Garik, on the other hand, was quiet and mellow …
… which irritated her even more, and she spent the whole ride clutching her case to her chest and looking out the side window.
At the resort, she jumped out of the truck and hurried up the steps and into the empty great room.
Garik joined her. “Where’s Margaret?”
Harold appeared, looking grim. “She’s upstairs in bed.”
Margaret? In bed? In the daytime? “Is she ill?” Elizabeth asked anxiously.
“You’ll have to ask her,” Harold said in tones of doom.
Garik and Elizabeth exchanged alarmed glances and headed for the stairs.
Margaret was stretched out on her bed, her eyes closed, a damp cloth on her forehead. Her complexion was blotchy and red, and her mouth was set in annoyance. She looked like what she was—an old, angry Irishwoman.
Garik went to the bed and took her hand.
Margaret opened her eyes a slit.
“What’s wrong?” he said.
“She called,” Margaret answered.
Garik sighed. “I was afraid that was it.”
“What?” Elizabeth charged forward. “Who? What?”
“Patricia called,” he told her.
“Patricia?” Elizabeth searched her mind. “Oh! Patricia! Margaret’s granddaughter.”
“Yes. My granddaughter.” Margaret spoke in tones of doleful doom. “She’s been ringing my cell phone. I’ve been pretending she couldn’t get through. So she got on the ham radio and waited until I was talking to poor dear Annie Di Luca—”
“Annie Di Luca is now a poor dear?” Garik teased.
Margaret sat up and flung the damp cloth off. It smacked the wall. She glared at him. “Do you have a quarrel with me? Because if you do, bring it on!”
Garik backed away. “Absolutely not. You were on the ham radio with poor dear Annie Di Luca, your enemy for about a hundred years, and Patricia interrupted.”
With her hand placed dramatically on her forehead, Margaret again reclined on the stack of pillows. “Patricia says, ‘Gram, are you all right? Did the earthquake hurt you?’ All solicitousness, you know. And I said, ‘No, I wasn’t hurt.’ And she said, ‘Sell the resort, and you could be in Hawaii right now.’ And I said, ‘Sending me to Hawaii won’t stop the earthquakes.’ And she said, ‘No, but you’ll be safe.’ And I said, ‘Have you never heard of volcanoes? There are about a million of them over there.’” Margaret’s Irish accent strengthened with every word. “The conversation went downhill from there.”
“She sounds difficult,” Elizabeth said.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Patricia is a barracuda with a wallet. She doesn’t care about her heritage. She just wants to sell my home and make a profit. The nasty little bitch.” Margaret threw one of her pillows at the wall.
Elizabeth handed her one of the pillows off the couch.
She threw it.
Garik went to the sideboard and rummaged around until he found the Tullamore Dew. He splashed some into a glass, lifted it to the light, shook his head, and doubled the amount. He brought it to Margaret and put it in her hand. “You’ll eat some dinner with that?” he asked.
“Indeed I will. Then I will take a warm bath. Then I will go to bed and sleep until two
A.M.
when I will wake up and fume, and wonder what I did to deserve such a selfish, greedy granddaughter.” Margaret took a sip of the whiskey. To Garik, she said, “You’re a good man. I wish you could live here. You’d make my life so much easier.”
“Haven’t you heard? I’m a crazy man.”
“I know. Your craziness has saved my life.” She offered her cheek. “Now good night, children. Go have dinner and leave me to brood.”
“We will.” Garik leaned his hands on the mattress. “I am going to tell Elizabeth why they threw me out of the FBI.”
Margaret patted his cheek. “You worry too much. She’ll understand.”
“She will, I know.” Garik turned his head and looked at Elizabeth. “But will I ever forgive myself?”
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
Garik and Elizabeth took dinner on trays in their suite. They put their plates on trays, and put the trays in the corridor. Then, as the sun sank, they went out on the deck overlooking the ocean.
Garik sat in the swing.
Elizabeth sat in the wicker rocking chair.
In late August on the Pacific coast, the sun set at eight. With no electricity to ruin the night with light pollution, the stars shone hard, pale, and bright, fragments of light against a black velvet sky. The ocean crashed ceaselessly against the jagged, rocky cliffs, and the onshore breeze smelled of salt, seaweed, and fish. The earth trembled; Elizabeth could barely recall a time when it hadn’t.
