Authors: Dara Girard
“Curtis—”
“I have a lot more to lose than you do. Don’t push me.”
Ruby looked at her husband amazed then resigned. “You still hate him, don’t you?”
Curtis turned on the radio letting classical music fill the air.
***
Brenna rarely allowed herself to cry, but as she lay in her hospital bed sorrow welled up inside her. And for the first time in years she pitied herself and her husband. She felt like a burden and she knew that her love could not compensate for that. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes as she stared at the doorway that Hunter hadn’t enter in the last two days. She would be released tomorrow. The fracture wasn’t as serious as everybody thought and a minor procedure had fixed the damage, but she knew the damage to their marriage had already been done. She could already see the hospitals bills piling up at their door.
She remembered Orson’s words that she wasn’t like other women and no matter how hard she tried, she had to face that reality. She angrily brushed her tears aside and replaced her pity with an inner resolve. She could handle this. She could handle anything. She had to be strong. She would be at Stephen’s trial tomorrow and she would be his support. Her problems were minimal compared to the future he faced. She swallowed back any remaining tears and turned from the door.
***
Hunter paced outside of Brenna’s door. He’d barely slept the past two days and hadn’t been able to face her. He’d killed his brother. A brother he didn’t even know he had. He’d made his mother leave, just as his love had made Angelina leave. And now his past would make Brenna leave him too. But he couldn’t lose her; aside from Daniel she was the only family he had left.
“Excuse me,” a voice said behind him.
He turned and saw Byron with a bouquet of flowers. “What do you want?”
“I want you to move,” Byron said. “You’re blocking the door.”
“How much longer will this case last?”
“Closing arguments start tomorrow.”
Hunter stepped back from the door. “Good.”
“But I don’t know how long the jury will take,” he said and walked into the room.
Hunter growled then followed. He saw Brenna’s face light up as she held the flowers. He sat in the far corner and watched the pair, resisting the urge to remove the smile from Byron’s face.
“How are you?” Brenna said.
It took Hunter a moment to realize she was talking to him. He flexed his fingers on the arm of the chair. “I’m fine.”
She waited as though she expected him to say more and he watched some of the light in her face grow dim. His gaze grew sharp. “Are you in pain?”
“No, I’m fine.” She plastered on a smile, but he didn’t believe her and continued to watch her. She made a face. “Stop that.”
He blinked. “Stop what.”
“Staring at me like that, it makes me nervous.”
“Oh.” He moved his gaze to Byron. “He said the case should be over by tomorrow.”
“The closing arguments,” Bryon clarified.
“How do things look?” Brenna asked.
When Byron hesitated, Hunter said, “Let me guess. It doesn’t look good for Stephen.”
Byron sent him an ugly look. “It wasn’t an easy case from the beginning. There’s a witness that saw him meet with Seaborn. Another witness who saw them at the bar and the house. And there’s the woman across the street and the man next door with his wife. They all say they saw him enter and leave the residence at the time of the murder. No one else. There was no break in, nothing. The next day Parkov noticed something was wrong, but went inside because of watery eyes.”
Hunter folded his arms. “Why did he have watery eyes?”
“He didn’t say. Perhaps he had a cold.”
“Or an allergy.”
Byron and Brenna both stared at each other as a possibility came to their minds. Brenna’s hopes lifted. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
Hunter shook his head. “It could be nothing.”
“But it could be something.”
“It’s a far leap.”
Byron headed for the door. “It’s all we have.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
“The defense would like to recall Ralph Parkov to the stand,” Byron said.
Ralph approached the stand with a self-important air. “Mr. Parkov,” Byron said, “Is it true that you previously stated you saw the defendant leave the house that night?”
“Yes.”
“And the next morning while you were cleaning your car you noticed the victim’s morning newspaper in the mailbox?”
“Yes.”
“Why were you cleaning your car?”
“As I said, I was expecting visitors.”
“Isn’t it true that as you were cleaning your car that you had to go inside because your eyes were watering. Does that happen often?”
“No.”
“What do you suppose caused it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is it true that you emptied out the vacuum bag that day?”
