Chapter Ten

 

Saturday, April 2

8:30 a.m.

 

It was hard not to look at the desk where Hannah Daltry had been murdered. Hard not to imagine the fear that had raced through the woman’s heart when she realized she was in the wrong place at the wrong time—again.

The O.P.P.D. had cleared the room by Friday morning, confident they had whatever evidence there was to be found. But still, there was something unsettling about sitting a few feet from the exact spot where a woman had been murdered.

She would have thought she’d be used to it by now. Lord knew she’d been through more than her fair share of murder investigations, stood in more crime scenes than she’d ever imagined. Yet it didn’t get any easier. And she doubted it ever would.

“Feels weird to be here, doesn’t it?”

Elise looked up, her thoughts interrupted by a soft-spoken voice that seemed as hesitant and nervous as it did young. Sierra McDermott stood beside Elise’s desk, her hands anxiously clenching and unclenching at her sides.

The girl cast a nervous glance at the door, shifted foot to foot. “I just wanted to tell you that I know you had nothing to do with that reporter hounding Jacob the other night. I’ve read your stuff, I know you’ve got more class than that.”

Not sure of what to say or how to react, Elise willed her voice to remain calm. “Wow. You have no idea how much it helps to hear you say that. I feel just awful for Jacob. For what he’s been through and for what he’s still going through.”

Sierra nodded, her eyes trained on the doorway, her head cocked to the side as if she was listening for something no one else could hear. “All I wanted was for the media to stop talking about his dad. But now it’s even w—”

The girl leapt forward as if she’d been stabbed, her body moving through the maze of desks like a running back in search of the end zone. Elise felt her mouth drop open as Sierra slid into her seat just moments before Jacob entered the room.

How on earth?

It was a rhetorical question, really. Because she knew the answer. It was called love and Sierra’s reaction wasn’t anything different than she could probably do with Mitch. Call it a sixth sense, a feeling. When you loved someone with your entire being, you could sense their presence, their mood, from a hundred paces away.

Sierra was smart enough to hear Jacob in the hallway and perceptive enough to know he’d not take kindly to her spending time in enemy camp.

Sighing, Elise reached into her backpack and extracted her assignment folder and a pen. She was looking forward to Sam teaching the class, she really was. But in the matter of twenty short minutes, Ms. Daltry had struck a chord inside her head. Then again, how much of that was Ms. Daltry herself and how much was simply the power of her work and the hold it seemed to take on Elise’s heart?

“Good morning, class, my name is Sam Hughes. I’ll be taking over for the late Hannah Daltry.” The balding man walked into the class, setting a new black briefcase on the front table. “Is everyone here this morning?”

Elise looked around at her classmates, recognizing many of the faces from the critique session Wednesday night. But where were Madelyn and her crew? She swung her head to the right, searched the other side of the room, fairly certain she would have noticed the elderly contingent when they walked in. Nope, not there.

She raised her hand, grinning at Sam from her desk. “I think we’re missing four.”

A series of hurried footsteps outside the door picked up speed, several hushed voices drowned out periodically by a louder, busier one.

Madelyn.

Sure enough, Madelyn Conner breezed into the classroom, her eyes wide, her face contorted. “Please excuse us, sir. One of us was being a bit anal about our parking spot this morning.”

Anal?

Elise laughed. Sam bit back his own smile, his hand reaching outward. “You must be Madelyn Conner, am I right?” He grasped Madelyn’s hand as he spoke, the threesome still standing in the doorway. “No explanation needed. We’re all late from time to time. Even when we aren’t picky about where we put our car.”

“You tell her.” Al smacked Sam on the back as he walked to his seat, his Yankees cap firmly in place on his head. Dropping into the seat in front of Elise, he turned around and rolled his eyes. “Any chance you’ve got a flask handy? That woman will be the death of me yet. You wait and see.”

It took everything in her power not to laugh out loud, to tip off the conversation to the woman taking up shop in the seat next to hers. She waved a greeting at Madelyn, hoped the gesture would enable her mouth to remain closed and unable to laugh. It worked, until she looked back at Sam and saw his lips twitching.

Ay yi yi.

“Anyway, I’d like to welcome you all to class this morning and express my deepest sympathies on the death of Hannah Daltry. The two of us were in a critique group together that met every Sunday. In fact, I was just with her the day before she was found. She was an amazingly talented writer, and a truly sweet woman. She will be missed.” Sam leaned against the table and looked around at the faces assembled in front of him. “Is it safe to assume that most of you in this class are here because you have a genuine interest in writing?”