Somehow it seemed as if the earth knew the cataclysmic events it had set in motion. Because of the quake, Virtue Falls had been isolated from the world, bringing Elizabeth into the community in ways she had never imagined. Because of the quake, she had been reunited with her father, and learned who he was, what he remembered … and she had come to doubt his guilt.
Because of the quake, Garik had come back into her life.
He was thinner, yes, but more than that, when he sat alone, the expression he wore made her realize he was not that same cocky young man who had swept her off her feet and into an ill-advised marriage. Now he was quieter, more thoughtful, less quick to smile and more likely to care. Something had hurt him, something desperate and horrible, and because of it, she felt sure he would never be young again.
That young man had hurt her … but she missed him, too.
Garik took a breath, as if the night air refreshed him, then without any prompting, he said, “I lost my temper and beat up a guy who’d been abusing his three-year-old son.”
She was startled. Had he thought she wouldn’t approve? “Good for you!”
“Attacking a citizen of this country, no matter what kind of bastard he is, is illegal. And it couldn’t have been worse—I beat the shit out of Walker in full view of his neighbors. The only reason I didn’t kill him was the other agents pulled me off of him, and one of the neighbors filmed the whole thing and took it to the press. So it was bad.” Garik pushed the swing with his foot, a violent rocking. “The whole case turned into a media nightmare. Nightly news, public indignation about the violent, savage FBI agent, calls for my arrest. I turned myself in, of course. Went to jail, posted bail, eventually went to trial.” He took a breath. “I could live with all that. What I did was bad. Stupid. A wake-up call to me that I needed to take a breath and regain control.”
“Yes…” What he’d told her wasn’t what made his voice quiver and break. There was more, and her heart caught as she waited.
“What happened next … was … that Waylon Walker got out of the hospital, and to teach me a lesson, he went home and beat his son to death.” In the dark, she couldn’t see Garik’s face, but she heard the weariness in his voice, his longing to turn back the clock, and the finality of his pronouncement.
“Oh, no.” Her own voice was barely a whisper.
“I knew punching the crap out of Walker wasn’t going to help that little boy. No one learns from a fist in the face.” Another violent push of the swing.
“No.” She remembered what he’d said about his father, the abuse, the blame and the horror. Although she didn’t want to, she understood his self-loathing.
“My first priority should have been to get the child removed to protective custody. It wasn’t. So the boy died.”
“No. Oh, no.”
“His name … his name was Liam. A good-looking boy, with big brown eyes in a thin face. But he didn’t smile. I never got him to smile. He’d been hurt so many times before. The x-rays showed bones broken almost from the day he was born. He cried when he walked, and he limped.” Garik’s voice caught, then steadied. “All that, and it never occurred to me that his father would treat his son like a chip in a poker game, disposable and easily bet.”
“No.” She’d been saying the same thing for five minutes straight. Just
no
.
No.
“How could I
not
have known? How could I have come so far from my childhood that I forgot there were men like that in the world? Other FBI agents—the ones who had normal home lives—they have the right to screw that up, but not me. That kid was me.” The rocking stopped. She thought he put his face in his hands.
“I’m sorry.” Inadequate. “No wonder you hate the press.” Even more inadequate.
“I don’t hate them. I don’t have any illusions about them, that’s all. They told the story, but I gave it to them. I was pissed at the world. I let my temper take over and never thought of the consequences. I am guilty of that child’s death.” Garik choked; he was crying.
Yes. That was right. A child had died, and he blamed himself. He should cry for the child. The way she felt, as if she couldn’t quite catch her breath … she would cry, too. She would cry soon.
But Garik was still talking. “Liam’s death is … a sin I’ll carry on my soul … forever, a pain in my heart I feel … every moment. There is no absolution for me. All I can do is vow to never be that maniac again. I
will
think before I take action. I
will
help other kids who are in need. I
will
be the kind of man I set out to be when I joined the FBI. I will always do my best to be the good guy.”
