Stay with Me (Misty River Romance, A Book #1)

by Becky Wade

  Even so, Sandra and Dawn stiffened. Genevieve didn’t blame them. Mom was speaking ill of the dead, and the dead was their sibling.

  Dad told them about traveling to Camden to recruit for the Navy.

  Alice listened with great concentration, as though her ears had been hungry for this information a very, very long time.

  Mom and Dad took turns recounting the day of the murder.

  At last, Dad described entering Mom and Russell’s home and his fight with Russell. Pain drew Alice’s eyebrows low.

  After Dad explained her son’s final moments, a crushing quiet descended.

  Alice shifted her gaze from Dad to Sandra. Finally she said, “Caroline was with you that night.”

  Sandra held her mother’s regard for a long moment. Would Sandra confirm or contradict her parents’ story?

  “Yes,” Sandra replied.

  “And? Are they telling the truth?”

  “I have no idea whether they’re telling the truth about the things that happened before I arrived. When I got there to take Caroline to Bible study, Russell was already dead.”

  “Did you find everything in the house as they’ve just described?” Alice asked.

  Sandra frowned. Gave a short nod.

  “You helped them arrange things so that suspicion would fall on the Shoal Creek Killer,” Alice said, connecting the dots. “And then you took Caroline to Bible study, so she’d have an alibi.”

  Dawn’s fingers crept up to cover her mouth. “Oh, Sandra.”

  “If I had it to do over again,” Sandra told her sister, “I wouldn’t have helped them.”

  “What happened afterward?” Alice asked Dad.

  “Ma’am?”

  “You said the broom handle sank into your eye. What happened to your eye?”

  “It couldn’t be salvaged. I’ve had an artificial eye ever since.”

  She paused. “Did you continue to work as a recruiter?”

  “No, ma’am. Soon afterward, I attended law school.”

  “Are you still practicing law?”

  “I am. I’m the district attorney for Rabun County, which I realize must seem like a great injustice to you. I’ve led a life that I had no right to lead.”

  Genevieve knotted her hands in her lap as she watched her dad’s mouth quiver. She had never, never seen her father lose his grip on his composure—

  Clarity opened inside her.

  Of course, she thought. Of course. Her brainy, easygoing father had been overcome with passion and rage on the night he’d killed Russell. The consequences had been severe and nonnegotiable. There’d been no way to make it right, to bring Russell back from the dead. So he’d avoided situations that might goad his temper, because he knew the damage he was capable of inflicting.

  “Come closer,” Alice said to Dad, beckoning.

  “Mom,” Sandra warned.

  “Come closer,” the older woman repeated.

  “I really don’t think . . .” Sandra began.

  But Dad was already crossing the space and kneeling before Alice. “I’m sorry,” he said to her, his voice unsteady.

  Genevieve had staggered under her guilt and regrets for the past year. Her dad had been staggering under his regrets for thirty-seven years. She couldn’t fathom the weight of them.

  “Sorry can’t undo what you did,” Sandra said.

  “I know,” Dad said to Alice. “Nonetheless, I’m incredibly sorry. Russell was your son, and I won’t blame you for turning me in. I’ll tell the authorities what I’ve told you. I’ll cooperate.”

  Alice looked into him, as if searching his soul. “I believe you will.” She laid a crooked hand on his shoulder. Nostalgia lingered in her face as she studied the man so near to the age her son would have been, had he lived.

  “I gave birth to Russell. I loved him. I did . . . and still do . . . love him.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “No one’s entitled to take the life of another. You shouldn’t have taken his life. Not under any circumstances.” Alice’s attention rested on Mom, Sandra, then back to Dad. “All three of you did wrong when you failed to call the police and when you schemed and lied about it afterward.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Dad said.

  “I feel strongly . . .” The weakness of Alice’s lungs stole much of her air on a wheeze. “That it’s my right to turn you in.”

  “I agree,” Dad said.

