Dead and Gone

by Angela M Hudson

“Well, he’s a better man than I am,” Di said. “Does anyone else know about the accusations?” She looked disappointed then, deflating a little. “Right then. Mum’s the word.”

  When Di hung up the phone, Ali expected her to spill the news in one breath as fast as she could, but instead she sat calmly at the table and sipped her tea.

  “So?”

  “So?” Di looked up from her cup, eyes widening. “Oh. Sorry, petal. Yes, Sam’s fine.”

  “Well,” she prompted, “where is he? What happened? Why did we hear sirens half an hour ago?”

  “Oh, nothing bad, don’t worry. Sam went to Grant’s place and they had words—”

  “Did he hit him?”

  “No, he kept his cool, bless him.” Di smiled proudly. “It’s like having the old Sam back.”

  Ali wanted to smile but she was still worried. “So what do the cops have to do with it then? What did Marv say?”

  “Oh.” She put the tea down, leaning in. “I’m not supposed to say, since it’ll have to go to court and all.”

  “What will?” Ali jumped forward on her seat.

  “Sam called Marv about an hour ago, and apparently reported Grant for possessing some dangerous kind of medicine. Marv didn’t want to say, but he told me it’s that stuff men put in drinks in those fancy clubs you see in the city—”

  “Sam reported him?” And didn’t beat the living daylights out of him? she thought.

  “Marv sent the boys out and they found some stuff that looked a bit suspicious, you know, pills without labels. He said they don’t have much to go on right now but they arrested him on suspicion of drugs or something to that effect.”

  “Just arrested? Has he been formally charged?”

  “Not at this hour, petal.” Di laughed, tapping her wrist. “Let the boys have their morning coffee before they take on something so formal.”

  Ali wanted to sigh and bury her head, but she just smiled instead. This place was so different than where she came from. It was odd and slow, and yet Ali loved that.

  The phone rang again then and Di got up to answer it, muttering to herself about late callers, until she said, “Oh, hello Sam!”

  Ali looked at the phone, wishing she could either hear or snatch it off Di.

  “Yes, she’s here.”

  “I thought you might have found her,” Sam said, relieved. “I saw you looking out the curtains as I drove off.”

  “Well, of course I found her,” Di said. “The whole street heard her yell for you to come back. What did you think I’d do? Just leave her out there crying?”

  There was a pause. “Why was she crying?”

  Di sighed. “I suspect it had something to do with you running off to take the law into your own hands.”

  Sam sighed too. “I wanted to. Still do—especially after what Marv just told me.”

  Di hurried over to sit beside Ali again and brought her ear and the phone closer so they could both hear. “What’s happening then?” Di asked.

  “Grant’s claiming that I planted the pills”—both women sighed—“and unless they can find hard evidence that he purchased them or had them in the house before I arrived tonight, it’ll be hard to charge him with anything. Not that it will do much good anyway, because his hotshot lawyer turned up before we even arrived back at the station and got him out on bail there and then—reckons he’s gonna sue me for defamation.”

  “What!” Ali screeched, taking the phone. “No way. He can't just get away with this, Sam—”

  “Ali, calm down, okay. Marv said if you’re willing to give a statement on what happened with you, it might help the case, but he won’t do time.”

  “So there’s no justice for what he did to…” Ali looked at Di, ending the sentence there. She couldn't bring herself to say anything to Di about Grant’s involvement in Sarah’s life; it wasn't her place to do that. All Di knew was that Grant had tried to drug Ali and the girl Sam once dated.

  “I’m not really sure what justice means anymore, Ali,” Sam said. “Sarah committed suicide. Yes, he probably raped her, but without her saying, and without evidence, there’s shit all we can ever do about it.”

  “We can drag his name through the mud. We can—”

  “For what?” he said, dejected. “I’m done. I can't use any more energy on this guy. I almost killed him tonight. I had my gun out from under my seat and I almost killed him. And then what?”