“Yes. I hate dirty bags.”
“Hmm. So unfortunately, we won’t know what caused your eyes to water, right?”
He shrugged. “I guess not.”
“Isn’t it true that your daughter who is visiting out of town also developed watery eyes that day?”
“Yes.”
“Who does the laundry in your house?”
The DA stood. “Objection. Your Honor where are we going with this line of questioning?”
Byron said, “Your Honor I am getting to the reason.”
The judge rested his chin in his hand. “Overruled, but please get to the point.”
“Isn’t it true that your daughter has the same allergies you do?”
“Yes.”
“Do you own a cat?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I’m allergic to cats.”
“That’s interesting because your daughter is willing to testify that there were cat hairs in the lint dryer that caused her to start sneezing and we found cat hair on a hat of yours. Where did the cat hair come from?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’ll tell you. It came from your neighbors’ house. He doesn’t own a cat either, but the defendant owns a long haired cat that likes to travel with him in the front seat. So anyone who sits in the passenger seat usually ends up with some cat hairs on them. So cat hairs were on Mr. Seaborn and on his couch.”
“I don’t see how—”
“I have an expert willing to testify that the cat hairs from your hat are an exact match to the defendant’s cat. If you weren’t there that night, how did the cat hairs get on your clothes?”
“I don’t know.”
“Isn’t it true you wanted Seaborn to sell his house?”
“Yes, that’s no secret.”
“Why?”
“Because our property value would go up, but he was a stubborn old man. Yes, I remember now I got the hairs from the other day. The first time your client came by. I went over to talk to Seaborn.”
Byron shook his head. “No, it wasn’t the first time you saw him that night. I know this because the cat hairs from the sample were from a flea treated cat. She hadn’t been treated that first day. I think after my client left you went into the house and killed Seaborn knowing you had the perfect alibi and scapegoat, isn’t that right?”
“The damn bastard wouldn’t sell!”
After the DA and Byron made closing arguments it took the jury less than seven hours to reach a verdict of Not Guilty.
Stephen slumped forward relieved. Moments later his mother hugged him then his wife and sister. A little distance away, Tima caught his eye and winked. He now had a chance at a new life and he meant to take it. The courtroom quickly emptied and Brenna stayed behind as Byron shook the DA’s hand then closed his briefcase.
“We did it,” she said.
Byron held out his arms to her feeling buoyant and renewed.
Brenna hesitated then went into them, but drew away before he could make it more. “Thank you.”
He grabbed her wrist before she could leave. “This isn’t over Brenna.”
She tried to free herself. “It has to be.”
“No, it doesn’t. I can’t deny what’s in my heart. I love you. I haven’t stopped loving you. Letting you go all these years was a big mistake.”
She briefly shut her eyes, his name a whisper. “Byron—”
“Let me finish. Run away with me.” His eyes clung to hers. “I’ll take care of you.”
She turned away. “No.”
He cupped her chin and forced her to look at him. “You’re not happy with Hunter and either rich or poor you never will be. Hasn’t everything that’s happened proven that? I know you’re afraid, but you don’t have to be. I realize it will take time for you to trust me again, I have the money and you’ll be with me. Remember how you dreamed about a house near a carnival where you could hear the sound of a carousel every spring and summer? Brenna, I’ll build one myself. I can make your dream come true.” His eyes lowered to her lips then returned to her eyes. “Randolph isn’t the man for you. You can’t make this work and you shouldn’t have to. No, don’t say anything yet. Think about it. I’ll wait for you.”
Days later, Byron’s words still echoed in Brenna’s head. There was nothing between Hunter and her now. She did not want to be just some mother figure to Hunter or a burden. Byron was better for her. He was steadfast. He never wavered. He didn’t have Hunter’s unpredictability. She knew what to expect from him and he loved her.
Loved her!
Her father was right, she deserved to be loved. There was nothing to keep her here.
“Brenna, do you know where my cufflinks are?” Hunter called.
He was preparing for an important meeting today. She didn’t know what it was for, but he seemed excited.