  “I’m the one who brought Russell into this world, who cared for him and taught him, who prayed for him and watched him grow.” Sorrow reverberated in every word.

  Dad nodded. He pushed a tear from his own cheek with the heel of his large hand. He remained kneeling.

  Alice’s grip had not left his shoulder. Her forehead was lined with intensity and determination. “It’s my right to turn you in, young man. But I will not do it. And since I will not, I can say with confidence that no one will.”

  Her father looked at Alice uncomprehendingly.

  Astonishment tumbled within Genevieve. What?

  Sandra rushed to her feet. “No! Mother.”

  Alice’s rheumy eyes remained on Dad. They held a wisdom as old as the valleys and hills of the Blue Ridge Mountains.

  Goose bumps arose over Genevieve’s skin.

  Alice knew. Alice knew of her son’s violence. Mothers always know, and this one knew about her child’s flaws, his terrible temper. Perhaps she’d known at the time that Russell had abused her daughters and his young wife, too. Alice hadn’t asked Sandra to explain why she’d helped cover up her brother’s murder. Likely because Alice understood exactly why Sandra had done what she’d done.

  “Mother!” Sandra said urgently. Her fingers curled into fists.

  Alice observed her older daughter. “You were content to let him go the night your brother died.”

  “Yes, but every year since then I’ve checked up on Judson, and I’ve seen how he’s succeeded.” Sandra jabbed a finger toward Genevieve. “How they’ve all gone on as if nothing bad ever happened. None of them paid the smallest price.”

  “He was injured that night,” Alice said. “He’s harbored remorse for a long time. He’s spent his career putting guilty people behind bars.”

  “He’s lived large in his big house with his wife and his daughters. How can you think about letting him go now?”

  “I agree with Sandra,” Dawn spoke up. “Letting him go isn’t justice.”

  “Some things are more important to me than justice,” Alice answered. “He’s suffered. I’ve suffered. You girls”—she looked at both her daughters—“have suffered. Every one of us has suffered enough.”

  The older woman’s hand on Dad’s shoulder hadn’t wavered. She was the one who’d been dealt a shock today, the one whose body was feeble. But it seemed to Genevieve that Alice was also the one centering her father through the strength of her touch. Small indentations formed on the fabric of his shirt beneath Alice’s fingertips.

  “You told me that you were sorry,” Alice said to him.

  “I am.”

  “Then I forgive you.”

  “No,” Sandra said.

  “Yes,” Alice responded.

  “You forgive me?” Dad rasped.

  “I forgive you for killing my son. I forgive you fully and completely. Do you understand?”

  He searched her face.

  It made no sense to Genevieve that Alice should give him—a man she’d never met—this astounding gift. Against the will of her daughters. Regardless of the fact that Dad had taken something precious from her.

  “Do you understand?” she repeated.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “It’s done.”

  “I don’t think—” Dawn said.

  Alice interrupted. “We’ll talk about it later. Not another word about it right now, girls. Not another word.”

  Sandra snatched up her purse and stormed from the house. Only vaguely did Genevieve register the sound of Sandra’s footsteps on the steps outside or her car eng
ine starting.

  Genevieve had been looking for God for such a long time. And here He was, in this mobile home in Atlanta, in the form of a woman who’d lived eighty-three years.

  Here He was, at last.

  The book of John said that Jesus had been full of grace and truth. That’s exactly what Genevieve had seen just now. Unmitigated truth. And in response to it, undeserved grace.

  Her dad’s head lowered, and he began to weep. His wide shoulders shook with the force of it.

  Genevieve finally allowed the tears she’d been fighting all morning to come. She didn’t cry because of anguish. She cried because of the outright beauty of what Alice had done and because Genevieve had finally found the God she’d been looking for and missing and needing.

  His spirit settled over her like warm, soft rain.

  Natasha reached over and squeezed Genevieve’s hand. Genevieve squeezed back, indicating that she was okay. And she was. God had not abandoned her. She could sense Him and what she sensed, very strongly, was truth and grace.

