Then her gun swung from her captive’s head toward… not me, but Brad standing across the room. The sound of the explosion…
“No!…” Breath sputtered out of me. My lungs froze in an exhale. An electric jolt blazed across my brain. After a moment, the synapses connected and I watched in horror as the scene replayed in my mind.
Air raked down my throat. “She shot him, didn’t she?” Grandfather raised a brow. “I assumed you knew. You were there.”
I let out a moan. “I was there, but… I didn’t know… I couldn’t remember.” I pounded knuckles against my temples, wishing I could put the knowledge back into that dark space in my brain, or rip it out of my head altogether.
Denton had known Brad was dead, hadn’t he? He’d avoided talking about Brad. I’d assumed that was because he hoped I’d forget about Brad, me being an unsuitable match for his favorite protege.
Perhaps deep down I’d known the truth and couldn’t face it. Look at me now, I was a blubbering mess, runoff dripping down my face and onto Puppa’s sweater. Yeah. I couldn’t handle it. I wanted to go back to Del Gloria, back in time, when, if only in my mind, Brad was still alive and well and watching out for me, waiting until the coast was clear to call me home.
I wiped my face and took a breath. Portia was right. There would never have been a phone call. I’d been dead to these people. And Brad, the only person who knew where to find me, was dead too. Only Denton had known what was really happening. He knew the phone call would never come.
Squeaks and hiccups lingered. Everything I’d wanted, everything I’d hoped for, everything that was good and happy and right was dead. It all died with Brad. The man who loved me, the one I loved. No wonder I’d driven off and never looked back. My life, my future, was over. And I’d known it, I just couldn’t face it.
The facts kept seeping through some protective barrier in my brain, forcing me to ask questions to which I didn’t want to know the answers.
Anger shot through my chest, but I pushed it back. Denton’s job was to keep me safe. What better way than convince the people after me that I was dead? The unfortunate side effect was that the people who loved me also believed I was dead.
No wonder Denton was so angry with me for being careless with my identity. I’d been utterly safe until someone had figured out I wasn’t Alisha Braddock. I smoothed the wig on my head. It wouldn’t be long before others saw through my Tasha Stewart disguise. And I’d be back in the crosshairs.
But I was home now. I didn’t want to keep running.
Grandfather touched my cheek, but the tears kept flowing. If I couldn’t have Brad back, and I couldn’t have the future children and the love and the laughter that disappeared with him, then I at least wanted my bed and my bedroom and my house back. I wanted what was left of Patricia Amble back.
I sighed with exhaustion. My brain ceased to function. Puppa must have noticed. “Come on. Let’s get you in a hot bath. There’s nothing a pair of warm pajamas, a hot meal, and a good night’s rest can’t cure.”
He seemed oblivious to the sound of my heart breaking.
23
“Feeling better this morning?” Puppa asked, slathering cream cheese on a bagel.
I gave a shrug and sifted through the fridge, not really sure what I was looking for. I squinted to see through my dark sunglasses. It would take more than ice to bring down the swelling around my eyes. Especially since I hadn’t really even stopped crying yet. I’d even cried in my sleep. At this rate, I’d have to wear sunglasses the rest of my life.
“I talked to Sam this morning and we decided it wouldn’t be a good idea for you to see him yet,” Puppa said between bites.
I shut the fridge door. “See who?”
“Brad.”
I crossed my arms and pursed my lips. Tears squeezed out from behind my glasses. I didn’t feel like tromping through six inches of snow to see a headstone. That would make it too real. “I agree.”
“We’ll have to bring the idea up slowly. Let him get used to the possibility that his Tish is still alive. Otherwise it could be too much of a shock.”
I’d been going for the coffeepot, but my arm hung in mid-reach as his words sunk in. I swung around. “What are you saying? Brad’s not dead?”
He got a startled look on his face. “No. Brad’s… alive. Did you think he was…” He stopped and shook his head. “I’m sorry. I thought you realized. But, of course. You must have left before they revived him.”
“Brad’s alive.” I repeated the words. “Brad’s alive.” My heart launched into wild thumping. Black prickles danced before my eyes.
“Sit down.” Puppa led me to the dining room and into a chair. “Take it easy. Just breathe.”
I cast the sunglasses away and cradled my head in my arms.
The room swam when I lifted my head. “Take me to him. I want to see Brad.”
Puppa patted my back. “Let’s give it more time. Sam can drop by there today and see how he’s doing. It could be awhile before he gets used to the idea and agrees to see you.”
“What?” I laughed in disbelief. “Of course he wants to see me. He’ll be so happy. He’ll be ecstatic. Come on, let’s go.” I ignored the ringing in my ears and pulled Puppa toward the back door.
He dragged behind, then grabbed my arm and stopped me. “Patricia. Wait. Things are… different for Brad now.”
“You’re right. We’re not dead, either one of us. We’re both still alive.” My voice was giddy. I was breathless with joy.
“Brad’s body is still alive, yes. And his mind. But his spirit…” Grandfather squeezed my hands. “He’s given up on life. He has no will to live. He’s dying, Patricia.”
“What do you mean, he’s dying?” I blinked in confusion. “His injuries… your supposed death… it was all too much for him. He’s barely hanging on.”
“Then I’m here just in time. When he sees me, sees that I’m still alive, he’ll want to live again. He’ll want to live so we can be together.”
Puppa gave a weary sigh. “No. It’s not that simple. Having you see him in his condition may just set off a downward spiral he’ll never pull out of. Physically, emotionally, he’s not the Brad you remember. I don’t know how else to put it.”
I batted his arm. “Not my Brad? Of course he is. And knowing that he’s not well makes me want to see him more.”
A swift shake of his head. “Things didn’t look good for Brad the day he got shot. But they managed to revive him on the way to the hospital. Thank God for modern medicine. Surgery saved him, but his spinal cord was nicked by the bullet. He should have experienced paralysis only to the lower half of his body. That would have been enough of a hurdle to overcome. But once he found out you were dead, he was adamant there was feeling only from the neck up. Tests showed everything should have worked down to his hips, but you can’t make a man want to live. We tried for a while. Samantha tried, Joel tried, I tried. The hospital finally discharged him, suggesting we provide hospice care. So there he lies at River’s Edge, wasting away. Waiting to die.”
“I don’t believe it. That doesn’t sound like Brad. I mean, Brad’s the guy who got me going to church. Seeking God. Trusting Jesus. He can’t just give up on life.”
“No one could have predicted this. But good health was important to Brad. He worked out, ate right. That bullet