She sighed. How could a man not know where things were in his own home? He’d have no idea where anything was without her. He’d probably go around naked and starve to death. She shoved the suitcase further under the bed and went to the living room. She picked them off the bookshelf. Why he had a habit of leaving his cufflinks there she had no idea.
She walked up to him as he searched the living room. “Here.”
He turned to her. “Thanks.”
She grabbed his sleeve. “Stand still.” She put them on him then smoothed down his shirt. “Did you iron this?”
“Of course I did,” he said offended. That was one thing she’d forced him to learn. To her relief he didn’t mind it and even ironed her clothes (although she had to explain he didn’t need to iron bras).
She looked at his shirt critically. “Did you turn the iron on?”
“The shirt is fine.”
“It’s not fine. Take it off.”
He grabbed his jacket. “I don’t have time.”
Even the jacket looked crinkled and as she adjusted his collar she figured out why. He’d lost weight. Clothes hung on him now. Damn. Orson was right. He could slowly kill a man by taking away all that he cherished.
But she wouldn’t let him do that to Hunter. With her gone, he’d be free. Without her there would be no more medical bills, no more sleeping side by side without touching, no more pretending. Of course she’d miss the scent of cinnamon that seemed to cling to everything he wore, the distinctive sound of his footsteps, his energy, his drive. She hoped the meeting would go well. He hadn’t shown this type of enthusiasm in months.
“Good luck,” she said.
“Thanks.”
She kissed him on the cheek. “Goodbye.”
He opened the door. “Bye.”
She listened to his footsteps pound down the stairs then closed the door. She rested her forehead against the door, imaging the relief he’d feel when he returned home and she was gone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“Did you get it?” Fiona asked as Stephen came through the door.
“No.” He bent down and patted Lillian as the cat greeted him by wrapping around his leg.
She stretched her legs out and sighed. “I knew you wouldn’t. You should have waited. It’s crazy for you to think that just because the case went well everything else would.”
Stephen sat beside her and looked at her with a probing query in his eyes. “Couldn’t you believe in me just once? Just once couldn’t you be on my side?”
Fiona cupped the side of his face and smiled into his troubled eyes. “I am on your side. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
“Do you think it doesn’t hurt that you have no faith in me?”
“I’m just afraid—”
“Afraid of what? That I might fail or that I might succeed?”
She moved away and tucked her feet underneath her. “Why can’t you just be happy with the way things are? Why isn’t anything ever enough for you? You’re just an ordinary guy, Stephen. Like my Dad and that’s okay. He worked for the same company in the same position for thirty years then retired.”
“I’m not your father.”
“I know—”
He rose to his feet feeling a desperate need to get her to understand. “I don’t want to just exist. I want to live, feel alive. Take risks.”
“Why?”
“Because.”
“I don’t know what you’re looking for.”
“A different life. Something more exciting. Brenna really likes my lighting ideas and thinks I should start my own business. Perhaps someone would see my designs and –”
“And what?” she sneered. “Make you rich and famous? That’s not going to happen. If you were truly special you’d have been discovered by now. You’ve tried things before and they haven’t worked out. You didn’t get the fabulous job that certificate program promised you or even a promotion. You’re just a dreamer, Stephen, but this is the real world.”
Stephen stared at her, letting her words sink in. He loved her. No. That was the trouble. He didn’t. That was the truth he’d been afraid to admit for years. Afraid to admit that he’d loved her once, but not anymore. That he felt a fleeting fondness, a responsibility and nothing more lasting. Perhaps he was a dreamer, but he didn’t plan to change. He suddenly felt a sinking feeling of inevitability. He knew what he had to say.
“It’s not going to work.” He rested his hands on his hips. “We need to divorce.”
“Don’t be silly. You’re upset.”
“No, I’m—”
“If you want time apart that’s okay. We’ve separated before.”
“Fiona it’s different this time. We’re only hurting each other. We’ll grow more and more apart. This is for the best and you know it.”
“But I—”
“I’ve always wanted the best for you and the best isn’t with me. Before I was afraid to let go, I was afraid of a lot of things, but I’m not anymore. It’s time to say good bye.”