  Grace and truth.

  Until her dad had trusted Alice with the truth, Alice had been unable to dispense grace. If Genevieve stifled her truth, then she stifled the Lord’s ability to show her grace.

  Natasha had been right when she’d insisted that Dad come here and confess.

  Sam had been right when he’d told her she’d never beat Oxy if she continued to keep it a secret.

  She’d been wrong. Wrong about so many things.

  When Alice moved to rise, Dawn quickly took hold of her mother’s arm and assisted her to her feet. The older woman gestured for Dad to stand, then encompassed his much taller frame in her arms.

  A stranger looking at Alice’s outward appearance could have no idea of the dignity and power God had seen fit to bestow upon her. She was a missionary in a housedress and terry cloth slippers.

  Because of her, the Woodward family was free.

  Because of Christ, Genevieve was free.

  And she would never be the same.

  Sebastian

  For the past couple of days, my head has been full of nothing except thoughts of how to get us out. I’ve examined every wall. I piled stones and climbed on top of them and tried to break out the window. I ran my hands along the ceiling. I worked to clear a path for us down each hallway.

  All my attempts failed.

  I’m not strong enough to move chunks of building bigger than I am. Just when I was trying to force myself to accept that we’re all going to die down here, we started to hear machinery.

  I think someone might be coming for us.

  “You see?” Genevieve asks me with a smile. “God heard our prayers, and He’s going to get us out.”

  “We’re not out yet,” I say.

  “He’s coming,” she says firmly. “You’ll see.”

  Our room shakes and dust shivers over us. “Let’s sit against one of the walls,” I suggest. The two leaning walls seem to offer a little bit of protection.

  “Which wall?” Ben asks.

  I pull a quarter from my pocket. “Heads that wall.” I point. “Tails that wall.” I flick the quarter into the dim air. It spins and lands on heads.

  We all move to sit against the winning wall.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Late that night, Sam stared out his bedroom window, exactly as he’d done so many times since Gen’s arrival.

  Only the porch light was on at the guesthouse, which meant that she was asleep.

  He wished he could sleep. But his frustration and doubt wouldn’t allow him to.

  In the black glass before him, he didn’t see his own reflection. Instead, he saw the flat he’d shared with Kayden in Melbourne.

  The night he’d moved out, he’d tossed his clothing into a duffel bag. His thoughts were red with anger, his spirit howling with betrayal. “You’re using again,” he bit out. “And you’re lying to me about it. Again. I’ve done everything I can for you, Kayden.” He straightened. “Do you have a death wish?”

  “Of course not!” Her blond hair tumbled around her too-thin shoulders. She wore her old, carefree clothing. A tank top and surfer shorts and bare feet. But there was nothing carefree about her face anymore. Nor anything carefree about his personality. “I had a migraine! You’ve never had a migraine, so you can’t know how unbelievably painful they are. I took just enough to manage the pain.”

  “And then didn’t meet your sister for dinner, which is what you told me you’d be doing.”

  “I . . . went to the beach and caught a few waves.”

  “With a migraine?” Whenever Kayden told him she was going to spend time with someone, he’d taken to calling that person to fact-check. Her sister had informed him that Kayden hadn’t shown. At which time, he’d called Kayden, who hadn’t answered. He’d taken off work early and driven home, terrified. He’d found her listening to The Doors records and snacking on a brownie. Her eyes were dull in her head, her voice fuzzed the way it fuzzed when she’d been using.

  “You’re overreacting,” she accused.

  “No. I’ve underreacted every time before this time. I’m finally getting my response exactly right. I’m moving out.” He zipped his duffel and hauled it onto his shoulder.

  “You’ve threatened that before, Sam.”

  He stormed past her on the way to the door. “This time I’m not threatening. I’m doing.”

  She scrambled after him. “You’ll be back.”