  Ali shrunk a little. He was right. But it was unfair. She wanted justice for Sarah as much as she wanted it for herself. And if not the judicial kind, then at least the poetic kind. “There has to be something we can do.”

  “There’s not, because what you’re talking about is revenge, Ali. Not justice. You’re angry. And I’m angry. And I understand that makes you even more angry on my behalf, but revenge never serves any cause, I know that from experience.”

  “But this isn’t just going to go away. We’re not going to stop being angry—”

  “Believe me, I know. But we won’t stop being angry if we get revenge either. It doesn't work like that.” He sighed, and Ali could picture him so clearly, seeing him run his hand through the front of his hair. “Look, time does dampen all fires, and knowing what I know now will help me heal. I might not get the justice or revenge I want, but I will just have to take it in whatever form it comes. And if that form is moving on and living a good life with the girl Grant wanted, then that’s better than wasting away in a cell for the rest of my days, reveling in my revenge.”

  Ali couldn't say a damn thing to that. She knew Sam was worldly, but he just blew her hat off with that one. “God, Sam. You really have your head screwed on right sometimes.”

  Sam laughed. “I know. One of us has to, and let’s face it: writers aren’t known for being all that hinged.”

  Ali laughed too.

  “So I’m on my way out of the station now. I’ll be home in ten,” Sam said. “You wanna come down to the cafe with me? We can finish this conversation over cake and ice cream.”

  “Sounds perfect.”

  * * *

  Sam’s appetite impressed Ali. She laughed at him as he finished another round of cake and practically licked the ice-cream tub clean, laying the spoon down on the coffee table beside them and tossing the empty cardboard container into the fireplace.

  “What?” Sam shrugged her appraising smile off. “I eat when I’m happy.”

  “Happy?” She frowned. “Grant just got released from jail. Why on earth are you happy?”

  “Because I learned a lot tonight.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well”—he crossed his hands in his lap and stretched his legs out over the rug—“for one, I’m not the reason my wife killed herself.”

  Ali smiled.

  “I’ve carried that weight around with me for fifteen years, feeling like the worst person in the world. And all along it wasn’t my fault. It was Grant’s.” His small smile dropped on that and he shut his eyes for a moment. “I hate that she’s dead. But I accepted that part a long time ago. I just never accepted that it wasn’t my fault. I also never imagined that the baby wasn't mine,” he added, his hazel eyes locking with hers. “And though the poor thing died before it was given a chance at life, and I deeply regret that, I just feel a sense of relief knowing it wasn’t my twenty-percent chance at being a dad that died.” He narrowed one eye and scrunched his face up awkwardly. “Is that twisted, do you think?”

  “In ways, yes, but in other ways, no. I understand it. I’d be relieved too. A child is a part of you. You have a spiritual connection to it from the moment it’s conceived, I think. Even with my nephew. He’s not mine but I feel connected to him. But that’s not to say there'd be any less connection if he were adopted. It’s like a pet, I guess.”

  “A child is like a pet?” he said, raising one brow.

  Ali laughed at her own stupid analogy. “No, I mean… yes. But, what I’m trying to say is, there are a million dogs in the world. But what makes your own pet
special to you is that it’s yours. You’ve put love into it. Bonded with it. My nephew Charlie has my heart just as my own baby would. You’d feel a different connection to a baby that’s yours than you do to a baby that’s Grant’s. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  Sam nodded. “It’s going to take a long time to come to terms with all of this.”

  Ali crawled across the rug and rested her head on Sam’s belly, the gentle flicker of flames warming her face. “Maybe it will be easier having me here to help you.”

  Sam curled himself around her back slightly and rested his arm over her hip. “Hey, you know what’s funny?”

  “What is?”

  “It all could have started like this.”

  “What could?”

  “That night, when we first me,” he started, humbling himself as a very personal confession stepped up to reveal itself. “I lied when I said I was so rude to you because you scared me. Okay, well, I half lied.”

  “You did?” Ali propped herself up a little, planting her elbow on Sam’s waist. “What do you mean?”

