The dialysis did wonders for Stan, making him feel better than he’d felt since he’d been poisoned. It seemed that no major damage had been done to his organs, though the arsenic had taken its toll on him, and it would be weeks, maybe months, before he was restored to his former energy level.
They released him from the hospital with strict orders for his mother, who was going to care for him at home. Because his parents were sensitive to his need to return to some form of normalcy, they decided to move into his own house with him so he could sleep in his own bed and be surrounded by his own things. Newpointe police officers would continue their rotational guard of him.
Nick caught him in the corridor as they wheeled him out in his obligatory wheelchair. Stan’s father tried to intervene, but Stan insisted on a moment with him alone. Nick wheeled him back into his room and sat down in front of him. “I spoke to Celia this morning,” he said. “Stan, I know things look grim for your marriage, but I want you to reconsider your trust in her.”
Stan almost laughed. “This is a role reversal, isn’t it? Last time we talked, I was the one telling you to stop doubting her.”
“I did doubt her,” Nick said. “You were right. But when I met with her, I could tell that she wasn’t lying. She’s not guilty, Stan. You’ve got to trust her.”
He closed his eyes. “How is she doing?”
“She’s good,” he said. “Better than I could have imagined. She said to tell you to trust in the Lord.”
Stan’s eyes came open. “Trust in the Lord?” he asked. “Is that exactly what she said?”
“Yep. Exactly.”
Stan remembered the verse the Lord had given him just last night. Trust in the Lord…
It sounded like something Celia would say. That childlike faith came so easily to her. That bottom line that made it a done deal, even when others would have sought counsel and groped around for meaning and understanding. Celia didn’t need much. A simple verse of Scripture.
“I know you can’t get around much,” Nick said. “But if you felt like going to visit her later, I could take you. We could put you in a wheelchair and you wouldn’t have to walk…”
Hope blossomed with the idea, but then the image of her in Lee Barnett’s arms—that irretractable image that would not let go—stopped him. “I’ll think about it.”
Nick gave him a skeptical look.
“No really,” Stan said. “I just need to pray about it. I need to think.”
“All right.” Nick took his hand, shook it firmly. “Get some rest, okay? I’ll be praying for you. And if you need me, anytime, man, I’m there.”
The sight of his house as they pulled into the driveway brought a fresh onslaught of grief. Stan sat in the front seat of his father’s car, wishing he could go in and find Celia waiting there, as she always was, full of news about her day, fluttering around him trying to help him unwind from whatever case he’d been absorbed in. The thought that he may never have that again was too much to bear. For a moment, he made no move to get out of the car, just sat there, staring at the door from the garage into the kitchen.
He tried to grapple with the logic of avoiding her. If he did, wouldn’t he be sealing his fate, discarding his marriage, throwing her to the wolves? And what if she really was innocent? Could he live with himself if he’d turned against her?
Maybe Nick was right. Maybe he did need to see her. If he could just touch her, look in her eyes…he would know the truth. He knew he would. He’d been lied to countless times during his career as a cop, and his detective instincts hadn’t been damaged by the arsenic. He would know, if he saw her. It would be obvious to him.
He got out of the car, staggering slightly, and his mother helped him walk to the door. “You sure you don’t need the wheelchair, hon?” she asked.
“I’m sure. I can make it.”
T.J. Porter was the guard on duty, and he parked his squad car out front and carried his bag in as his father pulled the wheelchair out of the trunk of the car. He waited as he gave his mother the key, and she unlocked the door leading in from the garage. It opened, and he stepped inside, his eyes scanning the kitchen, which was still in disarray from the investigation. Slowly, he walked through the kitchen into the living room.
“What’s that?” his mother asked, and he followed her eyes to an envelope on the floor right inside the front door. “Looks like someone slipped it under the door.” She picked it up, and her face changed. “It’s addressed to Celia.”
Something hardened in his chest as he took it, and he sank onto the closest chair and sat down. His hands trembled as he opened the envelope and pulled out the paper. He scanned the typed print, then shot a look at the bottom, to the signature of Lee Barnett.
His heart plunged again, and he began to read.
“Dear Celia,” it said. “I look forward to being with you as soon as things are worked out. Please call me as soon as you have the chance. I miss you, and I love you. Lee Barnett.”
Stan tossed the letter on the table next to him and dropped his face in his hands.
His father was just coming in, and his mother picked up the letter. “Bart, it’s from Lee Barnett,” she said. “For Celia.”
Silence stood like a lethal gas around them, as all eyes turned to Stan. He began to weep.
His mother’s eyes were full of tears, too. “Let’s get him to bed,” she said.
His father came over and pulled him up from the chair. Stan did as they wanted him to do, for he had no energy to fight them.