Thirty-Six

THE MAY AIR was sweet with the hints of spring. Trees capped with the fresh greenness of the new season danced under a warm breeze, and birds flitted in celebration. The spring-like bliss didn’t carry into the courtroom where the verdict on the murdering priest was about to be rendered after what felt like five long, excruciating months to Tommy.

In courtroom two, the atmosphere was ripe with anticipation, the silence stifling as every eye in the room, spectators, reporters, photographers, Francesca, and Lily—who’d flown in to support Francesca and Tommy—was on the foreman. At the defendant’s table, Tommy stood, his head bowed in prayer. Beside him, Peter inhaled deeply.

Every eye followed the clerk who took the verdict form from the foreperson and walked it to the judge. Eyes locked on the judge, they tried to read the expression on his face as he unfolded and read, but his face gave nothing away. In unison, everyone’s eyes swiveled from the clerk to the foreman when he handed the verdict form back.

“How does the jury find Thomas Scott in the murder of James Templeton III?” the judge asked.

“We find Thomas Scott.” There was a moment’s hesitation and whether the foreman did it for effect or to savor the power he wielded at that moment, was anyone’s guess. “Not guilty in the murder of James Templeton III.”

Tommy’s legs buckled, and he fell into his chair, his hands locked in thankful prayer. A triumphant Peter slapped a congratulatory hand on Tommy’s back. Francesca’s head dropped limply onto Lily’s shoulder and let the tears of joy flow. Mr. and Mrs. White, who’d traveled across the country to be in the courtroom in support of the man who’d killed their daughter’s murderer, hugged and cried.

“Mr. Scott, you are a free man,” His Lordship slammed his gavel in the finality of the sensational case that had gripped the nation and headlined the front page of every newspaper and the nightly news for months.

On the courthouse steps, when the commotion from the cheering crowd, the reporters’ questions stopped coming, and the flashes from snapping cameras died, Peter watched Francesca and Tommy. In her eyes, Peter saw happiness, something he hadn’t seen for a long time. For the rest of his life, he’d regret discounting how happy Tommy made Francesca to put his interests above hers.

Peter blamed himself for every horrible experience Francesca endured with James. The hell she’d lived through with James was on him. He’d put her through all of it for no reason other than to satisfy his ego. He’d carry the guilt for the scars, the psychological trauma, Francesca would carry for the rest of his life. Peter hoped Francesca would let him make it up to her, allow him to become the father she deserved.

It had been five months since the night of Francesca’s brutal attack, and aside for the scar above her right eye, her face showed no signs of the injuries James inflicted. Lily being a great friend, had devoted the past months to help Francesca work through her mental anguish. Those scars would take a lot longer to heal, but Lily was confident Francesca would one day be able to put the ugliness in her life behind.

“If you don’t mind, honey, I’ll drive Tommy back to the estate.” Peter turned to Tommy. “I want to speak to you. All right with you, Son?”

Francesca smiled at that. Seeing the two most important men in her life coming together touched her deeply. “Thank you for what you did for Tommy, Daddy. I knew you wouldn’t lose. You’re a Thompson after all.” Francesca pecked her father on the cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Frankie.” Emotion choked Peter’s voice. It had been too long since they’d said the words to one another.

“My car’s here,” Peter said to Tommy when his chauffeur pulled the town car up to the curb. Settled into the backseat, Peter offered Tommy a glass of champagne, touched crystal to crystal. “To your freedom.”

Peter sipped champagne contemplatively. “You probably don’t remember, but you and I haven’t had a smooth relationship—ever. Mainly because of me. I was, as Frankie put it, a narrow-minded snob with tunnel vision. Let me finish, Son,” he said when Tommy started to speak. “It’s not easy for a man to admit his mistakes, but I was wrong about you. I’m sorry for not seeing the honorable man you are sooner.”

Tilting back his glass, Peter drained champagne. “I’m also very grateful to you for giving my daughter back to me. Frankie and I haven’t always had the type of father-daughter relationship we should since my wife died. Again, mainly because of me. That has now been rectified, and I have you to thank for that. I will forever be grateful to you for saving my daughter and for stepping in to take the blame for the murder she committed.” In the silence that hung in the car, Peter topped up glasses with champagne.

“I did. A few weeks after the night of the incident, when a cooler head prevailed, I went to see Frankie. She confessed she was the one who’d killed James, not you. In all honesty, I suspected it. I’ve defended enough murderers to know the difference between a passionate killing and a fortuitous one. James’ murder was personal. It was indicative in the number of blows to the head. And yet you took the blame for a murder charge that could have sent you to jail for life. Why, Tommy? Why would you risk your life like that? There was a high probability you would have been found guilty. Was it because you thought as a priest, albeit an excommunicated one, you’d have emotional leverage on the jury? Was it to protect Frankie’s reputation, her name?”

Tommy’s eyes calm and level on Peter’s he said, “It wasn’t as strategic or as noble as all that. I did it because I love her, and she’d had enough hurt to last her a lifetime. I did it because Francesca didn’t deserve to be labeled ‘The Guilty Woman’ by anyone.”

Peter lifted a brow. Francesca was right, he thought. He wasn’t half the man Tommy was. He’d been so wrong about Tommy, misjudged him all because he couldn’t put his past behind. He’d talked himself into believing he knew what was best for Francesca and along the way convinced himself everything he did, every decision he made was in her best interest.

But it wasn’t. What he wanted to do was control her, so she’d never leave him as Katherine had. It took Tommy Scott to make him realize how wrong he’d been and that everything he’d done was for himself to maintain control of a life gone off the rails after Katherine’s death.

