s just go to the truck.”

  When he opened the driver’s door of his Sierra, the built-up heat rolled out in a shimmering wave, slamming into him with brute force. He dropped onto the seat and cranked the engine, waiting for the air conditioning to move the stifling air in the cab.

  Olivia sat beside him reading. She tucked sweat-dampened wisps of her fiery hair behind her ear as she bent over the report. Despite his earlier arguments against it, he was glad she’d come with him. Without her there, he might have reached total meltdown. No wonder Gram was so taken by her. Olivia had a strength and composure about her that she generously gave to others. He admired her grace under fire, her willingness to put others’ needs before her own. If he wasn’t careful, she was just the type of woman who could get under his skin.

  Olivia winced and shook her head, and Reyn tensed.

  “What does it say?” he asked woodenly.

  “It talks about the walls of her lungs being singed. The evidence of smoke inhalation.”

  He nodded and tried not to think about his mother’s last breaths. But other images came instead.

  He had to find Mama. Had to get her out. But it was so hot. The fire crept closer, licking at him with its forked tongue. “I dare you, Reyn. Come in if you dare.” He felt his skin blister. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t call for her anymore. Mama! Panic and fear clawed at him. He couldn’t go any farther. He had to get out. “Coward,” the demon-fire cackled.

  Sweat beaded on his upper lip, and he fought to calm his ragged breathing. A fist of agony and regret squeezed his chest, and his eyes stung as they had that day twenty years before.

  “I’ll spare you the details of her stomach contents and the condition of her other organs. Nothing odd there that I see.”

  He’d forgotten Olivia was there until she spoke. He jerked his gaze toward her, swiping at his eyes.

  “You don’t see anything unusual?” His voice sounded hoarse, and he coughed, hoping she’d believe his rasp was a remnant of smoke he’d breathed Tuesday. “Don’t you see anything that would have raised your father’s suspicions?”

  “Not yet, but I haven’t finished reading.” She wet her lips and tipped her head. “Are you okay?”

  She reached for his cheek, and he batted her hand away, scowling.

  “Just read.” He turned toward the side window and pushed his memories back in the far corners of his mind.

  Damn it, he would never forgive himself for turning around and running from that house. He’d left his mother to die. When she needed him most, he’d turned coward. He’d failed her in the worst possible way. The last disappointment in his history of letting her down. She’d been the best mother a boy could ask for, and she’d deserved a better son.

  “Wait a minute.”

  He cast a glance to Olivia whose brows furrowed as she read the autopsy report. Reyn’s pulse kicked up. “What?”

  Her eyes darted up to meet his. “I think I found what my dad was suspicious of.”

  “Yeah, well?” He waved a hand hurrying her. “What is it?”

  “She had a hair-line fracture on her skull. A mild concussion. Not enough to kill her, but when it happened she was probably knocked unconscious.” She lowered the papers to her lap and leaned her head back, biting her lip.

  His stomach swirled as he mulled what the skull fracture could mean.

  “She could have been trying to get out of the house and tripped, hit her head,” Olivia suggested, but her expression said she didn’t buy that explanation.

  “No. She was found in her bed. The assumption was she was napping and died in her sleep from smoke inhalation.”

  “She was in her bed?” Olivia considered this information, fingering the same ladybug pendant she seemed to wear every day. “So she hit her head and went to bed with a headache, not knowing she had a concussion.”

  “Maybe.”

  They were both silent for long moments, watching the cars on the street outside the coroner’s office.

  Olivia scoffed and faced him. “Who are we kidding? You’re thinking it, I’m thinking it, my dad obviously was thinking it. Someone hit her. Maybe they thought she was dead, maybe not. But they panicked and set the fire to cover their tracks. Either way, I’d bet my life your mother was murdered.”

  Reyn was numb. He should feel something, he knew. Satisfaction that their suspicions had been confirmed. Anger for the injustice of his mother’s death. Relief that suspicion for starting the fire shifted off him. Something. Yet he was numb. Shock, he supposed. He took a slow breath. “So now we have the evidence that made your father suspicious e
nough to continue looking into my mother’s death. If he suspected someone murdered her, the next question we need to solve is—who would want to kill my mother? And why?”

  Chapter Eight

  Reyn said little on the return home. His haggard expression told Olivia how difficult the trip had been for him, and she respected his need to think and reflect, to be alone with his memories of his mother. When they got back to Clairmont, she’d worry about distracting him and redirecting his energy in a positive direction. Maybe she’d invite herself to Lila’s to cook him dinner. Better yet, she decided, gazing up at the scalding July sun, she’d entice him to go down to the bayou for a swim. Anything to get his mind off the troublesome autopsy report. Just for a while.

  She flipped through the papers in her lap again, re-reading the portion of the report that detailed the skull fracture. She frowned. Why had this information been kept from Lila? Just one of many unanswered questions.

  Unfolding a sheet from the bottom of the autopsy papers, she scanned the page curiously. Reyn’s birth certificate. When she’d wrested the autopsy report from Reyn in the hall of the coroner’s office, he’d given her the birth certificate as well, his proof of his relationship to the deceased.

  She made note of his birthday, January 11, and recalled helping Lila shop the after-Christmas sales for a shirt to send him for his birthday last year. Then her eyes stopped on the space where his father’s name should have been listed. The line read “unknown”. Chewing her bottom lip, she glanced over at Reyn and studied his profile with new insight. He’d grown up never knowing who his father was.

  She took for granted the love she’d known from her father, even though he’d been snatched prematurely from her life. She wrapped her hand around the ladybug on her necklace and squeezed. The cool metal pendant, a reminder of all her parents had instilled in her, filled her with a sense of warmth and reassurance. Her mother and father had created a safe and stable home for her as a child, grounding her in the importance of family, of roots, of putting loved ones first in her life.