  “You scared me, approaching like that in the middle of the night, but after the shock wore off, I got a good look at you.” He reached over and brushed his thumb lightly down her chin, his smile so warm and affectionate that Ali felt her face heat up. “Those big eyes and the way you looked so wet and helpless. That’s the true reason I was so mad.”

  “I don't understand.” She laughed, catching the warm glint in his smile and wearing it herself.

  “I knew how this story went,” he said. “I’d invite you in and you’d turn out to be really sweet. You’d stand by the fire while I made you a hot drink and something to eat, and then we’d sit talking all night. It’d been so long since I talked to anyone, had company, so I’d let myself get lost in how good it felt and, by the time the sun broke that day, I’d have been falling in love.”

  They both smiled. Ali’s heart filled up, wishing that had been the case.

  “You’d welcome it,” he continued, “you’d spend the next four weeks with me as we went sight-seeing and catching leaves in the forest, and then you’d leave. And I’d be the one that got hurt.”

  “Wow. You got all that from five seconds of eye contact?”

  “I got that from five seconds of eye contact, and four weeks of experience.”

  “Aw.” Ali cocked her head. “So… that was the girl you told me about?”

  “Yeah.” Sam nodded. “And I swore I’d never open myself up to strangers that way again.”

  “Except you did.” She poised her thumbs at her chest to indicate herself.

  “Only because you said you never wanted to leave.”

  It was true, and now she thought about it, Ali was almost certain that had been the turning point—the Halloween party when she told him she would live in Mrs. Denver’s house for as long as she was allowed. “Yes, but Mrs. Denver’s house isn’t going to be repaired now since her family is taking possession when she dies, so where does that leave me?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well I can’t stay with you forever.”

  “Are you thinking about moving out?”

  “I kind of have to.”

  “When… when were you thinking about leaving?” It didn't take an expert to hear the break in his voice.

  “I’m not leaving, silly. Just getting a place of my own.”

  “Why?” He sat up, forcing Ali to sit up too. “Are you too spooked by my ghost to keep on living with me?”

  “Keep living with you?” Her eyes met his so she could read them, certain he just asked her to move in with him. Until now, he’d always referred to it as “staying with him,” but the word “living” had an entirely different meaning.

  “I know it’s early days for us, but you could keep your room and I’ll keep mine,” he mused. “As if we were just roommates that are dating. Then we’re not technically living together. We’re just living. Together.”

  Ali thought about that for a moment. It didn't sound all that bad, and she could always find another rental if things got a bit crowded. For now, though, she loved living with Sam—loved his house and even the scary ghost. Nothing fattened out a story like having the daylights scared out of the one writing it.

  “I guess it’d be okay for now, but if we start fighting over bathroom space then I’m moving out until we’re ready for that step, okay?”

  Sam wrapped his arms around her and squeezed tight. “Agreed.”

  I’m Dreaming of a Scary Christmas

  Ali got her white Christmas. She got the naked trees and the mission bells, Santa in the town square, and ice-skating on the lake. December was everything she ever imagined it would be.

  Since her father died a few years ago, Mel and Ali had spent Christmas with friends, always managing to make the holiday special. But something about spending it in the big old house with Mel, Charlie, and Sam somehow felt sweeter. Fuller. Like they were all one big family.

  Throughout Christmas Eve, Di dropped by with eggnog and gifts to exchange, and several other Hamilton Street friends came by to wish them well. Ali had never lived anywhere like this, and even Mel was warming to the idea of making a small town her home. But they were both sold when the doorbell rang and Sam opened it to a group of carolers standing on the portico.

  They rushed to the foyer to watch, all huddled together as the cold swept in to the house. Sam did a quick check over the girls’ heads to make sure the draft wouldn’t blow onto baby Charlie in his cradle by the sofa, and Ali caught the gesture, smiling at Mel.

