CHAPTER 29

SARA SAT ON THE FRONT PORCH, talking on the phone to her mother. Jeffrey had called half an hour ago and said he was just crossing the Grant County line, but she wasn’t going to feel safe until he was home. He had told her he needed to talk to her about something, and Sara guessed it was the same thing that had been bothering her for the last few days. She couldn’t keep going on like this. Something had to give.

Her mother sounded exasperated. “Are you listening to me?”

“Yes, Mama,” Sara lied.

“He told me that he’d fixed the automatic sprinkler. Half the plants are dead.”

“I’m sure he didn’t do it on purpose.”

“We’ve been home less than a week and he still hasn’t offered a credible explanation.”

“I’m sure he meant to fix the sprinkler.”

“Sara,” Cathy began, and Sara braced herself for a lecture. Surprisingly, her mother offered, “Do you want me to come back over? I can be there in five minutes.”

Sara loved her mother, but Cathy had been with her practically twenty-four hours a day over the last week. She needed time alone to think. “Jeffrey will be home soon.”

“You sound so distant. Is it the lawsuit?”

“No,” Sara answered, but the word brought a sour taste to her mouth. Buddy Conford had called two days ago to tell Sara that Global Indemnity was settling with the Powells. The parents would get two million dollars for their son’s death, barely enough to cover Jimmy’s hospital and lab fees. Buddy had tried to make a joke about how rare it was that an insurance company was actually paying off somebody’s medical bills, but Sara hadn’t been in the mood for humor.

“If it’s not the lawsuit, what is it?”

“Mama…”

Obviously, she’d had enough. “Sara Ann Linton, I am your mother, and I know when something is bothering you.”

Sara let out a stream of breath between her teeth.

Cathy cut straight to the heart of the matter. “Did you hear from the adoption agency?”

“Yes,” she said. The social worker had left a message on the machine that morning while Sara was at her parents’ house. She’d come home to find the red button flashing, but had let three hours pass before she pressed play. It was the same thing that kept her from checking the mailbox or listening to the voice mail on her cell phone. Sara had waited so long to hear that there was a child out there for them, but now that the moment was at hand, she could not bring herself to reach out.

“And?” Cathy prompted. “What did she say?”

“She said that they have a nine-month-old boy,” Sara answered. “He’s mixed race, Asian and African-American.”

“Oh, honey, that’s wonderful!”

“Is it?” Sara asked, feeling like her heart was going to break. Just saying the words had conjured up the creamy skin and wiry hair—the way his little feet would curve into the palm of her hand. “What am I going to do, Mama, stay up with a baby all night while I wait for the phone to ring so some stranger can tell me my husband’s dead?”

“Stop being ridiculous,” Cathy snapped. “Cops have families, Sara. Plumbers have families. You take a risk every time you get behind the wheel of a car or go to the post office. You can’t put your life on hold because you’re scared of something that might happen.”

“Jeffrey’s so stubborn,” she argued. “He never listens.”

“Welcome to marriage, honey. I’m sorry we can’t organize you a parade.”

Sara put her hand to her neck, tried to coax the words that needed to come. “What if…” she tried. “What if…” She dropped her head in her hand, finally voicing her darkest concern. “What if I can’t take care of him, Mama? What if he gets sick or injured and I can’t…”

Her mother was gentle, but stern. “It is not your fault that Jimmy Powell died of leukemia.”

“What if my baby gets sick?”

“I know you pretend you don’t believe in these things, but you’ll know the first time you hold your child that he is a gift on loan from God. For however long that gift lasts, you cherish it, you hold it to your heart, and you do the best you can to never let go.”

“I just can’t…” Sara thought about Jimmy Powell the last time she had seen him alive. His eyes had lit up when Sara entered his hospital room. He’d always had such a crush on her. She was as close as he would ever come to having a girlfriend. He would never steal a kiss from a girl after school or make out in the back of his father’s car. He would never have a wife or a child. His mother would never have grandchildren. For the rest of her life, Beckey Powell would have nothing but lost milestones to remind her of her dead son. Other children would go to school. Other families would take holidays together. Beckey would only have an empty calendar, days without Jimmy stretching before her like a bottomless pit.

Cathy’s tone softened. “What did you tell the social worker?”

“That I would need to talk to Jeffrey.”

