Getting out of the car, Sara stood in the dark, leaning against her door, listening to the sounds of the neighborhood. She had grown up on this street, had a few fond memories, but was surprised to recognize, admit to herself for really the first time, that she hadn’t had a traditional childhood, that she’d seen too much too fast, and had spent far too much time alone, taking care of herself. She could forgive her mother for that now. But she didn’t feel any pangs of regret for selling the house either.
She was proud of herself for standing in the silence, for not letting fear of the shadows, potential dangers, force her back into her car. Tears trickled down her face, though she didn’t cry for her mother, but finally, for the first time, she cried for herself. For Gabriel. For what they had both endured. For their mistakes. For the future together that seemed daunting and insurmountable.
For a person who liked definites, the logic of science, the hardest lesson Sara had to learn over and over was that there were no answers. No such thing as black and white. She needed to trust herself to understand what was right for her.
Gabriel was Gabriel, demon or fallen angel or whatever it was he really should be called. He was still just Gabriel, the man she had fallen in love with.
On impulse she pulled out her cell phone and sent him a text message. Are you the Gabriel who came to Mary? It was a weird question, but one that had been gnawing at her. She didn’t know what she believed exactly, or why it mattered, but she needed to know what he would say.
Her phone chimed two minutes later. He had replied already. No. I was a lesser angel.
Relief seemed a strange emotion, but it was there, intense and immediate. That would have been too much, too difficult to accept, too unnatural to think of what she felt for him in such an extreme context. Manners dictated she answer, so she just typed, Thanks, and left it at that. He wouldn’t question her or respond back. She knew that about him. He would let her have the time and space she needed, and she appreciated that.
The scene in front of her tantalized, beckoned her. The lure of hearth and home and children. If she went to Gabriel, she would never have a family, never have babies to raise.
But who was to say she would if she didn’t go to him? Who was to say that she would ever find a man she loved enough to share her life with, children with?
No answers.
Except she did know that she wasn’t afraid of being alone anymore.
She wasn’t afraid of anything.
Chapter Twenty-three
Foreword to The Stain of Crime by Gabriel St. John
When a murder occurs and a suspect is in custody, media attention quickly shifts to the accused. What kind of person are they? Why did they do it? Most people are incapable of understanding what motivates a criminal, yet that is always our focus. We want details, explanations, answers. They don’t exist. They kill because they are murderers. It isn’t our responsibility to evaluate individuals or their motivations, but to ensure that they are punished for their crimes, and that the focus remains on the victims.
I have tried to do that in the cases of Anne Donovan and Jessie Michaels, but ultimately, their deaths are overshadowed by the investigations that failed to guarantee justice for these women.
The dead speak, but the living are louder.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Jocelyn eyeballed her with a great deal of doubt as they stood on the curb at the airport.
“I’m sure.” Well, not necessarily that it was a good idea, but Sara was sure she had to do it.
Jocelyn gave her a hug, bending at the knees so she could be at eye level from her nearly foot advantage over Sara. “Call me if you need anything. And don’t hesitate to bail if things get weird. You can stay with me as long as you need to.”
“Thanks, you know that means a lot to me.” Sara hugged her back. “But it’s going to be fine. Good.”
Grabbing her suitcase handle, she walked into the airport, giving Jocelyn a smile and a wave over her shoulder. It was fine, and all good. It felt right to be going back to New Orleans. Like returning home. It wasn’t logical since she had only lived there for a few weeks, and considering that sometimes the city had made her downright uncomfortable. It was eclectic and odd and intriguing and occasionally it had felt unsafe, but she missed it. Missed the smells, the rough sidewalk, the friendly smiles, the clip-clop of the horses rushing past with their carriages carrying tourists, the drip of water from freshly hosed balcony ferns.
She had fallen in love with New Orleans. And she had fallen in love in New Orleans. The pull of both was too strong to ignore.
It had been five weeks since Gabriel had left, and she hadn’t spoken to him other than the text message the day after he’d left. She hadn’t been able to pick up the phone and call. Being with Gabriel, understanding who and what he was, making love to him while he had struggled to hold back, keep his hands and mouth off of her, had been overwhelming, lovely and intense, heartbreaking. She had needed distance afterward.
Now she knew she didn’t want any space between them at all. She wanted to go back to him, on her terms, in control of her emotions, knowing she could get a job in New Orleans in a forensics lab, knowing that if her conversation with Gabriel went well, she could move her possessions, her life, to him and it wouldn’t be a sacrifice. They could make it work, despite their obvious obstacles.
It had taken four weeks to make her decision, but in the seven days since she had, she’d slept a solid six hours every night. She felt healthy, well rested, vibrant, full of energy and confidence.
She had even called her grandfather. He had been so pleased to hear from her, he had choked up on the phone, and Sara couldn’t wait to meet him in person. He had lost both his wife and his daughter, and she a mother. Together maybe they could forge a relationship, take comfort in getting to know each other. Healing past the hurt.
She wasn’t afraid to be alone, but she could choose not to be.
Sara was looking forward to seeing her kitten again too. She had missed Angel and had wanted to send for her, but somehow calling Gabriel and asking him to ship Angel to Florida had seemed like she would be saying something she didn’t really intend to. She hadn’t wanted him to think she was never coming back.
Yet why would he think anything else given that she hadn’t spoken to him in five weeks? She wasn’t sure. But he was the one who had left without saying good-bye. And she had understood why he had done that, and she was certain he would understand why she hadn’t called. They had never been demanding of each other, and that was part of what made her relationship with him so comfortable.