What could she say? She had been shocked when he confessed to being a childhood victim of his father’s beatings. She had thought they’d reached the truth that had stripped the weight from his bones, turned the expression in his eyes sad and disillusioned.
But no—it was his own actions that broke his heart and his spirit.
She got out of her rocking chair, dusted off her work jeans, wished she had bathed and made herself pretty before they had this conversation.
But she hadn’t, and he needed her. Going to the swing, she slid into his lap.
The move did not come easily to her. She felt vaguely silly and much like a bad actress making a play for a Hollywood producer. She did it anyway. For Garik. She wrapped her arms around his neck and whispered in his ear. “You are the good guy. You are the best guy.”
“I killed that child.” Grief weighed every word.
“No, you didn’t. His father killed Liam Walker. But you remember Liam. You take responsibility for Liam. You mourn Liam. Is there anyone else in this world who cares about that little boy’s death?”
“His mother is dead, too, found in a Dumpster, beaten to death under unexplained circumstances.” Garik sounded broken.
“I know you. I know when you go to church, you say a prayer and light a candle for Liam’s soul.”
“I would. But I don’t dare go to church. I don’t dare show my face to God.”
That shocked her. Garik had never been the man who went to mass every Sunday. But he went often enough: when he needed comfort, or felt he’d done wrong. He always came back relieved and healed. Now … he was afraid of God?
She chose her words carefully. “But why? Liam’s death has made you a better man.”
“It shouldn’t have taken a little boy’s death.”
“No. And it shouldn’t have taken an earthquake to teach me to love my father. But some of us don’t learn our lessons the easy way.” She fumbled to put the matter in a way Garik would comprehend. “If you believe in God, in these instances, you will see His will at work.”
Garik leaned his forehead against her cheek. His tears dripped on her shoulder. “Thank you,” he whispered.
She kissed his cheek, and stroked his hair.
He rocked the swing again, slowly, hypnotically, the motion easing and relieving the turmoil of their broken spirits.
Gradually they relaxed into each other.
She put her arms around his shoulders.
He stroked his hand up and down her spine.
The remembrance of his previous concerns stirred in her mind, and she said, “I want you to know I’m not sitting here because I feel sorry for you.”
“No?”
“No. I’m sitting here because I like you, you make me happy, and I wish you to be happy.”
“I am … happy.” He sounded surprised. “Or at least … no longer unhappy.”
“Good. Also, I wish that we could make love again tonight.”
“I could manage that.” He hugged her tighter. “I would like that.”
“Good. Shall we go in?”
“No. No, I don’t think that’s necessary.” His hand came to rest on her buttons.
“Well … I suppose … it is dark out here.”
“So it is. For the last year, every moment of my life has been lived in the darkest dungeon, chained by guilt. But look.” He pointed far out to sea where a shard of silver light was reflected on the face of the ocean swells. “To the east, the moon is rising. To the west, we see the first signs of its illumination. The night is less grim, and with you, the loneliness is broken.” He kissed her mouth, a long, slow sharing of breath, of lips against lips, of taste and scent and joy. “Let’s stay out here. Let’s share the light together.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
The chop-chop of helicopters woke Garik. Reluctantly he eased himself out of bed, pulled on his boxers, grabbed the binoculars, and walked out onto the deck. The three helicopters flew north along the coast, then turned inland over Virtue Falls.
Elizabeth stepped out into the sunshine, clad in a man’s white shirt, buttoned once at the chest. She yawned and rubbed her fingers through her tousled blond hair. “What is it?”
He glanced at her, then back at the helicopters, and wondered if anyone there had zeroed in on the resort, and her. None of the copters went into a nosedive, so he supposed they were actually surveying the damage rather than his mostly naked ex-wife. Or else they were female helicopter pilots … “Looks like the Hoff plan to put Virtue Falls in the spotlight worked. We’ve got the governor and two news copters headed in.” He turned to her with a grin. “The circus really did come to town.”
She tugged at his arm. “If we hurry, we can slip over and see my father, then check in with Rainbow and find out what the gossip is.” She stood up on her tiptoes, looked into his face, and said, “Then I can go to work.”
“I’ll take you.”
“No, you won’t.”
“I didn’t promise I wouldn’t take you.”