Heads nodded.

“Good. That’ll make teaching this group even more fun. For me, there’s nothing better than working with creative minds. You never know what’s going to happen next or where a brainstorming session or writing assignment will take you.” He stood up, wandered down the aisles. “I understand you were given an assignment by Ms. Daltry to write a one-page scene that conveys emotion, sucks the reader into your world. Is that correct?”

Again, heads nodded.

“Great. Let’s get started. Who’d like to read first?”

Madelyn’s hand shot into the air, her plump body shifting in her seat.

“Madelyn? You ready to go?” Sam stopped and pointed to the woman beside Elise.

“I am. But I’d like to volunteer Al.”

Elise choked back a laugh as Al raised his hand to his neck and pulled upward, simulating a noose.

“Al?” Sam folded his arms across his chest and waited, obviously as amused by the senior set as the rest of the class. “Any chance you’d like to go first?”

“Do I have a choice?” Al plucked his cap from his head and set it on his desk, his left hand rummaging around in his bag. He plucked out his assignment sheet, wrinkled and soiled, and looked up at Sam. “Do I stand? Sit? Jump?”

Sam’s lips twitched again. “Why don’t you go ahead and stand so we can see you. Besides, when you’re all published you have to be able to speak in front of a group. So we might as well get some practice in that area as well.”

Al made his way up to the front of the room, his short stocky frame reminiscent of a big old teddy bear. One that just happened to have a sidekick named Madelyn. He stopped beside the table, his left fist resting on the top as his right hand held the paper.

Big Bird told me not to do it. Ace, the talking fire dog, told me not to do it. My mom told me not to do it. Even my Uncle Zeb, who rarely said two words, told me not to do it.

But it didn’t matter. Not at that very moment with Cedrick’s big face staring down at me.

Cedrick was one of the cool kids. The ones everyone wants to be friends with. Why? We don’t know. And we don’t care. We just want their acknowledgment, their acceptance. We’re not yet old enough, or wise enough, to realize their acknowledgment is fleeting, insincere. We’re too inexperienced to know they’re not the kind of friends you want.

In the grand scheme of things, what was the big deal over lighting a small match, seeing how long I could hold it before I had to shake it out? Cedrick was watching, that’s all that mattered.

It was my chance to show I wasn’t a coward. My chance to be a big shot too.

So I lit that match. And I held that match until I couldn’t hold it for another second, tossing it onto the floor, my eyes intent on Cedrick’s face. Where was the approval? Where was the admiration? Where was my invitation to the cool kid club?

It was in the exact same place Cedrick was when I burned my arm trying to put out the fire I had caused. It was in the exact same place Cedrick was when the doctors tried to fix my arm with one painful procedure after the other. It was in the exact same place Cedrick was when the bills poured in, one after the other.

It, like Cedrick, was nowhere to be found.

The room was quiet for a moment as everyone took in Al’s work, tried unsuccessfully not to look at his wrist.

“Excellent, Al. Very nice.” Sam walked up the side aisle and stopped beside Al. “Tell me the emotion this piece evoked in you. Anyone?”

“Humiliation. Regret.”

Elise looked over her shoulder, her gaze falling on Jacob as he shifted in his seat, pulling his arm back down.

“Excellent, Mr. . . .”

“Jacob is fine.”

If Sam realized who Jacob was, he didn’t miss a beat, his hands clapping together quickly. “Nicely done, Jacob.” He turned to Al. “That’s what you were going for, right?”

Al nodded, held his left hand outward. “Absolutely. What other emotion could there be after such a stupid move?”

“Did it take you a long time to get over that emotion?” Jacob’s voice, low and shaky, emerged from the back of the room.

“Not sure you ever do. That kind of stuff has a weird domino effect.”

Sam patted Al’s shoulder and turned back to the class. “Thank you, Al. Okay, Miss?” He pointed behind Elise, his face encouraging.

“Sierra. Sierra McDermott.”

“Sierra. Would you like to go next?”

“I guess . . .” The petite blonde grabbed her paper and headed up the aisle, her free hand jammed in her jeans pocket. When she reached the front of the room, she dropped her head down and shifted from foot to foot. She started to read, stopped, coughed, and began again, her nervousness obvious to all.

It was not what it seemed.

But how could he tell?

All he’d meant to do was help. To make things better.

Yet somehow it went horribly wrong. What was supposed to be better was now worse. What was supposed to help hurt more.