  “I won’t.” His fingers gripped the front doorknob. Half of his instincts were begging him to stay. He loved her. The other half of his instincts were ordering him to leave. She’d let pills ruin their relationship. “I can’t watch you kill yourself.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You’re such a self-righteous jerk, Sam. Throwing a fit because I took medicine for a migraine. Nagging me day and night. I’m so over it.”

  “So am I.”

  “Then leave,” she’d shouted. “And don’t come back.”

  He hadn’t come back.

  Wrenching himself away from the window, Sam pulled on a sweater and pushed his feet into boots. Desperate to escape the house in order to escape the memories, he let himself outside and walked deep into the meadow. He drew in breaths of cold mountain air and struggled to calm himself.

  To this day, he believed he’d made the wrong decision when he’d left Kayden. At the time, separating himself from her had seemed necessary. Maybe he would have felt he’d done the right thing if she’d gotten clean and moved on with her life. But because she’d died, he’d been unable to avoid the certainty that he’d quit right at the moment when he should have dug in his heels. If he’d stayed, she might have found freedom from Percocet and recovered and lived.

  He’d chosen wrong.

  He’d screwed up. He’d failed her and himself.

  But what he could not do any longer was hang on to his guilt. He’d said good-bye to Kayden the night he’d walked out of their flat in Melbourne. But now he needed to live out that good-bye.

  Loyalty formed the bedrock of his personality. For him, keeping her with him by stewing and beating himself up came far more easily than opening his hands and letting her go.

  Yet he had to let her go. He had to.

  I’m sorry formed in his mind. I’m sorry for the ways I let you down. She’d been incredibly important to him. The joy of her love and the sadness of her death would always remain with him. What had been done couldn’t be undone or changed.

  Ultimately, he hadn’t been able to control Kayden. Nor could he control Gen. As much as he wished it was different, he didn’t have the power to save anyone.

  The only one he could control was himself.

  His chin tilted upward. Hundreds of glittering stars lit the dark night. The sounds of nature sang an eternal song. He could feel God’s nearness, and his muscles began to relax. The chaos of his mind gradually stilled.

  He stood for long moments, thinking and praying and shivering.

  Since he’d found
Gen’s pills yesterday, he’d been raking through his options. He’d remembered his history and considered his future. He’d confronted both God and the isolated way he’d been living his life since Kayden had taken hers.

  He’d come to no conclusion. . . .

  Until now. Certainty slid into his soul, as cool and deep as water.

  Ever since he’d met Gen, he’d been telling himself that he couldn’t deal with it if she returned to Oxy. For more than twenty-four hours, he’d been standing by that statement, telling himself again and again, I can’t do this.

  And each time, God had countered that thought with In your weakness, I am strong.

  He hadn’t been able to handle Kayden’s downward spiral. He didn’t feel able to handle Gen’s downward spiral, either. But when he said “I can’t,” he was lying. He could. Regardless of his weakness, in God’s strength he could do the one thing within his ability.

  He could stay.

  God had brought him to another fork in the road. Once again, he could turn his back, or he could hold on and refuse to give up.

  Leaving Kayden had been a mistake.

  He’d probably make lots of new mistakes with Gen, but he would not make that same one again.

  He wasn’t going to let Oxy take Gen without a fight. If he went down, he was going to go down swinging. If she broke his heart, then at least he’d know he’d done all he could. He’d know that his silence and inaction weren’t to blame because, this time, he would not be silent or inactive.

  Oxy was stronger than he was. But he was convinced that Oxy was not stronger than God.

  The sky seemed to glow with approval. A feeling of rightness solidified within him.

  He’d given himself the illusion of safety by regulating his diet, exercise, sleep, restaurant, farm. But he hadn’t found safety in a life protected from problematic people. He’d only found loneliness.

  God hadn’t left him here, alone, on this land. Instead, He’d chipped away at him through Gen and forced him to acknowledge that, just like everyone else, he’d been made for community.