  In a hushed conversation in the spare room last night—the room Sam had taken all week to clean out and paint for Mel and baby Charlie’s stay—Ali had confided in her sister about a few things, going as deep in the conversation as her heart did for Sam, but leaving out anything to do with the ghost. And Grant. There were some things her sister just did not need to be worrying about right now. Not after confessing to Ali in that same conversation that she’d lost her job and that her car broke down, all while trying to raise a baby on her own.

  Right now, though, none of it mattered. Something about the sound of many voices joining in chorus seemed to blot away the worry and the sadness of their day-to-day lives, as if Christmas allowed a certain kind of vacation from the stresses in order to let the heart and soul reset. Tomorrow, even though Charlie was only old enough to rip the paper off a gift and eat it, Ali would see a child in her family open a Christmas gift for the first time since she was a child herself.

  And it was the same for Sam. He loved having them here. Christmas hadn't felt this eventful and, for lack of a better word, jolly, since his great-grandfather died. And though Mrs. Beaty still dropped by for lunch on Christmas day with her turkey and mushy peas every year—a British tradition, apparently—having Ali, Mel, and Charlie made it all the more special. It put the future into perspective for him.

  After slipping one hundred dollars into the charity tin the carolers were carrying, Sam and the girls wandered back to the parlor to sit by the fire. Ali and Sam took up the sofa beside the cradle and Mel relaxed back in the armchair, finding a kind of peace here with her sister that she hadn’t felt in a long time. It was in knowing she didn't have to be the one that jumped up immediately if Charlie cried. It was in knowing Sam would run off to heat a bottle and Ali would insist on feeding him. Mel hadn’t had help with Charlie since Ali left earlier this year, and now that she had it again, she wasn’t sure she could handle going back home, alone.

  “So, Mel,” Sam started, sliding forward on the sofa. “Ali told me you lost your job.”

  Mel gave her a hard look, making her shrink.

  “What?” Ali said defensively. “I tell him everything.”

  “Did you tell him what my vagina looked like when Charlie came out of it?”

  Sam laughed at the shock on Ali’s face. “Look, all I wanted to say was, if you’re looking for a job, and you don’t mind moving to a small town, I have a position ava
ilable at my store.”

  Mel sat forward on the chair, turning her knees toward the pair. “Really?”

  “It’s only slightly above minimum wage right now,” he added. “But I’m looking at downsizing my hours to work on my art, so once I’m completely out of the picture and Mrs. Beaty takes over my role, your pay will go up—”

  “I don't know what to say.” Mel looked as if she might cry.

  “And you can stay here with us as long as you need,” Sam added.

  “She won’t,” Ali chimed in just as Mel said the same.

  “I like my own space,” Mel said. “Staying here for Christmas is fine, but I don’t want to get in the way of what you two have going on here.”

  “You wouldn't be,” Sam insisted, but Ali knew Mel better.

  “Still, thank you for the offer, and I would love to take that job,” Mel said, glancing over at the sleeping Charlie. “But I will have to go back home and tie up all my loose ends first, if that’s okay?”

  Sam nodded. “That’s fine. You just let me know when you can start, and I’ll make all the necessary arrangements.”

  “Yeah, and we can go house hunting next week before you go back home,” Ali said.

  Mel nodded, taking a deep breath of relief, looking just like Ali as she did. She had been thinking about moving here, but would never have taken such a huge leap, and yet with the offer of a job and the helping hands of family, it was all happening anyway. A part of her wondered how that job would stand if Ali and Sam ever broke up. Then, looking at the way they joined hands and how Ali threw her legs over Sam’s lap, she wasn’t worried. Ali was in love, any idiot could see that, and Mel was certain Sam felt the same way about Ali.

  The only two people in the world that hadn’t figured that out were the two in question.

  * * *

  Mel fell asleep on the sofa, the tree lights glimmering across her nose with the hope of a magical Christmas Day just a few hours away, so Sam had lifted baby Charlie in his big hands and cradled him to his shoulder, as if he’d held a thousand babies before. As Ali stayed behind to cover Mel over and blow out the candles, she felt a stirring in her soul. She wanted children one day, that was a given. But now she was certain to her core that she wanted them with Sam.