He cowered in a corner, alone, eyeing his mistakes from afar. Desperate to fix things, unsure of how or if it could be done.

Seeking help would bring an end. Ignoring it could bring a loss much greater and provide an unjust freedom.

It was not what it seemed.

But how could he tell?

Elise cocked her head to the side as she considered Sierra’s piece. Despite the hurried read-through and the wooden voice with which it was spoken, it was still thought-provoking and ripe with emotion.

“Nicely written, Sierra.” Sam walked down the center aisle, stopping midway and turning around. “Who would like to comment?”

Madelyn raised her hand, beamed when Sam sought her opinion. “Desperation. Confusion.”

Sam nodded. “I think there’s more, though that’s good.” He pointed at Paul, who surprisingly had raised his hand.

“Fear.”

“Yes!” Sam turned back to Sierra and winked. “Thank you, Sierra. I’d love to see you expound even more. Make it a little longer, building on the emotion, digging even deeper.”

Sierra smiled shyly and practically ran back to her seat. Elise looked over her shoulder at the girl, hoping to meet her eye, to offer a complimentary smile. But Jacob was there, patting her arm, saying something only Sierra could hear.

“Who’s ready to go next?” The room grew eerily quiet as Sam waited for a volunteer. Feeling his gaze, she looked up shyly and shrugged. Why not? She had to read it at some point, right?

“Elise, why don’t you c’mon up and—”

“I’ll go.” Jacob’s chair lurched backward as he jumped to his feet.

“Okay, Jacob, thank you.” Sam stepped to the side of the room, crossed his arms, and leaned against the door frame, his facial muscles relaxed despite the slight furrow to his brow.

Elise straightened her shoulders and fiddled with her pen, unsure of whether she should look at Jacob as he read or focus on something else, like the clock above his head.

The young man cleared his throat a few times, his hand slightly trembling as he looked past Elise and offered a half smile.

Sierra.

She was glad to know he had someone in his life who gave him courage. Someone who made him smile. Sierra McDermott, although shy and nervous, seemed to be a sweet girl. And she was head-over-heels in love with Jacob Brown.

I see the face peering back—familiar, yet different. Features I know, a person I don’t.

The eyes are still blue like the sky up above. The nose still long and straight and a little bit crooked. The mouth still ready to spread in a smile . . .

Yet the picture they create when they come together will be changed in my heart forever.

I study it daily looking for clues. Was that sparkle I saw a glint all along? That smile I treasured a clever disguise?

I try to make their facts mesh with mine. To pinpoint the moment his path turned wrong.

But as the days go by and the hurt remains, I fear their image will win in the end.

It’s not that I don’t know it’s there, it’s just that I want someone to care. He was a monster for a moment, my dad for a lifetime.

Jacob’s piece was met with absolute silence, save a few bodies shifting uncomfortably in their seats. Elise looked quickly at her hands, then back up at the teenager whose voice shook along with his paper.

It was brilliant. Poignant. Thought-provoking. And it made his attitude toward her understandable. Although his father had done awful things, she could see how Jacob might view her as the moment his idyllic world changed. The moment all the bad things became fact and his perception of his father became wrong.

But what Jacob needed to realize, to come to peace with, was the fact that his perception wasn’t wrong. His image of his father—the man he knew—was real too.

Sam’s voice cut through her thoughts as he began to clap. Quietly at first, then louder and louder as more hands joined in. “Young man, you have no idea how much your words could teach people. Make them see things from another perspective. Thank you. For making us all think.”

Jacob’s face lowered, his Adam’s apple pronounced as he swallowed. When he glanced up again, his eyes were moist, his mouth showing signs of a tentative yet genuine smile. “I wish more people would think.”

Her boss’s head nodded as he pushed off the door frame and addressed the class. “Okay, I think it’s fairly obvious, but who would like to give me the emotions they felt while listening to this piece . . . the emotions the writer was feeling, trying to convey.”

A forty-something on the far side of the room raised her hand. “Despair over the loss of something innocent, and, I think, resignation as well.”

“Good.” Sam turned back to Jacob. “Jacob, if there ever comes a time you’d like to share that with the paper, I’d be honored to publish it. If it makes even one person think, then it did its job.”

Elise watched as Jacob’s eyes widened in surprise, his cheeks reddened with embarrassment, his smile lifted with hope. And at that very moment, as Jacob Brown’s writing was being publicly validated and his feelings acknowledged, she was reminded—once again—why she loved and respected Sam Hughes.