CHAPTER 76
Tess leaned against the glass. Now she realized she should have taken the wheelchair that the Nurse Ratched look-alike had recommended. Her feet burned and the stitches pinched and pulled with little provocation. Her chest ached, and it was still difficult to breathe. She had been wrong about the ribs, two cracked, two bruised. The other cuts and bruises would heal. In time she would forget about the madman they called Albert Stucky. She would forget his cold, black eyes pinning her to the table like the leather shackles that had held her wrists and ankles. She would forget his hot breath on her face, his hands and body violating her in ways she thought were not possible.
She gathered the front of the thin robe in her fist, warding off the shiver, the icy fingers that could still strangle her whenever she thought about him. Why fool herself? She knew she would never forget. It was one more chapter to try to erase. She was so very tired of rewriting her past in order to survive her future. Now she struggled to find a reason why she should even bother. Perhaps that was what had brought her here.
She looked past her battered reflection in the window and watched the wrinkled red faces. Little chunky fists batted at the air. She listened to the newborns’ persistent cries and coos. Tess smiled. What a cliche to come here looking for the answers.
“Girlfriend, what are you doing out of bed?”
Tess glanced over her shoulder to find Delores Heston in a bright red suit, lighting up the sterile white corridor as she marched toward her. She wrapped her arms around Tess, carefully and gently hugging her. When she pulled away, the hard-nosed business owner had tears in her eyes.
“Oh mercy, I promised myself I wouldn’t do this.” Delores swiped at her eyes and the running mascara. “How are you feeling, Tess?”
“I’m fine,” she lied, and tried to smile. Her jaw hurt where he had punched her. She found herself checking over her teeth again with the tip of her tongue. It amazed her that none of them had been chipped or broken.
She realized Delores was studying her, examining for herself whether Tess was fine. She lifted Tess’s chin with her soft hand, taking a closer look at the bite marks on her neck. She didn’t want to see the horror and pity in Delores’s face so she looked away. Without a word, Delores wrapped her arms around her again, this time holding her, stroking her hair and rubbing her back.
“I’m making it my job to take care of you, Tess,” she said emphatically as she pulled away. “And I don’t want a single argument, you hear me?”
Tess had never had anyone make her such an offer. She wasn’t sure what the correct response was. But of all her choices, tears did not seem appropriate. Not now. Delores took out a tissue and dabbed at Tess’s cheeks, smiling at her like a mother preparing her child for school.
“You have a handsome visitor waiting for you in your room.”
Tess’s insides clenched. Oh God, she couldn’t handle facing Daniel. Not like this.
“Could you tell him I’ll call later and thank him for the roses?”
“Roses?” Delores looked confused. “Looked like a bunch of purple violets he was clutching. He’s squeezing those flowers so tight, they’re probably potpourri by now.”
“Violets?”
She looked over Delores’s shoulder, and Tess could see Will Finley, watching, hesitating at the end of the corridor. He looked incredibly handsome in dark trousers, a blue shirt and, if her blurred vision served her correctly, a bunch of violets in his left hand.
Maybe there were a few new chapters in her life that needed writing, after all.
EPILOGUE
Maggie wasn’t sure why she had come. Perhaps she simply needed to see him lowered into the ground. Maybe she needed to be certain that this time Albert Stucky would not escape.
She stood back, close to the trees, looking at the few mourners and recognizing most of them as reporters. The religious entourage from St. Patrick’s outnumbered the mourners. There were several priests and just as many altar boys carrying incense and candles. How could they justify sending off someone like Stucky with all the same ceremony given an ordinary sinner? It didn’t make sense. It certainly didn’t seem fair.
But it didn’t matter. She was finally free. And in more ways than one. Stucky had not won. And neither had her own shadow side. In a split second, she had chosen to defend herself, but had not given in to true evil.
Harvey nudged her hand, suddenly impatient and probably wondering what use it was to be out in the open if they were not going to walk and enjoy it. She watched the procession make its way from the grave down the hill.
Albert Stucky was finally gone, soon to be buried six feet under like his victims.
Maggie petted Harvey’s soft fur and felt an incredible sense of relief. They could go home. She could feel safe again. The first thing she wanted to do was sleep.
Special thanks to:
Patricia Sierra, fellow author and friend—I’m not sure this one would have been completed without your tender, gentle nagging. Thanks for seeing me through all the anxiety attacks.
The amazing crew at MIRA Books for their enthusiasm, hard work and dedication, especially Valerie Gray, Craig Swinwood, Krystyna de Duleba, Alex Osuszek and the best sales force in the business. Perhaps there is a reason we call them publishing houses—you’ve certainly made me feel as if I’ve found a home.
Megan Underwood and the gang at Goldberg McDuffie Communications, Inc. for their expertise and hard work.
Annie Belatti, the only person I know who gets excited about describing gunshot wounds over dinner. Thanks for your patience, medical expertise and friendship.
Sharon Car, fellow writer and friend, who listens and encourages through the good and the bad.
Marilyn and John Cooney and Mary Means for taking such loving care of my kids when I need to be on the road.
Patti El-Kachouti for your unconditional friendship and encouragement.
Nicole Friend, who has often been my sounding board and voice of reason.
Tony Friend for sharing information, images and ideas that only you can provide.
Ellen Jacobs for telling the truth, first as a reader, then as a friend.
LaDonna Tworek for reminding me that some friendships are forever.
For their inspiration, enthusiasm and loving support, many thanks to Kenny and Connie Kava, Jeanie Shoemaker Mezger and John Mezger, Natalie and Rich Cummings, Marlene Haney, Sandy Rockwood, my mom and dad—Patricia and Edward Kava—Mac Payne and the Movie Club group: Lyn Belitz, Mary Michaelsen, Jo Ellen Shoemaker and Becky Thomson.
Also, I want to thank the many book buyers and booksellers for making room on your lists and on your shelves for a new voice.
And to the readers. With all the wonderful fiction available, thank you for choosing mine to be a part of your escape and entertainment.
Finally, thanks to Philip Spitzer, Amy Moore-Benson and Dianne Moggy. None of this would be possible without Philip taking a chance on me, without Amy being my personal crusader and without Dianne’s patient, steady guidance and support. Together the three of you are truly a writer’s dream team.