“You call her back right now and tell them you want that baby.”

“Mama, I don’t know.”

“I do,” Cathy interrupted. “I’m hanging up the phone so you can call her.” She paused. “Call me right back, okay? I want to hear all about my first grandbaby.”

The line went dead, but Sara didn’t make the call. Now that she had time alone, she found herself incapable of putting together any logical thoughts. Her mind kept jumping from Jimmy Powell, to Jeffrey, to the baby that was waiting for them. She sat motionless, staring at the street until her BMW pulled up in front of the house.

Jeffrey waved at her through the windshield, giving a half-smile. He had told her there was something he needed to tell her, something important. This wasn’t just her decision. Maybe he was having second thoughts, too.

Sara put the phone down on the steps and walked toward the car.

He opened the door, saying, “Man, I’m sick of driving.” He saw her face, asked, “What’s wrong?”

“The adoption agency called.”

He closed the distance between them, scooping her up into his arms. “A baby!” he yelled. “Oh, God, Sara.” He spun her around. “I can’t believe it. I can’t believe—” He was laughing, trying to catch his breath. “Is it a girl or a boy?”

“A boy.”

“Ha!” he said, spinning her around again.

Sara laughed, too, caught up in his excitement. “You’ll make me dizzy.”

He put her down, cupped her face in his hands. “I’ve got a boy!” He kissed her. “This is it, Sara. This is the beginning of our lives.” He kissed her again, deeper this time. “God, I love you.”

She could see tears in his eyes, the absolute joy he felt at the news. Suddenly, all of her doubts fell away, meaningless distractions. She wanted a child with this man, wanted nothing more in her life than to raise their baby together.

He asked, “Can we pick him up tonight? Right now?”

“Tomorrow,” she said, laughing at his eagerness. “We have to meet at the agency and start the foster care procedures.”

“Paperwork,” he groaned, but he was still smiling. “Oh, God, Sara. I love you so much.”

She put her hand to his cheek. “I know.”

He laughed again, almost a whoop. “What do we do now?”

“They said they already sent the forms,” she told him. “Check the mailbox. I’ll get the phone.”

She was halfway up the front walk when he yelled at her. “Hey, foxy mama!”

Sara turned around, her face blushing red. “Hush,” she warned him. “The neighbors.”

“Call them all!” he yelled. “We’re gonna be parents!”

He opened the mailbox. There was a flash of light. Jeffrey flew up and back, his body twisting as the air cracked from the explosion.

Sara was running toward him before her mind processed what she had seen.

A bomb. Somebody had put a bomb in the mailbox.

“Jeffrey!” she gasped, falling down on her knees beside him. Chunks of metal were everywhere, mail flying all around them. She saw his open chest—bone, muscle, beating heart.

“Help!” she screamed. “Somebody help me!”

He opened his mouth and blood pooled out. His right arm lay on the asphalt a few feet away, torn from his shoulder. She pressed her hands to the open wound, desperate to stop the bleeding. Blood poured between her fingers, soaked her hands.

“No,” she whispered. “No.”

“You…” he said, his teeth chattering.

She pressed her lips to his, kissed him on his mouth, his face. “Oh, my love…my love….”

“You…” he whispered, blindly reaching for her. She could see the pain in his eyes, knew that his life was slipping away.

“Don’t leave me,” she pleaded, squeezing his hand. “Oh, God, Jeffrey—please don’t leave me.”

“You…”

“No,” she begged, willing him to hold on. “Please! I love you. I love you.” Why had she always teased him, never telling him the words? “Jeffrey, I love you.”

“Only…”

She kissed him again, tasting his blood in her mouth. This couldn’t be happening. He could not leave her.

“Only…” he tried, blood gurgling in his throat. “Only…ever…”

“Only ever what, baby? Only what?”

“You…” He gasped, choking. “…Only…ever…you…”

His body relaxed. The blood stopped spurting from his shoulder. Sara realized that their neighbors had come. They stood in a circle around her, not knowing what to do. She screamed, ordering them to go away. She didn’t want them to see him like this, didn’t want anyone to touch him. The ambulance came, then the police; his men, his friends. She railed against them all, begging them to leave. She lifted Jeffrey up, holding him in her arms, refusing to let them near. She held on to him like this, keening like a child, until her mother came and made Sara let them take him away.