Marrying Tiffani was impulsive and stupid. She was a brainless bimbo, but he could control her—or so he’d thought. Peter had never been able to do that with Katherine. Katherine Thompson was a woman to be reckoned with. Katherine had been his equal, and she wouldn’t allow him to forget it. And Francesca was as strong-willed as her mother, but he was losing her to Tommy, and he couldn’t have that.

If Katherine were alive, she’d have seen through James’ puffed up ego down to the skeleton of who he was the minute he’d set foot in their lives. If Katherine was alive, she’d allowed Francesca and Tommy to come together. The past few years would have been filled with happiness rather than horror.

“I love Francesca. I love her with all my heart. She makes me happy.” Tommy smiled when he said that. “And isn’t that our quest in life. To be happy.”

Peter nodded. “But you’re still leaving tomorrow?” he asked, looking out the window at the rain that was beginning to come down from a sky that had gone dark.

“I have to. I can’t stay here with Francesca and pursue a relationship with her. They’ll crucify her. She’ll be forced to endure undeserved backlash, gossip, and innuendo. Not to mention the repercussion you and your firm will have to deal with. I can already see the headlines. ACQUITTED PRIEST MOVES IN ON HIS VICTIMS WIFE or PRIEST KILLS JAMES TEMPLETON III FOR HER. It’s not going to benefit anyone if I stay.”

“I suppose you’re right, but you don’t have to worry about me. I’ve weathered worse. Look at the headlines in the tabloids about Tiffani and me,” Peter said, rolling eyes to the sky as the limousine pulled into the estate’s driveway. “I want you to take this, Son. This will help you get settled wherever you’re going.”

“Sure, you can. It’s the least I can do to help you get started on your new life. This is my way of saying thank you for giving my daughter back to me, and it’ll help ease my guilt. I feel responsible for everything that’s happened to you, son.” Peter waved a finger in the air. “Do not insult me by giving it back. Now, go to Frankie. I understand Missy, Mrs. Richards, and Scott, have planned a celebratory dinner for the two of you. Make her happy for tonight. She deserves happiness.” Peter held out a hand, and Tommy clamped it.

FRANCESCA AND TOMMY TRADED THEIR ROMANTIC dinner for a family celebration. With Lily, Missy, Mrs. Richards, and Scott, Francesca and Tommy enjoyed the lobsters, filet mignon and asparagus risotto the misses had prepared, along with the Pepperoni pizzas Missy ordered. They listened to Mrs. Scott’s stories of Francesca and Tommy’s youthful antics while Bear milled about for pizza scraps—his favorite. Eventually, Lily lifted her glass of wine, and everyone followed. Together, they toasted Tommy’s freedom.

After dinner, tired from the long day, Lily went straight to bed. Mrs. Richards and Scott busied themselves cleaning up in the kitchen. After serving Francesca and Tommy, a warm cognac in the living room, Missy, along with Bear, disappeared for the night.

In comfortable silence, from the sofa, Francesca and Tommy watched lightning flash on the roar of thunder and split the sky. The patter of rain against the living room windows lent a romantic feel to the moment.

“We did.” Casually he wound her hair around his finger. “We agreed to let bygones be bygones.”

“I thought I’d never see this day.” Francesca rolled the idea of having two guardians in her life. It made her feel safe and protected. “I’m so glad because I need both of you in my life.”

Tommy could smell her hair, fresh clean. “I don’t know how I’ll ever repay him.”

“You don’t owe him anything. It’s me who owes him for keeping you from going to prison. I couldn’t stand to lose you again.” Francesca watched lightning as it slashed and flashed over the rise, lancing it white like fireworks on New Year’s Day. “Thank you for what you did for me, Tommy. If I’d admitted guilt, I would have been disbarred. Lawyering, saving people from the injustices this life wreaks on them is all I know. It’s what I love to do.”

“I know.” Tommy touched his lips to hers when she started to speak again. “There are only three of us who know the truth.”

“And your secret’s safe with her. As I was saying, there are four of us who know the truth of what happened that night, and neither Lily, your father, you, or I will discuss this again. Understood?”

“You’re meant to do good, to fight injustice for those who can’t do it for themselves, Francesca. For you, it’s not about money or prestige. It’s about being a good person, using your God-given talent to help right the wrongs in this world.”

Francesca’s lips quivered into a smile. He understood her so well, always had. She gaped at him for five seconds, then scrambled to her feet. “I just thought of a way I can thank you,” she said, then held out a hand for his.

They made love all night, celebrated life, and their newfound love in the shadows of candlelight. When Francesca woke in the morning, she reached out for Tommy, but in his place found the note on his pillow.

By the time you read this, I’ll be on a flight out of the country.

Last night was the most wonderful night of my life. Being with you, making love with you, having you nestled in my arms made me feel complete and loved.

I’ve felt a void in my life for a long time, and I thought it was my lost memories causing it. That may have been part of it, but Last night you filled a huge part of that void. After last night, I realized the emptiness I’ve felt all these years was from not having you in my life. I’m so blessed to have found you again.

I love you, Francesca Thompson. I love you so very much.

It’s why I left this morning without saying goodbye. I couldn’t face you. I couldn’t look into your eyes and say goodbye. It’s cowardice of me, and I’m sorry, but I couldn’t do it.

You will be in my dreams and my thoughts every hour of every day. When I’m missing you, I’ll look up to the stars and search for your face in them. I hope you do too.